Free What the River Knows by Katherine Pritchett Page A

you decided what you want yet?”
    “What do you recommend?” Scott tried to ignore Al watching him, even though he reflexively noted a description: six foot, two-thirty, blue, gray and balding, fifty-five to sixty.
    “Special’s always good.”
    “Never had a bad meal in here,” Al offered. “Just go for whatever you’re hungriest for.”
    Scott hadn’t asked for the recommendation, but he should have expected it in a town as small as Homedale. He closed his menu. “I’ll try the fried chicken, then.”
    Debbie picked up his menu. “Coming right up. What would you like to drink?”
    “How about iced tea?”
    “In just a jiffy.” When she returned with his tea, she set a cup of coffee on Al’s table, without him ordering it.
    “You passin’ through?” Al offered, sipping his coffee.
    “Not really.” Scott laid the letters on the table, hoping the view of him working would discourage Al. “Had some business here.”
    “Good, we need some business.”
    Scott was reading the letters, when Al interrupted again. “Gonna be a record-breaking hot day today.”
    “Looks like.” Scott bent over the papers once more.
    “Hey, Mac.” Al spoke, this time addressing a man wearing blue jeans and a seed company baseball cap. Scott looked up, recognizing Ed McNeal, President and General Manager of the local co-op, though grayer and heavier than Scott remembered.
    “Hey, Al.” He pulled out the chair opposite Al and sat. “You gettin’ that old press operating again?”
    “I don’t know.” Debbie placed a large cola in front of Ed. “It may be too inefficient to deal with. I might keep it as a museum piece and invest in a nice computer printer.”
    Mac shrugged. “Whatever. It’s just good to have another business in town.” He gulped his soda, no straw for him, and swiveled his head around the room. His gaze landed on Scott. “Aren’t you one of the Aylward boys?”
    Scott was deep into the second letter. “What?”
    Mac turned his chair toward Scott. “Aren’t you one of the Aylward boys?” He tilted his head. “I mean, you bear a lot of resemblance to Dan Aylward.”
    Scott swallowed hard. “Dan was my dad.”
    Mac stood and thrust out his hand. “Fine man he was.” Scott stood and let Mac envelop his hand in a huge paw. “You must be the baby.”
    Great, thirty-two years old, and they still think I’m a baby . “Yeah,” he nodded. “I’m Scott.”
    “How’s your mom gettin’ along now?”
    “She’s living with my oldest brother Dennis in Ohio.” He cleared his throat. “She’s doing fine now that her hip has healed.”
    “Good.” Mac stepped back to the table with Al as Debbie placed the meatloaf special in front of him. “That house and ground was just too much for her to handle alone.” He resumed his seat. “Al, this boy was once one of our fastest running backs here. His oldest brother was a basketball letterman and his middle brother was a track star.” He cut off a bite of the meatloaf. “You know, Scott, Al here is from New York City.”
    Scott pulled out the department laptop and plugged in the air card, hoping the conversation would end. He wanted to get busy researching the names Ms. Frank had given him.
    Mac kept talking. “Yep, Al married a gal from here, and finally brought her home.”
    “Home to die.” Al’s comment was so quiet that probably only Scott heard him. Scott looked toward him, but Al had his head bent over his plate, moving the green beans around with his fork.
    “What’re you doing with your life now, Scott?”
    “I’m a detective with City PD.”
    “You workin’ today?”
    “Doing some follow-up to an investigation.”
    “Nothing happens here, so we don’t need a detective. Sheriff’s office is our PD. Makes us one safe community. In fact, it’s part of our sales pitch on TV: so safe we don’t need a police department. Brings us a few new folks.” Mac went rolling on, giving a complete rundown of the changes since Scott’s