Read Online R Is for Ricochet by Sue Grafton - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Sue Grafton
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like it was made of pressed tin. Crudely constructed plywood booths form an L on the right. There's a long mahogany bar on the left, with two swinging kitchen doors and a short corridor leading to the restrooms located at the rear. The remaining floor space is occupied by a number of Formica dinette tables. The accompanying chairs have chrome legs and upholstered marbleized gray plastic seats, variously split and subsequently mended with duct tape. The air always smells of spilled beer, popcorn, ancient cigarette smoke, and Pine-Sol.
Monday nights are generally quiet, allowing the day-drinkers and the usual sports rowdies to recover from their weekend excesses. My favorite booth was empty, as were most of the others, as a matter of fact. I slid in on one side so I could watch the front door for Reba's arrival. I checked the menu, a mimeographed sheet inserted in a plastic sleeve. Rosie runs these off on a machine at the back, the blurred purple lettering barely legible. Two months before, she'd instituted a new style of menu, closely resembling a leather-bound portfolio with a handscripted list of the Hungarian Specialties du Jour of the Day, as she referred to them. Some of these menus had been stolen and others had served as hazardous flying missiles when opposing soccer teams enjoyed a hot dispute about the last big match. Rosie had apparently given up her pretensions to haute cuisine and her old mimeographed sheets were back in circulation. I ran an eye down the list of dishes, though I'm not even sure why I bothered to check. Rosie makes all my food decisions for me, compelling me to dine on whatever Hungarian delicacies come to her mind when she's taking my order.
William was now working behind the bar. I watched him pause to check his pulse, two fingers of one hand pressed to his carotid artery, the other hand holding aloft his trusty pocket watch. Henry came in and flicked a look in his direction. He chose a table near the front, pointedly turning his back to the bar. As I watched, Rosie moved out from behind the bar bearing a glass of lip-puckering white wine that she passes off as Chardonnay. I could see an inch of gray hair growing in along her part. In the past, she's claimed to be in her sixties, but now she's so quiet on the subject I suspect she's slipped over the line into her seventies. She's short, pigeon-breasted, and the red portion of her red hair is dyed to a hue somewhere between cinnabar and burnt ocher.
She placed the glass of wine in front of me. "Is new. Very good. You sip and tell what you think. I'm saving two dollar a bottle over other brand."
I sipped and nodded. "Very nice," I said. Meanwhile, enamel was being eaten off my teeth. "I see Henry and William aren't speaking."
"I'm telling William to mind his own business, but he's no listen to me. I'm shock to see a woman can come between them two brothers."
"They'll get over it," I said. "What's your take on the situation. You think Mattie has designs on Henry?"
"What do I know? That Henry's a catch. You should hev seen little old ladies flirt with him on cruise ship. Was comical. On other hand, her husband die. Meybe she don't want to connect with some guy. Meybe she want freedom all to herself and Henry for a friend."
"That's what I've been worried about, but William's convinced there's something more going on."
"William's convince she won't be living two more years. He wants Henry to hurry in case she's dropping dead already."
"That's ridiculous. She's barely seventy."
"Very young," Rosie murmured. "I myself hope to look so good when I'm getting her age."
"I'm certain you will," I said. I picked up the menu and pretended to study. "I'm expecting a friend so I'll hold off on ordering. Actually this all sounds pretty good. What do you recommend?"
"Lucky you esk. For you and your friend, I'm fixing Krumpli Paprikas. Is stew made of boil potato, ongion, and what you call weenies cut in pieces. Is always serve with rye bread and on the
Monday nights are generally quiet, allowing the day-drinkers and the usual sports rowdies to recover from their weekend excesses. My favorite booth was empty, as were most of the others, as a matter of fact. I slid in on one side so I could watch the front door for Reba's arrival. I checked the menu, a mimeographed sheet inserted in a plastic sleeve. Rosie runs these off on a machine at the back, the blurred purple lettering barely legible. Two months before, she'd instituted a new style of menu, closely resembling a leather-bound portfolio with a handscripted list of the Hungarian Specialties du Jour of the Day, as she referred to them. Some of these menus had been stolen and others had served as hazardous flying missiles when opposing soccer teams enjoyed a hot dispute about the last big match. Rosie had apparently given up her pretensions to haute cuisine and her old mimeographed sheets were back in circulation. I ran an eye down the list of dishes, though I'm not even sure why I bothered to check. Rosie makes all my food decisions for me, compelling me to dine on whatever Hungarian delicacies come to her mind when she's taking my order.
William was now working behind the bar. I watched him pause to check his pulse, two fingers of one hand pressed to his carotid artery, the other hand holding aloft his trusty pocket watch. Henry came in and flicked a look in his direction. He chose a table near the front, pointedly turning his back to the bar. As I watched, Rosie moved out from behind the bar bearing a glass of lip-puckering white wine that she passes off as Chardonnay. I could see an inch of gray hair growing in along her part. In the past, she's claimed to be in her sixties, but now she's so quiet on the subject I suspect she's slipped over the line into her seventies. She's short, pigeon-breasted, and the red portion of her red hair is dyed to a hue somewhere between cinnabar and burnt ocher.
She placed the glass of wine in front of me. "Is new. Very good. You sip and tell what you think. I'm saving two dollar a bottle over other brand."
I sipped and nodded. "Very nice," I said. Meanwhile, enamel was being eaten off my teeth. "I see Henry and William aren't speaking."
"I'm telling William to mind his own business, but he's no listen to me. I'm shock to see a woman can come between them two brothers."
"They'll get over it," I said. "What's your take on the situation. You think Mattie has designs on Henry?"
"What do I know? That Henry's a catch. You should hev seen little old ladies flirt with him on cruise ship. Was comical. On other hand, her husband die. Meybe she don't want to connect with some guy. Meybe she want freedom all to herself and Henry for a friend."
"That's what I've been worried about, but William's convinced there's something more going on."
"William's convince she won't be living two more years. He wants Henry to hurry in case she's dropping dead already."
"That's ridiculous. She's barely seventy."
"Very young," Rosie murmured. "I myself hope to look so good when I'm getting her age."
"I'm certain you will," I said. I picked up the menu and pretended to study. "I'm expecting a friend so I'll hold off on ordering. Actually this all sounds pretty good. What do you recommend?"
"Lucky you esk. For you and your friend, I'm fixing Krumpli Paprikas. Is stew made of boil potato, ongion, and what you call weenies cut in pieces. Is always serve with rye bread and on the
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