Corrie darted through a saloon-style, swinging door to a woman who stood over a stainless-steel stovetop, spatula in-hand. Over her shoulder, she glanced at the door and then at the woman. “Wow, Aunt Claire, that omelet’s making my mouth water.”
Aunt Claire flipped the omelet. “Uh huh.”
Corrie stepped closer. “I bet Mr. Chambers’ mouth is watering, as well…”
Aunt Claire paused, turned, and slapped a hand on her hip. “Chambers better not be in my dining room pestering my new waitress! If he is, tell him I said, ‘either be patient or peel his fat butt off my stool and hightail-it to different diner’.” She snapped toward the stove and read a digital clock. “And at one a.m.—in these mountains—good luck.”
Corrie nodded. “Sure, Aunt Claire.” She pushed through the door, saw a brown-suited man in a wide-brim hat, and beamed.
“Well?” he said. “Is Clarie coming with that omelet or not?”
Corrie threw two thumbs high. “Aunt Clare said ‘it’ll be right out’ and to refill your coffee—on-the-house.” She dashed to a brewer, seized a coffee pot, and raced to a countertop where he sat. She filled a mug and smiled. “How’s that?”
“Blasphemous.”
Her eyebrows pinched. “Sir?!”
“Clare told you to tell me to ‘shut my trap or hit the highway’, didn’t she?”
She bit her lip. “Who? My Aunt Claire?!”
He stared at her, and she sighed.
“Apologies, sir…” She carried the pot to the brewer. “She’s been on her feet for hours, and when that’s the case, she tends to say things she doesn’t m—” She peered at him:
He gazed into a distant corner, grinning. “Claire always means everything she says and everything she says she always means.” He chuckled. “You know: that’s what keeps me stopping-in before my night shift, not her omelets.” He glimpsed at a wristwatch. “Anyway.” He dug in his pants pocket, pulled out a wallet, and piled several bills on the counter. “This is for the eggs and coffee.” He piled more bills beside the first. “And this is for you.”
Corrie lifted her palms. “Oh no, sir, you don’t have do that.”
He stood and put on a trench coat. “Oh, I know Clare. Trust me—I do.” He glanced through a floor-to-ceiling front window and across a road at a wrought iron cemetery entrance gate. “Hey, if a Buck Evans stops in, tell him Loyd Chambers said ‘Hey’ and ‘Sorry about the accident’.”
Corrie’s forehead wrinkled. “Who?!”
“Ol’ Buck Evans. Don’t you read the papers?” He pointed at a newspaper clipping wall, tipped this hat, and ambled through a front door to a car parked out front.
She watched him drive into darkness and bit her lip. “Evans?!” She ambled to the clipping-packed wall and skimmed headlines:
Mountain Lion-mauled Steubenville Man Dies in Hospital
Lumberjack Died in Steubenville Sawmill Accident
Steubenville Bridge Collapse Claims Three
Corrie scratched her head. “Everyone’s dead. So, what was he talking about?” She read on:
Landslide Kills Hiking Troupe
Steubenville Forest Fire Proves Fatal
Steubenville Lake Claims Lumber Tycoon Charles ‘Buckshot’ Evans’ Daughter
Corrie cupped a palm over her mouth. “Whoa.”
“‘Whoa’ what?”
Aunt Claire marched through the swinging door, omelet and sausage plate in-hand, and Corrie snapped toward her.
“Nothing,” Corrie said.
Aunt Claire tramped to a cash-piled countertop and shook her head. “Now why would he insist on paying first?” She glimpsed at Corrie. “Where did he go? Don’t tell me he’s in my men’s room funking it up?”
“No, he left, but still paid.”
“Well, that means he’s NOT in my men’s room funking it up.” Aunt Claire plopped the plate on a countertop near Corrie. “You hadn’t had dinner, right? Here—eat up.”
Corrie studied a wall clock. “My shift isn’t over.”
“You can take a break.” Aunt Claire rubbed her neck. “I’m headed to my office sofa. If a food order walks in, holler.” She ambled through the swinging door, and Corrie sorted Mr. Chamber’s bills between a register and a tip jar and then carried the plate around the counter to a rear diner, front door-facing stool. She peered through the window at the cemetery gate, watched leaves scamper past it, and shook her head. “Auntie just HAD to open a diner across the street.” She lifted a fork, scooped up eggs, and chewed. “Like opening one beside a park or scenic trail would have been too easy.”