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“Yes,” I said, trying to win points. “I would kill for chocolate chip pancakes.”
As the words were coming out of my mouth, it hit me that I’d made a grave error. Bernice’s eye twitched, and those lips turned down once again.
Paz interrupted before either of us could speak again. “She’s kidding. We’ll both have the blueberry pancakes with the house-made blueberry syrup and coffee, please.”
Without another word, Bernice gave me a withering look and walked off with our menus.
Paz glowered at me. “This is Northern Maine. Everything has fucking blueberries. Beer, sausages, even soup. When in doubt, always order blueberry shit.”
“Noted,” I snarked, annoyed at being deprived of chocolate chips.
He angled closer, giving me a whiff of his undoubtedly expensive, annoyingly delicious cologne. “See how everyone is staring?” He scanned the restaurant. “Over there is Mayor Renee and his wife. Father Marcel is in the back with a few members of the garden club.” He gave a polite wave in their direction. “This is easy. We show up and eat our pancakes. Then the town rumor mill will take over. We won’t have to go out in public too much.”
Bernice returned with a coffeepot and filled our cups silently. Before I could request milk, she walked away. Apparently black coffee was all I was getting.
I took a sip of the scalding liquid and slyly studied the crowd.
“Ready for a brief history of the town?”
I held up a hand. “No need. I’ve done my research. Logging town. Grew rapidly in the first half of the twentieth century. Global competition and resources hit hard, jobs were lost, employers left, population dwindled. Crime and drug use rose.”
I didn’t mean to sound like a pretentious Wikipedia entry, but did this guy think I’d come in cold? Like a fucking amateur? This was my job, and I took great pride in doing it well.
He nodded. “Sure. But there’s more to it.”
I didn’t doubt that, but I was hungry, and it was my first day on the job.
I took another sip of coffee and set it on the table again, ready to warn him that I’d need a full belly before I was ready for an elaboration on that comment, but the chime on the door pulled his attention from me.
His face fell. Instead of his charming smile, or even his ambivalent disinterest, he wore an expression of pure rage.
In my periphery, a tall, blond man, probably in his late fifties, strode through the diner with the kind of attitude and bravado I found instantly repugnant. He wore an expensive looking blazer over his pressed jeans, looking far too formal for a quaint diner like this. On his way through, he stopped and said hello to several people, but his smile never reached his eyes.
“Who is that?” I whispered.
Paz dropped his forearms to the table, still tracking the older man as he walked across the diner, smiling and shaking hands with everyone as he passed.
“Mitch Hebert.”
A cloud had passed over his face. Paz wasn’t a happy kind of guy, but in place of his usual smirk was a hatred more potent than any emotion I’d seen from him so far.
He waited until the man was settled on the other side and talking loudly before continuing.
“I hate that motherfucker and his entire shit family,” he spat.
I was taken aback. Paz wasn’t the friendliest guy, but he was always the polished professional.
“That seems a bit extreme.”
He shook his head and took a sip of coffee. “Trust me, Gagnons and Heberts hate each other. Have for generations. We’ve controlled adjacent sections of the forest for years. Our families have worked near and with one another for decades. And they have always been lying, cheating bastards who’ll do anything to get ahead.”
I clutched my mug and scooted forward. “Ooh, this is juicy. Tell me more.”
The smirk he shot me made my stomach flutter.
“My grandfather hit some hard times in the ’70s when fuel costs skyrocketed and cheap foreign lumber flooded the market. So he took on investors. Hebert tried to buy out those investors and stage a hostile takeover of Gagnon Lumber.
“Took years and thousands upon thousands in legal fees to sort out. But my family kept control.”
