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)
“You know who I am,” I comment. “And that was a very slick way of letting me know.”
“I thought all your questions read like a cop. I get it. You have a job to do.” He eyes Kane. “You’re no cop.”
“Neither am I,” I object.
Ted glances at me. “A cop snob,” he comments, and I decide right then, the tall skinny bald man isn’t as reserved and awkward as I judged him. “Some say the FBI is arrogant.”
“They are, and I am. Are you?”
“I’m not arrogant or a cop snob. We get cops in here and they’re just like people. Some are nice. Some aren’t. Some are arrogant. Some aren’t.” He looks right at Kane when he says that.
Kane laughs. “I do believe I’m owed a cup of whipped cream for being called arrogant.”
Ted surprises me and laughs. “Okay, two cups of whipped cream. Do you want fries and coffee with it?”
“Fries,” I say. “A lot of them, because I have to share. And diet sodas.”
“With plenty of ketchup,” he says. “And napkins.” He motions to Kane’s suit. “We can’t have you get that expensive suit messed up.”
“It’s dark,” Kane says. “It’ll hide the ketchup she’ll spill on me.”
Ted laughs again and walks away.
Sometimes, I wish more people knew this down-to-earth side of Kane. Others, I fear they’d see his human side and find him human enough to kill.
“I thought it was strange that he didn’t ask you about the case.”
“He will,” I say. “They always do.” I glance around and look for Bonnie, but so far, she’s nowhere to be found.
There’s another man who is working tonight, an older guy like Ted, only he has bushy hair and a good thirty pounds and three inches on him. There’s a bit of an air of authority to him and I decide this must be Calvin Pierce, the manager. He rounds the counter and grabs a pot of coffee. “Have you folks been helped?”
“Ted took good care of us,” Kane says, proving his attention to name tags. Ted chooses that moment to re-enter the area from the kitchen with two drinks in hand, appreciation in his expression over Kane’s compliment. “I got them, Calvin.”
“Just backing you up, man,” Calvin says. “That’s why I’m here. To help. FYI, Bonnie called in sick. She seems to be taking that Nathan kid dying pretty hard.”
“Did you know him?” I ask, sipping the soda Ted sets in front of me.
“She’s the FBI agent handling the case,” Ted informs Calvin. “Calvin is the manager,” Ted tells me.
“Agent,” Calvin greets. “Can I help with anything?”
“You both can. We know that two of the victims came into Curly Joe’s. Nathan Allen and Grayson Kellerman. Did either of you know them?”
“I’d seen the Grayson kid in here,” Calvin says, waving off the photos. “I’ve seen those images in the news. We’re a popular spot here in the neighborhood, so I’m not really surprised they’d been in here. He and his dad stood out because they were kind of dicks to the staff. I feel bad saying that since the kid is dead and all, but the truth is the truth. He’s the only one I knew. Obviously, Bonnie, one of our waitresses, knew Nathan.” He looks at Ted. “Did you know any of them?”
“I was here the night Grayson and his dad came in. I waited on their table. I don’t remember Nathan or the others. I looked them up after I found out about Nathan. I thought it was weird we’d had two people who ended up dead in here. It kind of worried me, like are we in danger?” He glances at Calvin. “And maybe you need to give her free fries for life if she keeps coming in.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” Calvin says. “Do it.” He glances at me. “What else can we help with?”
“Was there anyone Kellerman and his son upset while they were here other than the staff?”
Calvin looks at Ted. “It was busy that night and I was pretty focused on him being a jerk to me.”
“Him?” I ask. “Which one?”
“Mostly the father, actually. I think Grayson came in another time and Bonnie or Kelly waited on him. You’d have to ask them.”
“Kelly is another waitress?” Kane asks.
“She is,” Calvin replies. “She’s on vacation this week. Her mom is up in Boston, and a little sickly. You need her number?”
“I do,” I reply.
“Let me grab those fries,” Ted says, disappearing into the kitchen.
I focus on Calvin. “Who owns this place?”
“It’s a holding group. I don’t know much about them. We get paid from a service, and even our interviewing is done through a service.”
“What service?”
“Smith Payroll. Why?”
“We take a lot of information during these investigations,” I explain. “Tell me about your regulars.”
Ted pushes through the kitchen door and sets our fries down. The front doorbells ring and Calvin motions in that direction. “Ted knows them better than me. I’ll be back.”