Page 11 of Stay in Your Lane!

“Smart!” Everett nodded. “And you still have the camera, too.”

“I do.” It was in my pocket because I’d been too paranoid to leave it in the truck. It would be just my luck someone would break in, probably searching for a chemical to steal or huff, and they’d swipe the camera to sell. It wasn’t much, but hey, the economy sucked. A few bucks was a few bucks.

So I had it on me, but I didn’t take it out. I wasn’t sure why. Because someone might look over my shoulder? Because somehow us sitting here at Waffles? and perusing the photos would compromise whatever evidence we might’ve found? I don’t know. Growing up around cops, I was paranoid about things like chain of custody and evidentiary integrity.

Or maybe I was just wound the fuck up because Everett and I both had the same gut feeling about a scene the cops had dismissed.

I drummed my fingers on top of the menu. “So, we’re in agreement, right? This had to be a murder.”

“Definitely.” Everett made a face. “I guess I can kind of see why they didn’t think that guy would kill himself. Looked like he had a pretty good thing going, you know? The trailer wasn’t that bad, and it looks like he’s got a kid, and?—”

“No, no.” I shook my head sharply. “A lot of people look like they’ve got it good from the outside looking in. Nice house, great marriage, kids, the works. The problems are all up here.” I tapped my temple. “We don’t really know what he had going on there, you know?”

To his credit, Everett looked chastened. “Ooh. Yeah, I guess I don’t know much about that stuff. I took psychology at the community college, but I didn’t get a lot of it.” He quirked his lips. “But the scene. The scene was definitely a murder. It had to be!”

“Yeah, I agree.” I folded my arms on the edge of the table and leaned over them, careful not to press on Steve’s bite. I opened my mouth to speak, but a loud hiss followed by a shout and then a crash had me whipping around to see what was happening.

In the kitchen, there was a cloud of smoke and people flailing around. Someone shouted, “Goddammit Chet, you dumbass! Didn’t I tell you the last two times? You don’t throw water on a grease fire!”

“I know!” came a frantic voice from beyond the smoke. “I forgot!”

“Oh for fuck’s sake. Just… Tell me when I’m going to have my hashbrowns, will you?”

Then there was more clattering and bickering over the sounds of food sizzling and spatulas clanking and scraping.

Everett huffed a laugh. “Never a boring night at Waffles?, that’s for sure.”

I faced him again. “You come here a lot?” I jabbed my thumb over my shoulder. “And shit like that’s normal?”

“Oh, yeah.” He waved a hand and reached for his water glass. “Hell, I think I’ve been here twice when it was robbed.”

“Robbed? And twice? And what do you mean youthinkyou were here for robberies? How do you not know that?”

“Well, the first time was definitely a robbery.” He took a quick sip of water. “I mean, I guess it was more of an attempted robbery because the guy was built like a twig and the fry cook whooped his ass. The second time…” Everett wobbled his hand in the air. “There was a lot of screaming and yelling, and I know I saw a skillet go flying across the room. But I don’t know if it was someone trying to rob the place or just the waitress having a fight with her ex-boyfriend. It’s hard to tell sometimes.”

I gaped at him. “Hard to… Are you serious?”

“Well, yeah.” He shrugged. “It isn’t like the movies where they come in and scream, ‘this is a robbery!’”

That last part came out way too loud, and my heart jumped into my throat. I looked around, expecting everyone to be watching us and ready to either call the cops or pummel Everett into the floor.

Nope.

The old guy at the counter was still complaining about his soup to a waitress who appeared to be a hundred percent done with humanity.

The cooks in the back were still arguing about why the one guy had thrown water on a grease fire.

And a half dozen Goth kids were still sullenly sipping coffee in a corner booth.

Either no one had heard Everett, or they didn’t care.

“Oh my God, this place is weird,” I muttered as I faced him again.

“I know—I love it.” He chuckled, then gestured at the menu. “You should really try the fried mac-and-cheese bites.”

I peered at him, then at the menu. “I think coffee is probably enough for me.”

That worked like an incantation, because the tired waitress appeared beside us, coffeepot in hand. “Can I get you boys started with anything?”

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