It was after midnight when I finally left the Wilkses’ house. The sheriff’s office was still there collecting evidence and taking photographs. In fairness, I didn’t have to prepare and document a criminal case. All I wanted to find out was who shot the friendly older couple and where Bailey Mae fit into all of it. That was what kept me there so long: I had been looking for other clues that pointed to where Bailey Mae was and what had happened to her.

Who says nothing ever happens in Marlboro? It had been a long, hard day.

After I snatched a few hours’ sleep, I was preparing to deliver my papers early again. It gave me some normalcy and allowed me to be out in the town in case I saw something that could help.

Even Nick, the guy who dropped off the bundled papers, was interested in our sleepy little town for a change.

The husky teamster said, “I heard about your cousin. I’ll keep an eye out.”

I was stunned. I had been starting to think he didn’t even speak English.

Then he pointed at the front page of the first paper strapped in the bundle and said, “Shame about the old couple, too. You guys need to get your shit together.” Then he was gone.

He was also right. One of the reasons I stayed in Marlboro was because of the atmosphere. It is a nice place to live with nice people around. Even if I am related to a bunch of them.

By the time Bart and I were rolling in the loaded station wagon, a sleet storm had made the roads a crapshoot and visibility shitty. I had never seen the weather turn so cold and ugly this early in the year. It matched my mood about Bailey Mae’s disappearance.

No one was out this morning as I cruised the streets slowly, tossing papers to some houses and walking them up to the front door at the homes of really old or infirm people. It hurt to drive past the Wilkses’ house and not throw a paper. The yellow tape was still up, but the house was dark and no one was around.

Even the diner was nearly empty because of the weather as I hustled in through the driving sleet. Bart, as usual, elected to sleep in the back of the car.

I slipped onto a stool at the sparsely populated counter as Mabel walked up with a plate already in her hands.

“What’s this?”

She gave me one of her dazzling smiles and said, “I knew you’d be in and knew you’d feel like scrambled eggs.”

“How’d you know that?”

She just shrugged as she slid the plate in front of me. The smell was intoxicating and it really was just what I wanted.