Chapter 12 #2
A little thrill ran through me at the complement, so I built on it.
“I’m opening a store soon. Out at the Rookery.
Yarn and stuff. I want to do a few classes maybe, but it’s going to be very casual.
I’ll have time on my hands. And…and I wonder if you’d ever think about a partner going in with you on the diner. ”
His eyebrows rose and he blinked.
“Just maybe think about it?”
“Sure. Sure, Pipes. I’ll keep it in mind.”
“Good. Say, about the night when Hugo was killed…”
He finished his soda and nodded.
“You went out for your break. Did you see anyone out there? Hear anything unusual?”
“I heard cars leaving the parking lot out front. Normal. And that was it. I wish I’d seen someone—even Hugo. But it was quiet. Sorry. I don’t like the idea of a killer this close to my diner, either.”
“It’s a lot,” I agreed. “And I know the police already questioned you.”
“Over and over. Hatter and Shoe really make you feel like you need to tell them your life story even when you haven’t done anything wrong.”
“Order!” Shelly called out, pushing a receipt across the pass-through.
“My adoring audience calls.” Buzz pushed off the counter and took up his station at the grill.
I filled coffee, brought out the highchair for the kiddo who was going to show up with parents in a couple minutes. Plated up the cobbler the sisters were going to order soon. Than was gone, having left a very nice tip.
Aggie was working at a steady pace, too, but she was scowling.
I crossed paths with her near the water pitchers. “Hey. How’s it going?”
“I hate this job.” She pulled a stack of paper napkins and shoved them in her apron pocket.
“I thought you liked it here.”
Her scowl shifted into a frown. “The diner’s fine.” The way she said it made it sound like it was very much not fine. “It’s just all these boring people. They order the same boring things. They say the same boring things. I used to have a job I loved.”
“The antique store?”
“I was so good, you should have seen it. I could spot a rare find from a thousand feet.”
“Wow,” I said. “Why’d you leave the industry? You could have worked in another antique store.”
“No. No. I had to get away from all of it.”
“So why do this instead?”
“It’s still a place to…meet interesting people. To see interesting things. I’ve overheard—” She glanced up at me, shrugged. “You know how it is. People have conversations in diners like they’re not out in public.”
“So true.”
“And the location is perfect for…I mean it’s close to Ordinary, which is an interesting little town. All those festivals.”
“Yeah, Bertie—she’s the community organizer—is a powerhouse.”
“It’s quirky. Different. I guess I wanted different.”
“Speaking of different. You know the other night? When Hugo was killed?”
Everything about her changed. She was no longer frowning or scowling or trying to convince me she changed her entire career to be near a small town no one outside of Oregon had ever heard of.
She smiled, bright, like a switch had been thrown, the curtains had opened and it was showtime.
“It was terrible,” she said. “Did you hear anything else about it? About what he stole?”
Weird that she seemed to go straight toward the fact that he was a thief every time I brought up his death.
“No. I don’t even know if he had stolen anything.”
“Come on. He was a thief. He stole something that made someone mad. Mad enough to…” She made a stabbing motion.
“Like jewels?”
“Oh, there are things more valuable than jewels, things people would never expect. Vases, artwork, jewelry boxes, stamps, cars.”
I laughed. “I don’t think he had a Ferrari stuffed in his pocket.”
She grinned. “Never know. Keys to one? Location of one? But probably something smaller. Are you sure you didn’t see anything on him?”
I thought back. No, he’d looked like someone whose coat had been pulled back—or searched. That thought stopped me in my tracks.
What if whoever had killed him had searched his pockets and found the item he had stolen?
What if they’d thought he had a stolen item, then searched his pockets and hadn’t found it?
Would that be cause enough for murder?
“You went out on break that night, right before Buzz, didn’t you?”
She blinked. “Sure. Of course I did. The police already questioned me. I was only outside for a couple minutes. Didn’t see anything. Didn’t hear anything. I was in the bathroom for the rest of my break, resting my feet. Then I left.”
Our bathroom was a little more upscale than most diners, and had a sitting area sectioned off to one side with a couple comfortable chairs. The staff tried not to use it during busy hours, but it’d been late and there hadn’t been very many customers.
Buzz didn’t care if we used it when the diner was in a lull.
“Shoot!” She spun and hurried off to one of her tables. She got there just in time to catch the bowl of clam chowder as it got elbowed by a teen trying to get out of her jacket.
“I’m so sorry,” the girl said. “I forgot it was there.”
“You should pay better attention,” Aggie grumbled, shaking the spilled chowder off her hands. “I’ll get you a new bowl.”
The girl made more apologies, which Aggie waved off.
I watched Aggie carry the bowl back to the kitchen.
How had she known to catch that bowl? Had the teens already been clumsy, so she was keeping an eye on them?
Did she have magic?
Or was it as simple as being a waitress gave you a sixth sense for which tables were going to be trouble?
I gave her a thumbs up as she returned with a fresh bowl of chowder, and she gave me a stiff nod.
Shelly was already on her way with a mop. Like I said, waitresses have a sixth sense for these things.
She and Aggie cleaned up the spill.
I filled water glasses for my customers.
Futures bubbled, little repeated flashes:
Vandre was here…
Vandre was here…
Vandre was here…
Good. I had some questions for Detective Demigod.
I poured a cup of coffee, placed it on the table, and told Buzz to set me up a BLT with fruit on the side.
Once the sandwich and fruit were next to the coffee, I told Buzz I was on break.
Just as Vandre walked through the door.