Page 18 of Dark Side of the Cloth

“Makes you sick, doesn’t it? And to think that piece of garbage ate in my restaurant. Would you believe he had the nerve to sit at the counter and eat my food every Saturday for as long as I can remember?” Mabel smacked her hand down on the table, getting the attention of the other booths. “No wonder his wife picked up and left him. She probably knew just what kind of sick he is.”

The restaurant became noisy again as people went back to their conversations. “I’ll tell you one thing if he ever shadows my door again, I will gladly beat him to death with my rolling pin! I hope that one burns in hell while he is hung up by his toenails.”

“I know that one will get what’s coming to him. You don’t have to worry about that,” Dean said.

“I hope so. Was that too ungodly to say, Father?” Mabel teased.

He’d learned pretty quickly that Mabel had her own code. He was pretty certain the worst thing she’d done was use her sharp tongue or purposely pour salt in a cup of coffee, but he did enjoy her enthusiasm.

He chuckled and sat the paper aside to take a bite of the pie. “Still the best pie I’ve ever eaten.”

“But is it better than the grandiose burger?”

“Oh, that is a tough call—I think I’ll have to go with a tie.” He smiled as Mabel’s face lit up.

“You always know how to butter me up. One of these days, I’ll give you my secret recipes. Someone might as well enjoy them when I’m dead and gone.”

“Don’t say that. You’re too young yet to think that way.” Dean gave her a wink, and Mabel blushed and gave a little chuckle.

“Please, we both know one of these days you’ll be reading over my cold corpse, and I don’t want any of those mushy sermons. No, I want it to be a big old celebration with daisies tied to every pew and a picnic in the park with food from my restaurant lining every table. Will you see to that Father? I’m counting on you.” She paused in her teasing rant, her smile slipping. “Sometimes I wish my Fred and I had been able to have children, but then I think of all the worry and pain I’ve seen in parents’ eyes, and I don’t know…”

Mabel turned her gaze from the window, and he knew exactly what she was thinking. Dean reached out and squeezed Mabel’s hand, the corner of his mouth pulling up in a half-hearted smile.

“Yasmine thinks of you like a mother. I have seen it in her eyes. I know that she will make sure that no matter what, you will always feel like you have family around.”

Mabel gave him a small smile.

“She is a special girl, the best heart I have ever seen and sweeter than my butter tarts.”

“Well, speaking of Yasmine, I wanted to talk to you about her.” Dean took another bite of the delicious pie before continuing. “I’m hoping you can help me with some information.”

“I’ll give it my best, but this old brain is not what it used to be.” Mabel smiled, all the sadness evaporating.

“We both know that’s not true.” Dean raised an eyebrow at Mabel, and she laughed.

Dean looked around and then lowered his voice, leaning forward as he whispered, “Do you know what happened to Yasmine? I just came from the funeral home, and she’s pretty upset over this tragedy with the young girls.” He tapped the paper on the table. “I’m worried about her. I’ve never seen her so distraught.”

“Oh, the poor dear.” Mabel shook her head, her gaze locked on the salt shaker. “I’m not sure that is one story I should be telling.” Mabel cast her eyes back to him as she chewed her lower lip.

“Who better to confide in than someone who only speaks to the Lord?” He gave Mabel a small smile. “I only want to help Yasmine if I can.”

The older woman sighed heavily.

“I guess you’re right. It’s one of those stories you never forget, much like this one.” Mabel picked up the newspaper and stared at the cover page.

“Yasmine had a twin, Raquel, and those two girls were completely inseparable. I know they say twins are close, but I didn’t quite believe it until those girls were born. I can’t tell you how many times those two would rush through that door after school and order strawberry milkshakes. They had to be loaded with whip cream and two cherries each.”

Mabel smiled as she recalled the memories to him.

“Oh, those two were a bit of a handful, I tell ya—I still say it was the ginger in them. Oh, did they have the best laugh, like sweet tinkling bells on a summer’s breeze, and their eyes alight with young wonder. They were so very different and yet so much the same—believe it or not, Yasmine was the outgoing one. The one that loved sports and fishing with her dad and much preferred the dirt. While Raquel was a little shy and she always wore the prettiest dresses and loved to bake with their mother.”

Mabel stopped to wipe a lone tear from her eye.

“The horror that Yasmine and Raquel faced—it happened the night of the Thanksgiving Harvest. Everyone was gathered downtown, and the kids were in attendance until after the fireworks. Yasmine’s parents took her and Raquel back to the house and then returned to the party just like every other set of parents in town. It was a different time then. We never thought…people just didn’t…” Mabel stopped and played with the edge of her crisp, white apron.

“It’s okay, Mabel. I won’t tell Yasmine you told me. I promise I just want to find a way to bring her some peace in whatever has her so distressed.”

The older woman rubbed her eyes, and for a brief moment, he thought she was going to clam up, but she continued.