by Becky Clark
“Yes, I’m aware.”
“—and I’m doing the best I can from that chaos you left at the diner. I’m figuring things out. I established a logical workflow. I implemented easy daily specials I can handle. And when I needed help, I asked for it.”
“Did you fix the credit card machine?”
Quinn glared at him. “No.”
Jake glared back, then softened, clearly resigned to a reality he couldn’t change. He looked down at his government-issued plastic sandals. “You’re right. I’m sorry. You stepped into a huge mess and I’m grateful.” He raised his eyes. “But really? Your parents?”
“It’s perfectly fine. I’ve been checking in with them all morning and just now drove by and all was well.”
“You could tell everything was okay from the street? Did you go in? You should have gone in.”
“Everything’s fine. Right as rain, as Grandma used to say. And if you’d quit grilling me, I could get back there faster.”
“So this isn’t a social call.”
“First, I just talked to Michael Breckenridge and he gave me this for you.” Quinn pulled some wadded-up bills from the pocket of her sundress and held them through the cell bars.
Jake smoothed them. After he counted them, he ejected a one-syllable laugh. “Finally. Mikey came clean.”
“You knew he stole from you? Is that why you fired him?”
“I didn’t fire him. He quit. He was washing dishes for me in high school, got some girl knocked up, and panicked. I figured he’d think about swiping from the till, so I left a hundred bucks in there. He didn’t even take it all. I don’t know how he thought fifty-three dollars was going to help, but kids’ brains are a mystery to me. I’d heard scuttlebutt around town about the impending bundle of joy and tried to get him to talk about it, but he wouldn’t. Not to me, anyway.”
“Did you say, ‘Hey Mike, heard you’re gonna be a daddy. Anything you want to talk about?’”
Jake recoiled as if she’d slapped him. “No! Yuck. Feelings?”
“I swear, men are so infuriating.”
“That’s rich, coming from Ms. Don’t Want To Talk About My OCD.”
Quinn had no response, so she snapped her rubber band and changed topics. “At the governor’s fundraiser, did you know any of the male servers?”
Jake shook his head.
“Did any of them have a dimple?”
“A dimple? Are you hunting for the world’s sexiest man? A dimple. What kind of question is that?” He looked both worried and appalled.
Quinn rolled her eyes at him. “What is it with me running into so much latent homophobia today?”
“I’m not homophobic. But I am on my way to the Denver County jail soon, according to Chief Chestnut. I guess I’m a little … twitchy.”
“Denver? Why?”
“I don’t know. Something about jurisdiction and the fact they still have a working guillotine.”
Quinn gasped. “They do? They sounds positively barbaric! Does the ACLU—” She saw the look on his face and realized he’d been dealing in a bit of hyperbole.
Jake pushed the fifty-three dollars back through the bars of the cell. “You better keep that. Use it to fix the cash register or something. They’ll just take it from me when they check me in.”
“Check you in? It’s not the Holiday Inn. It’s called intake.” She shot him a stern look. “And don’t joke around with those guys. They don’t all have a sense of humor.”
“Roger that. Now get back to the diner before your mom poisons all my customers.”
“She wouldn’t—okay, but not on purpose. And nobody ever died from eating too much cumin. Besides, I bet she made her pretzel pancakes today. They’re oddly compelling.” Quinn started for the stairs but turned back. “Almost forgot the most important thing. Tell me about the affair you had with Margosha Dubois.”
“I never had an affair with Margosha.”
“I heard you did.”
“From who?”
Quinn decided Jake didn’t need to know about Kelli, her font of information at the Crazy Mule. “Never you mind that. Just tell me. Was it because she was married to a gay man? Is she the homophobe?”
“Nobody is a homophobe.”
Quinn raised her eyebrows.
“What I mean is, nobody in my circle is a homophobe.”
“So tell me about you and Margosha.”
“Nothing to tell. I was helping her with her English.”
“Then why did everybody think you were having an affair?”
“Because Loma told everybody we were.”
“Why?”
“Because she is a naturally suspicious woman. And it didn’t help that when she suggested to Emmett that they have an affair to get back at Margosha and me, he laughed in her face.”
“Did she know Emmett was gay?”
“Not when she suggested the affair. She’s not a masochist.”
Quinn stayed quiet for a moment, thinking. That squared with what Kelli had told her and what Loma had told her about Margosha’s English skills. And she’d seen for herself the volatility that Loma possessed. It was perfectly logical that if she’d suspected her husband was having an affair with a gorgeous woman, she would strike back and strike back hard. “So. You were teaching her English. Is it possible she was faking her poor English skills?”
“Why would she do that?”
“I’m not sure. Just working on some theories.” Quinn was quiet for another moment. “Is it possible that Loma was Emmett’s silent partner in his restaurant businesses?”
“Silent? With that mouth? That’s a laugh.”
Despite his tacky joke, or maybe because of it, Quinn thought Jake showed guilt. She grabbed the bars of the cell with both hands. “Do you think Emmett was really the one blackmailing you? Could it be that someone was just pretending to be him in order to blackmail you?”
Quinn held up the FUNdamental Restaurant Products catalog. “Those letters were cut from this. I got it from the Crazy Mule.”
“What did you tear off?”
“I didn’t tear it. Emmett must have.” Quinn frowned. “Wait. It couldn’t have been Emmett. He was already dead when it fell out of the Crazy Mule’s manager’s pocket.” She squinched her eyes, replaying the scene. “And it wasn’t torn when I picked it up.” She slumped against the cell. “This proves nothing. Dead end.”
Jake held out his hand for the catalog. Quinn handed it through the bars. Jake flipped through it, stopping at the section torn from the middle. He ran his thumb over the jagged remnants. “Every restaurant gets that catalog every month. There’s probably one at the diner.” Jake cocked his head. “Have you picked up the mail from the post office box?”
“Have you mentioned a PO box to me?” Quinn heard the irritation in her voice.
“No, I didn’t mean—I just—it’s box three-oh-three.” A flush crept up from Jake’s neck to his cheeks. “When you get a chance. The key is the little one on the ring I gave you. Didn’t you wonder what it was for?”
Quinn gave an exaggerated sigh. “No. Do you think I obsess about everything?” She shook her head at him. “But back to the question. Could somebody have pretended to be Emmett to blackmail you?” She pointed at the catalog. “Somebody who gets this?”
“Who would do that? And why?”
Jake looked so sad it stabbed Quinn in the heart. It seemed this was the first time Jake truly grasped that he might have an actual enemy and this was not just some kind of fluke. Not a bad twist of fate. Not a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time.
“It was wrong of me to hold her back.” Jake stared into the distance.
“Who?”
“Loma. And I was wrong to mock her just now for being the silent partner. She sure could have carved a niche for herself if I hadn’t
insisted she help me so much when I was getting started, but I was so scared I’d fail.” He looked at Quinn. “Who else have I hurt without even being aware?”
“I don’t know, but it would have to be someone who would benefit from both blackmailing you and from killing Emmett.”
“And for making it look like I killed him.”
“Yes. Who would fall into those categories?”
Jake simply shook his head. Quinn could see by the conflicting looks that crossed his face that he couldn’t imagine knowing anyone who could do such things. Was Loma upset enough to lash out at him this way?
Do we really know everything that people are capable of? Don’t we all have those people in our lives who we are fairly certain could hurl a racist insult, or launch into violence, or maybe even kill a person in a pique of fury or passion?
Quinn thought about her parents. She couldn’t imagine either of them doing anything of the sort.
What about Rico? As a police officer, he came across situations all the time where he had to make split-second decisions and assessments of people. What if he got it wrong? Nothing much happened in a small, out-of-the-way place like Chestnut Station—if they were lucky—but cops all across the nation, all across the world, were constantly in the news for making an instantaneous decision that got second-guessed by everyone. We see body cam images and think that we would have done things completely differently. But would we? We weren’t there. We didn’t know what had happened before someone’s cell phone started capturing the altercation. Quinn wanted to believe that Rico would never be in a situation like that. That he would always choose the right thing to do and say every time. But was that even possible? It was a high standard to hold him to, but Quinn held him and everyone she knew to a higher standard. No different than the standard she held for herself.
Which she couldn’t always reach.
Was it possible that she didn’t—and couldn’t—know the people in her life so well to know how they would react or behave in a given situation?
She looked at Jake looking at her. She’d only known him for a few weeks. Was it possible she didn’t know him at all?
“Jake, who lost money when Emmett’s restaurants failed? Did you?”
“Yeah, I lost a lot but it wasn’t an investment. It was my whole life. I poured blood, sweat, and tears into those restaurants. They were like children to me.” His face hardened. “It was my whole life.”
The change in Jake’s demeanor and voice startled and unnerved Quinn, reaffirming her earlier impression that she didn’t know him very well. As she climbed the stairs she wondered, was Jake the silent partner?
* * * *
Quinn went straight from the police station to the post office. When she opened the box to collect the mail for the diner, all she saw was one postcard, an official request to pick up everything at the service counter. She took the postcard, locked the box, and waited impatiently for the lone clerk while he took care of an elderly woman sending a birthday gift to her granddaughter.
“You should see her, Mel,” she trilled. “Getting ready to start ninth grade. Plays the tuba in the marching band, on the mathletes team, and was voted in as treasurer for the Future Scientists of America chapter at her school.”
“That’s great. You must be so proud.”
Quinn couldn’t tell if Mel was being genuine or sarcastic, since he spoke in that dreary monotone that comes with a career in a soul-sucking quasi-governmental organization. Didn’t matter. Quinn was impressed with the granddaughter’s accomplishments. Tired of waiting in line listening to them, of course, but still impressed. Quinn tapped her index finger in quarter-inch intervals along the edges of the postcard she held.
Mel finished up the transaction and gave Grandma her change. When she turned to leave and saw Quinn, her hand fluttered to her throat. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know anyone else was in line and me going on about my granddaughter like that.”
Quinn smiled at her. “No worries. I wonder if my grandma bragged about me.”
“I’m sure she did.” The woman stepped out of the way.
“I never played the tuba.”
“I bet you had other charms. Bye now.”
Other charms? Not really.
Quinn handed the postcard to Mel. Without speaking to her he took it and left her alone at the service counter. He returned with two bundles of mail, each with fat rubber bands encircling them. As she gathered them up she said, “You guys can put the mail in the box again. I’ll pick it up so it won’t get so full next time.”
Mel said in his monotone, “That’s great. You must be so proud.”
* * * *
Back at the diner, Jethro was waiting for her, panting in the heat, eyes looking even sadder than normal, if that was possible. Quinn was probably just projecting her own sadness after her encounter with Jake at the jail.
She opened the door and ushered him into the air-conditioning. He padded around the restaurant making his rounds, but Quinn stopped mid-stride, taking in the scene before her. As her eyes adjusted from the bright white sunshine, she grew more and more horrified.
Every table was piled high with dirty dishes. Jethro deviated from his route to hoover up half a piece of toast that had landed jelly-side down on the floor. He lapped up the remaining jelly, then altered his route for any other tidbits. Quinn couldn’t see everything that he’d gobbled up, but the fact he’d done so six times made her increasingly frantic. She snapped the rubber band on her wrist.
“Hi, Quinn!”
She looked for the source of the greeting, moving her head in slow-motion. Her vision landed on the group of people clustered in the big corner booth. Her parents grinned and waved at her from the center of the booth, bracketed on both sides by other grinning people.
“Come sit with us,” Georgeanne trilled.
Quinn remained rooted to the spot. Out of the corner of her eye she spied an overturned chair. She walked over to it and set it upright, again sweeping her gaze across the restaurant. “What … happened here?” she asked.
“What do you mean, what happened? Breakfast and lunch happened!” Dan said with a laugh. The others laughed too.
Quinn recognized most of the people crowded into the circular booth: Abe the handyman; his daughter Cynthia, who had helped her with the oatmeal disaster; Duke McCaffrey; the ample-bellied O’Shea; a woman she’d never seen before; and her parents beaming in the center of them.
Quinn gave a vague wave behind her with one of the bundles of mail. “But what … happened?”
“Oh, don’t worry about the mess. We’ll get it cleaned up later. Right now we’re taking a breather from our rousing success at the Chestnut Diner,” Georgeanne said.
Abe and Cynthia clinked coffee cups. “Here, here.”
“You should have seen your mother, Quinn,” Dan said.
“And your father.” Georgeanne put her arm around his shoulder. “He handled every single customer with aplomb.”
“With a plum?”
“Aplomb. Grace, poise, quick thinking. Especially when people were mad.”
“Mad about what?” Quinn felt her heart begin to beat a bit faster, now in time with her rubber band.
Georgeanne waved away Quinn’s words. “Nothing important. You know how people can get.”
Quinn started to speak, but Dan interrupted her. “Nothing to worry about, Quinn.” Dan moved to get out of the booth and elbowed Abe, who elbowed Cynthia, who elbowed the woman Quinn didn’t recognize.
But the woman stayed right where she was and spoke to Georgeanne. “This was so much fun today.” She turned toward Quinn. “I’ve never had such a delightful experience here. Good company, new friends, laughs galore, and some of the most innovative food I’ve ever had. Those pretzel pancakes were scrumptious. You should be proud of your employees.”
“They’re not my empl
oyees. They’re my parents.” She narrowed her eyes at Georgeanne. “Who I expressly requested to follow the instructions I laid out for them.”
Georgeanne made a little turtle movement like she was going back into her shell. Dan clasped his hands together in prayer position.
“Aw, honey, don’t be like that. Your mom handled the kitchen like a dream and I know it doesn’t look like it, but I worked my butt off out here. And if you’ll go look, I think you’ll see we made some money today. It was a messy day, but I think a pretty successful one.”
Quinn felt a stab of remorse. Her parents came through for her in a pinch and here she was chastising them for a little mess.
Dan was jabbing Abe in the ribs again and trying to scoot out of the booth. Quinn waved him to stop.
“You’re right, Dad. You guys deserve a break. It’s obvious you worked hard today. Let me clean up.” She addressed the entire group. “Anyone want anything? Coffee, soda, hazmat suit?” They murmured their orders and Quinn went to the back to drop her purse and the mail. When she saw the state of the kitchen she gasped and swooned like a Civil War bride. She turned her back on it to drop her apron over her head and tie it around front. Drinks for the back booth first.
After serving everyone, Quinn took a look at the envelope stuffed with cash that Dan had left in Jake’s office. If she had been able to whistle, she would have given a long, low one here. He was right: They’d made some bank today. Impressive. She felt a bit competitive and would have to check her daily notes to see if this was more than she’d been making. If it was, she already knew that her parents wouldn’t take credit. They’d just say it was because they double-teamed it and Quinn was always on her own at the diner.
At any rate, she reminded herself, it wasn’t a competition and she should be thankful for their help, even if they did outshine her at her own job.
She grabbed a dishcloth and a plastic bin to bus the tables while her parents laughed and chatted with the others in the booth. She was surprised that no other customers came in to eat. She knew the door was unlocked because she’d just come in it, but glanced at it anyway and saw the Closed sign was turned. She gave a tiny snort, debating for longer than she should have before flipping it back to Open.
