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A few days later… The glory days of Detroit, Oregon, happened in the mid-twentieth century, after the bust in the logging industry and before William Randall’s grandfather served in the Vietnam Conflict. But the town remained and enticed casual tourists to roam the main street and visit Detroit Lake. Some businesses had closed their doors, the owners going the way of nearly all but 102 permanent residents. The bigger cities of Salem and Portland had a thriving population where money could easily be made and better lives were lived. Or so the many who once loved, and then left, the forested town believed.
Dusk was long gone, and the café was quiet except for the middle-aged man who, dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt, sat near the door and clinked his fork on the thick white ceramic
