Whatever they were to the outside world, inside the tight bond of their friendship they were no less than sisters. After Nora’s parents died, it was Raquel who had helped her move forward.
The years had passed and their lives had changed. While Nora headed east to beef up her culinary skills, Raquel had tried hard to become a musician. She’d gone to Nashville, San Francisco and Minneapolis chasing dead-end leads and empty promises but her voice, quite literally, had never really been heard. So, she’d eventually settled, and adjusted herself to a quiet life back in her hometown of Milburn, Wyoming.
She had gone on to study accounting and began working as an associate in a local firm. Three nights a week, she still indulged in her original passion - singing in a band that would rotate gigs among the three bars in town. And she’d made it a point to always speak to Nora once a week. Their Wednesday phone calls were sacrosanct. No matter what deadline approached the next day or what hot band or movie or date they may be missing out on, their sisterhood trumped it all.
Ten years after that first discussion of the diner, Nora had driven back into her hometown of Milburn in a rusty 1995 Camry. She hadn’t made the trip in a hurry, needing to psych herself up before she committed to making her dream a reality. Her journey had wound through Ohio, Illinois, Kansas and Colorado before finally crossing the state line into Wyoming. Nora still remembered the thrill she felt coming home after ten years away as the majestic, snow-crested Tetons welcomed her. She’d been brought up in Wyoming with its broad, flat plains and jagged mountains. Seeing them once again, she could literally feel the stress of the previous ten years lifting from her shoulders, as if she’d been unconsciously caged by the metal hum of the cities in which she’d lived for so long. Here, in the shadows of the mountains, she felt tiny, yet free.
It felt epic, really. To an outsider, she would have looked like a pretty blonde with a sharp nose and bright eyes, tapping on the steering wheel of a rusty, white car. To herself, she felt both as magnificent as an empress returning from exile and as frightened as a lamb wandering into a wolf’s den. She’d found herself a small bedroom to rent in the home of a seemingly-friendly lady, consciously seeking out the cheapest acceptable accommodations possible, since she was going to need every last penny she had for the diner.
Then, she had made her way to Raquel’s and presented her business plan. Once more, all these years later, Raquel had said, “This is madness, Nora!” But this time, Nora was more persuasive.
“I’ve saved, Raquel,” Nora explained. “I’ve saved half my salary at every job I’ve ever had. I’ve lived poor for ten years to save this money and I’m ready to invest it in our future. We can do this! We’ve got the money and the skills. All we need is the vision. And…each other.”
But, as she spoke, she realized there was suddenly an inkling of doubt deep in the back of her mind. For the first time, after laying everything out and anxiously awaiting Raquel’s response, she began to second-guess herself. Ten years was a long time and her best friend had, understandably, settled into a new life. Surely, Nora thought, Raquel would refuse. There was no way she was going to throw away her career to support Nora’s crazy dream. And, without a capable partner like Raquel, Nora wasn’t sure if she’d be able to handle running a business all alone.
As Nora waited breathlessly for a response, Raquel just looked at her. She saw the glint of determination in Nora’s eyes. She also saw the fear in them. The same fear she was experiencing. But Raquel also felt excitement.
Then she quietly opened up her laptop to show Nora the amount she’d also saved over the years.
Nora’s eyes had widened and she gasped. “That’s an insane amount of money, Raquel,” Nora said, amazed and delighted. “How on earth, I mean…”
Raquel had smiled and said quietly, “The old-fashioned way, Nay Nay. I earned every penny of it working my bum off.”
Nora playfully patted Raquel’s rear end and, with hope, said, “Well, cheeseburgers and fries could help pad that back up a bit!” Then, her face turning serious, she said, “Let’s do this, Raquel! For real! Let’s build something that’ll last forever, and let’s feed this town the way it deserves.”
Raquel had felt something inside her, a new vision, coming to life. She’d finally seen the beauty in Nora’s dream.
“I’m in!”
That was three months ago. Now, here they were, with the uniforms they’d designed in their hot, little hands. They sat there, mesmerized, as they fingered the shiny buttons and stroked the apron’s sleek fabric. Trying them on, they giggled and twirled around to show off how they looked. They were in absolute heaven.
They’d worked and scrimped and saved and now here they were. It had all come together. And on Friday, just three days away, The Madness Diner would open its doors for the very first time.
What neither of them could ever imagine was that Raquel would be dead before the big day arrived.
*****
Chapter 2
Picasso Punches
Harvey was having a bad day already, and the goon with the gun just made things worse. Sighing, Harvey put a finger to each of his temples and rubbed them in little circles. He made a mental note to remind Ashley never to let anyone into his office during his 2 o’clock brainstorming sessions.
His office was wood-paneled, deliberately meant to evoke the feeling of an old, English club - a little psychological ploy that seemed to work well on his clients. They’d enter with their problems and, between the potted ferns, the tasteful Monet-style art, the mahogany desk and expensive leather chairs, they’d leave assured that their money and their businesses were going to be in safe hands with Harvey.
The goon with the gun, now pointed at Harvey’s face, gave a little growl. “Did you hear me?”
Harvey, who had heard him perfectly well, made no reply as he thought things over. His 2pm sessions were legend among his staff. Harvey swore by them. He’d begun the tradition eight years ago. Harvey was almost superstitious about the process, as if the success of his entire business were dependent on the one hour he spent alone each day, with nothing but his creativity. It was simple. He’d lock himself in a room with a pen, a moleskin notebook and a single key question. He wouldn’t leave until his brain had created at least eleven solutions. Why eleven? It had just seemed like a good number. Today, he had asked himself how he could double his cash flow in the next five years, and he’d been on solution number three when the goon walked in.
“Boss wants to meet you,” the man said, pointing his Glock 9mm at Harvey’s head.
“Well, Boss has to learn that what one wants, what one needs and what one gets are all separate entities,” Harvey quipped, glaring at the pen and paper in front of him. “Now get on out of here. I’m too busy for your boss and his tantrums.”
A gun was usually all the goon needed to assume command of a situation and Harvey’s nonchalance infuriated him. He raised his weapon and shot at the painting that hung on the wall behind Harvey’s desk. Harvey ducked as it came crashing down.
“What on earth are you doing?” Harvey asked, sounding a little put out. “That was a beautiful painting.”
“Pay attention,” the man shouted, losing his cool. “I’m not here to play with you. The boss wants to see you, so you’re coming with me.”
At the sound of the shot, Harvey’s door flew open for the second time that afternoon. His secretary, Ashley, stepped in, then backpedaled and screamed when she saw the gun.
The gunman pointed his weapon at her and put a finger to his lips. “One word and I’ll air you out,” he said, menace in his voice.
Ashley, a thin blonde with hair that was neatly piled up into a bun and a baby-bump just visible under her sensible cardigan, put a hand to her mouth to stifle a scream. She nodded, her eyes immediately filling with tears.
As the gunman turned back toward Harvey, he felt a jackhammer punch hit his jaw. His face twisted into three planes, rather like a portrait by Picasso, and his body tumbl
ed to the floor, unconscious.
“That’s going to sting tomorrow,” Harvey commented, turning his fist this way and that to evaluate the damage. His expression was still only vaguely irritated. An ex-girlfriend of his had once said he reminded her of the heroes in an Alfred Hitchcock movie, the type who wouldn’t be ruffled even if the entire world was collapsing on his head. Harvey didn’t agree with that assessment, but he’d been flattered all the same.
He looked up as Ashley, still standing by the door, was seized by a fit of hysterics. “Oh, Harvey! Harvey!” she screamed. “Oh, it’s horrible!” She had curled up against the door and had her arms wrapped around herself as she sobbed.
“I know. I know. I’m sorry you had to see this. Let’s just tie this guy up,” Harvey responded calmly. He removed his own belt and tied it around the man’s wrists. Then he looked around for something else, settled on a USB cord and bound the man’s ankles together. “There,” he said, straightening up and straightening his suit and tie. “Now we can call the cops. You alright, Ashley?”
“I am distinctly and utterly not alright,” his secretary replied, though she was clearly less shaken with the man now restrained.
“I’m sorry, again,” Harvey said. “Why don’t you take the day off?”
“The day?!” she exclaimed. “I want a week! Harvey, that man could have killed us both.”
“Him?” Harvey snorted and nudged the still-unconscious man with his toe. “Not a chance. Here, have some water.”
He handed her a glass and noted that the water remained steady as she held it - her hands weren’t shaking at all. He smiled at her as she sipped. “You’re a brave lady, Ashley. Not a tremor from you.”
She waved him away. “Don’t sweet talk me. I still want a week off.”
“All right. You want me to call Jeremy to come pick you up?”
She rolled her eyes at her husband’s name. “Jeremy isn’t in town today,” she said. “I’ll call him later. I’ll drive myself home, after we speak to the sheriff.”
Harvey sighed. “I suppose I have to deal with the sheriff eventually,” he said. “Alright. Let’s do this.”
*****
Chapter 3
Venison Shepherd Pie
“Sheriff Dracon, you’re nothing less than a white knight,” Mrs. Mullally said. The sweet old lady, with a curly head full of white cotton hair, smiled broadly at the sweating man in front of her.
“Oh, it was nothing.” Sean smiled, and handed her the puppy. The little tyke had somehow slipped into the crawlspace of Mrs. Mullally’s Cape Cod style house, and been whimpering for two hours, but refusing to come out no matter how much she begged him.
Sean had ripped open a few boards, lowered his lean, muscular frame down much as he could, and then with one powerful hand, brought the puppy out. His forehead was beaded with sweat, and his outfit was dusty. He ignored it all, and put his cowboy hat back on his head. “My pleasure, ma’am.”
Squealing with happiness at being back out, the tiny pup wiggled its entire body out of Mrs. Mullally’s arms and jumped down to play tag with the sheriff’s legs.
“Look at that, Maynard likes you,” she said. “I’ve always thought dogs were the best judge of men.”
“He’s adorable,” the sheriff said, bending down to play. “Still, if I let him play too long, my Luna will get jealous when I go home.”
“What breed is she?” Mrs. Mullally asked.
“I’ve been asking myself that since I picked her up at the pound three years ago.” Sean smiled.
“One of the only mysteries you haven’t solved, then,” Mrs. Mullally said. “Come right into the house, will you? My tenant’s made some Venison Shepherd’s Pie, and it’s just come out of the oven. I’ve got some lovely rhubarb iced tea to go with it, too.”
“I couldn’t possibly,” Sean said, even though he’d begun salivating at the thought. His current plans for lunch involved a very sad tuna salad sandwich and a slightly wilting pack of lettuce. It was 3pm, and he was starving, but had been putting off the meal.
“Oh, I know you, Sean. You’ve probably had nothing but coffee all day.”
“Not true,” Sean said. He’d had coffee and a protein bar.
“What you need,” Mrs. Mullally said, “is a woman to feed you and look after you.”
“Well, I’ve been after you to marry me for a long time,” Sean teased. “But you break my heart each time.”
Mrs. Mullally, who wasn’t a day younger than 80, blushed red. “Sean Dracon, you young rascal, I’ve known you since you were pint sized. Go on now. Sit yourself down and have at it.” They entered through her kitchen, a floor tiled alternately with yellow and white, and Mrs. Mullally smiled, taking time to caress a new potted plant that stood at one of the window ledges, tiny sprouts peeking out of it.
“That’s new,” Sean commented.
“Oh, Nora’s decided to grow her own herbs,” Mrs. Mullally said. “She’s actually been asking me to rent her the garden so that she can start her own vegetable patch too.”
“What’d you say to that?” Sean asked, half interested, as he sat down at the kitchen island. Mrs. Mullally took out a steaming dish from the oven, set it down next to him, then placed a delicate china plate with blue flowers dotting its edges down in front of him. “I told her, Nora, you better not be getting any fancy ideas,” Mrs. Mullally said.
“Oh, please.” Nora entered the kitchen from the dining room. “She told me to help myself to all her land if I liked, just as long as I let her eat the vegetables too.” She gave Mrs. Mullally a hug, and waved to her to sit down.
Sean, whose hat was resting on the counter beside him, got up as soon as she walked in.
“Sheriff,” Nora said, her smile dimming a little.
“Nora.” He gave her a small nod.
Behind Nora, Raquel walked in too. Bounced in, more like. She was skipping, and holding up a dress - a pale blue thing with a yellow border and a lace collar.
“Our new designs are here!” she said in a sing-song voice. “Look at that Mrs. Mullally!”
“Oh, they’re pretty!” Mrs. Mullally exclaimed. “Well done, girls.”
“Is this for the Madness diner?” the Sheriff asked.
“You’ll come to our opening night, won’t you, Sheriff?” Raquel asked, leaning at the counter, looking up at him with her big blue eyes.
“Knock it off, Raquel.” Sean laughed. “We’ve known each other since elementary school. I think you can start calling me Sean now.”
“Not when you’re in uniform,” Raquel said. “I feel obligated to call you sheriff.”
Nora was rummaging inside the fridge. She brought out a large jug filled to the brim with a pink liquid, and clinking with ice-cubes. She set out four glasses, then tore leaves off the potted mint plant at the window. Crushing a few in each glass, she poured the pink liquid over them, and handed a glass each to everyone gathered around.
“I’ve heard there’s karaoke,” Sean said. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
“There’s karaoke, yes,” Raquel said. “But also, there’s Nora.” She put both hands around Nora’s shoulders and thrust her forth. Giggling, she added, “What I mean is, you wouldn’t want to miss her food for the world.”
“Oh quit it, Raquel, the only reason anyone’s going to walk in is to see you belt out Shania Twain in style,” Nora said, giving Raquel a gentle nudge, and a wide grin.
“You make this pie?” Sean asked Nora.
There was a sea change in her, he noted, when he asked her a direct question. The open ease with which she had leaned against Raquel changed into a defensive hunch. She nodded, mumbled, “Hope you enjoy it,” and bent down to pat Maynard.
She’s a quiet one, Sheriff thought. He always got a sense she was scared around him. What it was that scared her more - him or his badge? He had no real memories of her in high school… perhaps a vague one of her bright smile, braces and all. But she’d been away the last ten years, and he idly wonder
ed exactly what she’d been doing in the big city that made her so scared of cops. She’d returned only three months ago and suddenly she and Raquel had decided to open up this diner.
With these thoughts idly running through his mind, Sean spooned up the pie and bit in, making sure he got all the layers of cheese, mashed potato and meat. In his mouth, a symphony began. He shut his eyes to truly appreciate it, inhaled the wonderful scent of meat and cheese, and then took another bite. A hint of cinnamon, somewhere in the meat, and the spice of jalapeno hit his tongue. The cheddar cheese clung to the potatoes, adding a tang to his palate. He’d have scalded the roof of his mouth if he hadn’t made himself slow down.
“Look at that,” Mrs. Mullally said. “Sheriff’s on a different planet.”
Nora, who’d been playing, looked up, and a huge smile spread across her face.
“This,” Sheriff said, punctuating each word with a bite and swallow, “Is. Delicious.”
“Savor it, Sheriff.” Raquel laughed. “Next time you eat some, you got to pay for it.”
“I’ll pay for it now, I’m sure,” he said, patting his stomach. “This has got to be a calorie bomb.”
“Oh, you and your calories.” Mrs. Mullally clucked. “In my day, we ate what we ate and didn’t think twice about it. None of this calorie business. We stayed healthy as horses too.”
Sean wanted to reply, but was cut short by the crackle of his radio. “Sheriff. We got code 187 over on Willow and Main, number 14.”
“That’s Harvey Nathaniel’s office, isn’t it?” Mrs. Mullally asked. “What’s that boy up to now?”
The Milburn Big Box Set Page 2