The old man came back from the pump. "That's two seventy-six, son. Took
a little over ten."
The driver paid and started for the door.
"See you around," I said.
"Yeah, sure thing."
I turned back to the old man and asked, "What do I owe you for the
groceries?"
"Call it three and a quarter," he said slowly, not taking his eyes off
the window where the bus still sat while the driver worked the gas
pedal. The aimless whirring finally caught and the bus lumbered off.
"Something funny there. Real funny."
"What do you mean?"
He came out of it, took my money, and leaned closer so even Fred, who
was still fingering plugs at the far counter, couldn't hear. "You know,
that young feller came by last night and that bus of his was empty.
There's a fork in the road up ahead and he went to the right. Nothing
up that away at all. The road just deadheads into the brush for about
three miles and that's it. And I would've sworn that's where he came
from just now. Didn't hear him go back last night and ain't seen him
all morning. Don't know where all those people come from."
"He said they were from some young people's group in Winook."
The old man looked surprised. "Winook? No town around here by that name
that I heard of--and I been here a mighty long time."
I picked up my load of groceries and started for the door. "Maybe I
misunderstood him," I mumbled. "He must've meant some other town."
Out in the car, I let the motor idle for a minute. Up the road for
about three miles, the old man had said. My stomach felt funny and the
palms of my hands were oozing dampness. But I had to take a look, I had
to go.
"What's the matter?" Fred asked.
"Nothing," I said. I put the car in gear and went straight ahead. I
took the right fork.
"Where you going?"
"Just up the road a bit. I want to check on something."