Grandma Hudson was nobody’s fool. When she bought the Roundhouse, she bought the whole thing—both the building and the parking lot, right along with the previous owner’s collection of model trains. Once I came on board, I bought more trains, and better ones, too. Unlike some of the other businesses in the neighborhood, I still had a going concern. I also didn’t have a money-grubbing landlord trying to bust my balls in order to get me to leave. I hadn’t taken the bait at the developer’s first offer or even at his second or third.
So yes, I was hoping to sell eventually—at my price—but it wasn’t something I discussed out in the open. For one thing, if my crew figured out that I might sell, they’d be gone before the next dinner service, and I’d find myself stuck being chief cook and bottle washer along with having to do everything else. Still, the fact that Jamison and Shandrow knew about my possible real estate dealings meant the two detectives had been hanging around Peoria asking questions for some time, long before they set foot in my restaurant early that afternoon to order their two bottomless cups of coffee.
“Who told you I might be interested in selling?”
Jamison shrugged. “Word gets around,” he said.
“I’ve had some inquiries,” I acknowledged. “So far there haven’t been any offers out there that I couldn’t walk away from. If someone’s going to buy the business out from under me, they’re going to have to make it worth my while.”
“I notice you have a pay phone back there by the restrooms,” Jamison said.
This odd observation was completely out of context, but it was also true. Even though pay phones are thin on the ground these days, the Roundhouse has one, and I do my best to keep it in good working order.
“A few of the planned communities around here aren’t big on watering holes for the old guys who still like to tipple a bit,” I explained. “Some of my regulars are disabled vets who arrive in those handicapped dial-a-van things or else by cab because they’re too old to drive or their physical condition makes it impossible. The younger generation may have terminal cell-phone-itis, but not all of the older generation does.
“So yes, I have a pay phone back there so those guys can call a cab or a van when it’s time for them to go home. I can also tell you that having a pay phone on the premises is a pain in the neck. When this one breaks down—which it does with astonishing regularity—and stops refunding the change it’s supposed to spit back out, people tend to get crabby. They want me to replace their missing change, and most of the time I do. I figure I can afford to lose seventy-five cents easier than some of them can.”
“Whoa,” Detective Shandrow observed with an ill-concealed sneer. “You’re a regular philanthropist.”
I wasn’t too keen on Jamison, but I liked his partner even less.
“You usually work days, then?” Jamison asked.
“Mostly,” I said, “I generally do the day-shift bartending, but because I’m the owner, I pitch in as needed—including serving as short-order cook on occasion, as I did today. I’m here most of the time anyway because I live right upstairs.”
“If you don’t mind,” Shandrow interjected, “I think I’ll go use the facilities.”
More than ready to be rid of the jerk, I wouldn’t have minded if he’d walked straight out the door. He eased his somewhat ungainly body out of the booth and then made for the corridor that led to the restrooms while Jamison put away his notebook and pencil.
“So that’s it, then?” I asked.
“For the time being,” he told me. “Like I said earlier, we just needed to ask you a couple of questions. Now we’ll get out of your hair.”
That was pretty laughable in itself because I don’t have any hair. When my hairline started receding, I went for the Kojak look and shaved it all off. Jamison stood up just as Shandrow emerged from the hallway. Jamison was between us, and Shandrow was looking at his partner rather than at his reflection in the mirror. I caught the small secretive nod he sent in Jamison’s direction. Since neither of them was looking at me at that precise moment, I doubt they realized I had seen it. That nod told me that Detective Shandrow had not only gone down the hall looking for something, he had found it.
“What’s the deal with the trophy case and all the photos back there in the corridor?” he asked. “You got yourself one of those dimwit kids?”
I don’t have any kids of my own, but I do coach a Special Olympics team, the Roundhouse Railers. When one of my athletes comes into the diner, they always eat for free, and they always want to go visit the trophy case in the restroom hallway. Hearing Shandrow call those sweet folks dimwits left me wanting to punch the man’s lights out.
“Those are my athletes.” I told him in tight-lipped fury. “And no, I don’t have any children of my own, dim or otherwise.”
They got the message, Jamison most likely more than Shandrow, and left then, while I stayed where I was. This wasn’t a social call. It wasn’t my job to see them out. Besides, I was so pissed at Detective Shandrow that I was afraid I’d say something to the man that I’d end up regretting. I was still sitting in the booth when Amanda came over and wiped down the table.