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cinch of his belt, but he wasn’t portly. Just big. His bald head shone and his shoulders were broad as a barrel. Bud was a decent guy. Straight up. Good citizen.
“Not too bad.” Roger touched the brim of his felt hat. “Opal, how’re you this evening?”
“Sheriff, some some-bitch jimmied the lock to the back of my diner. They didn’t get in, but I’m telling you, they tried.” Her red lipstick was creased on her full lips. “I told Clyde about it, but he said there was nothing he could do. This town—it’s getting out of control.”
Roger ground his back teeth until they ached. Opal could be sweet as apple pie to Drew Tolman, and snippy as cuss to him. Truth be told, Roger once had a thing for Opal, but he’d never let her in on it. She’d been involved with someone else at the time, and when that pooped out, Roger had just met a gal up from Provo and the two of them did a little spooning. But that ended last year.
“Clyde told me, Opal. I’ll come on by your place tomorrow to check it out.”
“I’d appreciate that.” Opal sipped on a ginger ale, its bubbles fizzing to the top.
Settling in, Roger asked, “So, Bud, what’s up with this Lucy Carpenter renting out at your place?”
“She needed something and she talked me into it. That teardown’s just been sitting. It falls under subdivision covenants now, but it used to be zoned for commercial. I’ve got more restrictions on selling it than the trouble it’s worth. I hate bureaucratic paperwork. She said she didn’t care what condition it was in.”
“Did you run her credit?”
Bud scratched his jaw. “No.”
“Why not?”
“No need. She paid me a check on the spot.”
“How did you know if it would bounce or not?”
“Didn’t.” Bud took a chug of beer, a crescent of foam staying on his upper lip. “But look at her. She’s got the nicest face of any woman coming into town these days. Who wouldn’t trust her?”
Roger frowned. “Opal, she say anything to you when she came into the diner the other day?”
“No, Roger. She just talked to Drew a short time while he was waiting on me to get Ada some biscuits.”
“I thought Ada was on South Beach.”
“She is. Doesn’t look like she’s lost a pound, but if you tell her I said that, I’ll say you’re a damn liar.”
“So what’s this Lucy Carpenter’s business in town?” Roger grabbed a handful of Spanish peanuts and let them trickle into his open mouth.
“Cooking,” Bud replied, nudging his chin a little higher to rid himself of its double sag. “She cooks for people. You know—like Raul Nunez.”
“Raul makes a mean scalloped corn deluxe. He won’t give me the recipe.” Opal crushed her cigarette.
“He still cooking for that actress—what the hell’s her name?” Roger’s mind drew a blank, and he swore at the senility of old age setting in, even though he was barely a day over fifty-five. “That one who did the movie with Tom Cruise.”
“Yep, he does,” Bud said. “She’s still in town for the summer. I seen her Mercedes at the yoga studio the other day.”
“You think this Lucy’ll give Raul a run for it?” Opal lit another cigarette, blew the smoke away from the men.
“I hate to say it, but she has spunk,” Roger commented, then let his thoughts wander as he ordered a drink.
Time would tell what Lucy Carpenter would contribute to Red Duck—and if that boy of hers would get himself into any trouble.
The rest of the night was spent debating who served the best burger in town, Woolly’s or the Mule Shoe. That ran its course at ten forty-nine, and then the conversation drifted to who might still be playing poker at the barbershop.
It was just another night in the High Country lounge.
Five
M att walked down Main Street with his big brother. They’d gotten up early, had breakfast and helped move furniture, and now Mom was using their computer for work. She had to print out her cooking stuff for some
“Not too bad.” Roger touched the brim of his felt hat. “Opal, how’re you this evening?”
“Sheriff, some some-bitch jimmied the lock to the back of my diner. They didn’t get in, but I’m telling you, they tried.” Her red lipstick was creased on her full lips. “I told Clyde about it, but he said there was nothing he could do. This town—it’s getting out of control.”
Roger ground his back teeth until they ached. Opal could be sweet as apple pie to Drew Tolman, and snippy as cuss to him. Truth be told, Roger once had a thing for Opal, but he’d never let her in on it. She’d been involved with someone else at the time, and when that pooped out, Roger had just met a gal up from Provo and the two of them did a little spooning. But that ended last year.
“Clyde told me, Opal. I’ll come on by your place tomorrow to check it out.”
“I’d appreciate that.” Opal sipped on a ginger ale, its bubbles fizzing to the top.
Settling in, Roger asked, “So, Bud, what’s up with this Lucy Carpenter renting out at your place?”
“She needed something and she talked me into it. That teardown’s just been sitting. It falls under subdivision covenants now, but it used to be zoned for commercial. I’ve got more restrictions on selling it than the trouble it’s worth. I hate bureaucratic paperwork. She said she didn’t care what condition it was in.”
“Did you run her credit?”
Bud scratched his jaw. “No.”
“Why not?”
“No need. She paid me a check on the spot.”
“How did you know if it would bounce or not?”
“Didn’t.” Bud took a chug of beer, a crescent of foam staying on his upper lip. “But look at her. She’s got the nicest face of any woman coming into town these days. Who wouldn’t trust her?”
Roger frowned. “Opal, she say anything to you when she came into the diner the other day?”
“No, Roger. She just talked to Drew a short time while he was waiting on me to get Ada some biscuits.”
“I thought Ada was on South Beach.”
“She is. Doesn’t look like she’s lost a pound, but if you tell her I said that, I’ll say you’re a damn liar.”
“So what’s this Lucy Carpenter’s business in town?” Roger grabbed a handful of Spanish peanuts and let them trickle into his open mouth.
“Cooking,” Bud replied, nudging his chin a little higher to rid himself of its double sag. “She cooks for people. You know—like Raul Nunez.”
“Raul makes a mean scalloped corn deluxe. He won’t give me the recipe.” Opal crushed her cigarette.
“He still cooking for that actress—what the hell’s her name?” Roger’s mind drew a blank, and he swore at the senility of old age setting in, even though he was barely a day over fifty-five. “That one who did the movie with Tom Cruise.”
“Yep, he does,” Bud said. “She’s still in town for the summer. I seen her Mercedes at the yoga studio the other day.”
“You think this Lucy’ll give Raul a run for it?” Opal lit another cigarette, blew the smoke away from the men.
“I hate to say it, but she has spunk,” Roger commented, then let his thoughts wander as he ordered a drink.
Time would tell what Lucy Carpenter would contribute to Red Duck—and if that boy of hers would get himself into any trouble.
The rest of the night was spent debating who served the best burger in town, Woolly’s or the Mule Shoe. That ran its course at ten forty-nine, and then the conversation drifted to who might still be playing poker at the barbershop.
It was just another night in the High Country lounge.
Five
M att walked down Main Street with his big brother. They’d gotten up early, had breakfast and helped move furniture, and now Mom was using their computer for work. She had to print out her cooking stuff for some
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