One Summer_...at Charlie's Diner

by Mary Jane Forbes

  Star came in fourth at the end of the day. She was OK with fourth considering she was lucky she showed up at all.

  Packing up her things, she headed for the door. The young man was still cursing—he had been eliminated. What she didn’t expect were two other baker women in an agitated conversation, to the point of hysteria, at the back of the room with Jim Whisk and Stephanie Hall. One of the women, tears rolling down her cheeks, the other’s face so red Star thought she would explode. Before stepping out the door she thought she heard them say they were withdrawing, the stress was too intense, they couldn’t take it.

  Pausing, she looked back at the huddle. Did she hear them right? They were pulling out of the competition? Heads together, Jim and Stephanie nodded in agreement, the two stressors thanking Jim for the opportunity to compete in the bake-off.

  Turning away, Star wondered at the implications. Three leaving meant there were six bakers left.

  Tomorrow was an off day and thank heavens for that. She sorely needed time to regroup, to gain some perspective on what happened at the diner, and what happened to Ash. Time to unscramble her head and above all get some sleep.

  Friday was scheduled to film Episode three. This time Jim had announced the category: cookies.

  Chapter 30

  ────

  STUNNED, JIM AND STEPHANIE stood watching the two women leave. With the eliminations, and the two women withdrawing, they were down to six competitors.

  “Steph, I don’t know about you but I could use a drink,” Jim said loosening his tie, unbuttoning the top button of his white shirt.

  Stephanie sighed. “Sounds good. We have some serious issues to discuss. Let’s go back to the motel, meet in the bar. We can get something to eat. I’m not sure I can swallow anything, but I’ll have to try.”

  Twenty minutes later the pair sat across from each other, staring down at the stuffed olives in the bottom of their martini glasses, the red dot in the olives, bloodshot eyes, staring back at them.

  After a long sip, a drawn out sigh, Jim leaned forward. “Any word from our backer, about the network signing our show?”

  “Nothing positive. A lot of mumbo jumbo about redoing the winter programming schedule. Jim, I wonder if he’s playing us. Do you think we should close down the project?”

  “Steph, how can you even suggest that?”

  “Not so loud.”

  Jim sat back, his hand swiping over his bald head. “All the money we’ve sunk into the show, the bakers …”

  “Oh yeah, the bakers. Shit, we’re down to six,” Stephanie said hunching over her drink glaring at him.

  “Well, look at the positive side.”

  “What’s that? I’d like you to tell me something positive.” Stephanie flagged the waiter, waving at their glasses for refills.

  “Maybe our backer will have the contract by the end of the week. Six contestants means we cut down the restocking of the baker’s stations. Plus, I was thinking today … how we might tighten the production, the schedule. Naturally, it was before the two lame-Os withdrew.”

  “Go ahead, talk to me. Tell me about all this creative thinking.” She stabbed an olive, glanced away.

  “Tighten the schedule. We’re down to six. We could have a double elimination, and then film the finals with four bakers. We already planned on three bakers for the finals so what’s one more?”

  “Go on.” Stephanie slid their empty glasses to the waiter as he set down their refills.

  “No more days off between episodes—except for tomorrow of course. Think of it. Two episodes, two categories. Say … cookies and the final round—candy.”

  “I see where you’re going. My God, Jim, that would mean we only pay through Saturday—the building rental, the equipment rentals, supplies, and the camera crew. We could almost make it.”

  “Yeah. And heat up the excitement—people withdrawing because of stress, crying, all kinds of drama. Heck, we could wrap it all up with money to spare, and a contract by the end of the week.”

  “Okay. Episode three stays as is on Friday. We announce the change before the baking begins, but we’ll also announce that it’s the semifinals—added pressure.”

  Jim smiled, squinting gleefully. “Yeah, added pressure, drama, and the finals will be filmed the next day on Saturday. We can pitch it as saving them money … those who are staying in motels. And, those who took time off from work can get back to their jobs.”

  “We feel their pain.” Stephanie chuckled. “They can go home, tell their families what a great experience they had making it to the finals—”

  “And we have ourselves a reality show—signed, sealed and delivered.” Jim sat grinning across the table at his co-producer.

  “Well, that means stirring up some media buzz, start hyping Saturday’s finals. Shit, I have to get on it tomorrow. Invite the press … Friday and Saturday … semi’s and finals. We should warn the cameramen, the movers that Saturday will be the end. Who knows, maybe the AP will pick up the story.”

  Jim looked up. “Steph, we have to be careful. Everything may still work out and we don’t want to cause confusion about the competition not proceeding as advertised or, God forbid, possibly being cancelled. Go ahead with your idea—media on Friday and Saturday.” Jim signaled the waiter. “Can we get some pretzels over here?”

  “Oh, I forgot to tell you. A local reporter called. Wants to write a follow-up story and take pictures. Do you think Friday, or Saturday. Maybe both.” Steph nodded to the waiter, pushed the bowl of pretzels to Jim.

  “Same reporter who wrote the first story?”

  “No. Another one.”

  “I changed my mind. Media on Saturday only. Okay, Co-producer in charge of press releases, let’s see what you’re made of. Start calling tomorrow—TV, radio, newspapers—invitation only to the finals on Saturday. If they ask about the semi’s, tell them the baker’s are too stressed out. Invitation is for Saturday.”

  “Jim, we originally planned a big celebration party after the winner is announced … a picnic outside, balloons, drinks. The celebration was described in the original package we sent to the bakers. Eliminated bakers are invited back, as well as all friends and families. A great photo op for the final scene. But … we have to scale back. We don’t have the money for such a grand plan. What do you want to say … to the bakers, the media?”

  “Nothing. We say nothing. We’ll scale back from a BBQ to soft drinks and don’t forget, candy is the category for the finals. Of course the bakers don’t know that yet. What could be better—soft drinks, candy, and a winner, and the bakers’ families and friends. Go ahead, add balloons. Finals always have balloons. We’ll go all out.”

  “Here’s to you, partner, and all that creative thinking.” Stephanie raised her glass, flagged the waiter, calling out to bring a couple of menus. She was starving.

  Chapter 31

  ────

  THURSDAY

  THANKFULLY SHE HAD a day off from the competition. Star rubbed her forehead, trying to put at bay the onslaught of a monster headache. Thursday was lining up to be a killer of a day. No time for lollygagging, she rolled off the mattress, sprang upright performing a few touch-her-toes.

  She padded to the bathroom, giving Mr. Coffee a punch as she passed. Shrugging off the white T-shirt she slept in, she stepped into the shower. Leaning into the hot steamy water, hands against the tile, thoughts of the last few days tumbled through her brain.

  The knot in her stomach returned. If only she could make sense of it all. Ash suddenly stuttering. His grandmother winging her way to his side. If his grandmother was so concerned why not his mother or father?

  The wound on his head wasn’t life threatening, at least the doctor didn’t seem to think so or he wouldn’t be talking about discharging him from the hospital today. But something was bothering Ash or he wouldn’t have called his grandmother in the first place, and he certainly didn’t try to dissuade her from coming.

  Maybe she’d learn more t
oday, get a better picture of Ash when she meets his grandmother, if she meets her. And hopefully the knot in her stomach would ease except her neck was still sore. A grim reminder of the robbery.

  Turning off the shower, she stepped out grabbing a towel. Smiling at her image in the fogged up mirror, she thought of Ty’s cartoon. Kewpie doll—NOT.

  She dressed, going over the first few hours at the diner in her mind as she gulped a mug of strong coffee, being careful not to spill.

  Liz and Manny had rescheduled their visit to the diner to this morning when they learned she’d be there. Jane couldn’t make it—something about an appointment to touch up her hair’s pink glow.

  Then there was Detective Watson—he was coming this morning to go over everyone’s statements.

  She’d texted Charlie back and forth about manning the grill this morning—not this afternoon. And, could she borrow the van around noon to go to the hospital? His final text—yes to all. Star chuckled. Charlie didn’t like texting. He kept his messages short and sweet.

  Cookies, cookies, cookies. She made a mental note to go over bake-off number three with Gran.

  Leaving her apartment for the diner, Star instinctively looked for Ash waiting for her at the corner, hot chocolate in hand. But, of course, he wasn’t there today.

  The morning started slowly, picking up just as Liz and Manny arrived. Charlie gave her ten minutes to meet with them, then he wanted her back on the grill.

  Liz popped out of the booth, gave her a hug, scanning her head to toe to make sure she was okay, the two sliding back in facing Manny across the table. Star thought Manny was preoccupied, but when she mentioned that Ash thought the robber had yanked off the chain from around his neck, he took note of what she was saying.

  “Did Ash give you a description of the chain?” Manny wanted to know.

  “Gold, with his mother’s gold ring strung on it. His grandmother is flying in … from London. The nurse gave him his phone—he texted me that she called, told him she’d be at the hospital about noon.”

  Star smiled up at Tyler as he set three coffees on the table. “Hey, good—”

  She was interrupted as Detective Fred Watson sauntered in, walked up to their booth. “Nice. Everyone I want to chat with held captive in a booth.”

  Tyler grinned at the detective. “Sir, I added to the drawing I gave you. The whole robbery—frame by frame—the gun, Ash flying through the air, Star in the grips of the bad guy, and snake-man’s snarl demanding I give him the money from the register. It’s all here.” Tyler pulled a folded sheet from his pocket, laid it on the table, smoothing the edges.

  “Manny, I bet you wished when you were a cop on the beat that you had an eye-witness like Tyler here.

  “For sure. Tyler, can I have a copy of that sketch?”

  “Right here, Investigator,” Tyler said pulling another folded sheet from his pocket, handing it to Manny. “See, Detective Watson, his sweats are too small for him, sleeves didn’t reach his wrists. And … and, there was this tattoo, the head of a snake crawling up his neck from under the black sweat suit. And … he’s standing in front of me demanding that I give him the cash—he’s taller than me. Almost a head taller. Just so you know, I’m six-feet … exactly.” The cartoon illustrated a white man with a blond curl sticking out from under the sweat suit hood.

  “Fred, Star was telling Liz and I that her friend’s grandmother will be with him at the hospital, noon, flying in from London,” Manny said.

  Liz looked from the detective to Manny. A message passed from one man to the other, their eyes, and she didn’t think it had to do with Ty’s cartoon.

  “Is that so? Well, I’ll make it a point to be there. Still need to go over his statement.”

  “Star, I need you at the grill,” Charlie called through the order window.

  “Be right there. Well, duty calls. Talk to you later, Liz. We didn’t get much of a chance.”

  “Yeah, Star. We’ll talk.” Liz said the words to Star but she was exchanging wide eyes with her husband.

  “What?” Manny knew the what. That wife of his never missed a thing and several interesting pieces of information had dropped into that pretty head of hers. If he had to guess what was on her mind, it was a stop at the pawn shop down the street.

  “Excuse us, folks,” Manny said inching out of the booth, offering his hand to Liz. “We have a few errands to run. Catch you later, Fred, and best of luck, Star … the competition. Tyler, you’re a natural. I have a feeling the DBPD will be calling you.”

  “Why? For what?”

  “Whenever they have an eye witness … asking you to sketch the witness’s description.”

  “Bye, all.” Ignoring Manny’s hand, Liz scooched out of the booth, headed out the door with a wave over her shoulder to Star.

  Chapter 32

  ────

  “STITCH. HOLD UP. What’s your hurry?”

  “Oh, let’s see. Where to begin.”

  Clicking the locks on their black SUV, Manny held the door open for his wife. Liz flounced in, made a big deal of putting her shoulder bag on the floor of the backseat as the door shut.

  Manny decided to wait it out. She would let loose soon. She never could hold anything in for very long.

  “What do you think? Stop at Eddie’s Pawn Shop? See if that gold chain was pawned there?”

  “Capital idea.” Liz smoothed out the crease in her slacks, the motion that always drove him crazy. He liked a military crease in his trousers. “And, if Eddie doesn’t have it, the next one down the street may. Both are close to the diner. Petty cash from the register … snake-man, as Tyler called him, is probably a local.”

  “Tyler’s drawing was priceless—a gold ring strung on a gold chain, a tall guy with a snake up his neck. Easy to ID. We’ve both used Eddie as an informant. He’ll tell us if the chain was pawned at his shop in the last thirty-six, forty-eight hours or so. An item like that burns a hole in a petty thief’s pocket—too hot to keep for long.” Manny glanced at his wife. She was about ready to blow. Best if they talked to Eddie first.

  Manny pulled up in front of Eddie’s Pawn Shop, ducked his head to see out the window if the shop was open. He knew Eddie opened at seven. He was stalling to see if Liz was ready to talk. Turning the key off in the ignition, both doors of the SUV were flung open at the same time as the private eyes, always dressed from head to toe in black, strolled into the shop.

  “Elizabeth, Manny, my two favorite snoops. Let me guess, you didn’t come for tea?”

  “You got that right, Eddie,” Liz said.

  “Any customers this morning, Eddie,” Manny asked perusing one of the showcases.

  “Customer, no. Wanna-be customer? Maybe. Depends on what you mean.”

  “Robbery Tuesday. Late. Tall guy in a black sweat suit, soaked. It was raining. That sound like one of your customers?” Liz flashed her megawatt smile. Her smile always got to Eddie.

  “As I said, Elizabeth, it depends. Yada, yada. A man came in with a piece of gold yesterday. I couldn’t accommodate him.”

  “Where did you send him, Eddie?” Manny asked without looking away from the showcase.

  “Al’s, down the street.”

  “Okay, well, if a customer comes in wanting to pedal a gold chain with a ring going dingle dangle, give us a call. Here’s another card to put with the last one I gave you.” Liz pulled a card from her pants pocket, swore under her breath, handed him her card.

  Back in the car, Manny pulled away from the curb. “What’s with the swearing back there?”

  “Pants are getting tight.”

  They hit pay dirt at Al’s—Pawn It Here, Best Prices. Liz took several photos from different angles of the chain and ring with her cell phone, a close-up of the lettering around the inside of the gold band. Arabic lettering. A woman’s ring.

  “Detective Watson will be by. He’ll want to see this. Evidence in a robbery. Best if you take good care of this chain and ring. Don’t let it out of your sight,
if you know what I mean,” Manny added.

  Back in the car, Manny decided on a course of action. “I’ll drive by the house. Let the dogs run.” He was hoping Liz would let off the steam that was still inside her if she was home.

  He knew his wife. They no sooner stepped through the backdoor when Liz turned on him.

  “Are we partners, or are we not partners?”

  “Stitch—”

  “No, no … not Stitch. Elizabeth Stitchway Salinas, Private Eye … TRUSTED PI. Yes?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “You’re holding out on me, Manny. What was all that googly-eye stuff going on between you and Fred back at the diner?”

  Manny swiped his hand over his head. “I told you the chief called last night.”

  “About a case you said.”

  “Yeah, well he called about a guy here on an expired visa.”

  “So?”

  “So the guys name is Ashar Rais. Ashar as in Ash. He’s one in the same person who was hospitalized as a result of the diner robbery.”

  “You mean Ash as in Star’s friend?”

  “Looks like it. And there’s more. Donovan called.”

  “As in Alex Donovan, FBI? That Donovan?”

  “Yes. He wanted me to nose around, quietly, as in don’t tell anyone. The name Rais came up with a match when he did a Homeland Security search … after the expired-visa person popped up.”

  “My God, Manny. Is Ash a terrorist?”

  “Elizabeth, as your husband, not as your business partner, I’m going to protect you, and if that means keeping you, my wife … and child … out of harm’s way … keep my bullheaded wife from charging into danger, then that’s what I, Manny Salinas, husband and father-to-be will do.”

  “Damn. Not fair, Manny. I’m throwing a yellow flag. I can’t fight the daddy card.”

  Manny quickly closed the distance between them, wrapped her in his arms, tucking her sparky red curls under his chin. “Truce?”