mine she took or wrecked, she owes me a thousand dollars.”
“That’s a shame,” I said, finding it hard to be all that sympathetic. Terry looked like the type of humorless chick one might relish torturing. Maybe Blythe had stolen her sunblock just for fun. “How did you two hook up as roommates, anyway?”
“I put a sign up. My mother said I was stupid sharing my place with an actress, and I should have listened to her. I may not work with people as thrillingly exciting as Blythe, but at least they wouldn’t eat a whole bag of someone’s miniature Snickers and leave all the wrappers in the bag—like you’re not supposed to
notice
there aren’t any candy bars in there anymore.”
“What do you do, anyway?” I asked.
“I work in health insurance. So how you going to find this Tom guy?”
“I’m heading upstate today to follow up on a few leads. Do you think Blythe will call back?”
“Well, she left some of her shit here, so maybe she’ll be back. If she doesn’t, I’m seriously thinking of calling the police.”
I offered her my business card, which she accepted with all the enthusiasm of someone being presented a dead eel, and asked her to have Blythe get in touch if she called again. Yet it didn’t seem likely that Blythe would know Tom’s whereabouts. She’d apparently found someone more receptive to her charms than Tom had been, someone willing to keep her in Snickers for the unforeseeable future. My best lead now was Skidmore, and it was time to haul ass and get up there.
I’d missed most of the commuter traffic, but there were still bumper-to-bumper patches on the Major Deegan, and by the time I reached the New York State Thruway, I’d been warming the seat of my Jeep for well over an hour. As I pulled away from the tollbooth, I experienced a moment of brain spritz—why in God’s name was I spending an entire day in my car looking for a guy I’d never even
met
? Because I’d promised Chris I would help. Because I was moved by Tom’s story. If the good professor couldn’t help, though, I didn’t know what else I could do.
The second half of the trip turned out to be relatively painless. I stuck in a CD of Maria Callas arias, and since there was nothing complicated about the route—New York State Thruway to Exit 24 and then the Adirondack Northway to Saratoga—I listened to her haunting voice and kept my speed at around seventy-two most of the way. The suburbs fell behind me, and before long the Catskills rose in shades of blue and lavender off to my left. I passed stretches of woods and marshes, interrupted periodically by giant eyesores, like mini self-storage units that seemed to go on for miles. When I passed the first Albany exit, my tummy did a weird nostalgia flip, as I remembered my job as a beat reporter for the
Albany Times Union
my first two years out of Brown.
It was just after noon when I pulled off onto the main exit for Saratoga. Though my stomach was starting to rumble, I figured food could wait until after I’d located Carr. I’d visited Saratoga a few times when I was working for the paper—to take in the races, to hear concerts at the performing arts center—and I didn’t need to ask directions. The road off the exit turned into Main Street, which I knew led through the town center, and then flowed right into Broadway. As I passed through the downtown area, I checked out the scene. Though Thoroughbred racing season was over, the town was bustling with people. They strolled along the street in shorts and tank tops and formed bunches in front of the shops and cafés in the five-story brick buildings, which dated back to the 1800s. Some of the buildings displayed American flags, which snapped in the end-of-summer breeze.
I decided I’d stop first at Carr’s house, and if he wasn’t there, I’d proceed down the road to Skidmore. Broadway was an amazing little street lined with glorious old houses that had once been owned by rich horse-loving families like
“That’s a shame,” I said, finding it hard to be all that sympathetic. Terry looked like the type of humorless chick one might relish torturing. Maybe Blythe had stolen her sunblock just for fun. “How did you two hook up as roommates, anyway?”
“I put a sign up. My mother said I was stupid sharing my place with an actress, and I should have listened to her. I may not work with people as thrillingly exciting as Blythe, but at least they wouldn’t eat a whole bag of someone’s miniature Snickers and leave all the wrappers in the bag—like you’re not supposed to
notice
there aren’t any candy bars in there anymore.”
“What do you do, anyway?” I asked.
“I work in health insurance. So how you going to find this Tom guy?”
“I’m heading upstate today to follow up on a few leads. Do you think Blythe will call back?”
“Well, she left some of her shit here, so maybe she’ll be back. If she doesn’t, I’m seriously thinking of calling the police.”
I offered her my business card, which she accepted with all the enthusiasm of someone being presented a dead eel, and asked her to have Blythe get in touch if she called again. Yet it didn’t seem likely that Blythe would know Tom’s whereabouts. She’d apparently found someone more receptive to her charms than Tom had been, someone willing to keep her in Snickers for the unforeseeable future. My best lead now was Skidmore, and it was time to haul ass and get up there.
I’d missed most of the commuter traffic, but there were still bumper-to-bumper patches on the Major Deegan, and by the time I reached the New York State Thruway, I’d been warming the seat of my Jeep for well over an hour. As I pulled away from the tollbooth, I experienced a moment of brain spritz—why in God’s name was I spending an entire day in my car looking for a guy I’d never even
met
? Because I’d promised Chris I would help. Because I was moved by Tom’s story. If the good professor couldn’t help, though, I didn’t know what else I could do.
The second half of the trip turned out to be relatively painless. I stuck in a CD of Maria Callas arias, and since there was nothing complicated about the route—New York State Thruway to Exit 24 and then the Adirondack Northway to Saratoga—I listened to her haunting voice and kept my speed at around seventy-two most of the way. The suburbs fell behind me, and before long the Catskills rose in shades of blue and lavender off to my left. I passed stretches of woods and marshes, interrupted periodically by giant eyesores, like mini self-storage units that seemed to go on for miles. When I passed the first Albany exit, my tummy did a weird nostalgia flip, as I remembered my job as a beat reporter for the
Albany Times Union
my first two years out of Brown.
It was just after noon when I pulled off onto the main exit for Saratoga. Though my stomach was starting to rumble, I figured food could wait until after I’d located Carr. I’d visited Saratoga a few times when I was working for the paper—to take in the races, to hear concerts at the performing arts center—and I didn’t need to ask directions. The road off the exit turned into Main Street, which I knew led through the town center, and then flowed right into Broadway. As I passed through the downtown area, I checked out the scene. Though Thoroughbred racing season was over, the town was bustling with people. They strolled along the street in shorts and tank tops and formed bunches in front of the shops and cafés in the five-story brick buildings, which dated back to the 1800s. Some of the buildings displayed American flags, which snapped in the end-of-summer breeze.
I decided I’d stop first at Carr’s house, and if he wasn’t there, I’d proceed down the road to Skidmore. Broadway was an amazing little street lined with glorious old houses that had once been owned by rich horse-loving families like
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