Aftermath: Part 3
She called me on Thursday night at 10:07 PM. I'd just finished the last of my homework, and was sitting at my desk in my bedroom thinking about what to do before going to bed.
"Nick, I know where he is."
"He?" I said.
"Men and women smell different."
"Like with perfume versus aftershave?"
"Before that even, but that's not important. He's staying in one of the rental cottages on the south shore of Grand Lake. If he's still here, we might be able to find which one."
"Wait," I said, "how do you figure that?"
"He smelled a little like dill. I didn't think about it last night, but today I got it."
She didn't have to say much more than that for me to make the connection.
The Heinz pickle plant stood on the south shore of Grand Lake. It sat next to a number of old businesses and factories on the edges of downtown. Further down Shoreline Drive could be found cottages, lakeside condos, and surprisingly expensive older homes.
The key point about the Heinz plant was that it reeked of pickles. Ten foot tall barrels stood outside in all weather. With the right wind, the smell could cover a quarter of the city.
"I just got out of work," she said. "I'm at Chuck's Pizza. They were short staffed, so Dad sent me here. Do you want to pick me up in Grandpa's car? I'll be about a block east of the restaurant."
"I'm done with homework so I guess I'm free for a little while."
"I've still got a few algebra problems left," she said. "Do you think we could make it quick?"
"I've got an eleven o'clock curfew," I said. "It'll have to be."
We hung up. I considered telling her to be careful, but I stopped myself. While Chuck's Pizza wasn't in the nicest of neighborhoods these days, she was probably the most dangerous person there.