Sapphire Nights (Crystal Magic Book 1)(11)
Dinah greeted them with a wave and slapped coffee down in front of a vacant stool before Sam could choose one. “Breakfast or lunch?”
“My money is still up at Cass’s, can I owe you?” Sam doctored the caffeine with sugar and sipped gratefully. She glanced at a newspaper someone had left on the counter. June, it was June—another piece of her foundation returned.
“You come work for me, and you get all you can eat,” Dinah said. “You’re providing free entertainment around here.”
“Charmed, I’m sure,” Sam said dryly. “Eggs and toast, please, and can I go home and get dressed first? And have the night off? I’m supposed to have dinner with Mr. Kennedy.”
Dinah’s belly laughed filled the café. For such a small person, she had lungs. Sam felt oddly warmed that her smart mouth was appreciated.
“You have anything besides sweats and jeans to wear to dinner?” Mariah asked, slipping behind the counter to take a tourist’s money at the cash register while Dinah returned to the kitchen for eggs.
Sam grimaced in remembrance of the interview outfit in her suitcase. “Business attire. How do they dress up there?”
“Like tourists, mostly, except for some of the older ladies,” a plump woman wearing a red peasant blouse and blue tie-dyed skirt said from two stools down. She held out a hand encrusted in rings of various stones. “I’m Amber. I do tarot readings across the street. If you’re joining Dinah’s staff, I’ll be happy to give you a complimentary spread to welcome you to town.”
“She’s good,” Mariah called from the register. “Accept her offer.”
“Is everyone in this town so bossy?” Sam asked of no one.
“Opinionated,” Amber corrected. “It’s a small town full of big personalities. It’s no place to be shy.”
“I’m pretty sure I’m not shy,” Sam said, thinking aloud. “I’m just a fish out of water. So business attire will be okay for dinner?”
“The Kennedys wear designer suits like mine,” a big, bluff man with so much golden hair it didn’t look real intruded on their conversation as he stood and reached for his wallet. “They like their women rich. No one in this pit qualifies.” He walked out with the stride of a man confident he owned the world and everyone in it. His suit and watch would probably buy the café.
“Alan Gump from San Francisco,” Mariah murmured. “Owns Gump Real Estate. They buy land for corporations. He’s not only a Null, but an outsider. We don’t talk to him.”
A tall thin man with stooped shoulders and a faded green blazer ambled out after Gump.
“Xavier Black, Gump’s stooge,” Mariah added. “He got left in the cemetery too long way back and isn’t fit for more than printing out rental contracts for tourists. He has an office here.”
“Do we talk to Xavier?” Sam asked in amusement, wondering what left in the cemetery too long was a metaphor for.
Mariah shrugged. “Gump is right, though, the town is dying, and we’ll never be rich.”
Dinah returned with a flaky croissant plus a plate full of steaming scrambled eggs mixed with bits of spinach, tomato, and cheese. “Go see Tullah about clothes,” Dinah said. “She runs the thrift store three doors down. Tell her I sent you. She’ll find something and you can return it tomorrow. Start work tomorrow at eight and wear whatever makes you comfortable, but you’d better have real shoes.”
“I’m never eating anywhere else,” Sam said in reverence, closing her eyes and savoring her first mouthful of eggs.
“You ain’t eating here again if you chew while you’re talking,” Dinah admonished.
Maybe whoever or whatever had sent her here had done her a favor. What kind of life could she have had previously if these eccentrics felt like home?
And then she remembered why she couldn’t work here.
Sam waited until she’d finished eating, then gestured at Mariah to follow her outside—out of hearing of the other diners. “I have no social security number to give Dinah,” she whispered, looking for the thrift store but distracted by the artistically-decorated planters lining the boardwalk. “I don’t want to turn her down, but I’m pretty sure she needs ID for her records.” Although she didn’t know how she knew all this esoteric information and still couldn’t remember her name.
“I don’t have any either,” Mariah said. “Dinah is happy to feed us in exchange for our work. If we work more than we’ve eaten, she’ll pay us in cash. I don’t think Dinah has proper permits and whatnot. She has a past in New Orleans that you’ll hear about when she trusts you.”
Oddly, this evidence of town lawlessness lifted a heavy load off her shoulders. She wiggled her shoulders, releasing the tension before examining the planter outside the door. It was decorated in shards of mirrors and mosaic tile and filled with pansies and lobelia. “I feel like I’ve fallen through the Looking Glass,” she admitted. “Can you go with me to pick out a dinner outfit? And should I be nervous about tonight?”
Mariah started down the wooden planks, past an ice cream shop and antique store and more planters, most of them containing struggling flowers. “Kurt is one of the most boringly unimaginative Nulls in town. He’ll want to grill you to see if you’re one of them or one of us. Beyond that, enjoy the food. It’s good.”