Chapter Four
Alden Stewart, the mayor of Silver Gap, descended the four front steps of Town Hall and started across the street. Whenever he passed through the big, weighty double doors of the building, he felt a thrill of pride. Silver Gap was his town, and he was the town’s devoted servant.
He had sought the job not because it paid well—because it didn’t—and not because it conferred on its holder a great deal of power. Because it didn’t do that, either. The town council retained most of the power, and not only could they enact legislation without his approval, they set his salary, which—in the interests of the taxpayers, they claimed—they kept on the low side, barely enough to keep him from having to attend to his duties buck-naked and barefoot.
But he had, as a younger man, read the author and public servant John Buchan’s autobiography and been struck by his claim that politics was “the greatest and most honourable adventure.” He had determined then that he would have a political career. Now, he figured, it was too late to correct his error.
Silver Gap was a small town, with all of any small town’s trials and tribulations. But it was a good town, its people mostly fair-minded and willing to do for one another. He had been to other places, towns and cities that felt, to him, as if evil thrummed beneath their streets, turning those who walked them sour and mean. Silver Gap had its share of tragedies: death and betrayal and heartbreak, as any place inhabited by that failed tribe known as human beings would. On the whole, though, her townsfolk cared. They made an effort. He could do no less on their behalf.
He and his wife Belinda lived mostly on proceeds from the Cup & Cow, the restaurant and bakery that Belinda ran. She served beer and wine, but not hard liquor; most of the town’s heavier drinkers spent their paychecks at Spud’s. But people came to her for food, especially her baked goods.
From the middle of the street, the aroma of steaks on the grill inside the C&C reached his nose, perking him up. Alden had never known a better cook, and he was glad she had opened the restaurant and found an appreciative audience. He’d had an early supper, and the smells made him consider adding a second one to his day.
Instead, after he pushed through the glass front door, ignoring the tinkle of the bell that hung on a leather thong from the handle, he veered straight for the bakery counter. “Any doughnuts left?” he asked.
An attractive woman who clearly enjoyed her own cooking gave him a smile and a nod. Her hair was dark and basically helmet-shaped, her eyes twinkling, her grin impossible to look away from. At least for Alden. “I can probably scrounge one up,” Belinda said. “You hungry again?”
He looked down at a stomach that had, sometime during the past two decades, bulged to the point that he had to lean forward to see his feet. He had never thought of himself as a fat man, but he had to accept that he had become one. Thanks, primarily, to his deep and abiding appreciation of his wife’s cooking and baking skills. “I wasn’t, until I walked in.”
“We like to hear that.”
“I was really coming over to tell you to raise your prices.”
“In the middle of a recession?”
“Charlie Durbin says there’s some kind of nutty millionaire in town. Bought out the entire Mountain High for two weeks, just for three people. Says he’s making a movie.”
“A movie? Here?”
“That’s all I know about it. Except it sounds like he’s got money to burn.”
“If I raise the prices, the locals won’t eat here.” She slid a glazed doughnut on a plate across the glass case toward him and turned back toward the coffee pot.
“This guy spends enough, we won’t need ’em to.”
She returned with a brown earthenware mug of black coffee. “He’s only here for two weeks. After that, we’ll still need the locals.”
“I know.” Alden sipped from the mug and eyed the plate. Best doughnuts in town.
They were also the only doughnuts in town, but that didn’t negate the point. “I’m teasing about the prices. Mostly. But I wanted to let you know they’re here, three of them, and apparently they’re happy to share the wealth.”
“If they come in,” Belinda said, “we’ll take good care of them, just like anybody else.”
“That’s what I love about you, Belinda. What do I owe you?”
“For you, Mr. Mayor? A buck fifty.”
“That’s the other thing I love. You don’t cut anybody a break.”
“My silent partner would pitch a fit if I did.”
He was the silent partner, and she was right. He always paid full freight. But it all went to the same place, so he didn’t mind.
He carried his doughnut and coffee to an empty table near the window, greeting other diners on the way. He had run for office because he believed in government, in the idea that government really should do what it could to help the people it served. He also knew that politics went hand in hand with government, so he never wasted an opportunity to be seen around town, supporting local businesses and being friendly.
He had just sat down and bit into the doughnut when his cell phone buzzed. He eased it from his pocket and saw the name “Deeds” on the screen. Morris Deeds, the chief of police. Alden always took his calls, day or night, though they rarely brought good news. “Hello, Morris.”
“Alden,” Morris Deeds said. His voice was dry and tight. “We might have us a situation here.”
“What is it?”
“I’ve just been over to see Marie Hackett. Mike went out after elk yesterday. Was supposed to take Frank Trippi with him, but Frank sprained his wrist and backed out.”
“So Mike went by himself?”
“That’s right. And he hasn’t come back, or called. Marie expected him last night, latest. Now it’s almost another full day gone by and she’s worried sick.”
Alden glanced out the window and drummed his fingers nervously on the table. “What do you want to do? It’s dark now.”
“I’d like to pull together a search party, go out at first light and see if we can’t find him. In the meantime, I’ll have some of my guys drive the back roads looking for Mike’s truck.”
“That’s a good idea, Morris. I’m away from my desk now, but I’ll head back over there and start making some calls.”
“Thanks. That’ll help.”
“You know Mike better than I do. Is he a good hunter? Good outdoorsman?”
Morris paused a moment before responding. “He’s not bad. He’s brought home some trophies. But I wouldn’t say he’s the most careful man who ever picked up a gun.”
“That’s what I was afraid of. Keep me posted, okay?”
“Will do.”
“And let’s hope for the best.”