A Rip Roaring Good Time (14 page)

"Oh, gee. I don't know if you're exactly what Miss Runcan is looking for. I think she'd probably like to hire someone closer to my age."

"Unless I'm mistaken, employers can't legally discriminate against people due to their age. What did you say your name was, young lady?"

"Um, well, it's Chelsea, but I didn't mean anything like that. I'm sure sorry if I offended you."

"You did. But I'll get over it. Now, I'll ask again. What do I need to do to apply for the position?"

"When could you start?" Chelsea asked.

"Tomorrow morning."

"Let me call the owner. Hopefully I'll have an answer for you when I bring your meal. Okay?"

"That'd be perfect, honey. Thanks!"

By the time I'd finished my plate of gluten-free, vegan, lactose and MSG-free zucchini, which was surprisingly tasty, I was hired and due to start my new job as a server at Zen's Diner early the next morning. According to our psychedelic-haired waitress, Alice had been delighted to have me begin working as soon as possible. I had to wonder if Chelsea told her the applicant was older than dirt.

On the way back to the Alexandria Inn, Rip turned to me and asked, "Have you lost your ever-loving mind? You'll fit in working as a waitress in that restaurant like I'd fit in as a tap-dancing instructor. Not to mention we're due in Chicago by the 29th for the wedding."

"Don't worry, sweetheart. I don't plan to work there for very long."

Chapter 9

Not much had transpired in our absence regarding Lexie's imprisonment or progress in the murder investigation by the local detectives. The district prosecuting attorney had refused to allow any charges to be filed against Lexie until the investigators could bring him more corroborating evidence to consider. So far, he'd stated, all they were able to come up with was circumstantial evidence, nothing incriminating enough to warrant charging Lexie with homicide.

Stone was able to visit with his wife for a short spell in the evening. Rip and I stayed at the inn to lend our friends a hand with their bed and breakfast establishment. We worked together getting two adjoining rooms freshened up, which consisted of some last-minute dusting and tidying up, fresh linens, and placing a straw cornucopia-styled "horn-of-plenty" container, ready to be filled with fresh fruit, on the small antique table in each room. It was most certainly an all-inclusive lodging facility I'd come to learn.

I began preparing a simple supper for our two newly arriving guests; pot roast with potatoes and carrots, a Caesar salad, and freshly baked dinner rolls. I was liberally topping some bread pudding with rum sauce that I'd planned to serve for dessert while Rip handled the "checking-in" procedure for the two twenty-something-year-old sisters who were in town to attend a party celebrating their parent's silver wedding anniversary. The Spitz sisters were cheerful and bubbly, almost giddy, which made me feel like a cranky old curmudgeon in comparison.

Forty-nine-and-a-half years into my marriage to Rip, it often felt as if our wedding was just yesterday. However, on that particular evening, it seemed like lifetimes ago. I glanced in the mirror before I climbed into bed later that night and my normally clear eyes, the color of stonewashed Levi's, now appeared to be bloodshot and puffy. If I didn't know better, I'd think the reflection looking back at me was that of a recovering alcoholic who'd fallen off the wagon and been on a three-day bender. I was so tired and weary by bedtime that I slept like the proverbial log all night long.

After a nightmare-free night, I woke up refreshed and recharged. The whites of my eyes were no longer red and the puffiness beneath them had abated. I felt as if I were ready to conquer the world, beginning with a short stint as a waitress at a restaurant that served food more fit for rabbits than humans.

* * *

"You're asking me how the kelp and wakame omelet is here? Really?" I asked the young couple staring up at me as if I were actually in the habit of eating things that had no business being shoved into an omelet. "I really don't know, sweetheart. Personally, I wouldn't let any kind of seaweed pass through my lips if you paid me. I've made it to sixty-eight without giving up real food and I ain't gonna start eating this foo-foo stuff any time soon."

The young lady exchanged a look with her eating partner and said, "Sorry, ma'am, but we are very health-conscious and we're adamantly against the brutal slaughter of animals just to provide us with meat that's detrimental to our bodies anyway. We think it's very important to eat food with colors: green vegetables like broccoli and kale for the indoles and isothiocyanates that help prevent cancer, purple fruits and vegetables like plums and eggplant for the anthocyanins and proanthocyanins to keep your heart healthy and your brain functioning at optimal—"

I don't know who had pulled her chain, but I didn't have time to listen to a litany of fun food facts, so I cut her off. "Listen, sweetheart. I'd just as soon eat the geraniums in the planter by my kitchen window. They've got lots of colors; green foliage, red and orange blossoms, and even a few dark yellow leaves I ain't got around to picking off yet. Now I need to skedaddle and get your order turned in. Frankly, I don't know why anyone would want to ruin a perfectly good omelet by putting things like weeds out of the sea into it. Weeds that I think should stay in the sea where they belong. But, oh well, whatever floats your boat, I guess."

It was seven-thirty on a crisp Tuesday morning and I was already sick of waiting on people. Even the customers sounded like they were speaking in a foreign language. There wasn't a lot of coffee being served either, but I got a lot of requests for the drink of the day, a healthy alternative to coffee listed in the menu as "Slow-Steeped Diet Caffeine-free Herbal Pomegranate and Ginseng Green Tea with Honey and Stevia Leaf."
What the hell kind of drink is that
? I asked myself. Any kind of beverage that takes sixteen words to list on a menu is way too tooty-fruity for my taste.

Alice Runcan hadn't arrived yet, so I was pretty much obliged to wait on tables even though I didn't have a clue what the customers were ordering. The stuff on the plates I was delivering to tables reminded me of what my momma used to throw in the hog trough or the compost bin.

It was closing in on ten o'clock when I recognized the woman strolling into the diner wearing shorts that barely covered the cheeks of her behind and a tank top that her bouncing breasts were threatening to slip out of. Her skanky outfit left little to the imagination. Wendy had talked about Alice's devotion to her religion. I wondered if Ms. Runcan attended church bazaars in outfits similar to this one. I also wondered if she'd ever been tested for schizophrenia.

She marched right up to me and asked, "Are you the new hire?"

Duh...
I thought, as I responded affirmatively.

"Well, then, welcome to Zen's Diner," Alice said. She looked me up and down before adding, "You're a little older than I expected, but I guess you'll have to do. I want to lay out the ground rules before you get too comfortable working here. For starters, if you are persistently late or snippy with customers you won't be around long enough to draw your first paycheck."

Jeez, what a bundle of fun she'd be to work for. Little did she know I wouldn't be around long enough to deliver a bowl of Quinoa steel-cut oatmeal to the scraggly-bearded dude in the corner booth, much less to draw my first paycheck.

I stood silently as Alice began to recite her list of rules. Before I was told I had to bow down and kiss her butt every time she walked into the diner, I said, "You sure look awfully familiar. Say, didn't I see you at Wendy Starr's birthday party the other night?"

"Well, yes, I su-su-su-pose you could have. I did attend the party. Tragic about what hap-hap-hap-happened that night, huh? So sad. I'm sorry I don't re-mem-re-memb... uh, recall seeing you there," she stuttered, suddenly appearing terribly nervous and on edge.

Of course she didn't. I'd had my back to her when she spoke to Mattie just after her arrival. Later, she was too focused on trying to "hook up," as they call it these days, with the handsome detective to take note of some ol' gal in the room that could be her grandmother.

"Did you know that poor feller, Mr. Hayes?" I asked innocently. "He certainly was a good looking thing, wasn't he?"

"Uh-huh. I've known Trotter for years, but who at the pa-pa-rty hadn't?"

"Well, me, for one. I heard he was quite the player. Just out of curiosity, did you ever go out with him?"

"Uh, yeah, for awhile I did. But he was supposed to be my date at Homecoming my senior year and the jerk-off backed out at the last minute, too late for me to find a replacement. As the homecoming queen that year, it was extremely embarrassing to show up at the dance without a date. He was a self-centered, overbearing blowhard if there ever was one."

Alice's whole demeanor had changed drastically. She morphed from a stern, unemotional taskmaster into a red-hot ball of fire with venom in her voice and hostility in her eyes. If she could spit out her vivid opinion of him without stumbling over it, her speech impediment was no longer an issue either.

"Oh, my," I said. I spoke dramatically just for effect. "Man, that'd make me furious! In fact, it'd make me want to get a little revenge. Knock that scuzzball down a notch or two. After all, you were no doubt the center of attention that night. I'd be humiliated to the bone to be stood up that way."

"Oh, but it gets even better."

"Do tell!"

"About halfway through the dance, Trotter strolled into the auditorium with one of my closest friends, Rayleen Waters, on his arm. He'd told her that he and I had split up even though he'd never told me that."

"Oh, my," I repeated. "In that case, I'd definitely want to open up a big ol' can of whoop-ass on that creep if I were you. And maybe an even larger can of it on your so-called friend, Rayleen Waters."

"Rayleen and I shrugged it off eventually and put it behind us. We blamed Trotter for lying to both of us and causing the rift between us to begin with. Joy White was a great friend of ours too. Joy was my very best friend, in fact. Rayleen, Joy, and I were called the Three Musketeers until we went our separate ways to attend different colleges, just a few months after that homecoming dance. I hadn't seen Joy in years, so I was naturally shocked to see her at the party with Trotter."

"Bad taste, huh?" I asked.

"No lie! She should have known better than to mess with him. Joy and I drifted apart after a while too, and hadn't seen each other in several years. But naturally she'd known all about the homecoming fiasco and also about Trotter's bad boy reputation. Then to top it off, Rayleen had attended the party with Falcon Jons. Another example of bad taste. I still can't believe she showed up with him of all people."

A bell went off in my head when I heard that unusual name. I recalled that he was the dude who was sucking on some girl's vocal cords, all the while staring at Trotter's date, Joy White. I now knew his date was a girl named Rayleen Waters, one of the "Three Musketeers" along with Joy and Alice. I had to tread slowly so as not to make Alice Runcan think I was anything but a nosy, gossip-craving senior citizen. "Oh, my goodness! So what's the deal with this Falcon Jons guy that came as Rayleen's date?"

"Let's just say he's got a screw loose. His elevator not only doesn't go to the top floor, it doesn't budge off the bottom one. Anyway, after what Trotter Hayes did to me on homecoming, I haven't given him the time of day. He was an inconsiderate, self-absorbed, narcissistic jackass if you ask me."

"Gosh, he sure sounds like one," I replied. "I'm guessing you're not too unhappy about his death then."

"Well, um, I can't hon-hon-estly say I was devasta-deva-um, you know, terribly upset about it, but that doesn't mean I'd want to see him da-da-dead or pers-personally ever consider mur-mur-mur-mur-mur −"

"Murdering him?" I finished her sentence for her because my patience was wearing thin. Her speech impediment had made a comeback. I was considering the fact her stuttering might be triggered by the telling of great big hairy lies.

"Yes."

"I see."

"Let's get to my list of ground rules again, Ms. Ripple," Alice said. "We need to get you back to work. We don't want to keep our customers waiting, now do we?"

In the blink of an eye, her personality returned to the one she was exhibiting when she first approached me. It was evident our discussion about the murder was over and I wasn't apt to get anything further out of this woman, whom I now considered a possible but unlikely suspect. She'd have to be insane to commit murder over such an insignificant event that happened over a decade ago.