Long Lost: A Kate Burkholder Short Story Read Free Page A

standing on the sidewalk in front of The Oak, which is erected inside a refurbished railroad car and wedged between an Irish pub and the Buckeye Lanes bowling alley.
    “One-stop shopping,” Tomasetti mutters as he opens the door for me. “Bowling, food, and booze.”
    “And not necessarily in that order.”
    The aromas of grilled steak, baked potatoes, and yeast bread greet me when I step inside. A short waitress with red hair and big round glasses converges on us with a smile and takes us to a booth. We sit facing each other, a candle flickering on the table between us.
    “I’m Sandy,” she says as she snaps down two menus. “You folks visiting from out of town?”
    “Painters Mill,” I tell her. “We’re staying out at the Maple Creek Inn.”
    “Oh! You’re them cops.”
    Tomasetti gives her a how-the-hell-did-you-know-that look. I smile because, a small-town native myself, I know how quickly news travels.
    “We are,” I tell her.
    Tomasetti picks up the menu. “Cops on vacation.”
    “I hear you’re interested in the Maple Inn ghost.”
    “Well, not exactly…”
    The waitress continues as if she didn’t hear me. “Angela Blaine’s mama worked here for almost six years. In fact, Patsy was working here with me the day her girl went missing.” She sighs wistfully. “She’s been dead going on two years now. Lifestyle finally caught up with her, I guess. But she was my best friend and I can tell you she suffered a lot when little Angie disappeared. Everyone thought she was a bad mother. Granted, she had her problems.” The waitress lowers her voice. “She liked pills, booze, and men, which is a bad combination if you ask me.”
    I sense Tomasetti holding his tongue; he’s no fan of gossip, especially when the subject of said gossip isn’t around to defend herself.
    “I hear the prime rib is good,” I say, hoping to ward off an unpleasant exchange—and any more talk about the missing woman.
    “Best in town.” Oblivious, the waitress pulls out an order pad. “Angie was a sweet kid. Pretty and smart, such a happy little thing. It’s a damn shame what happened to her. Seems like yesterday that she was running around here, changing out the salt and pepper shakers for her mama.” She clucks her tongue. “Everyone knows that son of a bitch Tucker Miles done it. And he got off scot free. Just ain’t right.”
    Tomasetti sets down his menu a little too hard and gives her a direct look. The waitress doesn’t seem to notice.
    I set my hand over his. “We’ll have the prime rib,” I say quickly.
    “Awesome.” She grins and scribbles on her pad. “You want horseradish with that?” Her grin widens. “Guaranteed to burn your lips off.”
    I hear Tomasetti mutter something beneath his breath and I say quickly, “On the side.”
    “Coming right up.” Giving us a final grin, she rips the top sheet from her pad and hustles away.
    The prime rib lives up to its reputation, and Sandy was right in that the horseradish is hot enough to burn off your lips. It’s a good thing Tomasetti and I like it spicy. When we’re finished, he leaves her a decent tip and we head toward the door. We’re nearly there when I hear, “Hey, you cops!”
    Turning, I see our waitress rushing toward us, a wad of what looks like newspapers in her hand. “Glad I caught you before you got outta here,” she says breathlessly.
    Tomasetti looks longingly at the door.
    I look down at the papers in her hand. “What’s that?”
    “These are all the newspaper clippings from when Angela went missing,” she says. “With you being cops and all … I thought you’d want to see them.”
    “We’re not interested,” Tomasetti says point-blank.
    Undeterred, she focuses her attention on me. “A lot of people around here thought them Barney Fifes down at the sheriff’s department didn’t do a very good job of looking for her. They thought her mama was a piece of trash. Half of them damn cops had been in her bed and most of