The Dirt on Ninth Grave - Darynda Jones Page 0,7

conceal their deception, I knew. So there was that.

But along with the perk came the drawback. I felt other things as well. Otherworldly things. Sometimes I felt like I was being watched. Hunted. I felt the cold gaze of a stalker I couldn’t see. The hot breath of a predator fan across the back of my neck. The searing touch of a stranger’s mouth brush across mine. Of course, I only felt those things after my seventh cup of pre-noon coffee. The moment my customers’ faces started to blur, I switched to half-caff.

“Cold enough yet?” I asked her just as Dixie, the owner of the café and my savior – in the nonreligious sense – stuck her head out the door. Her hair was very much like Cookie’s only a bright, almost neon, red. Though I had yet to confirm my suspicions, I was pretty sure it glowed in the dark. It made her pale skin look vibrant and youthful despite the fact that she had to be in her late forties.

She raised her brows at us. “You two planning on waiting tables today?”

Cookie drew in a deep breath, preparing to face the music. Probably disco. Disco seemed more penitential than other forms of music. Except maybe thrash metal.

I decided to practice for my new calling in life as we turned to walk in. Whispering under my breath, I said, “Where’s my money, bitch?”

“I’m not going to be a streetwalker.”

I rounded my eyes in innocence. “I’m just practicing. You know, in case you change your mind.”

“I won’t.”

“Damn it.” I wilted beside her, all my hopes and dreams of being a pimp dashed against the cruel rocks of reality. And an unwilling ho.

Then the pain hit me again. A wave of it. It stemmed from somewhere close, but I couldn’t pinpoint the location. I turned in a circle, but saw no one.

“You okay, hon?” Cookie asked me, taking my arm again. And again the concern she felt welled up inside her. I didn’t quite understand her. Why she felt so strongly about me. Why she was so caring.

“You’re always so nice to me,” I said. Out loud. A little surprised by that fact.

She squeezed my hand. “We’re besties, remember? Of course I’m nice to you. Otherwise, I’d be the suckiest BFF ever.”

I chuckled softly for show, but she meant it when she said we were besties. With every fiber of her being. And that niggling suspicion was back stronger than ever. We’d only known each other a month. Damn it. She was clearly one of those needy psycho chicks who boiled rabbits on the stoves of her enemies.

Oh, well. I’d enjoy her friendship while it lasted. But I mentally crossed bunnies off my shopping list.

When we walked back into the café, we had several new customers. We’d only been out for, like, thirty seconds. Weird how quickly they accumulated.

I had just hung up my coat when Dixie called out to me. “We have a couple of deliveries. Just waiting on fries for one.”

She wore a grin that stretched from multi-pierced earlobe to multi-pierced earlobe.

“You seem chipper.”

“I had a very productive morning.” Her face flushed and an excitement rushed through her as she packed up one of the orders.

“Clearly. I was wondering where you were.” She’d been gone all morning. Now I wanted to know why.

“I hired a new cook,” she said, her eyes a-twinkle. “He starts tomorrow. First shift.”

“What?” Sumi’s tiny head popped up, the pass-out window framing it almost perfectly, except she was too short so we couldn’t quite see the bottom half of her face.. “I’m first-shift cook. You can’t do this to me.” She waved a spatula. “I’ll sue!” Pretty brows slid fiercely over almond-shaped eyes, her wrath thoroughly incurred.

I never let my guard down around Sumi. The fact that she was vertically challenged meant nothing. She could kick my ass in a heartbeat. That woman had a temper. And she was quick. Limber. Horrifyingly good with knives.

“Oh, hush,” Dixie said, clearly not as fond of her faculties as I was of mine. “He’s going to be more of a” – she folded the top of the bag and stapled a ticket to it – “I don’t know, a specialty cook.”

“Cool,” I said, more interested in our customer base. One of our three-meal-a-dayers had shown up right on schedule, but with the eleven o’clock hour came our second-shift tag team, and my section was now officially split in half.

Francie and Erin were already busy taking orders.

I only had

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