A High-End Finish(39)
“Yeah, that’ll be my transportation for the next few days.”
“At least it’s a really cute bike.” She briefly described my pink retro bike to her friends.
“Can we do the gym on Thursday instead?” I asked.
“Sounds good.” She gave me a sympathetic smile and went back to her conversation.
I walked over and sat at a small booth by the bay window and perused the menu, just to find out if anything on there had changed lately. I was impressed to see that they had added some local wines to the list. We were only a short drive away from the Anderson Valley, the latest wine-growing region to hit the big time, so some of the newer wineries were now represented on the list.
“What’s it gonna be, hon?” Cindy said, her notepad and pen ready. She wore the world’s largest frilly handkerchief corsage with her name tag pinned to her white uniform. Her blond hair was pulled back in a neat ponytail. She was somewhere in her forties and had been working at the diner since I was in high school.
“I’ll have the cheeseburger, medium-rare; crispy fries; and a root beer float.”
“Onion on the burger?”
“Why not? A big slice of raw onion, please.”
“Sounds like heaven,” she said, grinning. “I’ll bring you some water.”
“Thanks, Cindy.”
As I waited for my order, I thought about Luisa. She claimed that her father and two brothers each had an alibi. But what about Luisa herself? As soon as I asked the question, I felt guilty. There was no way Luisa could have killed Jerry Saxton. Despite her heated statement about wanting to thank his killer, she was simply too sweet and passive. And short. Heck, she probably couldn’t even lift my pink wrench, let alone swing it hard enough to smash his head in. Not like I could, anyway.
And wasn’t that a miserable thought? To distract myself, I pulled out my smartphone and scanned through my appointments for the week. Since I wouldn’t get my car back until late Tuesday, I would have to plan the early part of my week more carefully. I studied my calendar entries, trying to figure out where I could shift things around.
Generally, I didn’t approve of people mindlessly fiddling with their smartphones in restaurants, but I was willing to break my own rules to keep my mind from wandering back to the murder scene.
“Hey! Are you deaf or something?” a man at the counter snapped angrily. “How many times do I have to tell you I want another cup of coffee?”
I looked up and almost lost my appetite. The loudmouth was Wendell Jarvick. I was surprised I hadn’t seen him when I first walked in. He sat alone at the end of the counter, looking utterly outraged that Cindy wasn’t paying enough attention to him. I’d been on the receiving end of that pinched look of his more than once over the past week, so I felt for Cindy. But as usual, she handled it professionally.
“Right away, sir,” she said cheerily. “I was just brewing another pot and you’ll get the first cup.” Her soothing tone should have calmed him down, but this was Wendell. He continued to fume.
Cindy grabbed the full pot of coffee and poured it neatly into his coffee mug. Wendell didn’t acknowledge her speed and efficiency, just muttered, “About damn time.”
He reached for the cup and took a big gulp. Suddenly, he spewed liquid across the counter and jumped up from his seat. “It’s too damn hot! Are you trying to kill me?”
Cindy’s eyes widened as the color in her face drained. “I’m sorry, sir, but you were demanding coffee so I gave you the first cup off the burner.”
“You bitch!” Wendell grabbed his water glass and gulped down the entire thing—to cool his mouth, I assumed.
It wasn’t the first time I’d heard him shout that offensive word. Besides the world in general, he seemed to have a particular problem with women.
I could see Cindy’s hand shaking. She backed away and set the pot back on the burner.
“Don’t you walk away from me,” he shouted. “Bring me more water.”
“Right away, sir.”
He pounded his fist on the counter. “The service in this place sucks.”
The kitchen door swung open and Rocky the cook and owner walked out to the front counter. “Is there a problem, sir?”
“You’re damn straight there’s a problem,” Wendell bellowed. “This bitch was trying to burn my mouth with that crappy coffee you serve.”
“You’re welcome to leave,” Rocky said. “Coffee’s on the house.”
Wendell’s shoulders tightened in aggravation. “I’m not leaving until I finish my lunch.”
“That wasn’t a suggestion,” Rocky said, standing directly in front of Wendell. “Lunchtime’s over.”
I could almost see Wendell’s devious mind spinning as he scrutinized the situation. This time the obnoxious jerk wasn’t facing down a woman like me or even a well-mannered police chief at the pub. No, Rocky was a 250-pound ex-Marine with a tattoo of a snake on his neck.
Wendell turned around and slowly panned the room, glowering at every single person in his line of sight. His face turned redder and redder, and when he saw me, I thought his head might explode.
“God, I hate you people,” Wendell said, his voice dripping with malevolence. Without warning, he grabbed his coffee cup and dumped the hot liquid on the floor where Cindy and Rocky were standing. Then he flung the cup against the wall, causing it to shatter, and stormed out of the diner.