breakfasts.
“Table for one?” the waitress asked, reaching for a menu. She was about Lucky’s age with a worn face and wary eyes and an inch of gray roots in too-black hair twisted into a rough bun.
“I’m looking for Tracey. Is she around?”
“I’ll get her.”
The waitress went through to the kitchen and Tracey came out almost immediately, carrying a coffeepot. She headed for a table, poured refills, asked if everything was okay. Only when her duties were finished did she approach Lucky.
“Mrs. Smith? Thanks for coming.”
“Can you talk? You’re busy, and I don’t want to take you away from your work.”
“Kev said it’s okay if I take my break now.” By the look on the older waitress’ face, it was not okay with her but she said nothing. The door opened, and a group of four came in with a wave of cold, damp air. Lucky and Tracey slid past them onto the street.
“You’re going to freeze.” Lucky nodded to the girl’s t-shirt, black, long-sleeved, with a picture of a lighthouse on a rocky point facing an incoming storm printed on the front.
“I’m okay.” Tracey dug in the pocket of her baggy pants and came up with a pack of cigarettes and matches. Without asking permission, she lit up. She shifted from one foot to another, and glanced up and down the street while she sucked smoke into her lungs. Her fingernails were chewed to the quick.
“Why the lighthouse motif?” Lucky asked, trying to take some of the tension out of the air.
“Huh?”
“In the restaurant? It’s all about lighthouses and fishing villages. We’re a long way from the ocean. Everything else around here is about mountains.”
“Oh. Kev, the owner, he’s from Newfoundland. Hasn’t been back since he was a kid, says he has nothing to go back for. I think he misses the sea sometimes.” She was smoking rapidly, barely exhaling one puff before dragging in the next.
“How long have you worked here?” Lucky asked. She had no desire to engage in small talk, but this nervous girl seemed to need time to gather her courage to say what she needed to say.
“Two months. It’s okay, I guess. I’d like to get better hours, though. I work at a car rental place in the evenings.” The streets were busy with cars and the sidewalk with pedestrians. The women moved away from the restaurant doorway as two men came out and a couple went in.
“How long have you and Matt been together?”
“Two months. We met right after I got to Banff. I hate it here. I wish we could go someplace else, but Matt has a job at Sunshine lined up for when the season starts.” Nothing was left of her cigarette but the filter. Tracey threw it to the ground and crushed it under her foot. Her running shoes were heavily scuffed, the laces shredding at the edges.
“Matt?” Lucky said.
The girl’s wide brown eyes filled with tears. “Have you heard from him?”
“No.” Lucky assumed Paul would not want her telling Tracey that Matt had called his father, asking for help. The police, he’d once told her, exchanged information in one direction only. Lucky wasn’t with the police, and she was free to say whatever she liked, but she decided to wait and see what she could learn. “What do you know about what happened, Tracey?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all. And now my damn battery’s died. He knows I’m working this morning. He can call me at the restaurant if he wants. I hope…I don’t know what I hope.”
“Do you have any idea where Matt might have gone?”
Tracey shook her head.
“A friend’s place?”
“Maybe, but I can’t think who. Matt doesn’t have many friends other than Barry and Tom and Alistair, the guys he lives with.” Tracey chewed at a hangnail on her thumb. It came away with a spurt of blood. “He might…”
Lucky waited. The girl sucked at the beads of blood. “Might…”
Her voice was low. She watched cars driving past. “Might have gone to a hotel with a girl, when he got off work last night. Girls on holiday, with money to spend,
“Table for one?” the waitress asked, reaching for a menu. She was about Lucky’s age with a worn face and wary eyes and an inch of gray roots in too-black hair twisted into a rough bun.
“I’m looking for Tracey. Is she around?”
“I’ll get her.”
The waitress went through to the kitchen and Tracey came out almost immediately, carrying a coffeepot. She headed for a table, poured refills, asked if everything was okay. Only when her duties were finished did she approach Lucky.
“Mrs. Smith? Thanks for coming.”
“Can you talk? You’re busy, and I don’t want to take you away from your work.”
“Kev said it’s okay if I take my break now.” By the look on the older waitress’ face, it was not okay with her but she said nothing. The door opened, and a group of four came in with a wave of cold, damp air. Lucky and Tracey slid past them onto the street.
“You’re going to freeze.” Lucky nodded to the girl’s t-shirt, black, long-sleeved, with a picture of a lighthouse on a rocky point facing an incoming storm printed on the front.
“I’m okay.” Tracey dug in the pocket of her baggy pants and came up with a pack of cigarettes and matches. Without asking permission, she lit up. She shifted from one foot to another, and glanced up and down the street while she sucked smoke into her lungs. Her fingernails were chewed to the quick.
“Why the lighthouse motif?” Lucky asked, trying to take some of the tension out of the air.
“Huh?”
“In the restaurant? It’s all about lighthouses and fishing villages. We’re a long way from the ocean. Everything else around here is about mountains.”
“Oh. Kev, the owner, he’s from Newfoundland. Hasn’t been back since he was a kid, says he has nothing to go back for. I think he misses the sea sometimes.” She was smoking rapidly, barely exhaling one puff before dragging in the next.
“How long have you worked here?” Lucky asked. She had no desire to engage in small talk, but this nervous girl seemed to need time to gather her courage to say what she needed to say.
“Two months. It’s okay, I guess. I’d like to get better hours, though. I work at a car rental place in the evenings.” The streets were busy with cars and the sidewalk with pedestrians. The women moved away from the restaurant doorway as two men came out and a couple went in.
“How long have you and Matt been together?”
“Two months. We met right after I got to Banff. I hate it here. I wish we could go someplace else, but Matt has a job at Sunshine lined up for when the season starts.” Nothing was left of her cigarette but the filter. Tracey threw it to the ground and crushed it under her foot. Her running shoes were heavily scuffed, the laces shredding at the edges.
“Matt?” Lucky said.
The girl’s wide brown eyes filled with tears. “Have you heard from him?”
“No.” Lucky assumed Paul would not want her telling Tracey that Matt had called his father, asking for help. The police, he’d once told her, exchanged information in one direction only. Lucky wasn’t with the police, and she was free to say whatever she liked, but she decided to wait and see what she could learn. “What do you know about what happened, Tracey?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all. And now my damn battery’s died. He knows I’m working this morning. He can call me at the restaurant if he wants. I hope…I don’t know what I hope.”
“Do you have any idea where Matt might have gone?”
Tracey shook her head.
“A friend’s place?”
“Maybe, but I can’t think who. Matt doesn’t have many friends other than Barry and Tom and Alistair, the guys he lives with.” Tracey chewed at a hangnail on her thumb. It came away with a spurt of blood. “He might…”
Lucky waited. The girl sucked at the beads of blood. “Might…”
Her voice was low. She watched cars driving past. “Might have gone to a hotel with a girl, when he got off work last night. Girls on holiday, with money to spend,
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