Traci Eddings was seated on his sofa, casually eating Tostitos out of the bag. Her hair was combed, her pale pink blouse looked crisp and neat. She looked remarkably fresh.
“Good morning,” he said, struggling upright and stifling a groan from the pain in his lower back.
“Hi.” She held out the bag of chips. “These are stale, by the way.”
“Sorry. I didn’t plan on having company last night. Or this morning. How do you feel?”
She ducked her head. “Embarrassed. I’m not used to waking up in a strange man’s apartment.”
“Don’t be. Nothing happened. It was all completely innocent.”
“Yesterday was a lot. First the press conference, and then my brother-in-law called and went off on me and basically threatened to strangle me, then my oldest friend, who now hates me, showed up in my office to remind me how much she hates me. I never got a chance to grab lunch, which is probably why I had such a fierce headache… which led me to overdose on this stuff.”
She held out the smashed bottle of Tylenol PM and shook it.
“You figured that out, huh?”
“I’ve been awake for a while. You’re out of coffee, by the way, because I drank the last pod.”
“I tried to get you to drink some last night, but you were too far gone,” Whelan said.
“Can’t believe I slept for twelve hours straight,” Traci said. “Sorry you had to sleep on the floor. You should have dumped me there.”
Whelan stood up and headed for the bathroom. “I better get ready for work.”
“What about breakfast? Honestly, if I don’t get some real food…”
“Sorry, but as I mentioned, I wasn’t expecting company.”
“The least I can do to repay you for all the trouble I caused you is to buy your breakfast.”
He started to protest.
“It’ll be okay. I’ll call your supervisor and explain I co-opted you this morning for an hour or so for some landscaping consulting work.” She looked around the apartment. “I don’t suppose you have a spare toothbrush I could use?”
He pointed to a stack of plastic bins near the door. “There should be one in there.”
When Whelan emerged from the bathroom she was leaning over his tiny kitchen sink, brushing her teeth. “Much better,” she pronounced, popping the collar on her shirt. “I have no business going out in public looking like this, but right now I’m so hungry I don’t give a damn.”
She grabbed her purse. “Have you been to Kory’s Kitchen?”
Kory’s was a greasy-spoon diner he’d seen in a nondescript strip shopping center about a mile from the downtown tourist district. “Uh, no.”
“You’ll love it. Best homemade biscuits in town, but don’t tell our chef at the Verandah that I said so.”
“We’ll need to take your car,” Whelan advised. “You’re parked in a tow-away zone.”
The interior of Kory’s featured dark pine paneling, corny signs likeBLESS THIS MESSandSLAP YO MAMA, numerous taxidermy fish, and an eclectic crowd that looked like a mix of casually dressed locals, suit-and-tie businessmen, and blue-collar laborers, many of whom seemed to know Traci Eddings on a first-name basis.
“Hey, Traci,” a white-haired man in denim overalls said, stooping to bestow a kiss on her cheek. “Good to see you out. Real sorry about Parrish.”
“Thanks, George. Give Bess my love.”
Their server was in her twenties. “Mrs. E! Y’all want some coffee?”
“Hi, Chrissy. Yes, coffee for two, please.”
She filled their mugs and left the thermos on the table after handing them menus.
