by Beth Byers
Table of Contents
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
ONE
“Should we poison his pie?” Zee asked as I crossed the diner to deliver the meatloaf and mashed potatoes special to Murphy Jesse. The man was a jerk. There was no way around that. He was also one of the main judges of the pie contest Zee and I were participating in. Given his reaction to my cheddar and apple pie, I figured I was out of the running. I should have known better than to make it. I’d created the recipe to torture my boyfriend. This was nothing more than karma.
I deserved my fate given that I’d been sure to save him a piece from the contest given that I knew he was coming in for dinner. He hadn’t even done anything to irritate me lately, I just liked to make him squirm. I used the anticipation of Simon’s face when I slapped the pie down in front of him to give the food critic a genuine smile. Murphy didn’t react even as I placed his plate down—and it looked amazing. He said nothing as I refilled his iced tea. I placed a few more napkins on his table and placed a second basket of rolls down, and yet, invisible fairies could have been feeding him for all the thanks I got.
The man was, in fact, a super jerk. Really, there was no question. The pie contest was 12 days of pie, and we’d turned in 7 pies so far. So far, his feedback had made someone cry everyday except today. Today, he’d attacked Zee’s pie. Given that my waitress and friend, Zee, specialized in meanness, she hadn’t even blinked when he’d torn her pie to pieces and mocked it without qualification. Seeing as how I’d had of a slice of that caramelized banana cream pie heaven and had made her promise we could make it at the diner, I felt his judgement was lacking.
Zee was the full time waitress at my restaurant, The 2nd Chance Diner. In addition to that, she was my friend. Yeah, she was a lot older than me, sour as possible, edging towards mean, and with a wide, wide, wide dash of salty. That being said, I liked her. A lot. So when Murphy Jesse attacked her pie, I think I got angrier than she did. She hadn’t blinked, I’d turned a brilliant shade of red, clenched my fists, and tried to keep myself from smashing one of those pies right into his multi-chinned face.
You’d think he’d have attacked my cheddar and apple pie. I knew it wasn’t for everyone. Mine, he’d chew one bite, shoved the plate away, and snapped his gaze to me. I got a solitary raise of the eyebrow, a snort, and then he’d turned to Zee and raged. That was after, he’d eaten the entire piece and licked his fork.
I sighed and thought about how many times I’d made that pie to torture my boyfriend, Simon. Sure…he hated it, but it was a solid pie. Interesting and different. It sold out every time I made it to my more adventurous customers. This pie contest was a joke, and I was about over it.
I went into the diner’s kitchen and helped Az serve up several plates of food while the both of us kept a focused eye on the food critic. Murphy Jesse was making notes which told me he was planning on writing up a review of the diner as well as participating in the pie contest. I knew that he was staying in the B&B Martha Sloane ran, and I wondered if he’d be reviewing there too. His stay there had been covered by the town to get him to participate in our event. He was our star pie contest judge. The rest were locals. But Murphy Jesse’s blog, Oregon Foodie was popular. The mayor had been excited when she’d been able to convince the critic to come to Silver Falls. We weren’t one of the bigger Oregon Coast towns like Cannon Beach, Astoria, or Lincoln City. Those towns had regular visitors and sold out often.
The mayor hoped to make Silver Falls one of the bigger players on the Oregon Coast with the help of this critic. I hadn’t read his blog, but I’d heard enough about it. A lot of his articles were published in one of the Portland magazines as well as Oregon coast newspapers. I think even the Willamette Weekly republished some of his stuff. If we got good reviews, maybe some of the weekenders from Portland would choose Silver Falls over Cannon Beach. It was definitely a possibility which was why the town had paid so much for the man to come.
I had heard from Martha Sloane who was putting him at that she was under a lot of pressure. When she’d agreed to take in the critic, she said, she hadn’t known it was Oregon Foodie. Once she found out, she’d tried to back out, but the mayor wouldn’t have it. Martha said something about him being known for reviews as salty as Zee. Now that I’d seen his reaction to perfect pies, something told me that he didn’t plan on writing a good review about anything in Silver Falls. Roberta had made a huge mistake, and we were all about to pay for it.
“It doesn’t look good, Az,” I said as I watched Murphy Jesse scowl into his plate. He threw his fork down, shoved his clean plate away, and screwed up his face into a sour twist as he made notes. Zee refilled his iced tea two more times while the man shoved the remnants of his food around his plate and made copious notes.
Az patted my shoulder and said with his thick Jamaican accent, “Don’t worry about it, little luv. We make good food here. People know that. Nothing this fellow says will change the Herberts from coming in for their daily dessert and coffee or Henry Oldsman from coming in for breakfast everyday.”
I knew Az was right, but the way Murphy Jesse’s lips were twisting made me concerned all the same. Surely Martha Sloane wasn’t wrong with her worries. She didn’t seem like a flighty person even though I didn’t know her well. Her B&B was only a year or two old, but she ran it like a pro from what I’d heard. Martha was a mid-50s retiree who was making her own second chance with that pretty bed and breakfast, and she’d been down right pale with the worry caused by Murphy Jesse. Pale but with perfect makeup and hair. She made worried look good. I sure couldn’t say the same.
Az’s patted me again with his huge paw, and then flipped two burgers in a movement so smooth you’d think that the spatula was an extension of his hand. He was my only cook and the two of us kept the kitchen running. The truth was, he was a brilliant cook, and I was lucky to have him work here. I was even more lucky that he was happy and wasn’t looking for a way to escape what many people would consider a dead end job.
“It’s gonna be fine, luvie,” he said. His voice was all dark chocolate and caramel and filled with affection. Sure, I’d only met him when I bought the diner which wasn’t all that long ago, but he had become a big brother.
“We got this,” I said doubtfully.
He laughed at my face and said, “We make good food, Rosie. Good, good food and our town knows that. Your event nights sell out every time even though that kid died the first time. We have regulars who are going to come and eat here no matter what that uptight jerk says. We got this.”
He was right, I thought. I was letting Martha Sloane’s worries color my own thoughts. It didn’t help that the circle of other entrants had agreed with her worries. I’d thought when we pulled in the Oregon Foodie critic, people would be excited, but every single person I’d talked to who would be judged by him had been worried instead.
Murphy Jesse finished his iced tea, and I went out to refill it, seat a few customers, and quickly bus a couple tables. By the time, I was done, Murphy needed another refill. I offered him coffee or dessert. He didn’t even reply just gave me a sharp shake of the head. There was a line out the door, but he made no move to vacate his table, simply watching as Zee and I moved like a well-orchestrated machine to keep people moving, the orders taken, drinks refilled.
I seated three more groups before I noticed that my boyfriend, Simon had arrived.
&n
bsp; “Hello, sweetheart,” Simon said as he leaned down to press a kiss on my forehead. We’d been dating since I moved to Mystic Falls, and the sight of his eyes and square jaw made me smile. Given that he was a police officer, perhaps our poison and pie plans had somehow psychically lured him in. He crossed to me, kissed my forehead, and said, “Something smells amazing.”
“It’s the green beans,” I said, grinning mischievously, “And the cheddar apple pie.”
He paused long enough to tell me—without saying a word—that he knew I was up to something. I knew he was craving the meatloaf, and I’d ignored his order for our less tasty, healthy options often enough that he had reason to be concerned. It would be just like me to serve him a plate of stir-fried veggies and tofu with a side of cheddar apple pie. Yeah, my vegetarian customers loved that dish, but Simon was a pure American, old school, meat and potatoes man.
He was lucky I was saving my machinations today for pie and that jerk of a food critic. I glanced over at the food critic who was staring around with a sour expression on his face. I’d eaten a slice of the meatloaf earlier with our mashed potatoes gravy, garlic fried green beans, and a roll. It didn’t deserve that expression anymore than my adorable little diner did.
It was far more satisfying to cook for someone like Simon—who was willing to be pleased. It was especially enjoyable when it was something I knew he wanted. And, he’d hinted at meatloaf enough yesterday that I caved when I got to the diner. Today should have been the pork chops special, but they’d be ok through tomorrow and I wanted Simon to be happy.
Simon grinned down at me, knowing I was teasing him, and kissed me lightly on the lips. The diner was crowded, so I offered him a place in my office instead. He shook his head and decided to wait. A part of me wanted to drag him back to the office, where I could eat with him and not feel like I needed to jump up every time someone needed iced tea. In a shocking turn of events, our new waitress hadn’t lasted two weeks and our one part-timer had today off, so she could go to school. I’d be working until we closed at 7:00 pm.
Goodness knows, I’d been there a lot lately, slowly shredding the old blackmail files that had led to a recent death. I didn’t just shred them, I burned them on the patio grill. I was here so much I missed Simon. And my dogs. I was tired of hiring and losing waitstaff. Doing the baking, helping prep for my cook, Az. We needed steady staff, or we’d have to cut back to closing after lunch again. I was starting to believe it was the best choice after all.
The second chance I’d created when coming to Silver Falls wasn’t intended to be endlessly working myself to exhaustion. Especially with Oregon’s gorgeous beach only a block away. I wanted to spend more time on the sand, or biking through town. I wanted to learn how to fly kites like a pro, something like a Chinese dragon. I wanted…so much more than just working at the diner.
I was coming more and more to the conclusion that pushing our hours back was a huge mistake. When Zee, the waitress, crossed to me with her drink order, and I helped her to fill it as I said,“Pie crust is an art, Zee. It shouldn’t be sullied with strychnine or whatever you’re imagining.”
“Straight for the kill, bossy lady?” Zee snorted meanly, but the glint in her eyes told me she approved. “I was thinking more along the lines of a laxative. Neither of us are going to win this stupid contest even though we should be first and second place.”
“Martha’s pecan pie was stop the presses good. I even asked her for her recipe,” I said, knowing Martha’s other pies hadn’t been all that great. If I were being honest with myself, Zee deserved to win. She really was better at pies than me. I hoped I could say I was better at other kinds of baking, but I was starting to think I’d done the diner a poor turn when I’d taken over the baking. Pecan Pie Martha owned a bed and breakfast over near the bluff, and I was truly jealous of her pecan pie.
When I answered phones for a living, I wouldn’t have been able to imagine being jealous of someone else’s pie recipe, but here I was green with envy over what amounted to nuts, sugar, and corn syrup. I was also jealous that Martha ran her place in heels. A few months into running The 2nd Chance Diner, and I’d resorted to shoe inserts and orthotics. Switching from being chained to a desk all day to making desserts and serving homestyle cooking had done wonders for the size of my behind, but the pain in my legs was taking away the positives.
I seated Simon at the back corner of the diner, so I could take a few minutes. I just needed to…I don’t know…be part of something that wasn’t delivering food for a few moments. I loved the diner, a lot, but I needed something more. It was this town! They had families and history. They baked cookies for charity and had pie contests and probably barn raising or some other such thing.
“Hey, boss lady…” Az’s face was tired and his expression was apologetic. Rather than calling up the order for Simon’s meal, Az had brought it himself. “I can’t work late tomorrow.”
“Az, working late is dumb,” I told him, suddenly making the decision I had been debating. “Later nights are stupid! We work until 2:00 pm, and we have lives! Can I get a heck, yeah?”
He grinned at me, and I knew instantly I’d made the right choice. Both for me, for my staff. And, it seemed for Simon given he was grinning but trying to hide it.
“Heck yeah,” Az rumbled.
“Daisy needs me,” I told Az and Simon as though it weren’t about the exhaustion on all of our faces and missing my boyfriend. “And Mama Dog, and the babies.”
Yes I had five dogs, including three puppies. I should have homed the puppies with someone else and just kept Mama Dog, but I hadn’t. And now, I didn’t care to. Given that Simon had two dogs and we spent more days together than separate…well….I’d invested in a fair number of lint rollers and a super good vacuum.
“I wouldn’t mind some more time with you,” Simon said with that familiar glint, and I didn’t mind that statement one little bit. I laughed a little as I got up to get him some pie. But before I could go, Murphy Jesse handed me three envelopes and then walked out of the diner. Walked? Strutted really. Plowed through patrons actually spilling Mrs. Jenkins cup of coffee as he barged by and never turning back. Mrs. Jenkins gasped as her lap flooded with what I hoped was cooled down coffee, and I jumped to my feet to clean her up.
“I’m so sorry,” I said, frantically drying her off.
“Ain’t your fault, is it? That person is…well….his mama should be ashamed of him.”
I cleaned her up, brought her some of Zee’s pie, and told Mrs. Jenkins today’s meal was on us before I went back to see what those envelopes were all about.
Az had flipped the sign to closed after Murphy Jesse left and started clearing the tables so everyone else could finish their meals in peace. He replaced our longer hours sign with the old one where we closed at 2:00 pm. The relief on his face told me that I’d definitely made the right choice. I should never have extended our hours before I had been able to find regular staff.
I flopped down next to Simon and then took a deep breath, picking up one of the envelopes. One was addressed to Zee the others were blank. Given that he’d handed them to me, I went ahead and opened the first of the unmarked envelopes. That review would likely be published. He provided a list of papers and magazine, but I didn’t take them in. How could I when the sheet in front of me was a demand for money for a good review. Otherwise, I’d get a bad one, and it would be published!
I was so angry I could feel my ears heat and my hands shake. Simon was saying something to me, but I couldn’t listen. I couldn’t react at all. I stared at the page and re-read what Murphy, the troll, Jesse and written. Surely this was illegal? Either way, it took serious gumption to attempt to get me to pay for a winning review.
Zee must have caught my realized something was up. “Rose?”
I shivered and turned to watch Zee march across the diner and yank the paper right out of my hand.
“What does it say?” Simon’s voice was gentle especially in comparison to Zee’s sna
rl.
I couldn’t even express how upset I was. It was just…The 2nd Chance Diner was more than just my dream…it was my second chance, and this…this…fellow thought he could mess with it? Or that I’d want anything but the truth written about my food? That I’d let him force me to give him my hard-earned money to get a good review. He’d had the meatloaf special and I had as well. It was good. It was dang good.
“That…” Zee’s curses filled our ears. I handed her the envelope with her name on it and didn’t really need an explanation. We were both contestants in the same contest. There was only one reason that…person…would be giving both Zee and I an envelope. But the thing was…he was so blatant about it. We could get him ruined as a judge, and he didn’t seem to care at all. Simon—for the love of all that was holy—Simon was wearing a uniform today. And Murphy Jesse had attempted to illicit money from us in front of a cop.
“Do you think he’s just epically stupid?” I asked with a faint voice. I could hear the blood pounding in my ears with the anger. I wasn’t sure I’d ever been this angry before. Nothing in my life before The 2nd Chance Diner was something that I loved and was my own like the diner was. I had never had anything I cared enough about to have this kind of reaction.
“No,” Zee said. Her voice was vibrating with fury, and her fingers were curled into fists. “We love the diner, Rose. He can mess with 2nd Chance with his stupid review. Even I’ve heard of him, and you know what I think about reviews.”
My lips twitched at that even though none of this was funny. Our Yelp reviews tended to be full of comments about Zee and they weren’t always nice.
Regardless, though, I flopped against the back of the booth and stared at the envelope. I wasn’t going to pay for a review, but how could I just let this go?
“Do you think this will ruin us?”
Zee snorted and said, “If having someone murdered in the diner over a plate of our spaghetti and meatballs, some bigwig, fancy pants blogger isn’t going to make a lick of difference.”
