Chapter 7: A Girl

The spatula slipped out of my hand and hit the flat-top.

Nobody noticed but Orsola.

The tall lobsterman squinted at the screen.

"Falcone," he said. "Isn't that the mob fella?"

"Must be," said the one with the hearing aids. "Look at the coat on him."

Livio didn't look at the cameras once.

He looked at the steps.

Ginevra's hand stayed on her stomach the whole time.

Then the news went to the weather, and the two old men went back to arguing about a boat engine.

I scraped the grill.

I scraped it until the steel shone.

When they'd gone, Orsola locked the door behind them and turned the sign, and then she came and took the scraper out of my hand.

"When did you last see a doctor?"

"The night I left."

"You bled."

"A little. On the stairs. Not since."

"A little." She hung the scraper on its hook. "Get your coat."

"Orsola, the investigator..."

"Is gone, and the next one hasn't come yet. Get your coat."

Machias was forty minutes down the coast in her truck. The heater only had two settings, off and furnace.

The county clinic was a low brick building between a bank and a Dunkin'.

The receptionist had a cardigan with snowmen on it and a computer that beeped every time she touched it.

"Name?"

I hesitated.

Orsola was holding my elbow. She squeezed it.

No lies.

"Caterina Falcone."

"Date of birth?"

I told her.

"Insurance?"

"I'll pay cash."

"I just need your license for the file, hon."

I gave it to her.

She typed, and frowned at the screen, and typed again, and the computer beeped twice.

"Address?"

I looked at Orsola.

Orsola looked back at me.

"Quoddy Tide Motel," I said. "Route 189, Lubec."

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