Dangerous Lies (10 page)

“He give you any flack?”

I glanced over my shoulder to find Inny dispensing vanilla ice cream into a malt cup. She put it under the malt machine, which kicked on with a high-pitched whir.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” I called over the noise.

“Don’t be afraid to yell at him if he gets out of line. Dixie Jo wouldn’t fire you over it. She hates him. Probably, she’d give you a raise.”

“Food’s getting cold,” I said, hoisting my tray a notch. I wasn’t sure about Inny yet. Instinct told me not to trust her, but there was something about her, something I couldn’t name outright, that I liked. Or maybe admired. She didn’t strike me as a girl who’d shy away from demanding her boyfriend use a condom, so I concluded it must have broken in the act. Her pregnancy was a genuine misfortune, not an oversight. Because this girl was as tough as concrete. Like me, Inny didn’t back down easily.

As I delivered the food to a family of five in a Suburban, Trigger honked his horn. Leaning across the bench seat, he yelled through the passenger window. “Hey, No-Name! I wanna change my order. Scratch the chicken fried steak. I want a bacon-mushroom burger, medium rare. And fries. Bring me some of them, too.”

I paused, making sure I could pull on a face of serenity before I strolled over. “As a regular customer, I’m sure you’re aware of our policy. I apologize for any inconvenience, but once an order goes to the grill, you’re stuck with it.” With that, I strode toward the carhop door. I didn’t want to give him time to argue with me.

No such luck.

“Hey!” Trigger hollered, slamming his truck door as he came after me. “Tell Inny to get her butt out here. I don’t want you. I want her.”

“Inny’s working the dining room. You want her? Get a table inside. Either way, if your order’s on the grill, and I’m betting more than that, it’s probably almost done, you’re paying for it.”
And if you stiff me, I swear I’ll do worse than spit in your food the next time you come around.

I pushed into the diner and let the door fall shut in his face.

The kitchen was hot. Steam from the pots and pans fogged the windows, and I blew my bangs off my forehead, which felt plastered to my skin. I’d have given anything for a reason to step inside the walk-in freezer, but Eduardo, the head cook, was dinging the bell for my next order. Trigger McClure’s order, as fate would have it.

“I’ll grab it in a sec!” I told Eduardo. Trigger McClure could stand to let his food cool. And his heels, if I had any say.

In the ladies’ room, I grasped the sink and blinked at my reflection. My legs throbbed and I longed for a chair and stool to kick up my feet. I was only three hours into my shift, and already bed sounded pretty darn appealing. Turning on the tap, I splashed my face and wiped down the back of my neck.

“Trigger McClure is a self-important jerk who deserves a shot of urine in his next Mountain Dew,” I murmured at the mirror. The thought brought a fleeting smile to my lips. It was a thought delicious enough that it just might, I decided, get me through the night. I exhaled, letting my clenched shoulders loosen, and that’s when I heard the toilet flush.

Inny stepped out from behind the stall door. Just like that, the tension jumped back into my shoulders and the rest of me filled with sickened dread.

“I—” I began. But what could I say? She’d heard every word. Even though I would never pee in
anyone’s
drink, I hadn’t left much ambiguity as to my intentions.

Inny stepped up to the sink and scrubbed her hands. Eyes glued to the mirror, she tousled her black hair. Then she gritted her teeth, examining the cracks for food. “Urine?” she said at last.

“Please don’t tell Dixie Jo—”

“Urine?” she repeated, louder. “You couldn’t think up anything better than urine?”

Unsure where she was taking this, I ignored her baiting, even though a few more-disgusting options
had
sprung to mind. Perhaps discretion was the better part of valor.

“First time Trigger grabbed my ass on the job,” Inny said, “I put a dead cricket in his hamburger. And all you can come up with is
urine
?” She shook her head. “Maybe I was right. Maybe he is gonna walk all over you.”

Still cautious, I said nothing.

Inny bent over the sink, applying a fresh swath of lipstick. “I just told you I put a dead cricket in a customer’s food and you’ve got nothing to say?”

I grazed her eyes in the mirror but didn’t fully meet them. “What’s his problem, anyway?” I asked carefully.

“Isn’t it obvious? He has a small dick.”

At last our eyes locked. Very slowly, we smiled.

“He plays baseball,” Inny went on. “All the scouts got their eye on him. He’s a pitcher, and a leftie at that. You oughta see his fastball. Ninety miles per hour with a little tail to it. Ball takes a sharp, cutting left-to-right curve just before it sails over the plate.” She whistled with admiration. “And his change-up? ’Bout fifteen miles per hour slower than his fastball, but with a right-to-left sinking tail. The whole town is convinced he’ll play in the majors—and with good reason. Believe it or not,” she added cynically, “not many celebrities are born in Thunder Basin, so he’s caused quite a commotion. Course, all the attention has gone to his head. And left him depleted in certain other areas.”

“Sounds like you know a lot about Trigger.”

She shrugged. “I know baseball.”

“If he’s headed to the majors, he’ll be leaving town soon. That should give you—us—a reason to smile.”

“Yeah,” Inny said, but without the amused snort I’d expected. If anything, her tone sounded moody.

“He asked for you. I told him you’re working the dining room tonight.”

Inny grunted, snapping back to her sharp-eyed self. “I’ve worked here long enough to know what he likes. He doesn’t have the patience to deal with anyone else.”

I waited for her to say more, but she dried her hands and left the bathroom without another word.

Still pondering my strange, but not necessarily unwelcome, conversation with Inny, I gave her a minute’s head start, then followed after. I picked up Trigger’s order and carted it outside. Knowing Inny was on my side gave me the motivation I needed to face Trigger again. There was something to be said about solidarity.

“One chicken fried steak,” I said, passing the take-out bag through Trigger’s window, “and one ice-cold Mountain Dew.”

He flung the bag back at me, nearly spilling the drink in my outstretched hand.

My temper took an edge. “I can place a second order for a burger and fries, but as I already explained—”

“Get Inny out here now.”

It took all my willpower to speak calmly. “As flattering as your tone is, I can’t do that. Inny is working. So am I. If you look around, you’ll see there are five other cars waiting on their orders.” I passed a faux-leather check folder with his tab through the window. “We take cash or credit card. No personal checks.”

Trigger didn’t accept the check folder. He grabbed the soda instead. The next thing I knew, the lid was off and the contents of the cup were flying at me.

I gasped, wiping ice-cold soda out of my eyes.

“Damn. There goes a perfectly good pop,” Trigger drawled.

I counted to ten. I did it again. When I spoke, I made sure my voice was cool and level. “I’ve heard you’re quite the baseball player. Pitcher, is it? Let’s hope you handle your balls better than your drink.”

Blotchy color flushed Trigger’s face, but he merely grabbed himself, hitching his crotch blatantly, and said, “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Then he slammed his truck in reverse and gunned down the street.

I don’t know how long I stood staring at the plumes of exhaust rolling off the road, feeling my throat clench tighter. I squeezed my eyes shut, telling myself it was the soda that was making them sting. I felt a horrible and unwanted tickle in my nose, and knew I was close to crying. So much for being the tough girl from Philly. I was going to let that jerk make me cry. I hated him for it—almost as much as I hated myself.

Right when I thought I was going to lose it, Inny came up beside me.

“Here,” she said, handing me a dish towel. “Just so you know, you’ve got a ways to go before you catch me. He’s done that to me three times. Four if you count the chocolate milk shake. Man, that took forever to wash out of my hair.”

I wanted to laugh, but my throat felt thick and slippery.

“Dixie Jo will get the money for his order from his parents, but I can’t promise a tip. Trigger’s mom and dad are his biggest fans. Probably he’ll tell them you’re a scorned lover and you dumped the drink on yourself to get his attention.” Inny looked sidelong at me. “You’d be amazed how many girls in this town are scorned lovers of Trigger McClure.”

“Because no way could a girl hate him simply because he’s an asshole.”

“Exactly.”

“Want to grab a bite after our shift?” I asked Inny, the dampness finally leaving my eyes. The way this night was going, I could use a little company. And despite my earlier judgments, it was starting to look like Inny and I had something in common after all.

“Not tonight.” She yawned, stroking her huge belly absently. “I’ll be lucky to stay awake on the drive home. Third trimester’s a kick in the pants.”

*  *  *

When I got to Carmina’s, she was waiting up. She sat on one of the faded blue corduroy sofas in the living room, flipping idly through a book. At the sight of me, she removed her reading glasses, letting them hang from the chain around her neck.

“How was it?”

“Busy.”

“Legs hurt?”

“Not too bad.”

“They’ll hurt tomorrow. You should wear support hose.”

I had my hand on the banister, and I tipped my chin tiredly upstairs. “I’m going to bed.” Car-hopping was grueling work. Even if the library hadn’t been closed by the time my shift ended, I wasn’t sure I could have made the extra effort to pedal there and see if Reed had e-mailed me back. And that was saying a lot. Because I was basically living for that e-mail.

“Do you have a computer?” I managed to ask Carmina, pausing in my slow drag upstairs.

“An old laptop. But it’s locked up,” she quickly added, making it clear the laptop was off-limits.

“Let me guess. The Feds said it would be too big a temptation for me?”

“The people looking for you could track the computer’s address straight to Thunder Basin,” she pointed out gravely.

“It’s called an IP address.” But beneath my scorn, I felt icy bumps rise along my entire body. I had used a computer at the library to contact Reed. I’d been careful, so careful. But there was always a risk. Telling myself that if Danny Balando was on to my secret e-mail account, I’d be dead by now, didn’t ease my mind. Maybe it was best to lie low for a while. But that would mean waiting even longer to talk to Reed, and I was desperate to plan our future. It was the hope of being with him again that pulled me from bed each morning.

“Chet Falconer called,” Carmina said.

“What did he want?”

“To talk to you.”

“Now that that’s cleared up, can I use the phone, please?” I said with withering sarcasm.

“It’s eleven, Stella. Too late for phone calls. You can try him in the morning.”

I laughed quietly, but I wasn’t humored. Unbelievable. She wouldn’t give up—she was as determined as ever to keep Chet and me apart. Maybe I needed to tell her my mom had tried the same tactic with Reed, and look how well that had turned out.

“A mannered young woman doesn’t make house calls after nine,” she added.

“That’s not what this is about. You couldn’t care less about propriety. You don’t want me talking to him. Admit it.”

Carmina lifted her book, putting her nose in it, ending our conversation. Shutting me out. So this was how she dealt when things threatened to not go her way.

Well. At least I could say the mystery of where my first paycheck was going had just been solved. I needed a cell phone. Stat.

I WORKED THE FOLLOWING NIGHT.
It was Inny’s day off, and without her sharp-tongued and pithy observations about life in the kitchen, my shift felt overwhelmingly long. The Sundown locked its doors at ten, but the kitchen didn’t fully wind down for at least another forty-five minutes. Sinks and floors needed to be scrubbed, the ice-cream machine needed to be flushed with hot water, and the garbage had to be taken out. Since I was lowest on the totem pole, the other waitresses took off early, leaving me to finish up the last of the cleaning. At a quarter to eleven, I ducked my head into Dixie Jo’s office to say good-bye.

“You look tired,” she told me, scrutinizing me with keenly observant eyes. “How you holding up?”

“Better.” I sighed. “Didn’t screw up any orders tonight.”

“I heard about Trigger McClure.”

“Figured you would.”

She came around her desk, leaning back against it to look at me directly. “Can’t stand that kid. Does this for my blood pressure—” She marked the air over her head.

“Yeah, Inny told me.”

That earned me a cocked eyebrow. “Inny Foxhall? Talking to the new girl? What’s the world coming to?” She went on to explain. “Inny’s slow to warm to people. She’s built up quite a few fences, as you might have guessed. Figures it’s easier to hold the world at a distance than open herself up to ridicule.”