In unspoken agreement, we left them to their own conversation and walked out onto the front porch.
Carly sat down at the small table that had started all of this and motioned me to sit across from her. She mussed her dark curls with her hand in a mannerism I recognized meant she had something on her mind.
“What’s up?” I asked.
She picked up a red checker and tapped it against the table absently. “Nothing really. Not yet, anyway.”
“What does that mean? Is it about the diner? Or Elliott?” Ever since I’d gotten engaged a few weeks ago, I’d been wondering about Carly and Elliott. Apparently that old adage about those in love wanting everyone to be in love was true.
“You know Elliott and I are getting pretty serious.”
I propped my elbows on the table and leaned toward her. “Yes?”
She turned the checker up on its edge and rolled it from one hand to another across the wooden surface.
“Carly! What’s going on?” Patience wasn’t my strong point. And she knew it.
“I’m thinking about trying to find Travis,” she said in a rush.
“Why?” I blurted out. Her ex-husband, Travis, had divorced her when she was pregnant with the twins and Zac was six. He’d run off with an emaciated model and eventually skipped the country to Mexico. We assumed he left the country to keep from paying child support. I’d loved my brother-in-law once, back before he betrayed our whole family and broke my sister’s heart. But going searching for him made about as much sense to me as trying to bring back a bad migraine once it was gone.
She carefully placed the checker back in its original place on the board and looked up at me. “For closure for the kids. And for me, too, really. If we get married, Elliott would like to adopt them, and I’d like that, too. Even though I feel sure we could get it approved on grounds of abandonment, I’d rather have Travis’s permission.”
I shook my head. “My gut is saying that finding Travis is a terrible idea, Carly. In this case, I can’t think of any better advice than to let sleeping dogs lie.” Or in Travis’s case, let lying dogs sleep, but I didn’t say that out loud. “What does Elliott think?”
She bit her lower lip and pushed her curls back from her face. “He agrees with you.”
I didn’t know what to say. Nobody likes to feel ganged up on. “So how’s the hiring process going?”
She grimaced to let me know she knew what I was doing, but picked up the new subject. “Pretty good. I kept Arnie to wash dishes but hired a new guy, too. Same with the cook. Of course, most of the new staff isn’t starting until after the grand opening, since Harvey and Alice are going to help out with that. Hard to believe those two were doing half the cooking and dishwashing themselves.”
I idly moved a black checker. “They don’t have kids,” I reminded her. “The twins and Zac would be disappointed if you turned into a workaholic.”
She laughed and slid a red checker forward one space. “The twins might be. But now that he’s a senior, Zac thinks he doesn’t need his mama anymore.”
“Is he going to work here after school?” I moved another checker.
She nodded as she responded with a move of her own. “I’ll have some part-time hours for him. Most of the waitresses stayed on, though. And I hired Marco as a waiter.”
I smiled. “Oh good. He always impressed me with his work ethic at the gym. He’s punctual and never goofs off.”
“I hired him already. You can stop the streaming reference message.”
“Did you call Lisa about him?” I asked as I considered my next move.
“Didn’t think I needed to with you here,” Carly said, edging her checker close to being able to jump mine. “Especially since he was honest about her firing him.”
I frowned and pushed my black playing piece out of harm’s way. “Did he say what reason she gave?”
Carly shook her head and countered with another move. “Just said she fired him for no good reason.”
“Sounds like her.” With Lisa on my mind, I shoved my checker hard without really thinking.
Carly reached across, jumped over two of my checkers, and scooped them up.
“Wait a minute!” I protested. “I wasn’t paying attention.”
“When you play on my porch, you should always pay attention,” she said facetiously. “Welcome to the Down Home Diner.”
*****
“Jenna.”
I spun around with the dishcloth still in my hand.
Carly, her dark hair curling around her sweaty face, beamed at me from the kitchen window. “Can you snag the garbage when you’re done?”
“Sure. Why not?” I wiped the crumbs from the counter into my hand and waggled my fingers over the trash can. Across the room, Harvey patiently showed Marco how to clean the salad bar at the close of the day. I pushed the kitchen door open with my shoulder. “Carly, if success can be measured by garbage, I’d say your grand opening was a resounding triumph.”
Carly looked up from stirring a large pot of tomorrow’s soup of the day she already had simmering over the burner. “You think so?”
I washed my hands at the stainless steel double sink.
“She’s right.” Alice reached across Carly and salted the soup. “Harvey took it out not twenty minutes ago.”
Carly put her hand on Alice’s. “I already salted it.”
“I know you did, honey, but just not enough for bean soup. Beans absorb salt like little sponges.” Hearty shakes of salt punctuated each word.
Carly tossed me a pleading look over her shoulder. That old saying about too many cooks spoiling the broth was definitely proving true during this transition period of old diner owner to new.
I gathered the handles of the black plastic bag and cleared my throat. “Alice, thanks to that last rush of police officers we had an hour ago, most of the pie is gone. But there are a few pieces left in each pan. What do you do with those?”
Alice glanced out at the pie counter. “Wrap up individual servings and sell them at breakfast. I’ll take care of them.” She headed toward the door. “I still don’t know about this idea of giving away pie,” she said over her shoulder.
When the door swung shut behind the older woman, Carly sighed. “Thanks for rescuing me.” She opened a drawer and dropped the saltshaker into it. “Why did I think it would be a good idea to accept their offer to help me out for a while?”
“It was a good idea. Besides, in a few weeks this place will be all yours.” I lifted the plastic bags, one in each hand, and slipped out the back door. The door slammed loudly behind me. I stepped off the back porch into the orange glow of the quiet alley. Whoever invented guard lights deserves a Nobel Prize. Or at least a free piece of pie.
I duckwalked to the Dumpster, balancing my burdens. “One, two, three, heave.” I threw one garbage bag into the green Dumpster, then let go of the other one. It went flying over the trash bin and landed with a thud. A small noise made me jump.
“Shifting trash,” I whispered and tiptoed around to retrieve the bag.
I squinted at the darker area behind the Dumpster then put my hand out to touch the warm hood of a small sports car I hadn’t even seen. Why would it be parked here, completely hidden by the huge double Dumpster? The owner took the thing about not wanting to risk having anyone hit his door in the parking lot to a whole new level. I stretched to get the trash bag off the roof and froze.
This car had more than a dent in the door. The driver window was broken out. I snagged the handle of the bag but stopped again. A man I didn’t recognize was slumped sideways in the front seat.
“Sir?” My voice was as jagged as the window I was looking through.
He didn’t respond. Being careful to avoid the broken glass, I reached in and touched his left shoulder. Still no response. I touched his neck for a pulse.
No pulse. My hand brushed sticky wetness at the same time I saw the dark stain on his shirt, and I knew I was in a deserted alley with a dead body.
Something
rustled behind me. I started to turn, but the world exploded. Darkness rushed to meet me.
*****
*****
Chapter Two
Dead as a doornail
“Oww. . .” I’m not sure if the sound of groaning woke me or if the pain woke me and then I groaned. Either way, I opened my eyes and reached toward the black thing in front of me. At least that’s what my brain said for me to do. My arms, apparently trapped under my body too long, weren’t getting the signal. I rolled over and ignored the pins and needles as I shifted to sitting. Nausea hit in waves.
My head throbbed. “Oww. . .” At least now that I was upright, I could identify the black thing as a tire. I rubbed my fat-feeling fingers over my stinging cheek, and pieces of gravel clinked to the ground. Why had I been facedown in the gravel next to a car? As soon as the question flitted through my pounding brain, I knew the answer.
I was in the alley behind the diner.
And there was a dead man in the car beside me.
But the dead man hadn’t knocked me out. I turned my head fractionally, wincing with every muscle shift. No captor stood nearby waiting for me to wake. I appeared to be alone, thankfully.
How long had I been out here? I squinted through the dim alley past the Dumpster. The back door of the diner looked miles away. The feeling was coming back in my fingers, and I eased myself up onto wobbly legs and gritted my teeth. “You can do it,” I whispered and limped toward the distant porch light.
Finally, my hand closed around the doorknob and turned. I pulled the door open. Debbie, in an apron, didn’t look up from where she rapidly loaded the dishwasher. Marco stood at the sink with his back to me.
I stumbled into the room feeling as if I’d stumbled into a Twilight Zone episode. Why hadn’t someone come looking for me? Alice bustled into the kitchen holding a broom with one hand and a dustpan in the other.
As much out of a need to assure myself that I wasn’t invisible to my coworkers as anything else, I opened my mouth to speak. Before I could, the kitchen door swung again, and Carly rushed in, her gaze immediately falling on me. “There you are. Were you cleaning the bathrooms?” She narrowed her eyes. “Why is there dirt on your face? What’s wrong? Are you okay?” Her voice rose with each question, and silence filled the room as everyone stopped what they were doing and turned to look at us.
“Dead man.”
“What?” Carly peered at me, confusion knitting her brows together.
I tried again. “A man was shot out behind the Dumpster. He’s dead.”
I heard gasps from every corner. “Are you sure he is dead?” Marco asked weakly.
“Yes,” I gasped out. “I think the killer is still out there. Somebody knocked me out.” My knees gave way, and they all rushed toward me.
Carly grabbed me around the waist, and Debbie shoved a chair under me. “Call 911,” she barked to Marco, whose normally swarthy complexion looked pale and sallow.
“I’ll do it.” Alice yanked up the cordless phone. “Harvey,” she yelled as she punched in the numbers.
“It hasn’t been ten minutes since the last police officer left. Too bad they didn’t stay a little longer.” Debbie grabbed a bag of frozen peas from the huge side-by-side freezer, wrapped a towel around it, and carefully placed it against the back of my head. “Did you see anyone else parked out there? On the edge of the parking lot? Or in the alley?”
Before I could answer, Harvey came running in. “What’s wrong?”
Alice shushed him as the 911 operator apparently answered.
He glanced over at me and did a double take. “What happened?” he whispered as Alice rattled off who she was and where she was.
“There’s a dead man in the alley,” Alice said bluntly into the receiver.
Harvey spun around toward her. “A what?”
“A dead man,” she mouthed and waved him away. “He’s been shot. And Jenna Stafford found the body. Yes. Jenna Stafford. She’s been hurt. Someone knocked her out.” She paused to listen. “No, she’s conscious now. She seems like she’s okay.” She listened again then nodded. “Okay.” She put her hand over the mouthpiece and glanced at us. “Lock the doors.”
Harvey ran out to the front, and Carly stepped over to the back door I’d just come in and turned the dead bolt.
I hugged myself, rubbing the goose bumps on my arms.
Harvey came back in and pulled Alice to him. “Door’s locked out there,” he said softly.
She nodded, still holding the phone to her ear, occasionally murmuring to the emergency operator to let her know we were all still okay.
Marco, his arms crossed, stood in front of the sink, facing me. The fear in his eyes was like the measles, contagious and uncomfortable. I glanced away to where Debbie stood beside me, holding gentle pressure on the frozen peas at the back of my head and texting on her cell phone with her other hand.
Carly patted my shoulder, and I covered her hand with mine. No one spoke.
She squeezed my hand then stepped over to the stove, lifted the lid off the bean soup, and gave it an absent stir.
“You know if you stir it much after it’s been cooking a while, it’ll be bean mush instead of soup,” Alice said.
Carly dropped the lid.
“No, ma’am,” Alice said into the phone. “I wasn’t talking to you.”
A siren in the distance cut off whatever Carly might have been going to say. The wailing quickly grew louder.
Red lights flashed through the kitchen window that faced the alley. I had a sinking feeling the ambulance crew was too late for the guy in the car. Almost immediately, blue lights mixed with the red. And still more blue lights.
Alice nudged Harvey. “She says to go let the police in the front door.”
Harvey hurried out, and within seconds he was back with two local officers, Seth and Ricky, behind him.
Alice hung up the phone.
“Jenna, you okay?” Seth asked, concern evident in his voice.
I nodded. Debbie took the peas from my head and went to put them back in the freezer.
“You sure?” Seth said.
“I’ve got a little bump, but other than that, I think I’ll live.” Unlike the guy in the alley. I shivered.
Seth and I had a history. When I first moved back to town and was trying my hand at dating, he’d asked me out—then promptly killed the romance when he assumed that he’d get to work out at the gym for free if we were dating. In light of the dead body out back, that little breach of etiquette didn’t stop me from being happy to see him. Or his partner, Ricky, either, in spite of the frown he wore and the notebook he pulled from his back pocket.
“What happened out there?” Ricky asked, the hand holding the pen a little unsteady and a slight quiver in his voice. I had the distinct feeling this was his first murder.
Seth cut him a look and brought his gaze back to me. “Do we need the EMTs in here?”
I shook my head, and at the movement, my hand flew up to cup the lump on the back of my skull. “Ow.”
“Get someone in here to look at her,” Seth growled over his shoulder to Ricky.
The tall cop put his notebook away then disappeared into the diner.
Seth pulled up a chair next to me and sat down. “You look pretty pale. Is it bleeding?”
“I don’t think so.” I ducked my head.
He carefully parted my hair and grunted. “No blood, but that’s a prize-winning goose egg.”
“Thanks,” I said dryly. “It’s nice to be a winner.”
“You’re always a winner to me.”
Something in his voice brought my gaze around to meet his.
He smiled. “You still dating Alex?”
“Last time I checked she was engaged to him,” a deep voice said behind me.
I turned toward the familiar voice. Alex Campbell filled the doorway, his face taut with worry. “You okay?”
I nodded, so glad to see him, I couldn’t speak.
He covered the dist
ance between us in two strides and bent down to hug me.
Seth jumped to his feet and took a couple steps backward. He even held out his hand as if offering Alex his vacated chair. Alex had been the high school quarterback when Seth was a lowly tenth-grade bench warmer. Old habits die hard.
“Thanks,” Alex mumbled, his attention still fixed on me. He released me as he sat down, but held on to my hand.
A female EMT came bustling in, her black bag in her hand. She checked my vision and examined the lump on my head. When she finished, she looked at Alex and smiled. “Everything looks okay to me. But you probably want to get her over to the ER to get this checked out. A hit hard enough to knock someone out usually causes a concussion.”
Hello? I started to wave my hand to remind her who was the patient here. But I was too tired. I was used to this phenomenon when I was out with the town’s most eligible bachelor. Even my new engagement ring hadn’t seemed to slow the attention down much. I glanced over at Debbie. Tonight the waitress was more interested in her cell phone, but usually she spoke to Alex instead of me. In Alex’s defense, though, he always kept his own gaze fixed on me—which was one of the many things I loved about him.
As soon as the EMT left, Alex turned me to face him. “What happened, honey?”
“Might as well just tell it once, ‘honey,’ ” someone said gruffly.
I looked up to see our chief of police standing in the suddenly popular doorway. “Hi, John.” We’d been friends since the sandbox, but my penchant for sniffing out the truth drove him up the wall sometimes.
“You know, Jenna, it’d be funny if it weren’t so horrible.” He walked in with Ricky right behind him.
Fresh tears sprang to my eyes. “I know.” It hadn’t been long since I found the queen of country music dead in her Branson dressing room, and less than a year before that, I’d gotten embroiled in the murder of our local newspaper editor. So I knew what he meant.
“You all right?”
“I guess. Physically, anyway.”
“What is it with you and dead bodies?”
I shrugged, and an involuntary shiver ran up my spine. Alex put his arm around me and pulled me against him.
Down Home and Deadly Page 2