My stomach reminded me that Baxter had stolen my lunch. I turned left out of the station and headed to Stark’s Bar and Grill. Alex Ferguson worked there and, provided he wasn’t on one of his “improve the menu” tirades, I could get a good burger. Alex and I had been friends since the first day of high school. As I walked, I concentrated on the list of clients I needed to see that afternoon. I didn’t want to think about Mac. Or about Sara. Or about my family. What I wanted was to whine to Alex about everything that had happened and have him pat me on the back and say “poor Clyde.” Of course, there was zero chance of that happening.
I weaved my way through families pushing strollers, teens eating ice cream, and shoppers loaded down with bags of clothes and new-age trinkets. It was after one o’clock; the crowd was starting to clear outside the restaurant and the usual line out the door had disappeared. I stepped inside and squinted into the dim interior. The dark wood paneling, low lights, and dark green flooring made the restaurant feel cave-like. Alex claimed the owner, Joe Stark, kept it dark so no one would notice he hadn’t updated the décor since the place had opened in the 1970s. A disturbing amount of olive-colored leather seating and mustard accents dominated the dining area. The place had been suffering a slow slide into oblivion with only a few loyal regulars keeping it afloat until Alex was hired on as the chef two years ago. It now had become a “must-visit” for the tourists.
I sat at my favorite table in the corner, facing the door. The server came to take my drink order. She was very thin and wore an oversize T-shirt and jeans. I asked her to put in my request for a burger and to let Alex know I was there if he had any time to spare.
She returned about five minutes later with a Diet Coke and something on a plate that did not resemble any sort of food I had ever seen. I sighed, and said, “New menu item?”
“No, Mr. Ferguson said he’s trying it out. He wants to see what you think.” She lowered her voice to protect the other customers. “It’s a tofu-eggplant stack.”
My mouth went dry. I hate eggplant.
“Is he making a burger?”
“Um, I don’t think so.” She shrugged.
I poked at the layers of stiff white tofu and gooey eggplant. They were battered and fried. Even for Alex, I didn’t think I could do it. I tried a small bite of tofu and didn’t die.
I gestured to the waitress.
“Could you go put in an order for that burger and pretend it’s for another table?”
Her eyes lit up as she saw the deviousness of my plan. They grew dim as she glanced at the mess on my plate.
“That should work. But he said he’d be out in a few minutes to get your opinion.” Her furrowed brow said she had no faith in my ability to pull this off.
“It’s okay. I can handle him.” I smiled in my most winning way and even cut a slice of the stack to show her I was a good sport.
I quickly cut the food into smaller pieces and pushed them all around my plate. I put a few in a napkin and stuffed them into my bag just as Alex came out from behind the swinging door that led to the kitchen. He was slightly taller than me, with broad shoulders from kayaking on Lake Michigan. A few dark curls had escaped the gel he used and fell onto his forehead. He had the bluest eyes I had ever seen. He wiped his hands on his apron and scanned the room.
I gave a small wave. I pointed to my mouth and pretended to be chewing.
“Hi, what do you think?” he said as he pulled up a chair and assessed the plate in front of me.
I faked a swallow and took a sip of soda. “It’s like nothing I’ve ever had before.”
“I know. I really wanted to stretch the limits.”
“You’ve done that. But do you think you might have stretched a little too far?”
“I know, I know. Stark thinks it’s ‘cuisine’ if we wrap the steaks in bacon, or add bacon to a salad. Once I told him we could wrap water chestnuts in bacon, but that was too ‘fancy.’” He waved his fingers to demonstrate “fancy.” “I don’t know how much more of this I can take.” He pushed his hair back with both hands and then pulled it all forward again. No wonder the gel wasn’t working.
“The place is doing great, Alex. That’s all because of you. Stark will come around.”
“Speaking of bacon, this morning he didn’t even show up for the prep work.” He took my fork and ate a piece of the eggplant without choking. “I had to do it all when I came in at ten, plus all my regular stuff, and the line starts forming at eleven thirty. I guess I’m lucky that all they want is burgers and sandwiches.”
I stared for a moment in fascination as he ate some more of my food.
“Listen, have you heard about Sara Landess?”
“Did she and Tish have another shouting match? Or was it her and Gary?” He slurped some of my Diet Coke.
“She’s dead, Alex.”
He choked on the soda and spit most of it back into the glass. He took the drink napkin to mop his face and slid the glass toward me.
“What? What happened? A car accident?”
“No, she was murdered.” I wrinkled my nose and pushed the drink away. “Seth and I found her body when we went to take care of Tuffy this morning.”
“Oh no. I’m so sorry. Are you okay? Is he okay? He’s just a kid. Did he see much of it?”
“He saw enough.” I nodded. “Tuffy’s at my house now giving testimony to Aunt Vi,” I said. Alex snorted and continued to mop up the soda.