They’d lived in a motel for a week and then he moved them into an apartment. Two months later he was ready to move again, but she didn’t go with him that time. She didn’t hear from him again until she got a call that he’d died with liver cancer in Pampa, Texas. She had him cremated and shook his ashes out near the same spot where they’d left her mother.
She and Vicky crossed paths as she headed back to the counter. “The parking lot is starting to fill up. You take the booths to the left of the cash register. I’ll take the right side. And I’m sorry to hear about your folks. I always liked Elaine. She was shy but had a good heart.”
“Thanks.” Jancy swallowed hard, but the baseball-size lump in her throat wouldn’t budge. She managed to keep the tears at bay as she went through a crazy roller coaster of emotions.
CHAPTER TWO
The minute the breakfast rush was done, Jancy grabbed a broom and started sweeping. When she finished that, she went to the mudroom at the back of the kitchen, got out a bucket and mop, and set about cleaning the floor. And she did it without being told, which spoke volumes to Vicky.
Jancy wiped down all the tables again, cleaned a few smudges off the windows, and had just cleaned the door when it swung open. A guy wearing a light-gray three-piece suit and a big smile took in the place and then slid into a booth on Vicky’s end of the diner.
“Sit anywhere. I’ll be right with you,” Jancy said.
Vicky picked up a menu, carrying it to the booth. “What can I get you to drink?”
“Are you Victoria Rawlins?” His smile got bigger.
“I’m Vicky. We have coffee, sweet and unsweet tea, and Coke products. We stopped serving breakfast thirty minutes ago and our lunch special won’t be ready for another hour, but we do have hamburgers, cheeseburgers until then,” she said.
“I’ll have a cup of coffee.” His fake smile did not reach the cool assessment of his steely-blue eyes.
She poured a mug full of coffee and carried it to his booth. “Sugar, artificial sweeteners, and half-and-half are on the table. Anything else?”
“Please join me.” He motioned toward the other side of the booth.
“Thank you, but I’ve got work to do. Enjoy the coffee and let me know if I can get you anything else.”
Emily would call it Vicky’s spidey senses, but something wasn’t quite right. This fellow wasn’t there for a cup of coffee and an attempt to flirt with that big toothy grin—that much Vicky could feel in her spidey bones. Maybe the guy was from the IRS and was there to tell her that he was going to audit her books. Or maybe he was a health inspector or one of those people who go into a business and then rate the service.
She backed up and propped a hip on a bar stool.
“He could be flirting,” Jancy whispered as she cleaned fingerprints from the domed cake stands right behind Vicky.
“It’s not workin’,” Vicky said in a loud voice.
He leaned toward her and winked. “This is a pretty nice little setup you got here, and I understand that you also own the land to the north of the café.”
Be danged if the sunlight flowing in through the windows didn’t make his fingernails shine. That mesmerized Vicky. There wasn’t a man in Pick, Texas, who would be caught dead with polished nails—not even if they were high-gloss clear.
“No, sir, I do not,” she answered. “But I would appreciate it if you’d state your business, because we’re about to get knee-deep in a lunch rush around here. You sure you don’t want to see a menu? Nettie makes a mean cheeseburger with bacon.”
He looked to be about fifty with that sprinkling of gray hair at his temples and the thinning spot on the top of his head. Maybe that naked patch was what made his eyes look too close together. “I’m Carlton Wolfe. Haven’t you seen my picture in the newspaper ads?”
His tone said that he was somebody real important. Heck, he might have even descended right from a personal visit with Jesus with all the importance that he was throwing around.
“Well, Mr. Carlton Wolfe, what can I do for you? And no, I haven’t seen your picture in the newspaper.”
“You own this place, right?”
“I am a co-owner.”
He wasn’t IRS or he’d already know that, so she wasn’t about to be audited. If he was a health inspector, he could put on his white gloves and run his fancy little fingers around the place. He wouldn’t get a bit of dust on them.
“And who is your partner?”
He looked like a wolf with those beady little eyes and that nose with the indentation at the end. If Vicky believed in shape-shifters, she’d think that he’d been a mangy old gray wolf just before he walked into her business and the transition wasn’t quite finished. He had on clothing, but that nose—there was something about it.
“I’m not sure I want to answer your questions, Mr. Carlton Wolfe. What business is it of yours who owns the diner? Just exactly what are you selling?” she asked.
He tipped back his head and flashed an even brighter grin at her. The nose had a slight indentation at the tip that gave it the appearance of a penis. Rather than feeling intimidated, she wanted to giggle. If she squinted, she could imagine his wide, full lips turning into what usually sat below a penis. Maybe if he grew a scraggly beard it would complete the whole picture.
“I’d like to take you to dinner and discuss a business proposition. Maybe I can pick you up at seven tonight?” He lowered his voice. “And candlelight and a bottle of good vintage wine.”
“No, thank you. Just exactly what are you selling?”
“Not selling, honey—buying. But I’d far rather have this conversation this evening, or if you are busy, tomorrow would be great, too,” he said.
“Buying what?” Vicky asked.
“Aha.” He snapped his fingers. “I’ve got your interest. Pick you up at seven. You live in the little white frame house down the lane from this diner, right? Wear something pretty and plan on being out past midnight.”
“Mr. Wolfe, I’m not going anywhere with you. I don’t know you.” Vicky pushed away from the bar stool. “Enjoy your coffee, and if you change your mind, just holler.”
“Okay, but I would have enjoyed taking a beautiful woman like you to dinner and chatting in a quieter atmosphere,” he said with wistfulness. “I’m a real estate entrepreneur, and I’d like to buy this section of land from you, the undeveloped property to the north, this café, and your house in a package deal. I’m prepared to offer you one hundred and fifty thousand dollars for the whole parcel, and I will write a check for ten percent of that today if you will be off the land in thirty days,” he said. “You could think about that and go with me to dinner tonight to seal the deal. I’ll have my team draw up the contract and bring it with me.”
“And what makes you think I want to sell my house and café?”
“You probably didn’t until I mentioned that amount of money. I know property, Miz Rawlins, and what I just offered you is twenty percent above the fair market value of that land. You just give it some thought. Call me when you want to talk or go to dinner—either one.” He pulled out a business card and laid it on the table as he stood up without taking even one sip of his coffee.