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"In a nonbreakable container, a jar--it's a kind of plastic, not glass," Danny answered, somewhat evasively.
"In your luggage, in the trunk of the car?" Carmella asked him.
"Yes." Danny didn't want to tell her more about the container itself--what the contents of the jar used to be, and so forth. Besides, they were coming into the town--such as it was--and while it was still light, Danny wanted to get his bearings and have a look around. That way, it would be easier to find Ketchum in the morning.
"I'll see you bright and early Tuesday," the old logger had said.
"What's 'bright and early'?" Danny asked.
"Before seven, at the latest," Ketchum said.
"Before eight, if we're lucky," Danny told him. Danny had his concerns about how bright and early Carmella could get up and be fully functioning--not to mention that they were spending the night a few miles out of town. There was no proper place for them to stay in Errol, Ketchum had assured Danny. The logger had recommended a resort hotel in Dixville Notch.
From what Danny and Carmella could see of Errol, Ketchum had been right. They took the road toward Umbagog, past a general store, which was a liquor store, too; there was a bridge over the Androscoggin at the east end of town, and a fire station just west of the bridge, where Danny turned the car around. Driving back through town, they passed the Errol elementary school--they'd not noticed it the first time. There was also a restaurant called Northern Exposure, but the most prosperous-looking place in Errol was a sporting-goods store called L. L. Cote.
"Let's have a look inside," Danny suggested to Carmella.
"Just so long as it's before dark!" she said again. Carmella had been one of the earliest erotic stimulations of his life. How could she have become such a repetitious old woman? Danny was thinking.
They both regarded the sign on the door of the sporting-goods store with trepidation.
PLEASE NO LOADED FIREARMS INSIDE
"My goodness," Carmella said; they hesitated, albeit briefly, at the door.
L. L. Cote sold snowmobiles and all-terrain vehicles; inside there were dead stuffed animals, the regional species, enough to suggest that the local taxidermist was kept busy. (Bear, deer, lynx, fox, fisher cat, moose, porcupine, skunk--a host of "critters," Ketchum would have said--in addition to all the ducks and the birds of prey.) There were more guns than any other single item; Carmella recoiled from such a display of lethal weaponry. A large selection of Browning knives caused Danny to reflect that probably Ketchum's big Browning knife had been purchased here. There was also quite a collection of scent-elimination clothing, which Danny tried to explain to Carmella.
"So that the hunters don't smell like people," Danny told her.
"My goodness," Carmella said.
"Can I help you folks?" an old man asked them suspiciously.
He was an unlikely-looking salesman, with a Browning knife on his belt and a portly appearance. His belly hung over his belt buckle, and his red-and-black flannel shirt was reminiscent of what Ketchum usually wore--the salesman's camouflage fleece vest notwithstanding. (Ketchum wouldn't have been caught dead in camouflage. "It's not like a war," the woodsman had said. "The critters can't shoot back.")
"I could use some directions, maybe," Danny said to the salesman. "We have to find Lost Nation Road, but not until tomorrow morning."
"It ain't called that no more--not for a long time," the salesman said, his suspicion deepening.
"I was told it's off the road to Akers Pond--" Danny started to say, but the salesman interrupted him.
"It is, but it ain't called Lost Nation--almost nobody calls it that, not nowadays."
"Does the road have a new name, then?" Danny asked.
The salesman was eyeing Carmella disagreeably. "It don't have a name--there's just a sign that says somethin' about small engine repairs. It's the first thing you come to, off Akers Pond Road--you can't miss it," the old man said, but not encouragingly.
"Well, I'm sure we'll find it," Danny told him. "Thank you."
"Who are you lookin' for?" the salesman asked, still staring at Carmella.
"Mr. Ketchum," Carmella answered.
"Ketchum would call it Lost Nation Road!" the salesman said emphatically, as if that settled everything that was wrong with the name. "Is Ketchum expectin' you?" the old man asked Danny.
"Yes, actually, he is, but not until tomorrow morning," Danny repeated.
"I wouldn't pay a visit to Ketchum if he wasn't expectin' me," the salesman said. "Not if I was you."
