I couldn't decipher what Lily's game was, but I didn't believe for a second that Maggie would throw her out. I shrugged. "I suppose anything's possible."
Zelda rolled her eyes and climbed into the back of the van.
I glanced at the solarium and saw Marsha and Maggie shake hands. I hooked my head toward the solarium. "Looks like we're finished here. Nice talking to you." I turned to get into the back of the van.
"No, wait," Lily said.
Sighing I turned back to her. "Yes?"
"You shouldn't believe everything people tell you."
"What people?"
Lily whispered. "They don't like me." Her eyes shifted toward Maggie in the solarium for a second. "They're pissed off that I showed up here and messed up their perfect little life." She touched my arm shyly. "I'm not as bad as they say."
I shrugged. "What difference does my opinion of you make?"
Lily held my gaze and the concern in her eyes seemed genuine. "I don't know. I don't like people bad-mouthing me. I had enough of that shit when I was a kid." Her eyes flashed, then she reined it in. "Sorry. Maybe I'm over-reacting. I always got blamed for stuff that I didn’t do when I was a kid."
I understood how it felt to be blamed for crap you didn't do. When you're the foster, you get blamed for anything that goes wrong. In her shoes I'd probably be defensive too. "Not to worry Lily, nobody bad-mouthed you. Not to us, anyway."
Lily relaxed. "Really?" She smiled. "After the way you two looked at me, I was sure they gave you an earful."
I shook my head. "Nope, not a word."
Lily bowed her head as though receiving an unexpected grace. "Thanks. Good night."
I watched as she turned, walked slowly to the back of the lot and disappeared around the box hedges. "Strange girl." I got into the van, sat next to Zelda and rubbed my arms. "Crap, it's cold."
"What did she want?"
I watched for any sign of Marsha. "Weren't you listening?"
"Of course I was listening. But what does she care what we think? Or what anybody said to us?"
I stared out the open back door of the van. "I don't know, but that girl is a mess."
Then Marsha appeared all smiles and kisses. "Great job, everybody." She passed out envelopes to everyone. "I'm sure you'll discover it was worth the wait."
Zelda and I smiled and waved our envelopes. "Bonus."
The driver dropped us at Marsha's office parking lot twenty minutes later. Trying to avoid being soaked, we scurried out of the van and into my Camry. The drizzle had turned into a shower and it was slow going on the wet streets toward Sunland.
I leaned forward with my nose an inch from my windshield. Armed with napkins, Zelda wiped the fog away constantly. But it was still like driving with a plastic bag over my head. When I turned left onto Foothill instead going straight on Tujunga Canyon, Zelda frowned. "Where are we going?"
"To the diner. We need to talk to Debbie."
Zelda groaned. "Can't we go home?"
"Not until we find out who this mystery buyer is." I glanced at her. "It won't take long."
Zelda sighed. "I'm hungry."
"We can eat at the diner." Then I hit a patch of water and Zelda yelped as I skidded toward a dumpster and a bank of parked cars, but I maneuvered around them and righted the car. "Calm down, we're fine."
"I hate it when you drive."
I eased into a parking space and idled in front of Manny's suddenly not so hot on going inside. I peered through the windshield trying to see who was inside.
Zelda released her seatbelt. "What are we waiting for?"
Turning off the engine I said, "Nothing. Let's go find out what there is to know."
Chapter Fourteen
The only people in the place were Debbie and Chewie. Debbie hunched over a booth wiping it down with a bar towel — a bucket of sudsy water at her feet. Chewie sprawled at the counter talking dirty to his mamasita on the phone. He mumbled in Spanish but I recognized the tone and sleepy smirk.
Sweat shine on her face and hair springing in all directions, Debbie looked up. "Oh, thank God."
Zelda pulled off her jacket and put it over the back of a chair. "Gee Debs, you sound happy to see us."
Debbie waved her wet bar towel. "You bet, I can use the help."
Zelda parked her butt on a chair. "We're not here to clean."
Debbie wiped the sweat from her face with the back of her chubby hand and shrugged. "Whatever." She continued scrubbing the tabletop, grunting with every stroke. She was a good waitress but side work and cleaning challenged her. "Never get any help around this place anyways."
I took off my jacket and slung it on the back of a chair, then pushed the wet hair out of my eyes. "Where's Manny?"
"Gone."
"And this buyer person?" Zelda prodded.
"Long gone." Debbie threw the bar towel into the bucket. "I give up, these tables won't get clean." She stood back and admired her work. "I did the best I could. Time for pie."
She ambled past us to the pie case. Pulling out a cherry pie she asked, "When's pie day? We're running low here."
Zelda got out of her chair and moved to the counter. "What's the matter, not enough variety for you?"
I went behind the counter and poured us each a coffee then sat next to Zelda. "When did Manny leave?"
Chewie frowned at all the sudden activity and slinked back to the kitchen.
Debbie took her generous piece of pie to the ice cream freezer and scooped a mound of vanilla ice cream on top. As an afterthought, she squirted a big whipped cream hat on top of it and grinned. "Now, that's what I call a reward. Big ol' piece of cheery pie la mode." She plunked down at the counter next to us and dug in. "Mmm mmm."
Zelda eyed Debbie's plate. "You going for heart attack of the month club president?"
I elbowed Zelda and shook my head. "Tell me about this mystery buyer, Debs."
"Not much to tell." She looked up from her pie. "Not like Manny introduced me or nothing." She shook her head and forked a big bite of pie. "I get no respect around this place."
"Man or woman?"
"Lady."
Zelda rolled her eyes at Debbie. "How old?"
"I dunno. Not super old, like not a granny.” Debbie looked up from her pie but her gaze didn't land anywhere. "A lady, dressed nice like she was going out to dinner or coming back from a hot date."
I sighed. Prying information out of Debbie was never an easy task. I put my hand on her shoulder. "What made you think she was the other buyer? Did Manny say anything? Did she say anything? Did they say anything about signing papers or contracts?"
Debbie stabbed her fork in the air. "Whoa, so many questions. Slow down Scotti, the night is young."
I took a deep breath. "Okay, one question; what made you think she was the buyer?"
Debbie stopped eating, looked up to her thinking place and deliberated for a minute. "I can't put my finger on it, but something one of them said made me think it was the other buyer. Then they went in the back. They were in there a long time, so I figured they were talking turkey." She took another bite of pie. "Scotti, you make the best pie ever, girlfriend! Can I come over on pie day and help?" She smiled sweetly at me.
"I really want to see how you do it."
Zelda snapped at her. "No, you can't. Because on pie day we make pie, we don't eat pie."
Debbie chuckled and shook her head. "Oh Zelda."
I stood and hooked my head toward the back. Zelda frowned but she followed me into the kitchen. We picked our way through the unpacked produce boxes that Chewie was too lazy to put away. I glanced at him – still whispering to his girlfriend on the phone.
Zelda glared at him. "Are we the only ones who work in this place?"
I grabbed her arm and pulled her along to Manny's office door. Checking to make sure Chewie had his back to us, I tried to open it. "It's locked, damn it."
Zelda nudged me out of the way and tried the door. "What does he keep in there? Gold bouillon?"
> I stared at the locked door. "Can we use a steak knife to open it?"
Zelda's stare informed me of the stupidity of the question. She tugged at my arm. "Screw it. Let's get out of here."
"But..."
"Tomorrow's another day. We'll come up with a plan."
I sighed and followed her. As we rounded the corner, we ran straight into Debbie. We bounced off her like we'd hit a big slab of foam rubber but she caught us before we landed on our asses.
Zelda was impressed. "Wow, good reflexes."
"Cops are here for you." Then she turned back and walked back to the dining room.
Zelda cracked the door and peeked out to the dining room. "We could duck out the back."
"And have them follow us home? No thanks." I rubbed my itchy eyes and sighed. "Let's see what they want. Then we can get cheeseburgers on the way home."
Daniels and Davis bickered at their usual booth. I wondered if they ever agreed on anything. Daniels spotted me and sketched a wave. "Hey, can we get some service over here?"
I pointed to Debbie who sat at the counter, working on her second slab of pie. "That would be her."
Daniels patted the seat. "Aw, come on don't be pissy. Join us."
Like reluctant children, Zelda and I trudged to the booth. I slid in next to Daniels and Zelda plopped next to Davis.
"What's the matter, now?" I asked.
"Nothing's the matter," Daniels said.
Davis sighed loudly. "Look, we're sorry."
Zelda and I drew a blank.
"We weren't trying to hassle you," Daniels said.
Zelda slid out of the booth. "Okay, apology accepted."
Davis pointed at her. "Not so fast."
Zelda surrendered and sat again. "I knew it couldn’t be that easy."
Debbie brought coffees and two pieces of apple pie to the booth. "Scuse me." She set the coffee and pie in front of the cops then walked away.
Daniels beamed at the pie and forked off a bite. "It’s easy as pie, actually. We like you girls. I know it doesn't seem that way lately but we do. We're only looking out for you."
I smirked. "By threatening us?"
"And stalking us?" Zelda added.
The cops exchanged a look and Davis nodded to Daniels.
Daniels poured cream into his coffee and grabbed a couple of sugar packets. "Stalking you?" He laughed and emptied the sugar packets into his coffee. "No ma'am." His spoon clanged against the cup as he stirred the sugar into his coffee. "What we're trying to do is warn you not to get tangled up with that family."
Zelda snorted. "Why, are they crime lords or drug cartels?"
Davis wrinkled her nose. "No, what they are is prominent, wealthy people with connections to very powerful people."
I sighed and rested my head on my hands. "So?"
Daniels lowered his voice "So, people like that don't like outsiders poking into their business. This guy Manston had a lot of big clients. The kind of people who have the money to keep their secrets, secret if you get my meaning."
I frowned and shook my head. "George was a personal injury lawyer. He helped people who were victimized by the kind of people you're describing." Daniels and Davis said nothing. I frowned at their silence. "Right? I'm right, aren't I?"
"It doesn't matter what kind of lawyer he was, Scotti. We're under orders to keep a lid on this cockeyed thing." He shoveled a bite of pie into his mouth and talked around it. "And that's what we're going to do."
The conversation was more frustrating than asking Debbie about the mystery buyer. I shrugged. "And?"
Daniels waved his fork at me. "Maggie Manston is planning to make a big stink and that'll complicate things. You don't want to end up in the middle of that. You understand?"
I slid out of the booth. "Not at all. But I'm too tired to give a shit."
Zelda hesitated and whispered. "What do you mean, you've been ordered to keep a lid on things? Ordered by who?"
Daniels raised an eyebrow. "The powers that be."
Zelda snickered. "You mean like God?"
"The Police Commissioner." Davis's steely eyes said it was no bullshit.
"Whatever." I tugged on Zelda's sleeve and she slid out of the booth. We grabbed our jackets and headed for the door. "We're out of here."
"Just promise us you'll stay out of it," Davis called after us.
Chapter Fifteen
The heartbeat of our little guesthouse is the kitchen. It’s the largest room in the place and where we hang out. The rest of the house is unremarkable; a tiny living room, a corner for a dining room, and two small bedrooms with a bathroom jammed between them.
The kitchen has an open floor plan with a butcher-block island in the center that we use for food prep and dining. Early on I replaced the original fridge and range with an industrial refrigerator, and an O'Keefe & Merritt double-oven stove. Along the back wall, are more counters, cabinets, shelves and a walk-in pantry. I converted the bump-out breakfast nook into an office that houses an old desk, laptop, and a flat screen TV mounted on the wall.
Potted herbs grow in the greenhouse window above the sink and from the two mullioned windows in the nook and patio slider, we get lots of natural sunlight. If ever a room reflected who I was, my kitchen was it.
Friday morning was the start of a new pie day. In truth, pie day is a three-day baking frenzy that we performed twice a month to make the pies and deserts for the diner. But pie day sounds better than pie weekend, right?
Perched on a stool at the butcher-block, I sipped coffee while Boomer chomped his way through morning kibble. Baking soda biscuits browned in the oven and country gravy simmered on the stovetop.
When the oven timer dinged, I pulled the biscuits out and set the baking sheet on the counter. I went to the sink, rinsed a basket of blueberries, and dumped them onto a paper towel to dry. The pancake batter was ready. The fixings for kitchen sink eggs were ready. I was ready.
Zelda shuffled in, ponytail standing up like a dagger, and poured a mug of coffee. Still half asleep, she took her coffee to the butcher-block and plopped onto a stool.
I looked up from the stove. "Morning, sunshine."
Zelda poured half a pitcher of cream into her coffee. "What time is it?"
I removed the biscuits from the cookie sheet with a spatula and into a wire breadbasket. "A little after eight. You ready?"
Zelda stretched her arms and yawned. "Yep." She patted the counter top. "You get cooking and I'll get eating."
The first course was biscuits and gravy and Zelda left nothing for Boomer to lick from the plate. That was followed by kitchen sink eggs — scrambled soft with cheese, sausage, onions, and bell peppers. After Zelda cleaned her plate, I rewarded her with three fluffy blueberry pancakes smothered in warm syrup and lots of butter.
Zelda loved pie day, because for three days I cooked and fed her anything she wanted in exchange for doing the grunt work. She fetched from the pantry, rolled out dough, and stirred bubbling pots of fruit. She scrubbed, she wiped, she washed, she chopped, and she measured, without complaint.
By Sunday, we'd have thirty pies, eight dozen brownies, ten cheesecakes, and five fruit cobblers. Every available counter top would be lined with pies and pastries, and we'd be flour-doused and sweating sugar crystals from head to toe. It was a lot of work but I loved it. What chef wouldn't want to cook for three days straight without distractions?
Once Zelda couldn't force another bite, we went to work. By noon, we had seventeen pies and three cobblers cooling on the back counters. The kitchen smelled of fruit, spices and crisp pastry and my stomach growled.
"Lunch time." I ordered a pizza, while Zelda wrestled with stainless bowls and mixer attachments in a sink of sudsy water. Boomer alternately played blitz attack with Zelda's slipper and jumped up to see what she was doing. For fun, Zelda beaned him with suds balls, which fascinated and alarmed him.
When the pizza arrived, we slouched at the butcher-block and ate like hungry raccoons. Boomer, having a taste for dumpst
er food, was happy to dance for pieces of pizza crust. Even though I'd only had the little beast for a few days, it felt like he'd always been part of my life.
Stopping to eat gave my mind time to wander — thoughts of the diner, the mystery buyer, and George plagued me. For a distraction, I grabbed the remote and switched on the TV. I flipped through the channels looking for something to capture my attention. When Maggie Manston's face appeared on the screen I said, "What the hell?"
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