But it never hurt to be prepared in case the situation ratcheted up and I was forced to take a detour down a road that was dangerous ... and deadly.
TWO
“LET ME GUESS.You want the Tuesday meatloaf special.”
Brad arched an eyebrow at the fortysomething waitress standing beside his table. “Am I that predictable?”
“Not always. But I know you’re partial to Chuck’s meatloaf. You and half the town.” Angie waved a hand over the crowded diner, wrote down the order, and stuck her pencil behind her ear. “I keep telling him it should be a regular menu item, but does he listen to me? Ha.” She snorted. “That man can drive a body crazy. Talk about a temperamental chef.”
Chef?
That was a generous term for the taciturn hash slinger who owned Chuck’s Place.
On the other hand, the hearty fare the man whipped up was close to homemade—a godsend over the past three years. Plus, stopping in here for dinner was better than eating alone in a house that always felt too empty.
Brad shrugged. “I suppose you can be temperamental if you have a loyal customer base.”
“Tell me about it.” Angie rolled her eyes. “Say, I heard Natalie Boyer took a fall. She okay?”
No point asking how she’d heard the news. In small communities, gossip had wings—and ambulance calls were big news.
“As far as we could tell.”
“She’s awfully old to be living alone out there.”
“Micah lives on the property too, and Lydia’s there on a regular basis.”
Angie affected a shiver. “Micah gives me the creeps. I wouldn’t want him lurking aroundmyhouse, let me tell you. And I doubt he’d be of much use in an emergency. Lucky for Ms. Boyer that Lydia was out there today. With the spotty cell service around here, I don’t know what she’d do if she ever needed help and no one was close by. ’Course, she’ll have the professor on hand this fall. You get to meet her while you were there?”
“How did you hear aboutthat?” Even Lydia hadn’t known about Natalie’s guest until late last week, from what the housekeeper had said earlier today. And a houseguest wasn’t in the same gossip league as an ambulance visit.
“Lydia mentioned it to her brother, who told his girlfriend, who passed on the news to my sister at the hair salon. Lydia had to make a special trip out yesterday to clean the guest cottage because Ms. Boyer’s cousin came down from St. Louis for the weekend.”
As usual, Angie was a font of information.
“We could use you as a detective if you ever want to switch careers.”
“Very funny.” She smirked at him. “It’s all a matter of keeping your ear to the ground. No special skill involved. I also picked up a few unrelated tidbits at the church picnic this weekend. You should have come.”
Brad averted his gaze, straightened his cutlery, and took a deep breath. The mere thought of facing the inflatable bounce house and slide, or the face painter and balloon artist, had unleashed an avalanche of memories best kept buried.
“I wasn’t in a picnic mood.”
Angie sized him up with the practiced once-over she usedon customers. “Well, you missed a good time. Father Johnson was in fine form in the dunking booth.”
The corners of Brad’s mouth twitched. “I would have enjoyed seeing that.”
“He drew quite a crowd—and raised a fair amount of money for the mobile rural clinic. So what’s she like?”
At the abrupt change of topic, Brad squinted at her. “Who?”
“The visiting history professor.”
An image of Cara Tucker materialized in his mind—early thirties, lithe and graceful, with wavy dark brown hair, a focused demeanor, and perceptive hazel eyes that radiated warmth.
“It wasn’t a hard question.” Angie inspected him.
He smoothed out the edge of his paper napkin. “She was pleasant and professional.”
