"Whoa! You know Quinn's feelings on this entire project. There's no way he'd consent to travel all the way from Boston."
"I know, I know," she said. "It's too early. But if Brockville is just like Howie described, we have to get Quinn and Howie on the same page. Tell me you'll come down Friday!"
I agreed. After all, Howie and Betsy were apparently committed. I opined to keep Quinn and Martha out of the picture, at least at present.
"Howie is afraid to ask Quinn anyway but he remains adamant the five of us are in this together and he's still hyper about secrecy."
We firmed plans although it meant my cancelling a night out with a coworker. While part of me remained curious, the sane part was apprehensive about the direction this quest was taking us. We were tip toeing toward something impossible and it made me nervous.
On the flight down to Washington a strange and perhaps unfair thought hit me. Might Howie be faking this business? While he exuded honesty and sincerity, in truth we barely knew the man. Everything he described could, as Quinn so succinctly put it, be a mind constructed fairy tale. Or, might it be a carefully manufactured story? Even if Brockville proved to be all he described, what would that tell us? He may have spent time there or read about the place; we only had his word to the contrary. Try as I might, I could fathom no reason why he'd perpetrate such a complex fraud.
Betsy was knee deep in meetings through the dinner hour so I was designated to baby sit Howie. Betsy left the key to her sumptuous room, in the city's finest hotel, allowing me to drop off my duds before meeting him in the hotel lobby. He was staying in less splendid quarters a few blocks away.
"I can't thank you and Betsy enough," he prattled as we shook hands. "She even made my reservations and got me a discount. I'd be lost here on my own."
"I'm pleased she's helping you. I guess you're both excited about finding Alder's Bridge actual exists."
He read the limited enthusiasm in my tone. "I'm sorry I'm so positive about this. I suppose it's wishful thinking."
"Let's talk about it over a drink." One glance at the hotel bar price list sent us scampering down the street in search of a place that didn't charge a five star price for a domestic beer. Two blocks away we found a dark spot that catered to happy hour regulars. Once on our stools and served, I asked him his plans if he did in fact recognize the town of his dream.