“She’s referring to me. I’m the judge.”
Adam leaned in, “You’re the judge?”
“Afraid so.” I turned back to the woman, whose daughter was looking into the fish tank full of lobsters, tracing along the glass with her finger. She gently took her hand and led her over to the table. Daffodil curtsied.
“It is so nice to meet you,” I said, “but I’m out to dinner right now with a friend. Could this wait for another time?”
The woman continued, “Oh, I can see you are out on a date, but we had heard that you had taken some time with some of the other contestants and thought this would only be fair.”
“Oh. Well, actually I just ran into those girls, just like I seem to be running into you today. I’m sorry if you misunderstood. It’s nice to meet you, Daffodil.”
Daffodil looked up at me and smiled. “It is very nice to meet you.” The lack of a contraction made me think it had been rehearsed.
“Well, thank you for your time,” her mother said, starting to back away from the table.
The two walked away from the restaurant patio deck. With our view of the parking lot from the deck, I saw them climb in to a minivan. I wasn’t sure if they had already had their meal or if they followed me here. How else would they know where to find me?
Adam smiled and picked up his wine, drinking it but never taking his eyes off of me. “So you’re a beauty pageant judge. What do you blog about, fashion?”
“I write about helpful hints. You know, how to get out stains or keep refrigerator smelling fresh. That kind of stuff.”
He snapped his fingers. “That’s it! You’re the Happy Hinter from the paper.”
“You read my column?”
He shifted his weight to his other foot and smiled. “Well, okay. I’ve seen your column but have never actually read it. It’s always on the page opposite the sports page.”
“No wonder I have so many male readers.”
“Hey, I’m sure there are women who read the sports page, too.”
“Point taken.”
The waiter approached us to take our orders and I was saved from further questions. I was turning out to be a lousy spy. I was supposed to be getting information out of him, but the more I talked the more I gave away.
“Hey, Miss Betsy.” I looked up to see Keith Simmons, who used to be my paperboy. His grandfather was the owner of Simmons Hardware and had been the closest thing to a witness to Hunter Grayson’s death. Keith had grown much taller than the twelve-year-old who would show up collecting his fee at my doorstep every month. His face was now suffering from the ravages of acne, and his body had turned into all arms and legs.
“Hi there, Keith. I didn’t know you were working here,” I said.
“Yes, ma’am. I’ve been here for a whole week now. Food service is my life now.”
“That’s great. Will you be working here during the school year?”
“I don’t know, I sure would like to,” he said. Keith took our order, writing each word down slowly and then repeating it back to us.
“Okay, so Betsy is having the gumbo,” Keith said and then added with his best restaurant sales smile, “Good choice, Betsy ... and the gentleman you’re with is having a steak, medium rare.”
We both nodded, exhausted from his order-taking. After Keith left, I tried to redirect the conversation away from any connection Adam Cole might make from me to my father by bringing up the Fourth of July holiday.
“Will you be in town?”
“Yes, I guess so. It seems like too short of a holiday to really go anywhere. Do they have any fireworks here?”
“Oh, yes. Bubba McConnell lights them every year with the eight fingers he has left.”
“Sounds like a night to remember – and now I can’t wait to see the winner of the Miss Watermelon Pageant.”
“There’s a lot going on, that’s for sure.”
Keith came up to the table very slowly holding a giant round tray. He extended his serving stand and carefully set down our dinners. We became silent and put
Adam leaned in, “You’re the judge?”
“Afraid so.” I turned back to the woman, whose daughter was looking into the fish tank full of lobsters, tracing along the glass with her finger. She gently took her hand and led her over to the table. Daffodil curtsied.
“It is so nice to meet you,” I said, “but I’m out to dinner right now with a friend. Could this wait for another time?”
The woman continued, “Oh, I can see you are out on a date, but we had heard that you had taken some time with some of the other contestants and thought this would only be fair.”
“Oh. Well, actually I just ran into those girls, just like I seem to be running into you today. I’m sorry if you misunderstood. It’s nice to meet you, Daffodil.”
Daffodil looked up at me and smiled. “It is very nice to meet you.” The lack of a contraction made me think it had been rehearsed.
“Well, thank you for your time,” her mother said, starting to back away from the table.
The two walked away from the restaurant patio deck. With our view of the parking lot from the deck, I saw them climb in to a minivan. I wasn’t sure if they had already had their meal or if they followed me here. How else would they know where to find me?
Adam smiled and picked up his wine, drinking it but never taking his eyes off of me. “So you’re a beauty pageant judge. What do you blog about, fashion?”
“I write about helpful hints. You know, how to get out stains or keep refrigerator smelling fresh. That kind of stuff.”
He snapped his fingers. “That’s it! You’re the Happy Hinter from the paper.”
“You read my column?”
He shifted his weight to his other foot and smiled. “Well, okay. I’ve seen your column but have never actually read it. It’s always on the page opposite the sports page.”
“No wonder I have so many male readers.”
“Hey, I’m sure there are women who read the sports page, too.”
“Point taken.”
The waiter approached us to take our orders and I was saved from further questions. I was turning out to be a lousy spy. I was supposed to be getting information out of him, but the more I talked the more I gave away.
“Hey, Miss Betsy.” I looked up to see Keith Simmons, who used to be my paperboy. His grandfather was the owner of Simmons Hardware and had been the closest thing to a witness to Hunter Grayson’s death. Keith had grown much taller than the twelve-year-old who would show up collecting his fee at my doorstep every month. His face was now suffering from the ravages of acne, and his body had turned into all arms and legs.
“Hi there, Keith. I didn’t know you were working here,” I said.
“Yes, ma’am. I’ve been here for a whole week now. Food service is my life now.”
“That’s great. Will you be working here during the school year?”
“I don’t know, I sure would like to,” he said. Keith took our order, writing each word down slowly and then repeating it back to us.
“Okay, so Betsy is having the gumbo,” Keith said and then added with his best restaurant sales smile, “Good choice, Betsy ... and the gentleman you’re with is having a steak, medium rare.”
We both nodded, exhausted from his order-taking. After Keith left, I tried to redirect the conversation away from any connection Adam Cole might make from me to my father by bringing up the Fourth of July holiday.
“Will you be in town?”
“Yes, I guess so. It seems like too short of a holiday to really go anywhere. Do they have any fireworks here?”
“Oh, yes. Bubba McConnell lights them every year with the eight fingers he has left.”
“Sounds like a night to remember – and now I can’t wait to see the winner of the Miss Watermelon Pageant.”
“There’s a lot going on, that’s for sure.”
Keith came up to the table very slowly holding a giant round tray. He extended his serving stand and carefully set down our dinners. We became silent and put
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