Agent Clooney laughs. “Or how about aliens?” He says it with a chuckle, gaze locked on me.
“A prank,” I say, though it sounds thinner out loud.
Clooney presses his lips together. “A prank.”
The air goes tense, silent. I’m about to walk away.
Until he adds, “So, nothing worth discussing in this café? Or the broader town?”
I nod, feeling my throat tighten. “Gentlemen, if you don’t mind, I’ve got other customers. But I’ll be back around when you’re ready.” I end with a forced smile and a wink.
“Counting on it,” Clooney says, staring back across the table at his partner. Blank. Unreadable. “Counting on you using the cards we gave you yesterday, too, should anything peculiar come up.”
“Peculiar?” My eyes narrow.
Murphy nods once. Clooney smiles thinly.
The coffee pot shakes in my hand, liquid sloshing as I make my rounds.
“Careful,” Ms. McIntyre scolds as brown liquid splashes onto the table top.
I gasp. “Sorry.”
The old lady eyes me for one long moment. Then, her face softens. “You look scared out of your mind, Eliza. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I say weakly, grabbing the napkin opposite her and wiping up the spill.
Mr. Monroe calls from one table over. “Still waiting on clean silverware, Liza.”
“Oh, shoot, yes. One moment, Mr. Monroe.”
The whole time I work, I feel watched. Like I’ve already said too much. And each time I sneak a look, two sets of calculating eyes follow me.
Frank was right. I never should’ve reported it.
Back in the kitchen, the owner, Heather, and her line cook, Gustavo, speak in hushed tones. “That storm last week was something. Didn’t feel right.”
I’m a gossip by nature. Always have been. Now I chafe to add in what I’ve seen. The strange sign in the field. The mutilated bull. Instead, I bite the inside of my cheek to stay quiet. Frank’s words are in my head again.
I don’t know what I’d do if I lost the ranch. Don’t know what I’ll do without Frank.
“Know of any cowboys looking for work?” I ask, interrupting their hushed gossip.
Heather raises an eyebrow. “Frank isn’t enough?”
I shake my head. “Not that. He’s retiring.”
“Retiring? But why?” Her eyes round like I’ve said something sacrilege.
It takes every cell in my body not to say more. “Tired. Over it. Who knows?”
Gustavo frowns. “More like scared witless by the bull.”
“Wait, how do you know about that?” I ask, heart thudding against my ribcage.
“Sheriff Cullen was already in for breakfast and coffee. Told useverything,” he explains.
“But there’s nothing to tell,” I protest, head spinning.
