Christmas Trio B. Debbie Macomber

Hardings’ phone number,” Ned commented from the backseat.

      That was obvious. “You might’ve mentioned it at the time,” Linc snapped. They’d been driving around for almost an hour and he had no idea where they were. Mack McAfee had drawn them a map but it hadn’t helped; somehow they’d gone in the wrong direction and were now completely and utterly lost.

      To further complicate matters, a fog had settled in over the area. It seemed they’d run the gamut of Pacific Northwest winter weather, and all within the last eight hours. There’d been sleet and snow, rain and cold. Currently they were driving through a fog so thick he could hardly see the road.

      “Read me the directions again,” he said.

      Mel flipped on the interior light, which nearly blinded Linc. “Hey, turn that off!”

      “I thought you wanted me to read these notes.”

      “You don’t need the light,” Ned told him. “I’ve got them memorized.”

      “So where are we?” Mel asked.

      “You’re asking me?“ Linc muttered in frustration.

      “Okay, okay.” Mel sighed deeply. “Fighting isn’t going to help us find Mary Jo.”

      “You’re right.” Linc pulled over to the side of the road and shifted to face his brothers. “Either of you have any other ideas?”

      “We could go to the firehouse and start over,” Mel said.

      “Once we’re there, we could get the Hardings’ phone number,” Ned added. “We could call and let Mary Jo know we’re on our way.”

      Linc closed his eyes. “Fine. But have either of you geniuses figured out how to get back to the firehouse?”

      “Ah …” Mel glanced at Ned, who shrugged his shoulders.

      “I guess we can’t do that, because we’re lost.”

      “Exactly,” Linc said. “Any other ideas?” He was feeling more helpless and frustrated by the second.

      “We could always ask someone,” Ned suggested next.

      “Who are we supposed to ask? “ Mel cried. “We haven’t seen another car in over half an hour.”

      “There was a place down this road,” Ned said in a tentative voice.

      Linc stared at him. “Where?”

      “You’re sure about that?” Mel didn’t seem to believe him, and Linc wasn’t convinced, either.

      “It’s there, trust me.” Ned’s expression, however, did little to inspire Linc’s confidence.

      “I remember the name,” his youngest brother said indignantly. “It was called King’s.”

      “What kind of place was it?”

      Ned apparently needed time to consider this.

      “A tavern?” Linc asked.

      Ned shook his head.

      “A gas-and-go?” Mel offered.

      “Could’ve been. There were a bunch of broken-down cars out front.”

      Linc didn’t recall any such place. “How come I didn’t see it?” he asked.

      “ ‘Cause you were driving.”

      That actually made sense. Concentrating on maneuvering down these back roads in the fog, it was all he could do to make sure his truck didn’t end up in a ditch.

      “I think I saw it, too,” Mel said a moment later. “The building’s set off the road, isn’t it?”

      Ned perked up. “Yes!”

      “With tires edging the driveway?”

      “That’s the one!”

      “Do we have a prayer of finding it again?” Linc asked his brothers.

      Ned and Mel exchanged looks. “I think so,” Ned told him.

      “Good.” Linc put the pickup back in gear. “Which way?”

      “Turn around,” Ned told him.

      Linc started down the road, then thought to ask, “Are you sure this King’s place is open?”

      “Looked like it to me.”

      “Yeah,” Mel concurred. “There were plenty of lights. Not Christmas lights, though. Regular lights.”

      Linc drove in silence for several minutes. Both his brothers were focused on finding this joint. Just when the entire trip seemed futile, Linc crested a hill and emerged out of the fog, which made a tremendous difference in visibility. Instantly he breathed easier.

      “There!” Ned shouted, pointing down the roadway.

      Linc squinted and, sure enough, he saw the place his brothers had been yapping about. Maybe there was some hope, after all.

      Linc had no idea how his sister had ended up in the boondocks. He wished she’d stayed in town, but, oh, no, not Mary Jo.

      As they neared the building, Linc noticed a sign that said King’s. Linc could see what his brother meant; it was hard to tell exactly what type of business this was. The sign certainly didn’t give any indication. True, there were beat-up old cars out front, so one might assume it was some sort of junk or salvage yard. The building itself was in ill repair; at the very least, it needed a coat of paint. There wasn’t a single Christmas decoration in sight.

      However, the Open sign in the window was lit.

      Linc walked up to the door, peered in and saw a small restaurant, basically a counter with a few stools, and a convenience store. He went inside and strolled up to the counter, taking a seat. Mel and Ned joined him.

      A large overweight man wearing a stained white T-shirt and a white apron waddled over to their end of the counter as if he’d been sitting there all day, waiting for them.

      “Merry Christmas,” Linc said, reaching for the menu.

      “Yeah, whatever.”

      This guy was in a charming mood.

      “Whaddaya want?” the cook asked.

      “Coffee for me,” Linc said.

      “What’s the special?” Mel asked, looking at a sign on the wall that said, Ask About Our Daily Special.

      “Meat loaf, mashed potatoes, corn.”

      “If you want to order food, it’s gotta be takeout,” Linc told his brothers, although now that the subject had come up, Linc realized he was hungry, too. Famished, in fact.

      “We do takeout,” the cook said, filling Linc’s mug with coffee that had obviously been in the pot far too long. It was black and thick and resembled liquid tar more than coffee.

      “Is that fresh?” Linc risked asking.

      “Sure is. Made it yesterday.”

      Linc pushed the mug away. “We’ll take three meat loaf sandwiches to go,” he said, making a snap decision.

      “You want the mashed potatoes with that?”

      “Can I have potato chips instead?” Ned inquired.

      “I guess.”

      “Say,” Linc said, leaning back on the stool. “Do you happen to know where the Harding ranch is?”

      The cook scowled at him. “Who’s askin’?”

      Linc didn’t want to get into long explanations. “A friend.”

      Cook nodded. “Cliff’s a … neighbor.”

      “He