Eric pushed himself off the counter. “Thanks a lot, man. Appreciate it.”
Sam shrugged. “Whatever. I hope you find whoever did it.” He gave Casey one last glance and trudged back to his soggy corner.
Eric indicated the cook, who was busy scraping something around on the grill. “Think we can talk to him now?”
Bailey rolled her eyes. “You can try, but he is in a mood this morning.”
“You can tell by the burned eggs,” Casey said.
Bailey laughed. “Like that’s any different from usual.”
A man’s voice came from outside the door, and Bailey jumped. “Okay, you guys go talk to Doofus over there. I’ll try to keep Karl out.” She swung through the doors, and was gone.
“After you.” Eric swept his hand toward the kitchen.
Casey wrinkled her nose, but stepped forward, her shoe making a terrible ripping sound as she pulled it off the sticky floor.
Doofus—or whatever his real name was—had moved away from the grill and was slapping butter on some toast. He glanced up as they approached, but didn’t speak.
“Spare a minute?” Casey said.
He threw the toast on a plate with a glob of egg and slid it onto the warming shelf beside a bowl of what looked like it might be oatmeal. “Order up!” he yelled.
Bailey’s face appeared in the opening as she grabbed the plates. “New order.” She shoved a slip through the slot, then disappeared.
The cook grabbed the paper, glared at it, then stalked back to the double-doored refrigerator. He pulled it open, yanked out some more eggs and a carton of milk, and slammed the door. “Don’t know nothing ’bout Alicia.”
“What’s your name?”
“What’s yours?” He cracked two eggs into an already eggy bowl, dumped some milk on them, and went at them with a fork. Once he’d poured them onto the grill, he took the milk back to the fridge and shoved two pieces of white bread into the banged-up toaster.
Bailey was right. He was in a mood. “I’m Casey. That’s Eric.”
No manly nods this time. Just a scowl to prove he didn’t want to talk. He flipped the eggs, transferring some of the blackened eggs from earlier onto the fresh yellow ones, and grabbed a handful of shredded cheese from a bowl beside the grill. He tossed it on top of the disgusting mess and set a saucepan lid over it all.
Casey glanced at Eric. He was obviously trying not to laugh. Casey was trying not to whack the guy over the head with his own spatula. “And you are?”
He lifted up the lid and flipped the eggs again, this time transferring cheese to the burned patches on the grill. “Why do you care?”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, just tell us your name.”
He waited several seconds, then grunted, “Pasha.”
“Okay. Pasha. What can you tell us about Alicia?”
“I already said. Nothing. We weren’t exactly friends.”
“You didn’t like her?”
“Didn’t feel any way about her. She worked. I worked. This ain’t exactly a social club.”
The toaster popped, but Pasha ignored it, instead dividing the egg pile into two revolting mounds, scraping them up, and slopping them onto plates. He yanked the bread from the toaster, buttered it, and threw it beside the eggs.
“Order up!” he yelled, and slid them into the opening.
Bailey appeared and lifted a piece of the toast. “Toast is supposed to be unbuttered. And whole wheat.”
“Oh, for—Do we even have whole wheat?” He grabbed the plates, threw the toast into the trash, and rummaged through the bags of bread on the counter. He found two pieces that looked like they might be wheat, and pushed them into the toaster. He looked up at Casey like he’d forgotten she was there. “I didn’t know her except to give her plates of food, okay? We never talked. She was all thinking she was better than me, so I didn’t give her no time.”
“Did you know Ricky?”
“Who’s that?”
“Her boyfriend.”
“Saw him a few times. Hear he’s the one who done her.” He shrugged. “Don’t make no difference to me if it was him or that other guy.”
Casey went still. “What other guy?”
“The one who was here the same week she got killed.”
“Who was he?”
The toaster popped and Pasha snatched the bread out and threw it on the plates. He grabbed a knife, stuck it in the butter tub, and pulled out a glob of butter. He stopped suddenly, knife in the air, then shoved the knife and the butter back in the tub. “Order!” he yelled, and Bailey came back just long enough to take the plates.
“Who was he?” Casey