RIOT HOUSE (Crooked Sinners #1) - Callie Hart Page 0,26

all burnt oranges, umber, russet, crimson and carmine. The winter trees, still stubbornly grasping onto their colorful autumn foliage, whip past in a blur as Carina burns through the chicanes and hairpin corners that lead down the mountain like she was a rally driver in a past life. Soon, we arrive in the town of Mountain Lakes itself—a dozen or so quaint little shops; a high school; a football field, and not much else—and I’m pleasantly surprised to discover that the town is actually bordered by two beautiful, vast and shining lakes.

Carina pulls up outside a diner called Screamin’ Beans and slams the parking brake on the car before the vehicle’s even stopped moving. I haven’t driven much since I passed my driver’s test in Israel, so I can hardly judge, but Carina’s a little hair-raising behind the wheel. “Come on,” she commands. “These guys have the best breakfast, but they stop serving super early so the Wolf Hall kids don’t bother them.”

“Aren’t we Wolf Hall kids?” I call after her, as she bounds toward the diner entrance.

“We don’t count! Come on!”

Carina picks out her own table—a corner booth next to a vintage juke box—and makes herself at home. I sit opposite her, wondering exactly how many coffees she had before she kicked down my bedroom door this morning. It’s unholy that anyone should have this much energy at such a horrendous hour, even if the sun is shining.

“Well, well, well. Look who it is. Miss Carina Mendoza, in the flesh. Thought you’d gone and died up on that mountain, girl. Where you been? All our lemon cake went bad last weekend. We don’t make it for anybody but you.” The waitress who comes to serve us smiles broadly at my friend, leaning casually against the side of the booth. She slaps her notepad on top of Carina’s head, studying me suspiciously out of the corner of her eye. “And who, pray tell, is this?”

“Jazzy, this is Elodie. Elodie, this is Jazzy. She’s worked at Screamin’ Beans for the past twenty-five years.”

“Twenty, girl! Twenty years! Don’t go makin’ me older than I already am!” She pretends to sulk, stuffing her notepad back into the front pocket of her apron. “I take it you don’t want no lemon cake today. No coffee neither.”

“Oh my god, Jazzy, you know five years wouldn’t make a difference,” Carina says, catching hold of her by the hand. “You’re gonna look eighteen until the day you die. Pleeeeeeaaasssee don’t take away the coffee.”

Jazzy laughs, rolling her eyes. “Okay, okay. I’d hate to have to see a poor, undernourished, impoverished child such as yourself having to beg for some caffeine,” she says, laying it on thick. “I’ll be right back. You want coffee too, child?” she asks me.

“Hot tea, please. If you’ve got it. And a little cold milk on the side?”

I don’t think my out-of-the-ordinary order does me any favors in Jazzy’s eyes. Straight black drip coffee, she can get on board with, but hot tea with milk? She probably thinks that’s a posh Wolf Hall kid type of order. She jots down my request all the same and hurries off in the direction of the kitchen.

“Most of the other kids drive over to Franconia in search of a Starbucks. They don’t realize the coffee here is so good,” Carina says.

“And you haven’t been going around, sharing your secret?”

“Hell no!” She smirks, waggling her eyebrows. “This is my cloak and dagger spot. I only bring the best, most trustworthy people here.”

“Glad to know I made the cut.”

She’s about to hit me with a come-back, her eyes dancing and sharp, but then the mirth radiating from her abruptly vanishes. She sees something over my shoulder and everything about her changes. The bell above the diner door jangles, announcing a new customer, and Carina shrinks down into her seat, all of her enthusiasm vaporizing in a puff of smoke. “Yeah, well. I’m usually very good at gauging who should be allowed into the Screamin’ Beans club, but sometimes even I make an error in judgement.”

Behind me, a male voice with a thick English accent asks for a table for three, and my insides tangle themselves into a knot at warp speed. Impressive how quickly I go from relaxed and at ease to frozen and uncomfortable. Carina and I must be quite the sight, sliding down into our seats.

“We can get our breakfast to go?” I suggest. “Drive until we find somewhere nice, or we could eat by the