Her Scream in the Silence (Carly Moore #2) - Denise Grover Swank Page 0,48

of red lace panties and a thin white tank top that left nothing about her breasts to the imagination.

“You came back…” Her voice trailed off when she saw me, her smile morphing into a glare. “I know you. You’re Max’s new waitress. What are you doin’ here?”

I had absolutely no idea who she was, which made me uncomfortable. “I’m sorry for the intrusion. I was looking for someone else.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “Are you workin’ in the motel now that Lula’s back?”

Working in the motel? For one wild second, I thought she was asking me if I was doing housekeeping. Then her meaning penetrated, and so did her reason for being here.

“No,” I said. “I was lookin’ for Jerry.”

“Jerry?” she asked in disgust. “He’s down in number two.”

“Thanks,” I said, already backing away. My mind was whirring. I’d heard the rooms at the Alpine Inn sometimes rented by the hour, but I’d thought that meant people brought lovers or prostitutes there. Not that a prostitution ring was run out of the motel.

Max managed the motel. Did this mean he was a pimp?

The idea made me queasy, but I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. He didn’t own the motel, just ran it for his father. For all I knew, Bart had some rooms blocked off for his prostitution ring, and Max was none the wiser.

And I was an utter fool if I believed a word of it.

I didn’t have time to dwell. I’d never been this late before, and I had little to show for it. It would have been quicker to head through the front door, but I still needed to get my Max’s Tavern T-shirt, plus I still wanted to get Ruth’s bag as a peace offering. So I stopped by the car, grabbing Jerry’s coat too, and then headed through the back door with the key Max had recently given me. I hung up my coat and was about to strip off my black long-sleeved T-shirt, but the thought of putting my cold uniform shirt against my bare skin made me shiver. I tugged it over my head instead, going for a layered look.

Ruth was bussing a table by the kitchen. Her gaze jerked up as I came through the doorway. “You’re late!”

“Sorry,” I said as I tied my small apron around my waist and scanned the room to assess what needed to be done. Three middle-aged men nursed beers at a table by the window. Not busy yet.

Whew. That appeased my guilt, but Ruth was still madder than a wet hornet.

She propped a hand on her hip, then said with plenty of attitude, “Now that you’ve met Lula, you think you can start pulling her shenanigans?”

I gasped in surprise. She’d never spoken to me so hatefully before, and my first instinct was to snap back. Sure, I was seven minutes late, but she wasn’t overwhelmed, and my tardiness wasn’t a habit. But I suspected she’d been stewing about Lula all afternoon, especially since she was the one who’d had to cover her shift, and she was ready to vent.

I was the lucky recipient.

Max had been sitting on a stool behind the bar, reading a book, but he popped his head up, his eyes alert, looking ready to spring into action.

I moved directly in front of her, then calmly said, “Ruth, I’m sorry I was late, and I’m sorry you had to cover for Lula today. I’m not trying to take advantage of you or Max. It was an honest mistake.”

Her eyes were still blazing, and she looked like she wanted to pounce, but my apology had stolen some of her steam. “Don’t make a habit of it.”

“I won’t,” I said. “And the things you asked for from Target are in the back.” I grinned. “I even got you something you didn’t request.”

Her eyes widened, and she looked stunned. “You got me a surprise?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Why don’t you go in the back and check it out? I’ll finish bussing this table.”

Several emotions flitted across her face, but sadness was the one that stuck. “God, you must think I’m a bitch.”

“I think you’re stressed out and human. Now go take a break and check out your surprise.”

She headed into the back while I cleared the table. After I dropped off the dishes at the door to the kitchen, I headed behind the bar to check in with Max.

“Good job handlin’ Ruth,” he said, glancing up from his book. “You must be a shaman