In the town square of Scanesett, Maine, a Quebec-bound traveler got off a bus to go to the bathroom--and disappeared. Enter McMorrow, passing through as he follows the route Benedict Arnold took to Quebec. McMorrow checks out the missing person and soon finds himself entangled with a bunch of lethal small-town hoods who prey like spiders on the weak and defenseless. What happened to the bus man? Will McMorrow die trying to find out?
The lunch stop was over and the tour bus heaved its way out of the parking lot and headed north. I stood in the diesel haze with the Chamber of Commerce lady, Sandy something-or-other, and a big guy on a small bicycle, who, with the patience of a scavenger, sat ten feet away and listened.
Sandy had me by the left upper arm. She was telling me that I should write a story about her little shoe-factory town, Scanesett, Maine.
I listened. Smiled. Tried to break her grip but couldn't. I explained that my story, for Historic Touring magazine, was supposed to be about Benedict Arnold and his march to Quebec. Arnold went through Scanesett, at least what there was of it in 1775, but he didn't stay long. If it hadn't been for the falls, he wouldn't have gotten out of his boat. I just wanted to know if there were any historical museums in town. Scanesett might get a couple of sentences. It might get a paragraph.
"But maybe another time," I said.
Sandy held tight. Smiled her best cheerleader's smile. The heat shimmered off the asphalt. The big guy on the bicycle moved closer. Sandy turned toward him.
"Robie, do you mind?" she hissed. He rolled back and she switched her smile back on.