His name was Holden? What kind of name was that? No wonder he called himself Max.
I decided not to ask about the origins of Max’s name or explain the fact that I was not living with him and told her, “Well, he isn’t actually here, so I’m quarantined alone.”
“Oh, he’ll be back.”
I didn’t doubt that.
“Since you probably know where he lives, will you please send a taxi?” I asked.
“Nope,” she answered.
I was silent a beat, mostly shock, a little anger then I repeated, “Nope?”
“Nope.”
“Why not?”
“’Cause Max says you need to rest.”
Yes, definitely poison.
“I’ll pay double.”
“You still gotta rest.”
I was seeing red again, I ignored it and offered, “I’ll pay triple.”
“Triple shmiple. You gotta rest.”
“Listen –”
“Come into town with Max when you’ve recovered. I’ll buy you a beer.”
Did she just tell me she’d buy me a beer? How did we get from me ordering a taxi to her buying me a beer?
“What?” I asked.
“Name’s Arlene. Come to The Dog. Show you the town only locals know.”
“But –”
“Gotta go. Get some rest, you hear?”
Then she hung up.
I stood staring at the phone buzzing at me. Then I beeped it off and put it in the receiver.
The internet advertisement didn’t say word one about nutty townspeople. Not word one. If it did, I definitely would not have hit “book now”.
I looked back through the phonebook. No more taxi companies. There were three rental agencies but they rented ATVs and snow mobiles. I didn’t think that would help.
It was either walk, when I felt like taking a nap, or I was stuck.
Which meant I was stuck.
Which meant I needed to take a nap so I could be energized and clearheaded when I plotted Holden Maxwell’s murder.
Before that, I had one more thing to do.