Another Word for Murder by Nero Blanc Page A

forks scraping plates, and the joking banter between Martha and Kenny, the fry cook—or between Martha and anyone else—was what they wanted before heading into the day’s work.
    â€œWhat’s up with you two sad sacks today?” Martha teased as she sloshed hot coffee into their cups. “You didn’t get more bad news on the Dangerous Dan front, did you?”
    Belle’s eyes widened in surprise. “Why do you ask that?”
    â€œHey, like I wasn’t here on Saturday when you all were palavering about Tacete taking a hike?” she demanded facetiously.
    â€œOh, yes …” Belle forced a smile while her peripheral vision took in the jaunty flamingo-and-bubblegum hues of the coffee shop’s decor and the color-coordinated uniforms worn by Martha, Lorraine, and the other waitress. “In the pink” seemed a term invented for Lawson’s, although, at the moment, Belle felt the global aspects of the expression had failed her.
    â€œSo, any updates in the wayward-husband scenario?” Martha asked.
    â€œNo,” Belle and Rosco responded in unison and too quickly.
    â€œYou two are a piece of work this morning, that’s for sure. Maybe I should ask King Kenny to fry you a couple of steaks instead of the French toast and flapjacks you always order. You look like you could use a little iron.”
    â€œWell, we are kind of tired,” Belle admitted.
    â€œHaven’t you lovebirds learned what weekends are for?” Martha chortled loudly, then shook her buxom body in delight. “Never mind. I take that back. Maybe you should try to spend more time outside on your days off. Possibly you need less time in bed instead of more?” With that, she flounced away, bellowing greetings and wisecracks to other regular patrons who returned the comments with equal verve and gusto. Any stranger entering Lawson’s time-warp linoleum-and-chrome world would have decided that Newcastle was a joyous city indeed.
    â€œSo, what do we do next?” Belle asked after another leaden moment had passed between the couple.
    â€œThere’s nothing we can do, Belle. Karen all but told us to take a hike and now is refusing to speak to us.”
    â€œBut that seems so wrong, Rosco…. So … I don’t know … so irresponsible on our part. If Dan were hurt, or Lily—” Belle left the thought unfinished.
    â€œWe’ll have to hope Karen comes to her senses and contacts the police. Which she may still do. This is an extremely volatile time for her, and she may be taking out her anger on us simply because she can’t place it where it should be.”
    â€œBut what about Lily?” Belle asked. “And whatever Karen failed to explain in her message last night …”
    Rosco remained in silent deliberation while his wife continued, “Because if this person has started threatening a child—”
    â€œUnless we can talk to Karen, Belle, we have no idea what she was told.”
    Belle took a deep breath. “I feel awful, Rosco—”
    At that moment, two plates piled high with sugar and caloric-hell were slid in front of them by Martha. “Watch out, the maple syrup pitcher’s real hot…. You want extra whipped cream on those flapjacks, Cute-buns?”
    This time Rosco didn’t even wince at the waitress’ favorite nickname for him. “Sure, why not?” The tone wasn’t one of his more chipper efforts, but Martha failed to notice Rosco’s distracted state.
    â€œI don’t know how he does it, Belle. I swear. If Big Al were to even look at one of the platters your hubby regularly puts away, he wouldn’t be able to squeeze into this seat.”
    â€œAre you talking about me, Marth? Behind my back, no less?”
    Martha, Rosco, and Belle swung around. Standing alongside the next banquette was Al Lever, himself.
    â€œWell, if it isn’t the big man, himself,” Martha