“No, sir.” I glance down the sidewalk. “How’s that ice cream shop?”
“Good. Been open since I was a boy.”
“Fettermans own it,” Earnest grunts. “Younger generation is running it now.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t know the Fettermans.”
“Good,” he says.
“Now, Ernest, that family is fine. It’s not their fault they got a bad egg. Every family does.”
“Not mine. Not yours.” Ernest turns his hard gaze to me. “Not everybody.”
“Sorry about him,” Amos says. “The humidity’s getting to him. You should get ice cream. It won’t do you wrong.”
“Thank you, sir.”
I wave and head back in the direction of the ice cream store. There’s a small line, and behind the counter three teenagers are busy filling orders. A woman, probably in her thirties, stands at the register ringing customers up. When I walk in, a bell over the door rings and she looks up and smiles.
“Welcome,” she says.
“Thanks.”
She might be related to Alex. She might know where I could find him. But the worst thing I could do is draw attention to myself by asking questions. I have to think of a way to be slick about it. Something no one would remember if the police came asking.
I make my decision, old reliable cookies and cream, and wait as a kid with a name tag that says “Graydon” on it makes my cone. As I wait, I gaze around the room. The walls are covered with old photographs, and in the center of the main wall is a large portrait of an elderly couple. The photo looks like it was taken in the fifties or maybe early sixties, based on how they’re dressed. Under it is a gold plaque that says “Douglas and Esther Fetterman.”
“Those are my great-grandparents,” the woman behind the counter says. “They opened the place.”
I nod, feigning a lack of interest. “The gentleman by the barber shop mentioned you have good ice cream.”
“Best in town. You’re not from around here?”
“No. Just passing through.”
Graydon hands me the cone and the woman rings me up. “Three eighty-nine, please.”
Cheap. I pull a five from my wallet and hand it to her, dropping the change in the tip jar. As I eat my cone, I study each picture, landing on one I hope is a good lead. It’s a large house, stone, and in front is the same older couple from the portrait. The house appears in several more photos as it seems to be passed between family members. The most modern one features the woman behind the counter, one of the kids working, and an elderly woman. It’s gotta be a family home. Maybe one where the aunt lives. If I find the aunt, I find Alex.
Suddenly the woman is right next to me. “Hailey Fetterman.”
“What?”
She laughs softly. “That’s my name. In case you were wondering.”
“Nice to meet you, Hailey.”
“How’s the cone?”
“Great.” I turn back to the picture. “This your house?”
“Not yet, but I live there. I help my great-aunt out with chores and stuff. She’s getting up there in years.”
“That’s nice of you.”
“Yeah, it’s not bad. She’s very sweet. Generous too. It’s an old family home, so when she goes, it’ll be mine. She doesn’t have kids.”
“Not a bad deal.”
