“I saved a table for you!” he called to them.
Hurrying out, he caught hold of Mo’s arm and smiled over at Grace. He was beaming. “I should feel bad, right? I do feel bad. I feel terrible. But...I didn’t know Richard Highsmith. And the crowds at Halloween and during the fall and at Christmas keep us going through the rest of the year.”
“It’s okay, Tommy,” Mo said. She was glad they’d come, and he was obviously pleased that she and Grace were there.
As they moved through the crowd, people kept turning to look at Rollo. Some patted him; some asked first. Luckily, Rollo would never hurt anyone. Mo caught bits and pieces of conversation as they walked. Most people were talking about what had happened. Speculation ran high as to whether it was a political assassination or a maniac on the loose.
“But then, why the murdered woman?” someone asked. “Was she killed just for effect? Or maybe she walked in on the first murder!”
“Your table’s back here,” Tommy said, escorting them through the restaurant, apparently oblivious to the stream of words around them.
“Hey, don’t worry about us. Take care of your customers,” Mo said.
“No, I’m good. You’re the first friends who promised to show up and actually have!” Tommy said happily. He led them to a booth near the back, one Mo particularly loved because it was private.
The whole restaurant had been designed to resemble a wooden cottage deep in the woods. The walls were decorated with framed pages from Washington Irving’s work and various prints of the illustrations done for his stories throughout the years. Fabricated trees and vines separated booths and areas of the bar, and the overall impression was decidedly charming. But Tommy had also seen to it that from every section of the bar you could see one of the large-screen TVs he had high on the walls.
The menu was attuned to the story, as well. Brom Bones was a rib dish. Ye Olde Dutch Churchyard was a house specialty—a stew with carrots, potatoes, onions and roast beef so tender it melted in the mouth.
“I’m having the Katrina Van Tassel!” Grace announced. She was ordering the chicken potpie, each one baked with a picture of the lovely fictional lass impressed into the crust.
“I’ll put your order in myself,” Tommy told them. “Mo?”
“Uh, the same. Great.”
“And I’ll have a chardonnay,” Grace said. “What about you, Mo?”
“Going to stick with water tonight,” she replied.
“Suit yourself. I’d be downing a bottle of Jack if I dared!” Tommy said with a laugh.
Grace’s eyes were on one of the television screens. She looked over at Mo. “I can hardly hear, but we’re major national news,” she said.
“Highsmith might have been mayor, then governor or senator—and possibly a presidential candidate. Not to mention the state of the bodies when they were found,” Mo said. “It’s big news, yes.”
Mo stared at the closest screen as Rollo settled beneath the table at her feet.
She could see two of the screens. On the second one she saw quick images of Sleepy Hollow and Tarrytown. The numerous headless horsemen set up for the Halloween season were spotlighted. Fortunately, no one had caught the murder scene on a cell phone. Although she couldn’t hear well, she was pretty sure a reporter was saying that nothing had shown up on YouTube, and that his station would never sensationalize such a tragic situation.
Abby Cole, a tall, attractive redhead and Tommy’s lead bartender, came sweeping by their table with their drinks. Both Mo and Grace greeted her warmly.
“You doing okay?” Mo asked her.
“I’m going to make a fortune—if I survive to spend it,” Abby said. “We have two new girls on the floor. That’s why I ran over with your drinks. You should have food in a few minutes. If you get bored, you can always hop behind the bar!” This was something Mo had done on a few occasions, as a favor to Tommy—her part-time college job as a bartender coming in handy.
In a whirl Abby was gone. Five minutes later, a smiling young girl hurried over with their food. “One Cemetery Salad and one Brom Bones!” She set the plates down, then dashed off.
Mo and Grace looked at each other and burst out laughing.
“The salad or the ribs?” Mo asked Grace.
“Ah, the ribs. Okay?”
“Absolutely. I think when we’re finished, I may go help at the bar. Can you watch Rollo?”
“You bet. And I’ll watch for anything good-looking and unattached that walks in. Okay, forget good-looking. I’ll keep an eye out for semi-reputable and bathed.”
Mo smiled at that and ate the salad, which was really very good. It had strips of tuna, fruit, nuts and all kinds of great flavors. It wasn’t, however, a chicken potpie.
“Okay, I’m heading to the bar,” Mo said.
“Is it all right if I give Rollo a piece of meat?” Grace asked.
“No, he has his own treats.”