Part 24 (1/2)

I let the comment roll off of me. I followed her back downstairs, retrieved my pack, then said goodnight and went back up to the room. I filled up both of the tubs, one for soaking my dirty socks and underwear and the other for me. After a long, relaxing bath I rinsed out my laundry and hung it over the radiator, which wasn't on but was still the best surface I could find for laying out my things. I climbed into bed and went to sleep.

The next morning I slept until seven-thirty. My headache was back, a dull ache near my incision. I collected my was.h.i.+ng, which, fortunately, was dry, dressed and packed, then, taking my backpack with me, went downstairs for breakfast. There were two couples in the room, but neither of them acknowledged my entrance.

Cathy greeted me as I entered the dining room. ”How did you sleep, Alan?”

”Well, thank you.”

”You can sit wherever you like,” she said.

I chose a small, round table away from the other guests. Across the room from me, a tall, walnut-cased grandfather clock chimed the hour.

”I think you'll enjoy this morning's breakfast,” Cathy said. ”It's our guests' favorite: crustless quiche with sausage, and our special cream cheese blackberry m.u.f.fins.”

”It sounds delicious,” I said.

She smiled. ”Trust me, it is.”

A few minutes later she returned with my plate, then left me alone to eat. I ate slowly, not in a particular hurry to get back on the road. In spite of a good night's rest, I still felt tired. A half hour later, Cathy emerged from the kitchen.

”How is everything?” she asked.

”As good as you said it would be.”

She smiled. ”Well, I didn't mean to boast.”

”You should,” I said. ”How's business?”

”Pretty good. We're not going to be buying the St. Louis Cardinals anytime soon, but we enjoy what we're doing.”

”That's better than owning the Cardinals,” I said.

”I'll have to take your word for that.”

”My wife would really like it here,” I said.

”Then you'll just have to bring her next time,” she said. ”Excuse me. I need to check on the oven.” She walked back to the kitchen, but returned a few minutes later with a basket of hot m.u.f.fins.

”Here you go, hot out of the oven.”

I took one. ”How do you like living in Ste. Genevieve?”

”I love it here. It has so much history and charm. Ste. Genevieve is a very old town. In fact, it's older than our country. It was settled mostly by French-Canadians, and a lot has been done to preserve the original French-colonial style. Did you see the Old Brick House?”

I shook my head.

”It's just around the corner. It's a restaurant now, but it's famous for being the first brick building west of the Mississippi.”

”Did you grow up here?” I asked.