Blown To Pieces (PTO Murder Club Mystery Book 2) (11 page)

“One.” I was disappointed in her lack of blue eye shadow, garish red hair, and ugly white orthopedic shoes.

“The way the clouds are gathering, it looks like more rain is headed our way.” Lulu was chatty. That could certainly work in my favor. I glanced around. There were only about ten customers. Good, Lulu would have time to talk.

“Yes, I think it’s going to storm.” We could use the rain.

She showed me to a booth that had a fantastic view of the front parking lot and Highway 71. I sat down and took the menu she offered me.

“What would you like to drink?” She didn’t call me “honey” or smack her gum or pull a pencil out from behind her ear. I bet she wouldn’t even call out an order that included “Adam and Eve on a raft with a side of heart attack on a rack.” The American diner experience was going the way of the dinosaurs. No one had called me “sweetheart,” and not one of the truckers had smacked me on the butt.

What was the world coming to?

“Unsweet tea.” My chances of getting a mocha latte here were about as good as me winning the Mega Powerball and getting struck by lightning at the same time. I’m a coffee snob. Folgers didn’t do it for me. The world must have been a cold, sad place back when all coffee came pre-ground.

“I’ll be right back with that.” Lulu turned on her heel and made her way to the counter that lined the entire back wall. In front of the counter, blue-vinyl barstools sat at the ready for anyone who wanted the belly-up-to-the-bar experience.

“Miss...oh...miss.” An elderly woman in a magenta-velour tracksuit and blueberry-gray hair waved vigorously at Lulu. “We’re ready to order.”

Lulu pulled a smartphone-looking thing out of her back pocket and tapped the touch screen. “What may I get you?”

Damn, she didn’t even handwrite the order.

“Well, now let me see.” Blueberry Hair scrutinized the menu like she was trying to use her X-ray vision to determine the chemical content of the laminated page.

Hadn’t she just flagged Lulu down because she was ready to order? It must take Blueberry Hair two hours to order her coffee at Starbucks. I’m pretty sure that Starbucks exists to force the indecisive to make twenty-five decisions before they’ve had any caffeine. Well, that and they serve manna from heaven.

“I’ll start.” It was a male voice. I craned my neck to see around Lulu to the owner of the voice, but all I got was a glimpse of a hairy, liver-spotted, bony hand holding the one-page menu.

I glanced down at my menu. There were exactly five items listed under entrées.

Lulu shifted to the right, and I got an eyeful of the man. He was wearing mustard-yellow pants and a white polyester shirt. A shaggy black-and-white toupee circa 1971 sat precariously on top of his head, the back corner flapping in the breeze created by the AC vent. Never mind that underneath the toupee, the man’s hair had clearly been a rusty red at some point in the past. Did this man own a mirror? Heck, didn’t he ever look at his reflection in a window?

Toupee sucked on his teeth. “I’ll have the chicken-fried steak.”

“Morty, you can’t have that. Your doctor said that your cholesterol is too high.” Blueberry Hair glared at Morty.

Morty had to be two hundred and fifty years old. Was lowering his cholesterol really all that important?

“Yeah...yeah, right...okay, then I’ll have the um...” Morty studied the menu like it was a road map to the Fountain of Youth.

“He’ll have the tuna salad on whole wheat with a side salad, no dressing.” Blueberry Hair took a turn down Decisive Road. Now, if she only stayed on it, I’d get my iced tea before my hair turned blueberry gray.

“I don’t like tuna salad.” Morty slapped his menu down. “I’ll have the chicken-fried steak. You eat the tuna salad. If I wanted tuna salad, I’d have ordered tuna salad.”

Give her hell, Morty.

“You’re not having chicken-fried steak.” Blueberry Hair smacked her menu down too.

They had a stare-down death match. My money was on Blueberry Hair. She had at least fifty pounds on Morty. Then again, Morty had high cholesterol, so what did he have to lose?

“Fine. You can have the chicken-fried steak, no gravy or potatoes. You’ll get the side salad.” Blueberry’s tone said that she’d bitch-slap him with the menu if he did anything but agree.

“Okey dokey, your usual. Chicken-fried steak dry with a salad, dressing on the side.” Lulu tapped on the mini-tablet in her hand. I didn’t see her roll her eyes, but I hoped she’d rolled them. Apparently, Blueberry and Morty were regulars who played this game a lot.

“I’ll have the chicken-fried steak with extra gravy and double mashed potatoes.” Blueberry’s voice was smug.

Morty shot her a look that said, “Old woman, your days are numbered. I’m slowly poisoning you with blueberry hair dye.”

If I were Morty, I’d stick her on the express elevator to blueberry-haired heaven so I could spend my final days drowning in extra gravy and double mashed potatoes.

Lulu tapped in the order. “Need refills on those coffees?”

Blueberry nodded. “Yes, thank you.”

“I’ll be right back.” Lulu hightailed it to the counter, poured my iced tea, and grabbed the coffeepot. She delivered my tea first and then worked her way around the room refilling coffee mugs.

She stopped by my table, set the empty coffee carafe down, took out her ordering mini-tablet, and said, “What may I get you?”

“I’ll have the chicken-fried steak with mashed potatoes and green beans.” Who says I don’t eat green vegetables? “Extra gravy on the side.”

I was totally slipping some gravy to Morty.

“You got it.” Lulu tapped in my order.

“Hey, don’t I know you?” I planted my vaguest vague expression on my face. “Weren’t you married to Big Tommy?”

Lulu’s perpetual smile crumbled under the weight of hearing her ex’s name.

“Yes.” Her eyes filled. “Sorry, but I’ve got to get back to work.”

Was that sadness or hatred? Tears could mean anything. I’m a mad crier. Maybe Lulu was a murderous crier and the tears were just her reliving the memory. That didn’t feel right. True, I’d only just met her, but she hadn’t stabbed Blueberry in the eye with a fork, so clearly violence wasn’t Lulu’s go-to reaction.

Ten minutes later, Lulu arrived carrying a huge tray perfectly balanced on her shoulder. She set it down on one of those folding, metal tray stands. Three giant platters of chicken-fried steak surrounded a sad bowl of limp, dressing-less salad. I kind of felt sorry for the salad. It was like the scrawny, pimple-faced kid in high school surrounded by the dazzling, golden-haired, popular kids. This was a perfect example of school yard bullying. No amount of smack talk from the salad was convincing anyone that he was just as good as the chicken-fried steak.

Lulu set one of the platters in front of me and then set the small bowl of extra gravy next to my plate. She nodded to my empty tea glass. “Be right back with a refill.”

She set plates in front of Blueberry and Morty and then hauled the tray back to the bar.

I stood, grabbed the extra gravy, and made my way to Morty. It was risky to try the old fake-trip gravy assist at the beginning of the meal in case I was thrown out of the restaurant, but I felt Morty deserved nice, warm gravy. Hell, he’d been eating with Blueberry for no telling how long. The man was due some hazard pay.

When I got close to their table, I fake-tripped over my feet and managed to dump the entire bowl of gravy directly onto Morty’s steak.

“Look what you’ve done.” Blueberry was horrified and outraged.

“Sorry, it just slipped out of my hand.” I shot her my I’m-stupid-but-cute smile. It cost me a few IQ points, but it was worth it. “I’m just two left feet today.”

I glanced at Morty, who was throwing back gravy-covered steak bites like this was his first meal in two years.

“Morty...stop.” Blueberry tossed her napkin on the table and tried to pull the plate away, but Morty knocked her hand away with his fork. His eyes turned feral as he wrapped his bony arm around the plate, protecting it like a lion protected its first kill on the savanna.

“I’ll have the waitress bring you another chicken-fried steak on me.” I waved at Lulu, who was mashing her lips together to keep from laughing.

“What good is that going to do us?” Blueberry snarled at me. “He’s almost done with it.”

Morty was done with the steak and was now running his finger around the plate to get every last drop of gravy.

“I’m happy to pay for your lunch.” I wasn’t, and they probably had more money than me, but it was worth the serious dent in my net worth to defy Blueberry.

“Fine. But we’re getting two slices of pie...à la mode.” Blueberry’s glare was so sharp it should have put my eye out.

“Fine.” I matched her glare and returned to my lunch.

Even with the extra cost, it was still worth it.

I tried not to scarf down my meal, but I only seem to be able to linger over food I don’t like. For example, beets and broccoli—I could pretend to eat them all day long, but when it comes to fried food, I’m a scarfer. I blame Canada—not sure why, but I have to blame someone for my love of fried food.

Twenty minutes later, I was pushing my fork around my empty plate and trying to decide whether or not to order a salad so I could push my fork around a full plate, when Lulu sat in the seat across from me.

“That was a nice thing you did for Morty.” She pulled a rag out from her back pocket and pretended to wipe down the booth. “He and Alvina have been coming in here for years, and she always fusses at him about his cholesterol while she eats her body weight in carbs and fats.”

“I figure life is too short, and he should be able to eat whatever he wants.” How, exactly, could I ease into Big Tommy’s accident without letting on that I thought he was murdered?

“We’re comping your meal and theirs.” Lulu grinned. “We don’t get much excitement around here, and Ted—the manager—wants to say thanks for the laughs.”

“Wow, thanks.” I really hadn’t expected it, but I’d certainly take it. “So...um...I was wondering about Big Tommy...”

I left it open-ended in case she wanted to fill in the blanks. Like when a fourth grade teacher says, “The capital of Alaska is...”

Her blue eyes turned shrewd. “What would you like to know?”

“Um...well.” I had no idea what to say. “I was...um...the last person to talk to him.”

“Did he mention me?” Lulu perked up. “Is that why you’re here? He told you to come see me right before he died?” She looked so hopeful.

Still in love with her ex much?

“Something like that.” I wasn’t above lying to get info on Big Tommy, or to get out of a speeding ticket, or in pretty much any situation that benefited me.

Lulu put her hand over her heart. “He’s...well, was...the sweetest man in the world. I knew he still loved me.” Tears flooded her eyes. “I can’t wait to tell the others.”

Others? “What others?”

“His other wives.” Lulu reached behind her and grabbed a napkin-wrapped fork, unrolled it, and used the napkin to dab at her eyes.

“You know his other wives?” Was I supposed to have formed the David Ridges Ex-Wives Club and I hadn’t gotten the memo?

“Yes, we formed a bowling team. We’re the BTGs—Big Tommy’s Girls. We bowl every Thursday night.” Lulu didn’t seem to think that was weird at all.

Did they all live together too? Was this the nondenominational version of
Sister Wives
?

“You all get along?” I couldn’t get along with my ex, much less all of his exes.

“Yes...most of the time.” Lulu smiled like she was reliving a good memory. “But I was always his favorite—he loved me the most. Used to make me the sweetest mixtapes.”

“What’s a mixtape?” I vaguely remembered my mother talking about my father making her a mixtape when they were in high school.

“You know, a mixtape.” She held her thumb and index finger far apart, indicating size. “A cassette tape that he would put all of our songs on. He’d record little secret messages for me between the songs.”

File that one under bizarre dating rituals that were—thank God—extinct.

Lulu put her hand over her heart again. “Big Tommy and I had so much in common—music, cooking, crafting. I loved that man.”

It was on the tip of my tongue to ask her why they’d divorced, but I’m smarter than that, and I didn’t want to risk her taking back the free meal offer.

“I’d love to meet the other BTGs. Think they would mind if I stopped by for bowling night?” I couldn’t see Lulu killing Big Tommy. She was still in love with him. Plus, in all of the years Blueberry had been eating here, Lulu hadn’t spiked the old woman’s extra gravy with Drano, so I didn’t think Lulu had a mean bone in her body.

“Sure, we bowl tomorrow night at seven at High 5 on Highway 620.” Lulu stood. “I’ll tell the girls that you’re coming.”

I’d have to cancel with Ben. Since it was for the case, I hoped he wouldn’t be too disappointed.

After work, I drove over to Big Tommy’s Chili Parlor and Oddities Emporium. Haley was meeting me there, while Monica had to work late. Anise, Haley’s nanny, had picked up the kids and taken them to Lakeside Park.

I grabbed the parking place closest to the door. As you can imagine, the lot and the restaurant were empty. I walked over to the huge, brown, plastic rock that sat in the middle of the weed-choked flower bed and pulled out the spare key.

We don’t have brown rocks in Central Texas.

Fake rocks practically scream spare key. You’re not fooling anyone. You’d do better to hang the spare key on a hook next to the front door. That way would-be thieves would pause, wondering if you’re stupid enough to leave the key next to the door instead of knowing that you’re stupid because you hid it in a plastic rock.

I unlocked the door, felt around for the light switch, flicked it, and walked into a knickknack collector’s heaven. Every available surface—including the tables where customers sat to eat—was covered with junk. There were collections of harmonicas, baseball cards, examples of barbed wire, an entire glass-fronted case holding nothing but straight razors, and another cabinet full of empty mason jars. The gray-cinder-block walls held animal heads of all sorts. In fact, I think man was the only animal that hadn’t been stuffed and hung on display. Over the years, the walls and furnishings had marinated in so much chili spice that it hung in the air like a chili-scented Glade PlugIn.