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Anna
* * *
The cab drops me off at Gibson’s Mill. “What do I do now?” I ask the driver as he lifts my suitcase out of the trunk.
“Get some coffee,” he says, pointing toward a diner on the far side of the town square. “Another car should be here shortly.”
“Another car?”
“Mr. Donatello is sending a driver to collect you from here.”
“How come you’re not taking me all the way?”
“Above my pay grade.” He nods toward me. “Have a good evening.”
I check the time on the clock tower as he drives away. A little after five. No wonder I’m hungry. I’ve still got my thirteen bucks. Hopefully, enough for a meal.
Inside the diner, there are a couple of elderly men playing backgammon on a corner table. Country music is leaking out of tinny speakers. Other than that, the place is quiet.
From the kitchen I can hear a woman humming tunelessly. The smell of bacon cooking fills the air, making my stomach growl.
I head for the counter. The two men look my way, neither of them smiling. “Out of towner?” the one on the left asks.
“Heading somewhere?” the other enquires at the same time.
I nod. “Got an interview for a job,” I say. “Nearby.”
They look away at once, concentrating on their game with renewed enthusiasm.
“Okay,” I mutter under my breath as the server appears behind the register, notepad in hand.
“What can I get you?” she asks, pushing her glasses up her nose.
“Coffee and a couple of donuts, if you’ve got them?”
“Can do. Jelly filled?”
“Is there any other kind?”
She smiles as she takes a note. “Take a seat. I’ll bring them out.”
I sit at the counter, watching as she pours me a coffee. “I’m supposed to be picked up from here,” I tell her. “Anyone been in asking for an Anna White?”
“Not while I’ve been here,” she replies, sliding the coffee cup my way. “You on vacation?”
“Got a job interview,” I reply.
Her face turns pale. “Where?” she asks through pursed lips.
“I’m not sure. Marco Donatello’s got a place out here somewhere, right?”
She gulps. “I wouldn’t know,” she says after a long pause. She turns away from me and I swear her hands are shaking. She disappears into the kitchen as the two men cough and head for the door, leaving me alone.
I sip at my coffee, wondering what kind of place this is. Why should Marco’s name induce this kind of reaction?
The server brings me my donuts without a word, dumping them in front of me. “You don’t want a job there,” she whispers, leaning toward me as if someone might be listening. “Wherever you came from, you just go back there.”
“What? Why?”
