|
|
|
|
|
|
|
''Just passing through,'' Brenda informed him. The answers came out almost simultaneously. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Madden laughed. "Funny," he countered, still smiling, "I got the impression you two were traveling together." With that he lowered himself into the booth next to Brenda and signaled the waitress for another round. With three fresh ones sitting in front of us, he eased back, shoved his hat back and sighed expectantly. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Over the years, I've developed a lot of habitssome good, most bad. Generally speaking, I'm somewhat cynical and almost always skeptical about people I meet, but Jake Madden had an entirely different effect on me. It was instant like; there was something about the man. I knew this when I heard myself actually blurting out our reason for being there. "I do research and Miss Cashman here is similarly occupied." |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"What kind of research?" Jake grunted. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
"Local lore . . . Canadian stuff . . . off-the-main-highway stories," Brenda informed him. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
Jake leaned forward with an air of confidentially and lowered his voice. "It ain't that I'm snoopin', you understand. Fact is, most folks drivin' through here don't give us much more than a polite nod. But things is a little different these days with all this weird shit that's been goin' on." The words had no more than escaped big Jake's ample |
|
|
|
|
|