Back in the Bel Air, Rosa rounded the corner onto Cedar Street, and a flamingo-pink building came into view. The restaurant section was a large round building with floor-to-ceiling glass windows, which allowed a good view of the cooks making the meals inside. Surrounding the front of the restaurant was a semicircle of parking stalls. She had seen this style of American restaurant on the telly back in London, but she was surprised not only by the vividness of the colors but also to find one so close to her aunt’s home. Waitresses wearing pink dresses and white aprons, and quite astonishingly, roller skates, zoomed back and forth between the building and the waiting cars.
Rosa idled the Bel Air just outside the parking stalls and took in her surroundings. It didn’t take long to spot Marjorie Davidson—her long red ponytail swinging as she delivered a tray filled with food to a late-forties model Buick. Marjorie looked older than the rest of the carhops, even if the high ponytail gave her a youthful appearance.
The midday sun beat heavily on the Bel Air, so once Rosa was parked, she wound down the passenger window, propped her elbow out, and waited. Marjorie soon rolled out from the building with a menu to greet her.
“Welcome to Steak and Shake,” she said, passing Rosa a menu before either recognition hit or she was out of the glare of the sun. “Oh! Rosa! Hi!”
“Hi, Marjorie! Gloria mentioned you worked here, and I had a strong craving for a chocolate milkshake, so here I am.” Rosa offered a bright smile. She had often watched her mother put on a disarming smile before launching into a query session.
“The burgers are peachy too,” Marjorie said sweetly as if she’d forgotten how put out she’d been on learning of Rosa’s association with the police. There didn’t seem to be an ounce of offense to her tone now.
“Sounds wonderful,” Rosa said. “I’ll take one of each.”
As Marjorie skated away with her menu and notepad, Rosa rehearsed her plan of questioning. She wanted to get a clear alibi from Marjorie and the other girls without going into details about the murder. Until Gloria’s alibi was in place, and Gloria could hear some information on the case, Rosa wanted to be sure it didn’t become today’s hottest gossip.
The drive-in was a busy place over the lunch hour, and Rosa sang along with The Platters on the radio to pass the time. She often found that distracting oneself could help to unlock a vital clue hidden in the subconscious. When Marjorie finally delivered Rosa’s milkshake, she was ready with her first question.
“Listen, Marjorie, would you tell me about that tilt-a-whirl ride? It looked like fun! I’ve never ridden one, and I was sad to have had Diego with me last night because I wasn’t able to join all of you on it.”
Marjorie glanced around to survey whether she had a moment to chat. “Oh, it’s the boss,” she said, excitement in her eyes. “Too bad the line was so long. We all could have gone on it again.”
“You were in line for the ride the entire time you left me last night? It was that long?”
As if she felt awful for deserting her, Marjorie placed a hand on Rosa’s arm. “If only it had been an outdoor lineup, at least we could have chatted with you while we waited.”
“Yes, but you came straight back to find me afterward, right?”
Marjorie nodded. “The tilt-a-whirl exited right near the roller coaster. Not only did we find you right away, but we quickly found out about the, um, incident, with Victor Boyd.”
Rosa’s next job was to confirm the alibi of Marjorie and her friends. “All of you were in line and on the ride together when it happened, though, correct? All three of you—you, Nancy, and Pauline—would agree on that?”
Marjorie squinted, and Rosa feared she was too on the nose with her question, but then Marjorie held up a finger and said, “Be right back.” Rosa sipped her milkshake as she watched her and tried to gauge if Marjorie was avoiding the question.
Zooming toward the round building as if she’d been born wearing roller skates, Marjorie picked up a tray of food, and delivered it to a nearby car, a red two-door Oldsmobile convertible with the black soft-top down. The vehicle, including the bumped nose of the hood, was waxed to a shiny polish with wide chrome fenders sparkling with a mirror finish, and bright white rubber trim on the mag tires. Rosa had both her parents to thank when it came to motor vehicle appreciation.
But it wasn’t the car that had gripped Rosa’s attention so much as the driver. Henry Van Peridon smiled at Marjorie as if he’d rather have her for lunch than the tall hamburger she’d presented on a plastic tray. Marjorie played with her ponytail and laughed at something Henry said.
A tapping on the hood of the Bel Air made Rosa jump, and she grabbed at her heart. She let out an embarrassed breath when she saw Larry Rayburn’s smiling face.
“Pardon me,” he said looking sheepish. “I didn’t mean to startle ya.”
“It’s fine,” Rosa said. She found herself feeling pleased at this unexpected turn of events. “I’m happy to see you. Do you come here often?”
“More than I should, you could say. I tend to eat on the run.” He lifted up a paper bag to prove his point. “Eat at my desk at the morgue. I see ya’ve discovered American burgers.”
Rosa smiled. “That and the milkshakes.”
An awkward moment passed between them and Rosa feared Larry might bring up his dinner date offer, which Rosa wasn’t quite ready to entertain. She seized the moment to turn the serendipitous meeting to the case.
“Have you had a chance to complete the Victor Boyd autopsy?” she asked, then added hopefully. “Anything new to report?
Larry shrugged. “Straightforward death by electrocution resulting in cardiac
