Tragic Toppings by Jessica Beck Page B

go.”
    *   *   *
    “Do you know why it’s called Go Eats?” I asked as we pulled into the crowded parking lot thirty minutes later. It was off my normal route to anywhere, and I was a little surprised that the place was still open.
    “The O and the D fell off, so instead of fixing it, the owner changed the name from Good Eats to Go Eats. Grandpa told me he helped steady the ladder when the owner nailed the rest of the letters in place.”
    “Another mystery solved,” I said as I found a place to park my Jeep. It was a little out of place with all of the pickup trucks and beat-up cars in the lot, but it looked more at home than Grace’s company car would have.
    As we walked in, the smells were the first thing that hit me. I didn’t even have to see a menu to know that there wasn’t a healthy or low-cal item offered by the place. Country music from twenty years ago played in the background, and there was a steady hum of conversation all around us. Light came filtering in through the two large windows in front, but an accumulation of grease over the years had clouded them somewhat with a gentle golden haze. The floors were linoleum, faded and scratched in places, but the whole package presented a place meant for comfort, not class.
    There were over a dozen tables in the diner, and all of them were full, except for one.
    One chair sat at the table, and instead of the usual salt and pepper shakers, a paper napkin dispenser, and a ketchup bottle, there was a photograph of Tim Leander, smiling with that grin of his that he was so famous for.
    A waitress who looked as though she’d been at the job for twenty years saw us looking at the picture.
    “Did you know Tim?” she asked.
    “He was a friend of ours,” I said.
    “He was a good man,” she said. Her name tag said her name was Ruth, and she looked around the place. “Sorry, but we don’t have a table free just now.”
    An older man with a shock of white hair called out, “They can sit with me, Ruth. I’ve got room at my table.”
    She looked at us, and then said, “It doesn’t matter to me where you sit, just as long as it’s not at Tim’s table, at least not for the next few days.” She gestured toward the man who’d offered us seats, and added, “Don’t worry about Billy. For the most part, he’s harmless.”
    I looked at Grace to see what she thought, and after she nodded her acceptance, we joined Billy at his table. He stood as we approached, and I couldn’t believe it when he actually held out our chairs for us.
    As he did, Billy said, “Ladies, I’m glad you could join me. Chivalry and manners may be dying, but they are not dead, at least not yet.”
    “Thanks,” Grace and I said in unison.
    After we took our seats, Ruth handed us menus, and then left to get the two iced teas we requested.
    I looked at the menu and asked Billy, “What’s good here?”
    Before he could say a word, Ruth came back with our tea.
    Billy said, “The country-style steak plate is good. I have it with mashed potatoes, gravy, and fried apples.”
    I looked at Grace, and she said, “Why not? When in Rome and all that.”
    I told Ruth, “We’ll have two.”
    “Apiece?” she asked, one eyebrow raised slightly.
    “I think we’ll each start with one and see how it goes from there,” I answered. “After that, you never know.”
    I looked at Billy, who was smiling broadly. “A woman with beauty and a sense of humor is a rare commodity these days. If only I were thirty years younger, I might be able to do something about it besides admire your spirit.”
    I grinned back at him. “If you were thirty years younger, something tells me that you wouldn’t settle for me.”
    “My dear,” he said, “no man who could capture your heart would ever be settling for anything.”
    “Should I leave you two alone?” Grace asked.
    Billy pivoted in his seat to face her. “Forgive me. The only reason I didn’t address you directly was because I’ve been working up