I am eager to take Hank's invitation. The barman even shoos one man away from the counter to free me a seat—and though the guy throws me a disgruntled look, he obediently takes his drink and moves to one of the tables.
I begrudgingly take his place. It's on the corner, so I only have one neighbor besides Hank—yet another middle-aged town worker wearing denim that's as weathered as his face. The man throws me a curious and appraising look, and I meet it with my own level stare.
The search for Rose is too important to feel awkward or bashful, and I'm used to pushing feelings down.
The conversations in the pub continue one by one. Slowly, the noise level returns to normal, which is loud enough to drown out the jukebox if anyone would bother to turn it on.
"Should I bring you something to chew on, Maya?" Hank asks, his booming voice easily heard in the noisy room.
"A burger, please," I say, putting a crumpled bill on the counter. While Hank passes the order to the cook, I turn to the man sitting next to me. "Hello. I'm Maya Alvarez. Have you seen my friend Rose, who visited this town a month ago?"
The worker chuckles and strokes his bushy mustache. It resembles a thick, short paintbrush. "Straight to the business, huh, Miss Alvarez? No chatting some about the weather, no treating me to a drink first?"
I press my lips together. This isn't the first time I was called too blunt, but this is the first time when it was the matter of literal life and death.
"Sorry, mister..."
"Miller. Frank Miller, Miss Alvarez. That's an honest trade, ya'know? Give a person a drink, get your answers."
My face is as sour as my mood. "My friend is missing. She could be..," I swallow a lump in my throat, "dead. And you worry about a drink? You haven't finished yours yet!"
Frank looks down at his glass. There's still half of what looks like rum and coke mix.
"Oh, yeah." He finishes the glass in two gulps. "Now I don't have one."
I roll my eyes and turn to Hank, who's been watching us with an amused smile. "Give Mister Miller another whatever he had, please, Hank."
"That ass, eh?" Hank shakes his head, but quickly goes to mixing the pathetic excuse for a cocktail. "Should I give you something, too?"
"Same as Frank has, but no rum, please." I don't want to muddle my thoughts with alcohol, even if there's an edge in me that needs dulling. Besides, alcohol is more likely to provoke visions than to make them go away.
Our drinks are soon in front of me and Frank. While the man sips the contents of his glass, I ask, "So, what do you know about Rose's disappearance?"
"Mmm... Nothing? She left Willow Creek." Frank gives me a sheepish smile under the mustaches. "Listen, Miss Alvarez, I didn't say I actually knew a thing, right?"
"But you know who I'm talking about. You saw her, right?" I ask, and when I see Frank's eyes shifting, as if he seeks to evade the answer, I let myself improvise. "She's hard to miss. Tall, pretty brunette..."
"Brunette? She was blonde," Frank responds, confused. "Real shiny blond, totally natural, anyone could tell."
"Right." I smile, but my smile goes away as soon as I realize Frank spoke about her in the past tense. On purpose or not? "I'm sorry, I misspoke. Rose's blond, of course."
"I'm afraid Frank doesn't know much about your friend's disappearance either way, Maya," Hank interrupts. "It didn't happen in Willow Creek, after all."
"Right." Frank nods. "I mean, she was hot, that's it. And her car was really, really nice. I'd kill for a car like that—just as hot as the woman herself!" He laughs, not caring that he's alone in the joke.
"What about the people Rose was investigating?" I ask, eyeing both Frank and Hank. The mood between the two grows heavier by the minute, at least from Hank's side.
"Those are just coincidences. People often become victims of one thing or another on the road, and bad things don't necessarily happen in our town just because missing people passed through it," Hank says. His expression tells me to not ask further questions on the matter.
"Ain't no mysteries in our tiny town, no." Frank shakes his head and washes down his words with his drink.
I drink, too, while I think about what to ask next. Once again, I realize that I'm terribly unprepared for detective work. I'm a writer. A reader. There's a lot I know, and all in theory. This sort of knowledge tends to evaporate when I look into the faces of people I have to apply it on.
"The grass around the town is terribly... green," I finally say lamely. "Never seen so much grass in one place."
"G-grass?" Frank coughs. "Yeah. Tall grass. Very... grassy."
I raise my eyes to him to find the man visibly shaken. This makes me blink. Did I strike a chord? I only asked because I had nothing better to say, but my thoughts must've been onto something—something I've heard by now, maybe? Rose had mentioned the grass fields in her letters, too.
"It's unusual, isn't it, Mister Miller?"
"It's just grass, Maya," Hank cuts in again, with a smile that moves my annoyance aside a little. A smile and a plate full of a burger-like construction that needs a toothpick to not fall apart. "Here, your order."
"But you shouldn't go to the grass, anyway, Miss Alvarez," Frank says a moment later. "There are, uh... snakes. Yeah, snakes."
"This is true. They are very dangerous," Hank nods. "Listen... I had an idea. You should ask the town council for help. Or the mayor. Tomorrow is Saturday, the town hall will still be open in the morning. I can go with you."
"To the town hall?" Frank perks up, but coughs and goes to finish the contents of his drink instead of continuing.
This sounds like a great idea, and Hank looks like a very helpful person. Sounds and looks. But are they, actually?