“Thanks. It is a lot, but it makes me happy. And my place is nowhere near as big as this one.” Speaking of washing dishes, I was about to ask her if Zoe was here doing exactly that, but Debbie was hailed by another party.
Silverware clinked and someone laughed at the bar as I slid the last artichoke leaf into the cooling butter and scraped the meaty part off between my teeth. Artichokes were the food of the goddesses, despite being merely the immature flowers of giant thistles. I popped the last morsel of deep-fried heart in next. I sat and watched other diners, drinkers at the bar, the whole California scene. Everybody was casually dressed, half in Bermuda or cargo shorts. Many were tanned and fit. It wasn’t only white folks, either. Skin tones and facial features represented the world. It was the rich diversity that came with living on a coast.
What would my life be like if I hadn’t fled the state with a broken heart? Would I have opened my own restaurant around here somewhere? Met a man as good as Abe? Would Mom have died suddenly if I still lived in town? I shook my head at the fruitless thought. I had moved, she had died. That was that. And I was happy in South Lick. I had a thriving business, an aunt nearby, good friends, and a wonderful man. Even a darling cat.
When Debbie returned with my wine and the salad, I thanked her.
“Debbie, I’m curious. Did Paul get along with his coworkers? I mean, was there anybody who didn’t like him?”
She scrunched up her nose and stared at me. “Why are you asking?”
I lifted a shoulder and dropped it. “It was just a thought.”
“Everybody here loved him.” She glanced at the door, then back at me. “But his hobby, his passion? That might have made him some enemies.”
“The environmental work.”
“Yeah.” She sucked in a breath and covered her mouth with her hand, eyes wide, as if she’d realized why I was asking. “You don’t mean somebody killed him, do you?”
I held up both palms. “I doubt it. Really. Anyway, the police will look into why he died. My friend who had to leave? Jason is actually a cop, and he said they’ll investigate Paul’s death.”
“That kid’s with the police? He sure doesn’t look like an officer. I mean . . .”
“He is.” It was true. Jason looked nothing like the image of a muscular, gun-toting, uniformed cop. The slender Asian, glasses and all, was a textbook illustration of a smart geek. Which he was. “He graduated from the academy and everything. But he works with computers instead of patrolling the streets.”
She laughed. “That fits a lot better. We need cy-bercops, too.”
“I have another question for you. Does somebody named Zoe work here? Washing dishes, maybe?”
“She’s in the kitchen right now. How’d you know?” She tilted her head.
“Her mom told me. Zoe and Jason and I all went to school together. Was she working last night?”
“Yeah, of course.” Debbie laughed low. “She’s my smoking buddy. We take our breaks together and grab a cig out back.”
“When do you take a break? I’d like to say hi to her. Haven’t seen her in years.”
“At seven. Sure, you can join us.”
“I might. Thanks.” After she left I checked my phone. It was six fifteen. Plenty of time to eat, pay up, and go see my old friend. Zoe must be doing okay if she could hold down a job. I didn’t know anything about opiate addiction beyond what I read in the news. Maybe the halfway house was a good influence on her. Maybe she’d decided to do the work to stay clean, even though Liz hadn’t sounded too optimistic about the prospects.
I shoved those thoughts aside and dug into my baby greens lightly coated with one of the best dressings I’d ever tasted. I rolled it around in my mouth. They’d mixed fresh clementine juice to perfection with a robust olive oil—made from olives grown within fifty miles of here, the menu said—and a hint of garlic, some black pepper, and a touch of what might be rice vinegar. This was one I had to re-create once I got home. Tomorrow was the midweek farmers’ market. I’d get a bottle of local olive oil to take back to Indiana with me even if I had to pay to check my bag on the plane. It was totally worth it.
Chapter 20
One small portion of light, crispy fish and chips later, I headed out and along the side of the restaurant at one minute before seven, according to my phone. A dim light fell on trash, recycling, and compost bins lined up like fat silent servants near a door, with a rotten-vegetable smell coming from the compost bin. I reached the parking lot in the back. The kitchen exhaust fan whirred on the roof. No lamps on posts illuminated this area, unlike in the front of the restaurant and along the side. The sun had set almost an hour and a half ago, and the moon hadn’t made an appearance. The smoky smell from the fires was everywhere.
Where were Zoe and Debbie? True, business inside had really picked up in the last half hour. Maybe the waitress couldn’t get away. Maybe Zoe had already taken her break. A small bat darted through the dark sky at the edge of the parking lot. Goose bumps raised on my arms and neck. Being back here alone was giving me the creeps. I should go back to the B-and-B. I could find Zoe tomorrow. Or never.
I gave it one more minute, then started to retrace my steps, rummaging in my bag for my keys. The screen door creaked open and thwacked shut. I turned around. A light had come on above the door, and a tall, thin person in a long apron clicked on a lighter.
“Zoe?” I called, hurrying toward her.
She lit the cigarette and
