Down Home and Deadly

now , and although it wasn’t common knowledge, she was also my boss. She and her niece, the new editor, were the only two people besides Carly and me who knew that I moonlighted as advice columnist, Dear Pru.
    The other old - timers told me what they wanted to eat without incident. As I wove my way through the busy dining area with their orders, I admitted to myself that Grimmett was right about one thing : I’d much rather be out back with the police looking for the gun that killed J.D. But I had sense enough to know John would come unglued if I got anywhere near them.
    “Ma’am! Ma’am!” A big-haired lady on the opposite side of the room waved her arm. “This isn’t what I ordered.”
    I glanced around the busy dining area. Where was Debbie?
    I made a quick detour to the woman’s table , and she gestured toward her plate. “I know you aren’t our waitress, but ours seems to have disappeared. I ordered a salad and chopped steak. This is meatloaf.”
    I took the offending plate. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I’ll be right back with your salad.”
    “Thanks. I heard y’all talking about that guy that was killed here last night . Wasn’t he from here originally?”
    I shook my head. “Not that I know of.”
    She nodded to the mousy - looking woman across the table from her. “Didn’t your grandma say he grew up here?”
    “Yes,” the woman said.
    “I hadn’t heard that.” And as much as I wanted to hear more , I knew I needed to find Debbie before Carly lost customers because her wait staff was too slow. “I’ll just go get your order.”
    I leaned over the counter into the kitchen to see if Debbie was in there. All I could see was orders piling up. I glanced over to the salad bar where Marco was dumping fresh lettuce into the huge stainless steel bowl. “ Marco , I think Debbie must be on break. Can you help me serve for a few minutes?”
    For the next half hour, we worked frantically, sorting out orders and making corrections and apologies.
    When the lunch crowd thinned slightly, I thanked Marco . “Can you handle things out here for a few minutes while I find Debbie?”
    He nodded.
    I looked in the kitchen and even opened the mop closet. But no Debbie. Finally , I went to the ladies’ room and peeked in. Empty. I started to let the door shut, but a muffled sobbing drew me back. “Debbie?”
    Just a soft hiccup in answer.
    “Debbie? Is that you?” I glanced under the stall and saw her scuffed white tennis shoes, still slightly speckled with the butternut paint from the remodel. “I know it’s you. You might as well talk to me.”
    She blew her nose loudly , and in a few seconds, the stall door creaked open and she stepped out.
    “What’s wrong?” I asked.
    “This whole murder thing. I just feel bad about J.D. It’s so sad.” She bent over the sink and splashed cold water on her red , puffy face.
    I met her gaze in the mirror. “It is. Do you have any idea who might have killed him?”
    “No, of course not. I barely knew him.” Her voice quavered , and she fished her brush out of her purse and redid her messy bun. “But poor Lisa.”
    “Yeah.” I thought again how lucky Lisa was to have Debbie for a friend. Most people in Lake View probably wouldn’t have too much sympathy for the spoiled princess. “Do you know why he was here?”
    She shrugged. “How would I know? Maybe he was coming to the grand opening.” Her voice broke. “But he didn’t make it.” She began sobbing again.
    I patted her shoulder. “Debbie, why don’t you go ahead and go home? Marco and I can handle the rest of the lunch crowd.” It would be easier if we knew she was gone than if she kept disappearing to cry. I hoped Carly wouldn’t care that I was sending her most seasoned waitress home during the busiest part of the day. “If you feel like it , you can come back in later.”
    “I don’t want to go home.”
    “Then maybe you should visit Lisa. I’m sure she’s having a hard time with this.”
    She nodded. “I heard they made her go down to the station this morning and have fingerprints,” she whispered.
    Her unique way of phrasing that procedure made me fight a smile. “Really? They think she killed him?”
    Her eyes widened. “Do you think? They said it’s just a formality because she rode in his car a lot. So they can figure out what fingerprints might be there that aren’t supposed to be.”
    I quickly backtracked. The last thing I wanted to do was add to the overworked rumor