Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 61054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
The waiter sets my coffee in front of me, a mound of whipped cream on top. And to think I’m a frou-frou drink convert. Really, truly, the way I love sugar, this was always going to be my destiny.
I spoon whipped cream into my mouth and the waiter’s eyes light with approval as if he takes the whipped cream in this place seriously, and its love personal, before he turns away. My phone buzzes and I glance down the message to find the picture I’ve requested. Nathan Allen was actually a good-looking man, with defined cheekbones, a striking jawline, and brown, confident eyes. He apparently was a future engineer, obviously following in his father’s footsteps.
I sip my coffee and scroll to find Detective Rollins’ phone number, which I’ve had since I almost worked that last case with him, and bingo, I find it, and I text him: Send me those case files. I give him my email and leave it at that.
My fingers thrum on the table as I watch another college-aged boy walk in the door and seat himself. The female waitress hurries to greet him. The newcomer is the calm, studious type who removes a book from a book bag and opens it to read the contents. I wonder if Nathan came in here alone or with someone else.
My waiter reappears with a silver container of whipped cream. “Can I top you off?”
Finally, a waiter I can respect. “I would love to be topped off,” I say, sliding my cup in his direction.
While he fills my cup with more whipped cream than coffee, I pull up the picture of Nathan and place it in front of me, eyeing his name tag. “Before you go, Ted. Have you seen this man in here by chance?”
His brow furrows and he studies the image for a moment, with no obvious recognition registering on his face. “No. No, I don’t believe I have, but what can I say? They all start looking alike, all these college kids. Why? Did he do you wrong?”
“No,” I say, and because the idea of law enforcement freaks so many people out I say, “He hasn’t called his dad in a few weeks. He’s rather rich and just wanted me to check on him.”
“You’re a private eye?”
“Actually, a friend of the family,” I say. “I just happen to live locally and he lives near here, so when I met my brother here, and it was so close to his apartment, and so obviously a college hangout, it seemed a long shot, but worth a try. The kid’s never home.” I wave off the topic. “Back to the whipped cream.” I scoop a spoonful.
“Sorry I wasn’t more help,” he says. “If I see him, I’ll tell him to call his father.”
“That would be good.”
He backs up and walks away, and I decide anyone who thinks I’m such a hard ass I can’t play nice and run the bullshit lines for the good of my investigation can kiss my ass. I finish off my whipped cream and observe as the waitress rings up the guy she was flirting with earlier at the register. I decide if anyone remembers Nathan, it will be her.
I down a couple of swallows of coffee, and then grab my bag, timing it right as the register clears.
“Hi,” the waitress greets, her tag telling me her name is Bonnie. She’s reddish blonde, with a spatter of brown freckles and green eyes. A pretty girl, who I decide uses her looks to get what she wants from pretty much anyone she wants. I don’t judge people for being opportunists. I do judge people for hurting people in the process. I don’t know if Bonnie hurts people, but I intend to find out. “Can I help you?”
I slide my ticket to the counter.
“How was everything?” she asks.
“It was good,” I say. “Excellent, actually.” I offer her my card. “Looks like you get a huge college crowd.”
“Oh yeah,” she says. “We’re so close to a lot of the housing. They aren’t the best tippers, but I’ve made contacts that I think will matter long term.”
“Really? What kind of contacts?”
“A lot of these kids are rich, wealthy types. I’m going to law school next semester. If I can be their attorney, I’m all in. My mom taught me to think ahead, and I do.”
Suddenly Bonnie has my respect. She is an opportunist, but she’s creating the opportunity to make hard work shine. She’s also making a point to meet people, and know them well.
“Smart mom, smart daughter,” I approve, spewing so much positivity I barely recognize myself, but it’s a welcome shift right about now. My negativity comes from other people’s stupidity, which is pleasantly absent.
“You know, I think my friend’s son comes in here,” I say. “Maybe you know him? Nathan Allen?”