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“What song?”
“I don’t know. I figured you could hear it, if anyone could.”
“Molly.” In front of a simple wooden structure with a sign that read “Borough Office,” Lila stopped and stared at her earnestly. “I don’t have a monopoly on weird stuff. If you want to hear the snow’s song, you can.”
Molly shied away from the suggestion. That wasn’t her thing, that woo-woo shit. She was a lawyer who dealt in facts, and if those didn’t suit her, she knew how to argue them until they did. “So there is a snow song?”
Lila shrugged just as an old green Dodge Ram fitted with a front snow plow rolled to a stop next to them. The driver leaned out of the window, his bearded face split in a wide grin. “You made it to your friend.”
“Yes, thank you so much!” She turned to Molly. “This is Daniel, plow truck driver supreme, who very kindly dug me out of my house so I could come find you.”
With a leather thong around his neck, and a knitted balaclava on his head, Daniel exuded a mellow hippie-ish vibe.
“This is my friend Molly,” continued Lila. “She’s here for a long visit.”
Long? Molly folded her lips together to hold back her laugh. “Nice to meet you, Daniel.”
“Right back at you. Where are you visiting from?”
“New York.” Which felt very, very far away at the moment.
His easy smile became more interested. “Is that right? Do you know anything about the publishing biz?”
“Um…not a lot. I represented a magazine editor once in a libel case.”
“Groovy. Maybe I, uh, could come talk to you later. I got more plowing to do, but after that.”
Before she could ask why, or point out that he didn’t even know where she was staying, he gave them a wave and drove away.
“What does he want to talk to me about?” Molly wondered.
“Probably about his book. Everyone knows he’s writing one, but it keeps changing. At first it was a memoir, called A Hippie’s Lament, then it was about the old copper mine, nonfiction. I’m not sure what the latest is. He’s a nice guy, really nice, but he does smoke a lot of weed, so who knows if that book will ever get done.”
“Let me guess, he’s in love with you and plowing your driveway is his love language.”
“Oh no. Not with me.” Lila shook her head gravely. “I saw him with Ruth Chilkoot, but that’s just speculation. Don’t spread it around.”
Molly let out a hoot of laughter. “Who would I spread to? I don’t know anyone.”
“You know Sam, but he’s good at keeping secrets. He says he’s like Switzerland.”
So many questions came to mind, Molly didn’t know where to start. They passed a lumberyard, where tarped stacks of beams were covered in snow. She decided not to ask about Sam because she wasn’t ready to let on that he interested her. “Why is that a secret?”
“Because the Chilkoots are…odd. They don’t like outsiders. I was honestly surprised to hear that Ruth and Daniel even knew each other, but I guess he buys produce from the Chilkoots in the summer. He runs a smoothie shop for tourists.”
“Plow truck driver slash smoothie maker?”
“Everyone here does more than one thing. Daniel came out here years ago to live off the grid and ended up really liking it.”
“Ruth Chilkoot…I met a Chilkoot. Luke?”
“That’s her father.” Molly recognized the edge in her voice. Lila didn’t like Ruth’s father. When Lila didn’t like someone, that was a sure sign they were trouble. Usually she bent over backwards to like everyone, even people she shouldn’t.
Molly’s stomach growled. “I don’t suppose there’s a place around here that serves coffee and pancakes?”
“Of course there is. That’s where we’re headed.” She gestured with a flourish at an old yellow school bus parked next to a boarded-up restaurant. The black lettering on the side read, “’The Magic Breakfast Bus.”
“Billy Jack just got back to town last week, and he’s serving breakfast from his old bus while he cleans up his restaurant. I’ve heard his buttermilk pancakes are amazing. Want to try?”
