"That storm freaked me out," Quentin said, making sure to widen his eyes a little more. "For someone who has never seen snow in his life, that was a lot of snow as a first introduction."
That resulted in more laughs and some good-natured remarks about people who weren't used to snow. None of it was unfriendly, and he fed their pride in surviving the harsh winters here by complimenting them a few times.
"What brings a boy from California all the way to upstate New York?" Laura asked.
The woman to her right gently slapped her arm. "We're not upstate New York. Don't let the real upstate folks hear you."
Quentin frowned. "This is not upstate New York?"
The women started talking at the same time, but then one managed to take the lead. "Technically, it's midstate, though no one ever calls it that. To someone from the city, we’re definitely upstate, but to someone from Buffalo, this is not upstate. A little farther south, if you get close to Albany, we call that the Capital District. I guess we’re smack dab in the middle here, so we just say New York."
"Well, whatever it's called, it's beautiful here. The mountains are amazing, especially with the snow," Quentin said, and that earned him proud smiles. He understood that he couldn't procrastinate any longer. They had asked the question of why he was here several times now, and to change the topic again or delay responding would be rude.
"I’ve come to Northern Lake for a research project. I work for the University of California, and I'm running for a study on small-town dynamics."
The café grew silent again, all the women staring at him with what he hoped was friendly surprise. Mary stopped by just then and placed his hot chocolate and pie in front of him.
"Small-town dynamics? What do you mean by that?" Joanna asked when Mary had walked away again.
"I have a master’s degree in sociology, which is basically the study of groups of people. My thesis was about the difference in dynamics between neighbors in big cities and small towns. My professor liked my analysis of the small town in California I studied, and he encouraged me to do further research. Since we wanted results from somewhere else, I came here."
“I’ve lived in the city," one of the women said. She hadn't spoken up so far, and she seemed to be the youngest of the group. "I left a good career on Wall Street to move here, and I haven't regretted it a single day. The city will eat you up and spit you out."
It took a few seconds for Quentin to realize that by the city she meant New York City specifically. "I can imagine," he said. "I couldn't survive in a big city either."
"City folks don't even know each other's names," someone spoke up. "Every time you read some poor schmuck died and wasn't found till two weeks later, it's always been in a big city. That would never happen here. We look out for each other."
The others hummed in agreement, and Quentin smiled. "That's the kind of dynamic I'm studying."
"And when you say studying, does that mean you'll be observing us for months?" Joanna asked, and her voice held a hint of distrust there, of displeasure.
"No, absolutely not," Quentin hurried to reassure her. "That would be a gross invasion of your privacy. I was hoping to do some interviews with local residents."
Joanna's previous friendliness was back. "Oh, okay. So you mean that you would sit down for, like, an hour with each of us and ask us questions?"
Quentin nodded. "Yes. I'm hoping to interview as many of you as possible and then compare all the results and see if I can draw any conclusions."
Of course, it wasn't quite as simple as that, but he didn't think they'd want to hear him give a course on Statistics 101.
The women looked around the table to each other, and he saw nothing but open reactions. It seemed his approach had worked, and a rush of excitement flowed through him.
"I'm sure all of us would be more than happy to talk to you, and if you give us a few days, we can ask our neighbors and friends as well. This is a friendly town, and we’re proud of our community," Laura said.
"That would be amazing. I would appreciate it so much. I had hoped for a friendly reception, but you never know."
"Do you have contact information for us? A phone number where we can reach you or an email address? That way, we can contact you if we have a list of people ready and willing to talk to you."
Laura was a practical woman, and Quentin appreciated that. He quickly wrote down his name, email address, and phone number on his note bloc and ripped off the sheet, then handed it to Laura. "Thank you so much. Laura, was it, right?"
Laura beamed at him, clearly pleased he had remembered her name. "Yes, that's right. Let us do some asking around, and we’ll get back to you, Quentin."
She glanced at the paper he had given her, and something must've caught her eye because she kept looking at what he’d written. A small frown appeared on her forehead. "Your last name is Frost?"
Quentin's heart skipped a beat. Did she recognize it? Did she know his father? Could he really have gotten this lucky that the first person he talked to actually knew him?
"Yes. My father was from this area originally. From this town, actually. I don't know if any of you know him, Leonard Frost?"
To his right, a spoon clattered on the table, Joanne stared at him with shock painted all over her face. A glance around the table showed she wasn't the only one. An uneasy feeling settled in his stomach. What had just happened here? They had been so friendly and welcoming until… Until he had mentioned the name of his father.
"Did I say something wrong?" he asked, and his voice trembled a little.
The glances the women exchanged this time were different. Unfriendly. The heaviness in his stomach grew worse. Something had gone horribly wrong, and he had no idea what.
Laura rose from the table and ripped the note with his name on it in small pieces. "On second thought, I don't think anybody is willing to talk to you. Let's go, ladies."
Quentin had never felt smaller in his life as when he watched the women grab their jackets and walk out of the café. He was left with his hot chocolate and pie, both untouched. What the hell had happened here? His father's name had triggered something, but what?
Tears burned in his eyes as he pushed his chair back. Obviously, he wasn't staying here. He didn't know what had gone wrong, but it was clear he wasn't welcome anymore.
Mary stood a few steps away, arms crossed and brows furrowed. Her face didn't show the animosity of the other women, but not the friendliness from before either. It gave him the courage to ask, "What did I do wrong?"
She gently shook her head. "Honey, the name of Leonard Frost is a notorious one in this town. It's clear from your reaction you didn't know, but you may want to do some research into him."
He swallowed. "Research into what?"
She pressed her lips together as if debating whether to say more. Her frown intensified as she studied him. Finally, she said, “People have a long memory here, Quentin. It may have been twenty years ago, but they haven't forgotten."
With that, she walked away, and Quentin knew he was dismissed. He held his head low as he hurried back to his car. He hightailed it out of Northern Lake.