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Near the storage closet where fresh linens were kept, she yanked off her boots and stepped into the shoes she’d brought in her backpack, then exchanged her jacket for an apron and started sorting silver ware. She was scheduled to work through the noon crush, then have some time off before dinner. Nell had asked her to return as two other waitresses were out sick. Nell had pulled a face and made quotes with her long fingers as she’d mentioned the flu, but as they were shorthanded, Jessica was fine with it. The more work, the better, though she’d probably have to put off tracking down Cade Grayson.
“Leave that for Marlon,” Misty advised as she swept through the swinging doors and caught Jessica wrapping napkins around sets of knives, spoons, and forks. “Coffee’s already on and, okay, the first of the local yokels who need their caffeine fix should be here in . . . uh”—she glanced down at her watch—“eleven minutes. Hear that, Armando? Kip Cranston will be pounding on the door soon. He’ll want the usual.”
“Already got it going,” Armando said, not even looking over his shoulder as he tossed some onions onto the grill. They sizzled and filled the kitchen with their sweet aroma. Jessica’s stomach growled and she realized she’d forgotten to eat her usual container of yogurt.
“Toast ready?” Misty called. “You know Kip likes rye and Jimmy is always looking for a stack of pancakes. And Patch wants his sausage cooked all the way through, no pink.”
“Sì. I told you! I got this.” Armando flung the words over his shoulder then turned away and muttered something in Spanish under his breath.
None of it, Jessica suspected, was good.
“I’m unlocking the door.” Misty found the keys in a drawer and tucked them into her pocket.
“Sì, sì. I heard you. Dios! ¿Te crees que soy sordo?”
“No, I don’t think you’re deaf,” Misty replied, her lips pursing, her eyes, with their iridescent lilac lids, narrowing. “Just stubborn.”
“Like the bull. El toro. Yes?” With a snort, Armando returned to his work.
Over his mutterings, the roar of the fan, and the popping grease, Jessica heard the thrum of heavy bass and loud rumble of exhaust pipes announcing that Marlon, in his tricked-out Honda, had arrived.
“The Dashing Dishwasher has decided to make an appearance,” Misty said before heading into the dining area. “Now, it’s officially showtime.”
Jessica followed her inside and sure enough, a group of men in their sixties and seventies were huddled under the portico. As Misty unlocked the door and pulled it open, they walked briskly inside. With red faces, stocking caps, bulky jackets, and gloved hands in their pockets, they streamed to the two tables that she had already pushed together.
“ ’Bout time you opened the damn doors,” a grizzled old fellow said good-naturedly. “I was like to freeze, and Ed there, he claimed he’d have to go warm up in the cab of his truck where he keeps a bottle of Jack handy.”
“No need for
extreme measures,” she said, falling into an easy banter. “Coffee all around, except for you, Syd? You want decaf.”
“Yeah,” a short guy said, showing a wide girth matched by a grin that stretched from one side of his bearded face to the other. “Not what I want, but I’d better if I don’t want my ticker to start racing.”
“You got it.” Misty flitted around the table like the pro she was, juggling two pots of hot coffee while the regulars turned up the cups on their tables indicating they’d like a little morning jolt. She poured and chatted while a couple showed up and took a table by the window, away from the crowd in the middle of the room where the group of eight was talking, several conversations buzzing at once.
As Jessica brought water and tea for her table, she heard snippets of gossip. Dan Grayson’s name was mentioned several times but there was another topic of interest, a woman’s body found in a creek on a ranch several miles out of town. She told herself not to make more of it than it was, that it had nothing to do with her, but as she brought an order of a farmer’s breakfast and a veggie omelet to a middle-aged couple near the door, she heard the word mutilation.
Her heart stopped for a fraction of a second.
“What do you mean mutilation?” the woman asked as she found Jessica hovering near the table. In her mid-seventies, she turned her face upward and lifted a hand, catching Jessica’s full attention. “Oh, dear, sorry to bother you, but could you get us a fresh bottle of catsup? This one”—she indicated the small, full bottle resting near the napkin holder and salt and pepper—“is a little, well, you know. It’s got a little bit of gunk around the lid.”
Jessica picked up the offensive glass bottle though she saw nothing other than fresh red catsup within. “Certainly.”
“And could I bother you for another knife? I see a spot on this one’s blade.” Smiling, the woman held up the flatware in question and yes, there was a bit of a water stain on the stainless steel.
“No problem. I’ll be right back.”
“Wait! Please bring some hot water, would you be a dear? My tea’s already gone cold.” Her smile was beneficent, but a little malicious gleam shone in her eyes, as she narrowed her gaze on Jessica through rimless glasses. “If you wouldn’t mind.”
“Not at all.” Jessica was off and the woman turned to her husband again.
“Harry?” she said, catching his attention. “I asked you what you mean by mutilation?”
Though he answered, Jessica couldn’t hear the conversation, whispered as it was. When she returned with the requested items, the woman ended her conversation quickly, then eyeballed the new knife and bottle skeptically.
She took a sip of her tea after Jessica poured hot water into her cup and teabag, then let out a satisfied sigh. “Aaah. Much better,” she intoned, finally sated, probably just because she was able to get someone to do her bidding.
Jessica had the sneaking suspicion that the little errands she ran for the fussy woman were more for the old lady’s amusement than from any real need, but she kept her thoughts to herself and tried not to panic over the bits of information she’d overheard. A dead body had been found? It was a woman? There was mutilation? Oh. God. Jessica’s stomach clenched and she nearly stumbled as she was carrying water glasses to a booth where a man and a woman in uniform had taken a seat.
