past.”
“Was the rest of the area nice?” Paige asked. “Local business owners have always said we have the best location—in town and right on the water.”
“Worst neighborhood in the city. Nowhere near the water,the university, or any other place people had regular reason to visit. The best nearby attraction was a Laundromat that turned into an undercover gambling house at night.”
“Sounds lovely.” Paige shot me a look.
“It was awful. My parents never would’ve let me work there if they didn’t know the owner—and if the tips weren’t amazing. Which they were. Every single night.” She reached into her shorts pocket and pulled out a worn cardboard square. “This was the menu.”
“That looks like a coaster,” Paige said.
“It is a coaster, complete with beer and hot sauce stains.” Natalie turned it over, held it up. “I carry it everywhere. I’m a little sentimental.”
“Monday, ribs,” I said, squinting to read the messy script. “Tuesday, wings. Wednesday, chicken fingers.”
“Bar food?” Paige asked. “And only one kind a day?”
“That’s all they needed. The owner switched the days around every few months, but the dishes themselves didn’t change once in the five years I was there.”
“That must’ve been really good bar food,” I said.
“It wasn’t bad … but you could get as good, if not better, at a dozen other nicer places in town.”
“So, then, why was it so successful?” Paige took the coaster when Natalie handed it to her, examined it like the stains contained clues. “What made people wait two hours to get in?”
Natalie paused. “The entertainment.”
“Like a band?” Paige asked.
“Not exactly.”
Paige’s eyebrows lowered, then lifted. “Oh. No way. We’re definitely not that kind of place. Grandma B might not be as involved as she once was, but this is still her restaurant. That kind of thing would give her a heart attack.”
It took Natalie a second to figure out exactly what kind of thing Paige referred to. When she did, she laughed. “If they’d had adult entertainment, my dad would’ve died of embarrassment a long time ago. And Will was so sweet, he’d—”
She stopped. Her hand lifted, her fingers brushed across the circular bump underneath her T-shirt.
“There’s this popular café back home,” I offered quickly, “where you can do karaoke twenty-four seven. Does Mountaineers have something like that?”
Natalie’s hand lowered as she continued. “Not officially, though regulars do often break into song if they hang around long enough.”
“So the entertainment has nothing to do with music,” Paige said. “What does that leave?”
Natalie grinned. “Ice fishing.”
Paige looked at her. “I don’t get it.”
“There’s this small community of serious ice fishermen in northern Vermont. As soon as the lakes freeze over each year, they’re on them every day, carving holes, dropping poles, and seeing what comes up. It’s a pretty isolated sport, so after spending countless hours alone, they head to Burlington to warm up and hang out.”
“Yeah …” Paige shook her head. “Still not computing.”
“Eight years ago, when Mountaineers was lucky to get a dozen customers a day, this guy named Tuck Hallerton stopped by for a drink after a long day fishing. It was so cold out, he didn’t bother storing his catch in coolers; he simply filled his truck bed with snow and threw in the fish. When he went to the restaurant, he parked the truck on the side of the road, and what was inside got the attention of the few other patrons.”
“Because they’d never seen fish packed that way?” I asked.
“Because they’d never seen such
big
fish—especially not in the middle of winter.” Natalie looked behind her. Noting that her tables were still occupied, she turned back. “The things were supposedly enormous—the size of sharks. That night, people asked Tuck where he’d caught them, and he said that was
“Was the rest of the area nice?” Paige asked. “Local business owners have always said we have the best location—in town and right on the water.”
“Worst neighborhood in the city. Nowhere near the water,the university, or any other place people had regular reason to visit. The best nearby attraction was a Laundromat that turned into an undercover gambling house at night.”
“Sounds lovely.” Paige shot me a look.
“It was awful. My parents never would’ve let me work there if they didn’t know the owner—and if the tips weren’t amazing. Which they were. Every single night.” She reached into her shorts pocket and pulled out a worn cardboard square. “This was the menu.”
“That looks like a coaster,” Paige said.
“It is a coaster, complete with beer and hot sauce stains.” Natalie turned it over, held it up. “I carry it everywhere. I’m a little sentimental.”
“Monday, ribs,” I said, squinting to read the messy script. “Tuesday, wings. Wednesday, chicken fingers.”
“Bar food?” Paige asked. “And only one kind a day?”
“That’s all they needed. The owner switched the days around every few months, but the dishes themselves didn’t change once in the five years I was there.”
“That must’ve been really good bar food,” I said.
“It wasn’t bad … but you could get as good, if not better, at a dozen other nicer places in town.”
“So, then, why was it so successful?” Paige took the coaster when Natalie handed it to her, examined it like the stains contained clues. “What made people wait two hours to get in?”
Natalie paused. “The entertainment.”
“Like a band?” Paige asked.
“Not exactly.”
Paige’s eyebrows lowered, then lifted. “Oh. No way. We’re definitely not that kind of place. Grandma B might not be as involved as she once was, but this is still her restaurant. That kind of thing would give her a heart attack.”
It took Natalie a second to figure out exactly what kind of thing Paige referred to. When she did, she laughed. “If they’d had adult entertainment, my dad would’ve died of embarrassment a long time ago. And Will was so sweet, he’d—”
She stopped. Her hand lifted, her fingers brushed across the circular bump underneath her T-shirt.
“There’s this popular café back home,” I offered quickly, “where you can do karaoke twenty-four seven. Does Mountaineers have something like that?”
Natalie’s hand lowered as she continued. “Not officially, though regulars do often break into song if they hang around long enough.”
“So the entertainment has nothing to do with music,” Paige said. “What does that leave?”
Natalie grinned. “Ice fishing.”
Paige looked at her. “I don’t get it.”
“There’s this small community of serious ice fishermen in northern Vermont. As soon as the lakes freeze over each year, they’re on them every day, carving holes, dropping poles, and seeing what comes up. It’s a pretty isolated sport, so after spending countless hours alone, they head to Burlington to warm up and hang out.”
“Yeah …” Paige shook her head. “Still not computing.”
“Eight years ago, when Mountaineers was lucky to get a dozen customers a day, this guy named Tuck Hallerton stopped by for a drink after a long day fishing. It was so cold out, he didn’t bother storing his catch in coolers; he simply filled his truck bed with snow and threw in the fish. When he went to the restaurant, he parked the truck on the side of the road, and what was inside got the attention of the few other patrons.”
“Because they’d never seen fish packed that way?” I asked.
“Because they’d never seen such
big
fish—especially not in the middle of winter.” Natalie looked behind her. Noting that her tables were still occupied, she turned back. “The things were supposedly enormous—the size of sharks. That night, people asked Tuck where he’d caught them, and he said that was
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