grew up there.”
“I'm not sure it's in Boxford,” he forged ahead, “but I drove through this neighborhood off of Old Route Twelve this weekend, without paying attention to how I was going. Got a little turned around, you know? Anyway, it was an interesting place. I'd like to get some pictures or sketches out there. It was on top of a hill, sort of a few different neighborhoods all dovetailing off one another, the way a lot of them do around here. Y'know, one built in the twenties, then the next in the forties, then the sixties, then some new development. But at the top of the hill there were just a few houses, all pretty big. Must have been wealthy people living there once upon a time, but the neighborhood's kind of rundown now.”
Brittany listened carefully and he could see from her expression that she was trying to figure out what the hell he was talking about. He could also see that nothing rang a bell.
“This one house was fairly ugly, but it might have been beautiful once. It has a turret, sort of Victorian, but is a weird mix of architectural styles that—”
Her eyes lit up. “Know what? I think I have seen that house, now that you mention it. Not for years. In junior high, I had this friend, Sarah, who would invite me to her birthday parties and stuff. I think we used to pass it going to her house. It's not in Boxford, though. Could be Jameson. I mean, chances are it's probably not the same house you're thinking of, but it might be in the same neighborhood.”
“Could you give me directions, do you think? Or find it on a map?”
Brittany's eyes went wide and she shook her head. “Oh, I don't know. Sorry.” Her lips pulled into a pout. “No way on the directions. But if I had a map I might be able to figure out the general area.”
Shit!
Michael gnawed his lower lip a moment and then nodded. “Could you? That would be helpful.”
“Sure!” She stood up from behind her desk and crossed to the closet. Pulling open the doors, she reached up to a shelf above the coat rack. There were half a dozen phone books up there, an old coffee machine, and random winter mittens, hats, and scarves that people had left behind over the years.
From amongst the phone books Brittany pulled down a thinner volume and brought it to him. Michael glanced at the cover. It was a complete street map of eastern Massachusetts, dated the previous year. At her desk, she opened up to the pages for Boxford and began skimming through. He stood in front of the desk and, even upside down, had no trouble spotting the place where Old Route 12 passed through the northwest corner of the town. There were several sharp curves on the map. Brittany traced her finger along it, frowning.
“Not Boxford, I don't think,” she said without looking up.
“Try Jameson,” Michael said, unable to disguise the urgency in his voice.
She glanced up at him and smiled. “You must really want to find this place. Sure you don't have some old girlfriend you're trying to find?”
A shiver went through him. He shook his head but did not smile. “I don't really have any old girlfriends. Not serious ones. Jillian and I have been together since I was in college.”
“Lucky girl,” she said, smiling as she returned to perusing the map. She flipped to the double-page spread of the town of Jameson. Old Route 12 passed right through its center, winding up from southwest to northeast, then into Georgetown.
“Hanover Street,” Brittany said, tapping the map.
“Is that it?” Michael said, snapping off the words more abruptly than he'd meant to.
She frowned. “No.” Her fingernail traced the short road that ran north from Old Route 12 in Jameson, just south of the Georgetown border. “There used to be the most amazing ice-cream stand right there. Hanover Street Cone Corner. On the way home, my mother would take me there, but it was a little further away than Sarah's house. So . . .”
Brittany drew an invisible line with her finger around a section
“I'm not sure it's in Boxford,” he forged ahead, “but I drove through this neighborhood off of Old Route Twelve this weekend, without paying attention to how I was going. Got a little turned around, you know? Anyway, it was an interesting place. I'd like to get some pictures or sketches out there. It was on top of a hill, sort of a few different neighborhoods all dovetailing off one another, the way a lot of them do around here. Y'know, one built in the twenties, then the next in the forties, then the sixties, then some new development. But at the top of the hill there were just a few houses, all pretty big. Must have been wealthy people living there once upon a time, but the neighborhood's kind of rundown now.”
Brittany listened carefully and he could see from her expression that she was trying to figure out what the hell he was talking about. He could also see that nothing rang a bell.
“This one house was fairly ugly, but it might have been beautiful once. It has a turret, sort of Victorian, but is a weird mix of architectural styles that—”
Her eyes lit up. “Know what? I think I have seen that house, now that you mention it. Not for years. In junior high, I had this friend, Sarah, who would invite me to her birthday parties and stuff. I think we used to pass it going to her house. It's not in Boxford, though. Could be Jameson. I mean, chances are it's probably not the same house you're thinking of, but it might be in the same neighborhood.”
“Could you give me directions, do you think? Or find it on a map?”
Brittany's eyes went wide and she shook her head. “Oh, I don't know. Sorry.” Her lips pulled into a pout. “No way on the directions. But if I had a map I might be able to figure out the general area.”
Shit!
Michael gnawed his lower lip a moment and then nodded. “Could you? That would be helpful.”
“Sure!” She stood up from behind her desk and crossed to the closet. Pulling open the doors, she reached up to a shelf above the coat rack. There were half a dozen phone books up there, an old coffee machine, and random winter mittens, hats, and scarves that people had left behind over the years.
From amongst the phone books Brittany pulled down a thinner volume and brought it to him. Michael glanced at the cover. It was a complete street map of eastern Massachusetts, dated the previous year. At her desk, she opened up to the pages for Boxford and began skimming through. He stood in front of the desk and, even upside down, had no trouble spotting the place where Old Route 12 passed through the northwest corner of the town. There were several sharp curves on the map. Brittany traced her finger along it, frowning.
“Not Boxford, I don't think,” she said without looking up.
“Try Jameson,” Michael said, unable to disguise the urgency in his voice.
She glanced up at him and smiled. “You must really want to find this place. Sure you don't have some old girlfriend you're trying to find?”
A shiver went through him. He shook his head but did not smile. “I don't really have any old girlfriends. Not serious ones. Jillian and I have been together since I was in college.”
“Lucky girl,” she said, smiling as she returned to perusing the map. She flipped to the double-page spread of the town of Jameson. Old Route 12 passed right through its center, winding up from southwest to northeast, then into Georgetown.
“Hanover Street,” Brittany said, tapping the map.
“Is that it?” Michael said, snapping off the words more abruptly than he'd meant to.
She frowned. “No.” Her fingernail traced the short road that ran north from Old Route 12 in Jameson, just south of the Georgetown border. “There used to be the most amazing ice-cream stand right there. Hanover Street Cone Corner. On the way home, my mother would take me there, but it was a little further away than Sarah's house. So . . .”
Brittany drew an invisible line with her finger around a section
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