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“Sure,” Calypso said and slid her reading glasses out of her purse to scan the menu quickly while half-listening as the girl mentioned something about monkfish and wild trout and . . . God, did she actually say reindeer? A shiver ran through Calypso.
Scowling as she read the menu, she was about to say something about the taxidermy and putting dead animals on display being so nineteenth century and totally un-PC, but the hostess had disappeared. “How rude,” she muttered under her breath, then checked her cell phone, searching for a message from that jerk Reggie.
Another girl, one with a smile plastered to her young face which indicated she, at least, had learned the valuable lesson about customers and tips, slid a water glass onto her table. “Did Tiffany tell you about the specials?” she asked.
“If Tiffany was that sour-faced hostess, then, yes, she did, but I’m not interested in reindeer for God’s sake. What’s wrong with you people?” Calypso asked, setting her phone down after one last peek. “And this,” she indicated the menu with a flip of her wrist to point at the plastic-covered sheets. “You’re a little heavy here on the meat, aren’t you?” She gazed over the half lenses of her glasses. “I mean, do you have anything remotely vegetarian or whole grain or healthy? Or gluten-free? Something that won’t send my cholesterol into the stratosphere?”
The girl opened her mouth, closed it, and finally said, “All . . . all of our entrees are—”
“Oh, forget it. Just get me a cup of coffee. Black. Wait. Is it Starbucks?”
“No. I’m sorry, we use—”
“Doesn’t matter,” Calypso said, sighing through her nose. “Just bring me some skim milk with it. None of that powdered shi—stuff, okay? That’s nothing but chemicals, and I won’t drink it. I’m talking real milk. Make sure it’s not one percent!” She thought about ordering her usual, a house salad with balsamic vinegar dressing, but it didn’t sound appealing in the least, despite her need to always diet. Oh, what she wouldn’t do for a slight case of bulimia, slight being the operative word.
She glanced around the room at the stuffed beasts again, noticing a long-whiskered bobcat posed on a ledge as if ready to pounce on a ring-necked pheasant. Oh, God, soooo barbaric! Then she saw the slowly spinning pie case located on the counter and her stomach nearly rumbled. Chocolate. Strawberry. Key lime. She couldn’t resist. “And a piece of the lemon meringue pie.” She needed to indulge. Just a little. “Oh. Wait. Is it fresh? Made with real lemons?”
“Baked this morning,” the smiling waitress said. Her name tag read TERI with one R.
“Organic, though? Yes?”
“I-I don’t know.”
Well, at least the twit was honest. Calypso pursed her lips, then reminded herself not to, that she was just begging for those nasty little wrinkles around her mouth. That was the main reason she’d given up smoking. God, she missed that guilty little pleasure. She caught the waitress staring at her. “Oh, okay. The pie will do, I suppose.”
“Nothing else?”
“Just the c
offee. With skim? Remember?” Then Calypso pointed at her watch. “And I’m in a bit of a hurry.”
The girl hurried off and Calypso leaned against the back of the booth to close her eyes for a second. She was fighting a headache again and knew she should eat something more substantial, but really, was that even possible in this den of death? The weird meats that were on the menu, rabbit and pheasant and bison, were probably laced with salmonella or E. coli or God knew what else. She probably shouldn’t have any more coffee considering that it was the overwhelming urge to relieve herself that had brought her to this place. Usually, though, she had a bladder of steel and she needed to stay awake for the rest of the drive. It was already pushing eleven. That’s why the dining area was shutting down, she realized, though there were still a few straggling customers scattered within the restaurant, most of them lingering over a drink or a cup of coffee and the remains of their meals.
She probably should find a room for the night. She’d been driving for hours as it was and it really didn’t matter if she landed in Spokane later tonight or early in the morning, but the thought of searching out a decent, clean, safe hotel in this little burg was daunting. She checked her cell phone for local hotels. Decent hotels. Or even damn motels. Maybe she could make it as far as Missoula and then—
“Here ya go.” The waitress was back with a cup of coffee, tiny pitcher of milk, and a thick wedge of lemon pie topped with three inches of meringue that Calypso would have loved to plunge her face into as she was suddenly starving.
“Anything else?”
“Not right now,” Calypso said and the girl, grin intact, stepped backward, leaving her with a few minutes of heaven as she poured the skim milk slowly into her cup, took a sip and then dug into the scrumptious dessert. “Mmm.” She couldn’t help sighing, then caught herself as a text message came in. Reggie.
She felt a warming jolt of satisfaction, but thought, No thanks.
Reginald Larue didn’t know it yet, but they were o-v-e-r.
His text, a sloppy apology for standing her up twice in one week, pissed her off, so she deleted it and turned her phone off so that she could concentrate on the pie. “Sorry, my ass,” she said under her breath then put Reggie—oh, excuse me. Reginald A. Larue III—where he belonged. Completely out of her mind.
Well, almost.
There was a part of her that wanted to see him grovel, to twist and turn in utter despair over losing her, crawl on his knees to beg her forgiveness. Not that she’d give him another chance. No-effin’-way. She was thirty-six for Christ’s sake and though she ignored the tick, tick, tick of her biological clock, she still wanted to get married and have someone else take care of her. She couldn’t keep up this pace forever. Yes, she was a corporate attorney and a damn good one, but smart as she was, she wasn’t into working sixteen hours out of twenty-four. She’d hoped, actually planned, to find Mr. Right in law school or in the firm she joined in Seattle, but so far it hadn’t worked out that way.
She glanced down at her left hand where her grandmother’s engagement ring with its huge diamond glittered under the cheesy wagon-wheel lights. She always wore the ring when she was out and, the funny thing was, it didn’t appear to discourage men from hitting on her in bars. In fact, sometimes it seemed as if she posed a challenge.
That’s how she’d met stupid, two-timing Reggie. Figured. He was probably stepping out on someone else when he’d tried to pick her up. She’d played hard to get until she’d checked him out and found that he was set to inherit a fortune from oil wells. But she knew he would never settle down with one woman, and when she got married, that lucky son of a bitch who claimed her as his bride had goddamn better be faithful. Or she’d have to cut off his balls.
She blinked and realized that she’d been daydreaming again. She’d nearly finished her pie without even savoring every bite. All because of Reggie. She studied the last morsel but pushed her plate aside, then finished her coffee in one gulp. She lifted her hand and signed to the smiley-faced waitress that she wanted her check, then sent a lingering look at the last bit of pie. But no. She always left at least one bite on her plate, no matter how hungry she thought she was. It was a matter of mind over matter.
“Would you like anything else?” Teri asked.
