is here somewhere,” I said.
After the graveside service in Viola, Mike and Tommy headed back to Austin. I stopped in at the local café for some lunch. Notice I said the local café, because one was all they had. Viola was so small, there wasn’t even a Dairy Queen. The café was called the Main Street Café. Its proprietor was a sturdy-looking woman by the name of Doris. I knew her name was Doris because it was sewn onto the left breast pocket of the apron she wore.
I had seated myself at the counter and Doris approached me with a green plastic tumbler in one hand and a water pitcher in the other. Under the apron, Doris wore a cotton print dress. Her hair was bleached blond—probably to cover the gray—and teased up into the big-hair style. She had pudgy little hands and long fingernails polished expertly with red lacquer. Her lipstick matched her nail polish and, upon close inspection, I could see that Doris had run the lipstick just slightly outside of the natural edge of her lips. She couldn’t have been more than five or six years older than me, but she seemed old enough to be my grandmother. In fact, she kind of reminded me of my grandmother.
“Hey there, hon. You’re not from around here. Must be in town for Addie’s funeral, right?”
“Well, yes,” I said, just a little nonplussed. Then it occurred to me that this would be one of the few funerals they’d have in a town like this for a while, and as it involved murder and discovery of a missing woman sixteen yearsafter her disappearance, this would be big doings indeed. Why else would an outsider stop in a small town like Viola, six miles off of the state highway, just to eat lunch?
“I don’t recall ever seeing you before, hon. How did you know Addie?”
“Well, actually I never knew her in life. I’m the sculptor who reconstructed her face from her remains.”
“Well, I say! You are, are you? Well, I say…”
She poured the water into the glass, shaking her head the whole time.
“Well, now, what can I get you for your lunch, hon?”
I gave Doris my order and she scratched it down on a little order pad she pulled out of her pocket, tore off the page and handed it through a small window behind the counter.
“There you go, Pop,” she said to the man who was slaving over the stove.
Doris tended to several customers at the other end of the counter. Soon, two of them at the other end craned their necks around to look at me, and then whispered to Doris again. A few seconds later, Doris came back my way with the water pitcher. She was smiling and popping chewing gum between her teeth.
“You know, hon, I saw that sculpture you did on the news the other night. I knew as soon as I seen it that it was her. You just did a wonderful job—a wonderful job. How’d you do such a great job of making that look like little Addie?”
I explained to her about the anthropological charts and about what I do to try to make the reconstruction as personal and human as I can. She listened intently, nodding the whole time and alternately smacking and then popping her gum.
“Well,” she said when I was done with my explanation, “you just did a wonderful job.” Then she sighed appreciatively.
I thanked her and she turned around to get my sandwich out of the pass-through window where Pop had put it. She laid it on the counter in front of me and winked as she walked away.
The sandwich was delicious. It consisted of cheese, tomatoes, lettuce, onions and Doris’s special dressing on whole wheat bread. On the menu it came with ham, but as I’m a vegetarian, I had asked Doris to omit that. As I licked my lips over the last couple of bites, Doris revisited my section of the counter.
“How was it, hon?”
“Mmm, fantastic,” I said while still chewing the last bite.
“How about some of my homemade pie?”
“Oh, I don’t know…”
“Oh, hon, you have to have some of my homemade pie. We have chocolate cream today and apple. Everyone just raves
After the graveside service in Viola, Mike and Tommy headed back to Austin. I stopped in at the local café for some lunch. Notice I said the local café, because one was all they had. Viola was so small, there wasn’t even a Dairy Queen. The café was called the Main Street Café. Its proprietor was a sturdy-looking woman by the name of Doris. I knew her name was Doris because it was sewn onto the left breast pocket of the apron she wore.
I had seated myself at the counter and Doris approached me with a green plastic tumbler in one hand and a water pitcher in the other. Under the apron, Doris wore a cotton print dress. Her hair was bleached blond—probably to cover the gray—and teased up into the big-hair style. She had pudgy little hands and long fingernails polished expertly with red lacquer. Her lipstick matched her nail polish and, upon close inspection, I could see that Doris had run the lipstick just slightly outside of the natural edge of her lips. She couldn’t have been more than five or six years older than me, but she seemed old enough to be my grandmother. In fact, she kind of reminded me of my grandmother.
“Hey there, hon. You’re not from around here. Must be in town for Addie’s funeral, right?”
“Well, yes,” I said, just a little nonplussed. Then it occurred to me that this would be one of the few funerals they’d have in a town like this for a while, and as it involved murder and discovery of a missing woman sixteen yearsafter her disappearance, this would be big doings indeed. Why else would an outsider stop in a small town like Viola, six miles off of the state highway, just to eat lunch?
“I don’t recall ever seeing you before, hon. How did you know Addie?”
“Well, actually I never knew her in life. I’m the sculptor who reconstructed her face from her remains.”
“Well, I say! You are, are you? Well, I say…”
She poured the water into the glass, shaking her head the whole time.
“Well, now, what can I get you for your lunch, hon?”
I gave Doris my order and she scratched it down on a little order pad she pulled out of her pocket, tore off the page and handed it through a small window behind the counter.
“There you go, Pop,” she said to the man who was slaving over the stove.
Doris tended to several customers at the other end of the counter. Soon, two of them at the other end craned their necks around to look at me, and then whispered to Doris again. A few seconds later, Doris came back my way with the water pitcher. She was smiling and popping chewing gum between her teeth.
“You know, hon, I saw that sculpture you did on the news the other night. I knew as soon as I seen it that it was her. You just did a wonderful job—a wonderful job. How’d you do such a great job of making that look like little Addie?”
I explained to her about the anthropological charts and about what I do to try to make the reconstruction as personal and human as I can. She listened intently, nodding the whole time and alternately smacking and then popping her gum.
“Well,” she said when I was done with my explanation, “you just did a wonderful job.” Then she sighed appreciatively.
I thanked her and she turned around to get my sandwich out of the pass-through window where Pop had put it. She laid it on the counter in front of me and winked as she walked away.
The sandwich was delicious. It consisted of cheese, tomatoes, lettuce, onions and Doris’s special dressing on whole wheat bread. On the menu it came with ham, but as I’m a vegetarian, I had asked Doris to omit that. As I licked my lips over the last couple of bites, Doris revisited my section of the counter.
“How was it, hon?”
“Mmm, fantastic,” I said while still chewing the last bite.
“How about some of my homemade pie?”
“Oh, I don’t know…”
“Oh, hon, you have to have some of my homemade pie. We have chocolate cream today and apple. Everyone just raves
Similar Books
