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“I think so,” mused Dawson. “Doesn’t just about everyone claim to have helped found Chicago—the Irish, the Germans, the Scandinavians, could it be as generic as that?”
Piper gave a groan and leaned back against the booth. “I feel as if we’re going to go around in circles all over again.”
“I think we can guarantee that.” Dawson laughed as the waitress put their drinks down. He looked over his shoulder. “I can’t believe you brought me to this place.”
“What? Not classy enough for you? Does the sports reporter normally frequent starred restaurants?”
“I wish. Though, on occasion, some of the producers from the shows comp dinner, and I’ve been for dinner with some of the owners of the clubs before.” He raised his eyebrows. “They take you to the really chic places.”
“Like the owners of the sports teams?”
Piper had only been half-joking about Dawson going to all the best places, but it looked like Molly’s was definitely not on the list.
She couldn’t help but be defensive. “I like this place. I’ve drunk milkshakes in this place since I was a kid.” She pointed to one booth. “I had my first break up with a boy at that table over there. And”—she pointed to the swing door that led to the kitchen—“Lou let me hide in there one night when I was trying to get out of something.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“Not really, I just didn’t want to go on a ride into the city with some of my friends who were quite pushy. Lou was good that way.”
“So, your entire history is in this diner?”
She smiled. “Not exactly. But I know what I get when I come here. I feel at home. I can come here and eat on my own without feeling under scrutiny. You know how sometimes you have those nights, when you don’t have the energy to make dinner, but don’t really want takeout?”
He gave a nod and she carried on. “Then I come here. I pretend I can make macaroni like they do here– but it never tastes as good as Lou’s. Or sometimes I just have the spaghetti, or sometimes I just have the apple pie with cream. I can sit here, read my book, watch the world go by, then go home, climb into my pajamas, and chill.”
He looked at her, then looked around the place again.
Leaning forward, he whispered, “Doesn’t the décor give you a headache?”
She shrugged. “Sometimes, but I appreciate the effort. It’s more about the people and the space. My job means I can go all day without speaking to another person sometimes.”
He looked at her in surprise.
“You’re probably the opposite. With your job, you’ll have people around about you all day.”
He smiled and nodded. “I go home for a rest. If I’ve been commentating on a match or a game, I can sometimes hear the fans’ chanting ringing in my ears.”
“But do you eat?”
He pulled a face. “Often not. I’m just too tired, or it feels too late.”
“Likewise.” She put out her hand in an opening gesture. “Then, let me introduce you to Molly’s, open until two a.m., best comfort food around, no hassles and privacy if you need it.”
“You really do the hard sell. Do you have shares in this place?”
“Not yet. But I’m seriously considering it,” she joked.
The waitress came over with their food and Dawson looked down at his barbecue ribs and side order of fries. “Wow.”
“Exactly.” Piper smiled as she lifted her fork to her steaming bowl of macaroni.
They ate companionably for a while as Piper continued to stare at her clue.
“Why don’t we start at the wrong end?” she said finally.
“The wrong end?Honey, ginger, and cinnamon meetsounds like a menu, and I’ve no idea to what.”
“Me either. So, what about the first line then?Weekly, monthly, yearly, we don’t have anywhere with those names.
