Aspen Allegations - A Sutton Massachusetts Mystery

Chapter 19

It was the night before Thanksgiving, and the Milltown Tavern in Millbury was an absolute madhouse. It was also the cleanest I had ever seen the neighborhood pub. The wood floors were shining with polish, every table gleamed, and even the air smelled fresh and crisp. The team at the restaurant had done their utmost to prepare for the waves of home-comers.

For surely it seemed as if half of the people stuffed into every corner of the pub had come home for the holiday. There were greetings from old school friends, cheers of welcome from across the bar, and the bartenders worked at a frenzied pace trying to keep up with the constant stream of requests for refills.

I sat at the table nearest the dance floor, watching while Jason lugged in speaker cabinets and amplifier units. Only the rhythm guitarist was here; it was barely six p.m. The others wouldn't be coming for a while yet, as the band didn't go on until nine.

I looked over the one-sheet menu, considering my options. They had lobster on the menu, as well as scallops and haddock, but I finally decided to go with a New York Sirloin with steamed vegetables. There was little chance of a bartender coming to check on me in this throng; I pushed my way through the crowd to get to the bar. It was a center island in the middle of the building's floor. To its right was the dance floor and tables, while the left area held a large TV and smaller stools for the non-dance crowd.

"A New York Sirloin, and what comes with it?" I called out over the noise.

"Oh, we don't have that today," she shouted back.

I glanced down at the menu. "OK, a Delmonico," I amended. "What are my options?"

"Fried, mashed, rice –"

I shook my head. "I'm sorry, I meant what vegetable."

"Oh, tonight's vegetable is carrots."

I winced. I used to hate carrots with a passion. Recently, with a great amount of effort, I had pushed myself so that I could at least tolerate them. Barely. Apparently the efforts had been worth it, if they were going to be half my meal. "All right," I agreed, and got a Diet Coke before heading back to my table.

I pulled out a stack of origami paper and began folding paper cranes. It was a way I passed the time, and I hoped that the crowds would appreciate having a free gift as part of the evening's entertainment.

The lead guitarist arrived, with his girlfriend Morgan right by his side. I found it fascinating that we shared such an uncommon name. She came over to sit opposite me, dressed for fun, with an elegant, draping top in crimson over a pair of jeans. She and her boyfriend were training for triathlons and it showed in her lean form.

I put aside my paper folding. "What are you two up for Thanksgiving?"

"Going to see relatives," she said. "And you?"

"I usually have Thanksgiving dinner with my father," I said. "I figured we'd go out to the Publick House in Sturbridge. It's an inn dating from 1771, and George Washington stayed there. My dad loves their turkey dinners even at other times of the year, so I thought that he would appreciate their full spread."

"That sounds lovely." She looked around. The drummer had arrived, but his girlfriend, Abigail, wasn't in sight. "Is Abigail coming?"

I glanced around. "I didn't hear either way."

She went up and talked with her boyfriend Todd for a moment. "Apparently she's sick," she reported as she came back to the table. "It's just you and me tonight."

"I hope she's feeling better soon."

The bartender came by. "I'm sorry, we don't have carrots today after all," she stated. "We only have corn."