She phoned her dad, who was footing the bill, and put him on with Rob, of Robin Hood plumbing, and they sorted it all out. Then she had to walk Hoppy, feed him, lock up and walk the four blocks or so to the Redmonds’ restaurant. The delay meant that she didn’t get to the Ice House until well after six, prime time for the boating and cottage crowd. Mid-August in a touristy town meant that the restaurant was fairly full. The Ice House was right on the river and had a long outdoor patio that lined the whole front, overlooking the river and facing Queensville, with benches for those who just wanted to sit and sip a glass of wine while they watched boats slip past. There was a larger patio at the back, where umbrella-covered tables were popular for the après boating crowd. It was just too hot to sit outside to drink or eat, though; she preferred the air-conditioned, dim interior. As she opened the big oak door, the flood of noise disoriented her for a moment, until she sorted out the thump of music from an old-fashioned jukebox in the front corner, the sports bar section of the Ice House, and the chatter of tanned, relaxed vacationers who had spent an exhilarating day on the water, sailing, water-skiing and wakeboarding.
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