A Cry in the Dark (Carly Moore #1) - Denise Grover Swank Page 0,57

get to the kitchen to check on their order.

I was relieved when Jerry showed up close to the end of the lunch rush, choosing a seat at the bar. Part of me had worried something might have happened to him.

“Hey, Jerry,” I said when I got a chance to check on him. “I’m happy to see you.”

Keeping his gaze on the counter, he asked for water and a hamburger. I added a side of fries before passing the order on to the kitchen. When I served him his food, I pretended it had been a mistake.

“I can take them back if you like,” I said with a warm smile, “but we’ll just have to throw them away.” I lowered my voice, pretending I didn’t want Max to hear me. “You’d be doin’ me a huge favor if you keep them. I really need this job right now, and I’m afraid Max and Tiny will think I’m inept.”

He studied me with a serious expression. “I’ll take them,” he said slowly.

“Thanks,” I said with a warm smile. “Are you doin’ okay after what happened at the motel?”

He blinked at me. “What are you talkin’ about?”

My brow shot up in confusion. “Seth Chalmers’ murder?” When he didn’t respond, I asked, “Did you see or hear anything?”

He picked up a fry and kept his gaze fixed on his food. “I woke up when the deputy knocked on my door. I didn’t see nothin’.”

I hesitated, wondering if I should press him further. “Big Joe said you took off for a while.”

“My place was too noisy.” He reached for the ketchup bottle. “I like the quiet.”

“I like the quiet too,” I said, knowing I’d been dismissed. “You let me know if you need anything. Okay, Jerry?”

Despite my chilly reception from the other customers, I was friendly to everyone and offered lots of smiles. By the time the crowd thinned out a few hours later, I’d made about thirty dollars in tips—not as much as I should have earned if they’d tipped 20% (not that I’d gotten 20% the night before with a friendlier crowd)—but more than I’d expected, considering. Max told me it was one of his biggest lunch crowds in ages. He still looked dog-tired, despite having drunk a vat of coffee, but he seemed pleased by the increase in revenue.

When Detective Daniels walked in, the only customer we had left was Jerry, who was nursing his water while he watched Judge Judy. The detective’s beady eyes scanned the room, pausing on Jerry briefly before landing on me.

My heart stopped. Was he here to arrest me?

Jerry had looked like he was in no hurry to leave, but he quickly put some money on the counter and bolted out the door.

I was standing behind the counter with Max. “Why did Jerry leave so quickly?”

“Don’t know. He’s always had anxiety issues, but he became extra skittish after someone beat him up about a year ago.”

I wanted to press Max for more information, but the detective started walking toward me.

“Ms. Moore,” he said, resting his hand on the counter.

“Detective Daniels,” I said with forced cheerfulness. “As you can see, I’m back in Drum, safe and sound.”

“So I see. I’d like to get your formal statement now.” He shot Max a questioning glance. “Is this a good time?”

Max turned to me, giving me a look that suggested it was my call.

“Yeah,” I said with a tight smile. “Now’s good.”

“Is there somewhere private we can go?” he asked.

Max looked around the empty room. “This won’t take long, right? There’s no one else here at the moment, so how about I put up the closed sign?”

A smug look covered Detective Daniels’s face. “The amount of time it takes is entirely dependent on Ms. Moore.”

Without giving me time to respond, he walked toward the same table we’d used in the middle of the night and pulled some papers out of his bag.

I cast another glance at Max, and he reached out and squeezed my hand. Although it didn’t really reassure me, I was grateful for his support. I squeezed back, then headed around the counter and took a seat across from the detective. Daniels handed me some official paperwork and told me to fill out my statement from the night before, adding in anything else I might have remembered.

Max headed to the back and told us to let him know when we were finished.

It made me nervous to handwrite my statement. It meant they’d have a copy of my handwriting to analyze.