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“Sure.”
Murphy steps aside, and I lower my shoulder, leaning against the solid wood. I push hard, but the casing around the door is old and swollen with years of dampness and Southern humidity. The door doesn’t crack, not even a quarter of an inch.
“Well, hell feathers,” Murphy curses under his breath.
“Let me give it a go.” Juliet taps my arm. “Lots of experience with tricky doors. My last apartment was a real pain.”
I arch a brow at her, doubtful she’s going to be able to unstick the door, but I move aside anyway.
She twists the brass in her hand and pulls it toward her. Then she pops her hip in the center of the wood, giving the middle panel a hard thrust. The door springs open with a loud creak.
She glances over her shoulder at me. “It’s all about finesse.”
“Alrighty. Glad we got that worked out.” Murphy dusts his palms together, brushing off invisible dirt. “I’m going to grab the WD-40 for ya, just in case.”
“Sounds good. Thank you.” I nod at the older man, but he’s already shuffling back down the hall.
“Okay.” I step aside, letting Juliet enter the room first.
The Magnolia Room is spacious, complete with an en suite bathroom, and I’m grateful we don’t have to share the hall bath.
A king-size poster bed stands in the center of the room, covered with a white duvet. A mountain of pillows is piled high against the dark headboard, and the bed looks mighty comfortable. The floors are wide-plank wood, the walls painted a light blue. A television hangs on the far wall across from the bed, and there’s a chest of drawers. A window seat flanks the wall, the last rays of daylight spilling into the room.
“I’ll grab your bag and the key; then we can figure out where to get dinner.”
Juliet nods, and I head outside to the truck to get our stuff. The air’s cooler here, and a lot less damp without the ocean nearby. A dog barks next door, but otherwise the street’s quiet. A few porch lights flicker on, families settling in for the night. Getting ready for work and school the next day, I suppose.
We better hurry, or we may not find anywhere to eat tonight. I have no idea if the diner’s open past lunchtime, and I didn’t see a single restaurant on the way into town.
Bags in hand, I stop back at the desk to retrieve the keys.
“Here ya go. I’m Liz, by the way. Liz Moss.”
“King Montgomery. Nice to meet you.”
“I suppose you two will be needing to get some supper. The diner I told ya about stays open the latest around here. It’s called the Five-to-Niner. But you best hurry, since it’s Sunday. Milly’s taken to closing early on Sundays.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” I tip my hat and head back upstairs to fetch Juliet.
Ten minutes later we’re sitting in a booth at the diner, and I swear I’m back in the 1950s. Everything about this place screams vintage, from the long Formica counter at the back to the pleather booths and the white linoleum tile floors.
“What are y’all drinking tonight?” Our waitress stares down at us, pen poised over her pad.
“I’ll have a tea, please,” Juliet says, still scanning the menu.
“You want the peach tea? Sweet or unsweet?”
“Peach sounds great. And I’ll take it sweet, thanks.”
“And you?” The waitress stares at me, waiting.
“I’ll have a water.”
“It’s tap. Nothing fancy.”
“That’s fine.”
The waitress scurries away with our drink orders, and Juliet peers at the menu, her finger running up and down the sticky plastic.
