Page 76 of The Hidden One

My only other obvious source of information is Stoltzfus’s children. Do they know anything about their parents’ pasts? Their roots? Relatives? Mary Elizabeth wasn’t exactly champing at the bit to talk to me. Henry Stoltzfus was downright hostile.

Facing a dead end—and the prospect of going back to Ohio without accomplishing what I set out to do—I opt to take my chances with Henry Stoltzfus. Putting the Explorer in gear, I pull back onto the road. I’m on the west side of Yeagertown and heading toward the highway when a battered metal sign hanging off the side of a building snags my attention. THE TRIANGLE BAR AND GRILL. My memory tings. I slow, trying to remember where I’ve heard it.

The car behind me honks, so I pull into the parking lot. I sit there a moment, staring at the peeling paint and hail-damaged sign. The place is a dump. There’s no meaningful connection to anything I’ve been working on with regard to Ananias Stoltzfus. What the hell?

Amanda Garber’s voice comes at me from the recesses of my memory. Worked at some dive called the Triangle. Serving liquor to drunk men.

She’d asserted that Ananias had a lover in Lewistown. She’d even remembered the woman’s name. Rosemary, I think it was. Don’t know what became of her. Don’t much care.

I park next to an old Chevy truck and get out. As I head toward the entrance, I acknowledge this is probably a waste. If my timeline is correct, Rosemary has been dead and buried for a long time. What are the odds anyone will remember a woman who worked here two or three decades ago?

The Triangle is like a hundred other bars I’ve frequented over the years—dank, dark, and not quite clean. Eddie Money belts out “Two Tickets to Paradise.” The window unit air conditioner blasts a cold blanket over my arms as I walk by, probably to disperse the smells of marijuana and grease that’s gone rancid. A man the size of a woolly mammoth stands behind the bar, drying restaurant-style mugs. He’s bearded and heavyset, wearing bib overalls, a white T-shirt, and staring at the TV mounted in the corner.

He spots me as I slide onto a stool, snaps up a cardboard coaster, and heads my way. “What can I get you?”

I want a beer, but I’ve got to drive so I settle for coffee.

“Coming right up.”

There are three other patrons. A man wearing a mechanic’s uniform sits in a booth against the wall, talking quietly into his phone. Two younger men in jeans and T-shirts are engaged in a game of pool near the back door, which stands open. The place is a dive and yet in an odd way, there’s a certain character here, too. Or maybe I just want that beer.…

“Here you go.” He upends the cup in front of me and pours from a carafe. “I got milk and sugar if you need it.”

“Black’s fine,” I tell him.

He glances at the dozen or so cups he has yet to dry, but doesn’t move toward them. He’s bored and would rather talk to me, which is probably a good thing since he’s the only person around I can ask about the mysterious Rosemary.

“Ain’t seen you in here before,” he says.

“First time.” I make a show of looking around. I want to tell him he has a nice place but it would be such an obvious lie, I don’t.

As if reading my thoughts, he says, “I’ve got some remodeling planned. Thinking about installing central heating and air.”

“You the owner?”

“Me and my two sisters.” He grins. “I do all the work. They get all the money.”

I sip the coffee, find it good and strong. “I’m told there was a woman who used to work here by the name of Rosemary.”

He tilts his head, gives me a closer look. “Well, that would be Grams. She passed away … gosh, musta been eight years ago now.” He hefts a laugh. “Raised me and my sisters since we were little, after my mom died. Woman never missed a day of work. She was in her nineties and still going strong. She was serving up a beer and collapsed right here at the bar. Dead before she hit the floor. Heart attack. Left the place to us three grandkids.” He looks around and shrugs. “Beats the hell out of being laid off. Back in the day this was a hopping place. Before they shut down the mill, anyway.” He shakes his head. “Hate to close up shop for good, but I can’t keep her open without customers.”

“How long has this place been here?” I ask.

“Grams opened it back in the 1940s. Bank next door was still open. This was a steel town back then. Folks had money.”

“Bar must have a lot of history.”

He laughs. “A little shady history, I guess.”

I sip coffee, listening as Eddie Money gives way to an old Pink Floyd number. I miss Tomasetti. Wish he were here. I miss the farm. Mona and Glock and Pickles. I’m still craving that beer.…

What the hell are you doing here, Kate?

I don’t think there’s any information to be had here at this bar. Too much time has passed. Even if the woman in question were still alive and willing to talk to me, it’s doubtful she’d have anything to say that would help solve the case. I’ve reached a dead end. Nowhere else to go. Time to call it quits and go home.

Good luck, Jonas. You’re on your own.

I tell him my name. “I’m looking into a cold case out of Belleville. A homicide. I was told your grandmother had a relationship with the victim. I’m wondering if you could answer a few questions.”