Chapter 11
Her
Cash had been called to the scene of an auto accident just outside town the day I’d had the psychic vision of his dad’s murder, and we hadn’t had a chance to talk in the three days since.
Which was okay by me, because in the time that I’d had to think about it, maybe having visions of murder wasn’t such a cool talent after all.
In fact, maybe it was super freaky and I should simply mind my own damn business.
But I wasn’t about to be that lucky. Especially when I was publicly called out for the little freak I’d certainly turned into. It happened at one of the last tables to finish up their lunch—a four-top of women, all in their golden years.
“Paula says you’re some kinda psychic,” one of them chimed when I got to the table after Wanda had set them at booth number sixteen.
My eyes roved the seated occupants at the booth. I had no idea who the hell Paula was.
“Oh yeah?” I said, trying to play it cool while lifting out the order notepad from my apron. “Why’s that?”
The one in the far corner on my left piped up: “I was in here the day before yesterday, and you told me I should get my car checked.”
My brow furrowed. “Did I?” I didn’t remember either her or saying that, but then, I wasn’t exactly known for my keen memory these days, now, was I?
Paula pumped her head up and down like a Pez dispenser shelling out candy.
“Mm-hmm. You asked me if that was my car,” she paused to point out the window at a white Chevy sedan, parked in the slot right in front of their table.
“And when I said, ‘Yeah,’ you said you thought it was leaking brake fluid and I should get it checked.”
Every pair of eyes at the table looked from Paula to me and back again, like her story was fucking riveting and this was the first time they’d heard it.
And now that she was telling it, I vaguely remembered saying something like that, but how that proved I was psychic seemed like it was going to be a stretch.
Undaunted by my skeptically raised eyebrow, Paula continued: “After dinner, I went out and checked under the car, and there weren’t no fluid leaking, and I thought you were a bit of a kook. So, after leaving here, I went to go see Letta,” she pointed to the woman straight across from her,
who waved at me and I nodded, wondering how long this was gonna take.
“And before I even got there, I ran over a piece of scrap metal that I didn’t see in the road until it was too late! It roughed up my undercarriage for half a mile before it finally shook loose. When I got to Letta’s, I got out and looked under the car, and sure enough,
there was some black fluid leaking out and making a big ol’ puddle! I drove straight to my nephew’s—he fixes cars for extra money, and he said the piece of scrap metal had cut the brake cable, and if I hadn’t come in, I could’ve lost the use of my brakes!”
“Well, I’m glad you’re okay,” I told her, anxious to get their order so that I could get my own bite of lunch soon. I was famished.
“You knew my brake lines were gonna leak before they started leaking!” Paula exclaimed.
I shrugged. “I get feelings sometimes. You all ready to order?”
The woman in the booth closest to my right side said, “Oh, don’t go dismissin’ that. You got the gift, hon!”
I shrugged again, because what was there to say, really? “Want me to guess your drink order?” I asked, trying to divert the subject to an actual order for the table. I’d been playing this game all day and was on a hot streak at the moment.
“Sure!” one of the women said. I eyed her for a second and saw that challenging gleam in her eye just as a yellow lemon flashed in my mind’s eye, right along with a cup of tea.
I smirked, because I knew she didn’t want hot tea with lemon, but how I knew wasn’t something I was actually worried about.
When every head at the table added a nod, I pointed to Paula first, ready to go around the table counterclockwise, and said, “Chocolate milkshake, Coke, coffee, and an Arnold Palmer—lemonade iced tea.”
Four jaws fell open and I laughed.
“Be right back, ladies,” I sang, hurrying off to ready their drink order.
The milkshake was going to be a pain in my ass given that I couldn’t grip the ice cream container well with my casted hand.
It was a big barrel of vanilla ice cream that always slipped away from me whenever I tried to hold it steady while I scooped with my good hand.
I poked my head into the dishwashing room and called to Levi: “Hey, can you help me scoop some ice cream for a chocolate milkshake?”
He grinned. “Sure. Be right out.”
I went back to prep the other drinks, and by the time I’d gotten them on a tray, I could hear the blender, making the milkshake.
Levi was sweet enough to bring it to me when it was finished, and he already had a straw out to finish off what was left in the blender.
“Thanks, bud,” I said, patting him on the shoulder.
He flinched, and I pulled my hand back quickly. “Sorry! Did I hurt you?”
“Naw,” he said, and that familiar tune played through my mind: Liar, liar, pants on fire…
I was starting to hate that fucking tune.
“Okay. Well, thanks again.”
He nodded and hurried off while I pretended not to notice the embarrassed flush of his cheeks.
After handing off the drinks to the four-top and putting in their food order, I stopped to drop off a check to table thirteen, then turned around only to nearly bump right into Cash, standing there, twirling his Stetson while arching an eyebrow. “We should talk.”
I pushed a winning smile to my face. “I’m working.”
“Pish,” Wanda puffed from the counter where she was sorting tickets from the lunch rush. “You go on and take a break, Maddy. Put your food order in too. I don’t think you’ve eaten in hours.”
My stomach grumbled.
“What’ll it be, girly?” Gus asked, grinning at me from the kitchen window.
When not making an offering to Hephaestus (the god of fire), Gus’s burgers were perfection. I grinned at him. “My usual, please.”
He nodded. “Cheeseburger, medium-rare, extra fries—comin’ up!”
When he turned away, I handed Wanda the order for the four-top and followed Cash to a booth at the back of the restaurant. He motioned me in first and I slid in, folding my right hand over my left casted fist. The cast was coming off in two days, thank God. I couldn’t wait to be rid of it.
He pointed to the cast. “How’s the hand?”
“The cast itches and sometimes the bone throbs, but it’s not terrible.”
“And the ribs?”
“I hear they’re great here. Extra barbecue sauce comes on the side.”
He chuckled. “For real, Maddy. How’re you doing overall?”
I nodded. “As long as I keep moving, I’m okay. It’s when I stop that things start to ache.”
Cash tapped his head. “How’re the headaches?”
“Why do I feel like I’m at the doctor’s office getting a checkup?”
“Sheriffs do wellness checkups all the time.”
I sighed. “The headaches come and go. Tolerable. If they get bad, I take some ibuprofen.”
“Any more nightmares?”
I held back a shudder, but just barely. “Nah. I’m good.”
The truth was that I was having the same nightmare every damn time I dozed off, even when it was for a short nap on my breaks in between the lunch and the dinner crowds.
I dreaded going to sleep, knowing that the same terror-filled dream awaited me. And at night, every time I woke up with a start, I’d find Levi hovering nearby with a look of fear and concern.
Apparently, I thrashed around and called out loudly during those episodes.
As much as I hated having the dreams, I hated even more how they were interrupting not just my sleep, but Levi’s too.
But I wasn’t about to tell the sheriff about it.
I was getting a little tired of people looking at me like I might break.
If I told everyone who asked that I was fine, eventually, I’d be fine. Right?
Cash, thank God, took me at my word. After nodding, he said, “I want to talk to you about the other day.”
Wanda appeared at our table, dropping off a cup of coffee and a slice of hot apple pie for Cash and a chocolate milkshake for me. I grinned big at her, and she smiled in return, adding a wink. “Put some meat on them skinny bones of yours,” she said softly before turning away.
The sheriff motioned with his chin toward Wanda’s retreating form. “She says you’re her best worker.”
I took a long pull of the milkshake through the straw before replying.
“Levi is her best worker, Cash. That boy works in a hot, steaming room, washing dishes mostly by hand, keeps the tables clean, the booths wiped down, the floors mopped, trash disposed of, and he even helps to unload and unpack the food supply truck each morning. He never complains,
even when most of the people around here treat him like shi—dirt.”
Cash smirked. “Shidirt?”
“I’m trying to swear less because this town looks at me like I’m the devil’s spawn when I do.”
I might not remember much about myself, but one thing I’d quickly realized was that I tend to color most of my speech with expletives, and that I enjoy getting creative with said expletives when allowed.
The problem was that nobody, and I do mean nobody, seemed to appreciate said creativeness, and I’d been openly tsked, glared at, and actually reprimanded a time or two.
It was fucking annoying.
Cash cut off a fork-size piece of his pie. “That’s probably wise.”
“You don’t seem surprised that Levi’s being treated like dirt by just about everybody in this town.”
He avoided looking at me as he chewed his food and followed that with a sip of coffee. “This pie is so good.”
I sat back in the booth and crossed my arms, which was awkward with the cast, but I managed.
“You know what would be great?” I asked. He looked up. “If we could cut the bullshit and you get honest with me about why everybody seems to have a problem with a sweet kid like Levi.”
Cash coughed, sputtering his coffee. I merely sat there with an arched eyebrow. After he’d coughed a few times into his napkin, he said grudgingly, “Levi created his own trouble.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means, maybe you should ask him.”
“I have asked him, and he won’t say. He’s being bullied, Sheriff, and nobody seems to care.”