did you say?” He lowered the bottle and turned to the computer screen.
“Jil Munroe, why? Does that mean something?” Peter stared at the name on the screen. “Yeah, it does. She told me once that her mom loved Charlie’s Angels back in the seventies, and almost named her Jil after the character, Jil Munroe, but her dad refused.” He grinned at Garrett and smacked him on the back. “You found her man, that’s her.” Peter turned to leave the hotel suite.
“Where you going?” Garrett asked.
“Pebble Creek, Georgia. Where else?”
“Hold up, Romeo. You forgot something.”
“What?” Peter scanned the room, as he patted down his pockets to make sure he had his walet and phone.
“A concert. Tonight. At Soldier Field.”
“Aw crap.”
“You have about a hundred fans at the meet and greet. Al those Libby wanna bees.” Garrett smirked, but Peter could see Garrett’s relief that they found her.
The concert felt pointless now. He knew deep in his soul the girl, Jil Munroe, from Pebble Creek could only be Libby. There was no doubt in his mind. “Fine.” He stood, hands on his hips, unsure what to do now that he had to wait until tomorrow.
“You might want to ask Roger to get you a flight out of here,” Garrett prompted.
“Yeah, I’l do that.”
“And you might want to cal ahead.”
“What for? I want to surprise her.”
“Just in case, man. What if it isn’t her.”
“It’s her.” With that Peter left to find Roger, but couldn’t resist a whoop and a punch of his fist in the air.
Chapter 23
The next day, after flying into Atlanta, Peter and Roger drove to the tiny town of Pebble Creek. He wanted to take the trip alone, but his mother wouldn’t alow it. He’d made a lot of head way in winning more freedom from his family, but this time Mom wouldn’t budge. ‘You are not traipsing across the country by yourself. Either take Roger, or wait to see her at Red Rocks.’
So Roger it was.
He decided to cal ahead after al, but couldn’t find a listing for Jil Munroe or Libby Sawyer. Even so, he would not be deterred. They drove down the quiet streets of the smal town.
Libby was here, he felt it.
“Are you going to keep driving up and down the main drag or are we going to stop and ask some one?” Roger asked.
“I don’t know. I thought this would be easier, and that I’d just bump into her.”
“We could cal the local radio station and tel them Peter Jamieson’s here. That should bring her out, but I don’t think this town even has a radio station. How about the police station? They ought to know everyone in town.”
“No, Libby ran away. She doesn’t need the police in her business.” Peter pushed a hand through his hair and thought about how to find her. Knock door to door?
“In most smal towns you go to the barbershop or the local coffee shop if you want to know something,” Roger said.
“I hardly think she’s a regular at the barbershop. Let’s try for a coffee shop.” He drove slowly and searched for a restaurant. A couple blocks farther, where the road split, sat a quaint little restaurant, Fork in the Road. He and Roger shared a grin. This felt right.
Peter puled into a parking spot. “Do you mind waiting here?
I’d like to do this myself.”
“No problem, go ahead.” Roger leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, tired from their early morning flight.
Peter stepped out of the car and approached the front door of the restaurant. He combed his fingers through his hair to tidy it and smoothed down his t-shirt. What if she was inside having lunch?
She could be. A large wooden fork served as the handle for the front door. He took a deep breath, exhaled and entered.
Inside, the café looked like a throw back to the fifties. A long counter and stools faced the kitchen. Booths with faded red seats occupied each wal. Curtains decorated with tiny cherries covered the windows.
The place was busy for such a smal town. A heavy set older woman bustled by, her arms loaded down with plates. “Grab a seat anywhere you want.”
Peter wandered to the counter and sat on a stool. In front of him nested a napkin dispenser, ketchup and mustard bottles and several menus in plastic sleeves. He gazed around the room, unsure where to begin. Should he start asking strangers if they knew Libby? Or Jil Munroe?
The waitress returned. “Do you know what you want,