Blown To Pieces (PTO Murder Club Mystery Book 2) by Katie Graykowski Page B
Authors: Katie Graykowski
Ads: Link
blueberry-gray hair waved vigorously at Lulu. “We’re ready to order.”
Lulu pulled a smartphone-looking thing out of her back pocket and tapped the touch screen. “What may I get you?”
Damn, she didn’t even handwrite the order.
“Well, now let me see.” Blueberry Hair scrutinized the menu like she was trying to use her X-ray vision to determine the chemical content of the laminated page.
Hadn’t she just flagged Lulu down because she was ready to order? It must take Blueberry Hair two hours to order her coffee at Starbucks. I’m pretty sure that Starbucks exists to force the indecisive to make twenty-five decisions before they’ve had any caffeine. Well, that and they serve manna from heaven.
“I’ll start.” It was a male voice. I craned my neck to see around Lulu to the owner of the voice, but all I got was a glimpse of a hairy, liver-spotted, bony hand holding the one-page menu.
I glanced down at my menu. There were exactly five items listed under entrées.
Lulu shifted to the right, and I got an eyeful of the man. He was wearing mustard-yellow pants and a white polyester shirt. A shaggy black-and-white toupee circa 1971 sat precariously on top of his head, the back corner flapping in the breeze created by the AC vent. Never mind that underneath the toupee, the man’s hair had clearly been a rusty red at some point in the past. Did this man own a mirror? Heck, didn’t he ever look at his reflection in a window?
Toupee sucked on his teeth. “I’ll have the chicken-fried steak.”
“Morty, you can’t have that. Your doctor said that your cholesterol is too high.” Blueberry Hair glared at Morty.
Morty had to be two hundred and fifty years old. Was lowering his cholesterol really all that important?
“Yeah...yeah, right...okay, then I’ll have the um...” Morty studied the menu like it was a road map to the Fountain of Youth.
“He’ll have the tuna salad on whole wheat with a side salad, no dressing.” Blueberry Hair took a turn down Decisive Road. Now, if she only stayed on it, I’d get my iced tea before my hair turned blueberry gray.
“I don’t like tuna salad.” Morty slapped his menu down. “I’ll have the chicken-fried steak. You eat the tuna salad. If I wanted tuna salad, I’d have ordered tuna salad.”
Give her hell, Morty.
“You’re not having chicken-fried steak.” Blueberry Hair smacked her menu down too.
They had a stare-down death match. My money was on Blueberry Hair. She had at least fifty pounds on Morty. Then again, Morty had high cholesterol, so what did he have to lose?
“Fine. You can have the chicken-fried steak, no gravy or potatoes. You’ll get the side salad.” Blueberry’s tone said that she’d bitch-slap him with the menu if he did anything but agree.
“Okey dokey, your usual. Chicken-fried steak dry with a salad, dressing on the side.” Lulu tapped on the mini-tablet in her hand. I didn’t see her roll her eyes, but I hoped she’d rolled them. Apparently, Blueberry and Morty were regulars who played this game a lot.
“I’ll have the chicken-fried steak with extra gravy and double mashed potatoes.” Blueberry’s voice was smug.
Morty shot her a look that said, “Old woman, your days are numbered. I’m slowly poisoning you with blueberry hair dye.”
If I were Morty, I’d stick her on the express elevator to blueberry-haired heaven so I could spend my final days drowning in extra gravy and double mashed potatoes.
Lulu tapped in the order. “Need refills on those coffees?”
Blueberry nodded. “Yes, thank you.”
“I’ll be right back.” Lulu hightailed it to the counter, poured my iced tea, and grabbed the coffeepot. She delivered my tea first and then worked her way around the room refilling coffee mugs.
She stopped by my table, set the empty coffee carafe down, took out her ordering mini-tablet, and said, “What may I get you?”
“I’ll have the chicken-fried steak with mashed potatoes and green beans.” Who
Lulu pulled a smartphone-looking thing out of her back pocket and tapped the touch screen. “What may I get you?”
Damn, she didn’t even handwrite the order.
“Well, now let me see.” Blueberry Hair scrutinized the menu like she was trying to use her X-ray vision to determine the chemical content of the laminated page.
Hadn’t she just flagged Lulu down because she was ready to order? It must take Blueberry Hair two hours to order her coffee at Starbucks. I’m pretty sure that Starbucks exists to force the indecisive to make twenty-five decisions before they’ve had any caffeine. Well, that and they serve manna from heaven.
“I’ll start.” It was a male voice. I craned my neck to see around Lulu to the owner of the voice, but all I got was a glimpse of a hairy, liver-spotted, bony hand holding the one-page menu.
I glanced down at my menu. There were exactly five items listed under entrées.
Lulu shifted to the right, and I got an eyeful of the man. He was wearing mustard-yellow pants and a white polyester shirt. A shaggy black-and-white toupee circa 1971 sat precariously on top of his head, the back corner flapping in the breeze created by the AC vent. Never mind that underneath the toupee, the man’s hair had clearly been a rusty red at some point in the past. Did this man own a mirror? Heck, didn’t he ever look at his reflection in a window?
Toupee sucked on his teeth. “I’ll have the chicken-fried steak.”
“Morty, you can’t have that. Your doctor said that your cholesterol is too high.” Blueberry Hair glared at Morty.
Morty had to be two hundred and fifty years old. Was lowering his cholesterol really all that important?
“Yeah...yeah, right...okay, then I’ll have the um...” Morty studied the menu like it was a road map to the Fountain of Youth.
“He’ll have the tuna salad on whole wheat with a side salad, no dressing.” Blueberry Hair took a turn down Decisive Road. Now, if she only stayed on it, I’d get my iced tea before my hair turned blueberry gray.
“I don’t like tuna salad.” Morty slapped his menu down. “I’ll have the chicken-fried steak. You eat the tuna salad. If I wanted tuna salad, I’d have ordered tuna salad.”
Give her hell, Morty.
“You’re not having chicken-fried steak.” Blueberry Hair smacked her menu down too.
They had a stare-down death match. My money was on Blueberry Hair. She had at least fifty pounds on Morty. Then again, Morty had high cholesterol, so what did he have to lose?
“Fine. You can have the chicken-fried steak, no gravy or potatoes. You’ll get the side salad.” Blueberry’s tone said that she’d bitch-slap him with the menu if he did anything but agree.
“Okey dokey, your usual. Chicken-fried steak dry with a salad, dressing on the side.” Lulu tapped on the mini-tablet in her hand. I didn’t see her roll her eyes, but I hoped she’d rolled them. Apparently, Blueberry and Morty were regulars who played this game a lot.
“I’ll have the chicken-fried steak with extra gravy and double mashed potatoes.” Blueberry’s voice was smug.
Morty shot her a look that said, “Old woman, your days are numbered. I’m slowly poisoning you with blueberry hair dye.”
If I were Morty, I’d stick her on the express elevator to blueberry-haired heaven so I could spend my final days drowning in extra gravy and double mashed potatoes.
Lulu tapped in the order. “Need refills on those coffees?”
Blueberry nodded. “Yes, thank you.”
“I’ll be right back.” Lulu hightailed it to the counter, poured my iced tea, and grabbed the coffeepot. She delivered my tea first and then worked her way around the room refilling coffee mugs.
She stopped by my table, set the empty coffee carafe down, took out her ordering mini-tablet, and said, “What may I get you?”
“I’ll have the chicken-fried steak with mashed potatoes and green beans.” Who
Similar Books
