Mocha Mayhem

Chapter Nine

The photo was of Angela, a thin man with slightly graying hair and a widow's peak, and—Regina! The three stood on a beach in front of a sand dune, and it appeared to have been taken fairly recently, if Angela's appearance was any indication. I shook my head and tried to reassure myself that surely it wasn't Regina; she would obviously be much older now than the teenaged girl pictured in the photo, but the resemblance was eerily uncanny. After staring at the image in a mixture of utter confusion and fear for a few moments, I decided the most logical option was to simply ask Angela about it.

I took quick steps up to the front of the building and mentioned that I had another question for her, about a picture I noticed in her office. (I also apologized for my intrusion, brownie points for me.) To Angela's credit, she didn't seem the least bit put-off that I'd intruded into her office area and that I was still bothering her despite the fact that it was now probably much later than she had planned to leave.

Angela scratched at her right temple, her free hand still fussing with the cash register. "Are you thinking of the one from our family reunion with the huge crowd of people wearing matching shirts, or the one of my grandmother? Or is it the Christmas photo with my cat Sneakers?"

"The one at the beach."

"Ah, why, that's Frank and his daughter! What makes you mention that one?"

I suddenly felt embarrassed. Obviously, Angela's boyfriend's daughter wasn't Regina. I think I'd had a little too much coffee and perhaps not quite enough sleep. Time to ad lib something. "Uh...the sand dunes at the beach. They look pretty neat. Is that the Traverse City area, where Frank's from?"

"Yes, indeed! I visited him there last summer, and we went hiking in the Sleeping Bear Dunes. They're quite lovely, especially at sunset. And sunrise." She finished her work at the register and began typing a bit into the computer beside it.

"What's Frank's daughter like? Was that your first time meeting her?"

"We'd met a couple times before. She's a freshman—er, no, I think a sophomore now in college. I never had a daughter of my own, but we get along just fine." She pushed back from her computer. "Anything else, dear?"

"No," I said, biting my lip. "Thank you so much for your time." I apologized again for taking so much of her time and hurried out the front door, allowing Angela to lock it behind me. Though I wasn't certain yet that the conversation had led me in any sort of positive direction, I still felt that I'd gathered some information from the exchange. I couldn't wait to talk with Sam.

But first, my date awaited me!

***

It wasn't atypical of me to be late for a date. In other words, it was highly typical. Of our previous three dates, I'd already been late for all three.

Now it was Date #4, which was starting to seem pretty dang serious. We were going out to dinner before Keith played a gig at a local tavern. Every other Thursday night, he'd play Celtic tunes at the Irish bar downtown. Sam and I had stumbled upon him playing shortly after I'd returned to town, and this time around Keith and I were dating. Funny how situations can change over just a couple short months.

Before his show, however, if my intuition was correct, we were going to eat at that same pub. They offered Irish cuisine, with fish and chips or bangers and mash being their most popular combos. Of course, like most bars in Wisconsin, you could also grab a burger, pizza, or brat if you preferred. Today, I'd already decided, was a burger day. I was just feeling it.

Keith picked me up from the cabin in his green pick-up, and I hopped in the passenger seat like a giddy high schooler on a date. I'd donned a cute little navy-blue sundress and flats. And I'd even managed to put on a little make-up. (I hoped I did it right.) I was feeling flirty and summery, and, with the windows rolled down and the fading evening sunlight beaming through the trees, it could just as easily have been a summer back in my carefree teen years.