The diner was actually really cute. Just like the rest of the shops in Normal, it was cozy and very southern, small townish. It was shot-gun style with a long counter down one side with the kitchen and working guts behind it and a row of red-sparkly leather booths along the other side that butted up to a long row of windows.
The smell of grease, bacon, beef, and cinnamon filled the air along with the sounds of chatter and utensils hitting the plates. I looked around and the only seat not taken was at the counter. It just so happened to be located right in front of a pie stand.
I stepped up on the platform where all the single chairs along the counter were bolted down and slid up on the red-sparkly leather which was the same sparkly leather on the benches. I swiveled the chair seat around with my hands folded on top of the counter.
“Hiya.” Trudy Bull was standing in front of me with an apron tied around her waist, a pen stuck behind her ear. The diner logo, a coffee cup with steam curling out the top, was embroidered on the front. “What do you want to eat?” She tapped the top of the pie stand with her pen. “Or you can go straight for a slice of apple pie. Best around.”
Now it made sense why Queenie told Trudy people didn’t want to smell mildew while she was serving food.
“First, tell me what’s good?” I asked and plucked a menu from between the salt and pepper shakers.
“Everything. Now.” She leaned over and whispered, “I wouldn’t have said that about six months ago because our head chef wasn’t here then, but now.” She put her lips together and kissed the tips of her fingers in an Italian sort of way. “The new chef makes the grease taste good.”
“I’ll have whatever you think is good.” I picked up the menu and put it back where I’d found it. “What happened six months ago?”
“The chef’s dad, who was the chef and owner,” she flip flopped her hand. “had a heart attack. Apparently, it was about that guy they found in the lake over at the trailer park.”
“RV Park,” I corrected her. “I live there. It’s RVs and campers.” She gave me an odd look. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you there.”
“It’s because you haven’t, Trudy.” Ty Randal appeared in the window between the diner and the kitchen. “She’s the new owner of Happy Trails. Or should I say the owner all along.”
“The own…ooooooo,” her lips formed a dramatic O. “You mean that you’re Mae West.”
“And how did you hear about me?” I asked. “As far as I know, I’m just the nice lady that helped you figure out the dryers at The Laundry Club.”
She smiled but it quickly faded when Ty hit the dingy bell.
“Table six up!” He yelled extra loud. The entire diner fell silent.
“I knew I was going to like you when I heard your name.” She winked. “One order of campfire hash coming right up.” She jerked her head to gesture towards Ty. “He’s how I know who you are.”
Trudy moved out of the way, exposing the pass-through window. Ty was still staring at me. He whipped the towel off his shoulder and disappeared, only to reappear through the swinging kitchen door at the far side of the counter. He hurried past the counter and found his way between me and the customer next to me.
“Sorry, Dan.” He nudged Dan and took his ticket. “Supper’s on me tonight. You’ve got to move or go, but I need this seat.”
“Here’s your hat and what’s your hurry, Ty,” Dan said with some sarcasm as he stood and picked up his bowl of soup.
“Why are you here? I told you I’ll have your money.” Ty sat down next to me, his knees touching my seat and keeping me from swiveling it away. “There’s no need to harass me at work like your ex. I told him and now I’m going to tell you,” his voice trailed off. He ran his hand down his face before his chest rose in a big inhale.
“What did you tell my ex?” I was curious.
“Listen,” he jerked my chair around so I faced him. He got so close to me that I could smell a mix of a musk cologne and grease. I’m not going to lie, it was a nice smell and his blue eyes were what I attributed the flip in my stomach to. “I won’t have you come in here again or I’ll call Hank Sharp.”
“Are you telling me that Hank Sharp hasn’t come in here to ask you about Paul’s death?” I wondered, but knew I was putting a little voice in his head.
“I’m not telling you anything. I don’t know you. I don’t need to tell you anything. All you need to know is that I’m going to have your money to you and I’m looking for a new place for me and the boys.” He planted his hands on the counter. “If you’ll excuse me now,” he said in a huff, “ and get out of my diner.”
“One campfire hash,” Trudy started to say and put down the plate that looked so good, but Ty jerked it out of her hands.
“She’s leaving,” he told Trudy and took the plate, disappearing with it back into the kitchen from where he’d come.
There was no sense in trying to stay somewhere where I was obviously not welcome. True, I didn’t go in there to eat, but to get some information. I wasn’t looking forward to a walk back to the campground. It was that weird time of the late afternoon, almost night,where it was still light out until around nine thirty in the evening. Since it was only 6 p.m., the sun was still out and the only place that looked to be open was the bank.
There was no better time to look into a line of credit and come to do what I was going to do with some of the cash from Paul’s sock drawer.
The bank wasn’t exactly what I’d pictured it to be. . .a regular bank. Nope. Normal Trust Co. had one teller window and one office. There was a small table in the middle where there were some extra deposit and withdrawl slips like a regular bank would have but on a very small scale.
“Is that a real Gucci?” The lady behind the only teller desk looked at my purse. She pushed up on her elbows to lean over the counter and get a better look.
“It is.” It was one gift that I’d smuggled out of the pile of items the FBI had seized. My designer bag days were over for now and I had this one last one to cling to.
“Hmm.” She gave me the side-eye. “I’ve never seen a real one. Only the ones in the magazine down at the Safeway.”
“Safeway?” I asked.
“The grocery store.” She straightened her posture and pulled back her shoulders. “How can I help you?” She looked at her watch. “And make it quick because I’ve got three minutes until six according to my watch and I don’t care what I’m in the middle of, it just stops.”
“Is someone here to talk to me about a line of credit?” I pointed to the desk.
“Mr. Deters!” She yelled towards the open bank vault that was next to her desk.
“Deters?” I questioned. “Any relation to Alvin Deters?” I asked.
“You can’t get any more relation than the real guy.” Alvin walked out of the vault. “Mrs. West, I figured you’d been here earlier, but Ann said I didn’t have any visitors other than my wife. She brings me lunch every day at the store so I can come over here in the afternoon to work my banking hours.”
“I should’ve known.” I brushed my hand through my hair, my fingers got hung in the curls. “You are the bank manager?”
“That’s right and that’s why I told you to come to the bank.” He pinched a tight smile and used his pointer finger to push the tip of his cowboy hat up a smidgen. “But as you can see, it’s closing time and we’ve only got about forty seconds to do some business.”
“Fine. I’m going to make an anonymous deposit.” I dug down into my purse and pulled out a stack of hundred-dollar bills. “Ann,” I looked at the name plate on top of the counter. “Ann Rose, do you know Dottie Swaggert?”
“I do,” she said but her eyes were focused on the hundreds.
“Can you please deposit this into her account?” I asked.
“Where’d that money come from?” Alvin demanded to know. “Don’t take that if that’s blood money.”