“There are a couple of tables at the bowling alley — it’s east of town on 282 — but I wouldn’t go there. When my women’s league bowls, I see mostly kids and teenagers and they’re always cutting up and trying to push players into finishing their game so
So, no pool tonight. What about the restaurant on the far side of the street? Garreth pictured himself telling his story to a chatty waitress and other customers. “What’s the Main Street Cafe like?”
“Wonderful,” Violet began, then hesitated. “If you like home-style cooking. Their fried chicken and meatloaf are as good as my mother’s and you can’t beat their homemade pies and sourdough bread. The starter for the bread came west with Verl’s great-great-grandmother in the 1880's. But the Pioneer Grill down the street is where to go for barbeque, Chinese, and Italian food.”
Yes…he thought he caught the whiff of garlic as he headed out of town last night. “Home-style sounds good to me.”
Once in the Main Street, however, he saw no chance to chat up a waitress. They had just one… attractive, about his age, sweaty tendrils of hair escaping from her topknot as she rushed between their eight tables.
No one sat at the counter. He took one of those seats, and waved her off when she glanced his direction. “I’m in no hurry.”
She sent him a grateful smile as she hurried past behind the counter to put up another order and spin the wheel into the kitchen. “I swear I’m going to
“Stand in line,” the head said. “I’m killing her first.”
The waitress turned — Sharon, according to her name tag — and forced a smile. “Can I get you coffee?”
There were more ways than one to become less a stranger. “Since the people at that table are leaving and I see an order going up on the counter, how about getting me one of the tubs you use for dirty dishes and let me clear their table for you. Save you one job.”
She stared at him. “You want to bus the table? Why?”
He gave her a hopefully winning smile. “Because I’m a nice guy with nothing better to do and you’re a maiden in distress.”
She stared a moment longer, then spun away to call into the kitchen, “Verl!” After a whispered conference over the counter with the head, and a hard stare at him by the head, she said, “Come around this way.” and led him into an alcove with a three-shelf cart of plastic tubs and more on a shelf under a counter. “Just bring everything back here and pile up the tubs.”
So he tied the apron she gave him over his t-shirt and jeans and bussed tables, handing Sharon the tips. Then he helped carry orders to tables Sharon pointed out. In passing snatches, he managed to chat her up after all… introducing himself, learning her full name, Sharon Haas; the head’s last name, Hamilton; their hours this evening, until ten-thirty.
“You’re such a sweetie to do this.”
“Well I didn’t want to see you wig out and attack customers with the silverware.”
Which made her laugh.
“I guess people come in to eat when they do their shopping?”
“Yes, some before, some after,” she said. “Verl says Violet Showalter says you’re looking for your grandmother’s family that you didn’t know you had.”
“Yes.” Good going, Violet.
Most of the customers were couples or families, so the single male who came in about seven-thirty immediately caught Garreth’s attention. Attention that sharpened when the man sat at the counter with his back to the counter and stared at Sharon with an intensity that turned his handsome face threatening. And clearly made Sharon uncomfortable.
Verl came out of the kitchen, turning from a head into a stocky man in his fifties. He leaned across the counter toward the starer and in a low voice said, “Wayne, you’re not welcome here.”
Wayne never took his eyes from Sharon, just flexed shoulders that looked built by tossing hay bales. “So throw me out!”
Nearer diners looked around. At a corner table, a man in police uniform, minus gun and gear belt, started to stand.
Garreth had seen him come in earlier with a woman and two boys about eight or nine. Long, lanky…someone easy to picture leading a posse on horseback rather than steering a patrol car. Now Garreth pictured the disruption as the cop tried to strong-arm Wayne out the door, or maybe flatten him over the counter.
Garreth stepped into Wayne’s line of vision and leaned down to stare him in the eyes. Barely above a whisper, he said, “Wayne…leave. Now. Quietly. Don’t…come…back.”
Wayne’s expression went briefly baffled, then blank. He stood and when Garreth moved aside, turned and strode out.
While diners returned to their food and the cop sat back down, Verl stared after Wayne in astonishment. “I’ll be damned. What did you say to him? I couldn’t hear.”
Garreth shrugged. “I politely asked him to leave is all. What’s the story?”
Verl grunted. “Ex-boyfriend of Sharon’s who won’t accept being ex.”
Sharon rushed over to squeeze Garreth’s arm. “Thank you so much! I can’t believe he left that way. He can be mean as a snake.”
Good god, another Vale of Chablis. Though he had dealt with plenty of Wayne’s ilk on domestic disturbance calls in San Francisco, Mayberry here ought to be more peaceful.
The next table he cleared sat next to the cop’s. Whose name tag read
“Nice going with Hepner,” Toews said. “He’s not usually that cooperative. How’d you manage it?”
“Is everything all right, sir?” Garreth said. “Can we get you anything else? More coffee?”
“Thank you, we’re fine,” the woman said. “I think we’re about ready to leave.”
They did shortly, but Garreth noticed the cop spent longer than seemed necessary at the register paying his bill, and Sharon glanced Garreth’s way a time or two as she counted out change.
Garreth refrained from asking her about the obvious discussion of him. What could she say except give him the story Violet had passed on. He kept working.
A last few patrons straggled in around ten, but all had left by quarter to eleven. Verl locked the door and flipped the sign to Closed. Garreth cleared and wiped the last of the tables while Sharon ran a vacuum under the tables, then he got out the mop and wheeled bucket he had seen in the alcove and started mopping the floor.
“You don’t have to do that,” Sharon said.
Garreth shrugged. “Might as well. You go ahead and count up your tickets or whatever you need to do.”
From the kitchen, Verl said, “You never got a chance to order anything. What would you like before I shut off everything? It’s on the house.”
Garreth shook his head. “I’m fine. I caught a bite in Bellamy and came in here mostly to be around people.”
He finished mopping by going over the kitchen floor, too, with Verl watching him thoughtfully.
As he put away the mop and pail, Verl said, “I can’t thank you enough for jumping to help this way. Or for taking care of Wayne.” He paused. “Would you like a job?” Before Garreth answered he hurried on, “I know you’re not going to be around for long, but I only need someone temporary, until I can replace Irene.”
The good deed rewarded. Garreth pretended to be considering. He estimated another week as the limit he could reasonably drag out the family hunt. After that he needed another excuse for hanging around. A temporary job could always become more if he worked it right. Though working this one night had shown him the job would be boring. “I can use the money. Is it possible to leave at least part of the day free for my family hunt?”
Verl smiled. “That’s no problem. Come in tomorrow at four.”
Sharon looked up and waved — “Thanks again about Wayne.” — as Verl unlocked the front door long enough to let him out.
The street now looked the way it had last night, all the cars and trucks gone except for some in front of a bar in the next block and more farther up at, if he remembered right, the VFW hall.
And a police car parked beside the ZX in front of the hotel, the lanky cop sitting against the car’s trunk, arms folded, cap shoved back on his head.
