Buried in Secrets (Carly Moore #4) - Denise Grover Swank Page 0,7
I found myself facing down some angry customers. Not that I blamed them. They were construction workers who only got an hour for lunch, and at least twenty minutes was spent on the drive from the construction site and back. We’d just stolen part of their time.
I apologized as I let them in, telling them their drinks would be on the house, and shot a dark look at the bar, daring Max to contradict me.
I started taking orders and Ginger showed up about five minutes later. She looked worried, but it was too busy for me to fill her in about Molly. We’d just gotten things under control when two middle-aged women walked in. Even though I’d mostly worked nights and weekends the past few months, I’d done enough lunch shifts to know the regulars, and Diane and Martha were part of a small group of women who always showed up on Fridays for lunch. Today was Tuesday.
“Good afternoon, ladies,” I said good-naturedly when they took a seat in my section. “What a surprise seeing you today.”
Diane gave me a pointed look. “Emergency meeting. Sandy will be joining us.” Which meant they were one short of their usual number. The fourth member of their cohort was a woman named Pam. But if it was an emergency meeting, it stood to reason at least one of them would be a no-show.
“Okay,” I said, surprised by her serious tone. One of the reasons I loved them was because they liked to order frozen margaritas with their lunch—an unusual request at Max’s—and they always seem to have fun.
“You haven’t been here for about a month or so,” Martha said, looking me up and down. “Did you take a vacation?”
“One of our lunch shift waitresses isn’t with us anymore, so I’m covering her shift.” Then I smirked. “Does anyone around here go on vacation?”
“We used to go to Dollywood,” Martha said. “When the kids were little.”
Diane snorted. “That’s not a vacation. A vacation is gettin’ away somewhere far enough away that you can’t come home for a potty break.”
“Not all of us can hold it forever,” Martha said in disgust. “Some of us had bladders that were wrecked in childbirth. All three times.”
That was my cue to take my leave, but first I needed to get their order. “You want your usual frozen margarita pitcher? And an extra glass for when Sandy joins you?”
“Yes,” Martha said a little too exuberantly.
“Most definitely not,” Diane said with a stern look. “We need all our wits about us today.” I’d figured out months ago that Diane was the unofficial leader of the group. Sandy, the woman they were waiting on, gave her trouble from time to time, but Martha and Pam usually went with the flow.
Against my better judgment, I said, “This sounds serious.”
Martha’s mouth pinched. “Pam was arrested last night.”
My eyebrows shot up. While the group of four friends could be a little on the rowdy side, they weren’t criminals by any stretch of the imagination. Pam must have been arrested for unpaid parking tickets or something of the sort, although no one got parking tickets around here. Most people were arrested for drug possession or DUIs.
“Martha!” Diane admonished.
“What?” Martha shot back, getting irritated. “It’s not like I’m saying anything she couldn’t find out from the Ewing Gazette.”
“Does she look like the kind of woman who reads the Ewing Gazette?” Diane asked.
I gasped in surprise. I wasn’t a subscriber, but I read the Ewing Gazette religiously at the library.
Diane must have realized I was offended, because she rolled her eyes. “Sorry, Carly. I completely forgot you’re not from around here.”
“Or that she’s the one who started the kids’ tutorin’ club and literacy initiative,” Martha grumbled, her arms crossed over her chest.
I waved off her words. I wasn’t looking for accolades, and flying under the radar had its merits. “Don’t worry about it. And Martha’s right. If it’s in the paper, I’ll find out eventually. Save me some time and tell me what she was arrested for.”
“Murder,” Martha whispered.
My eyes shot wide. Pam was meek and mousy and the last person I’d suspect of murder. “Oh, my word. There has to be some kind of mistake.”
“Sadly, no,” Diane said with disgust. “There’s no doubt she killed him. There were multiple witnesses.”
It sounded too crazy to be true. “Then I’m sure it was justified, and she’ll get off in no time.” My mind was racing, trying to fill in the blanks. Was she a victim of domestic violence?