Read Online Through the Heart by Kate Morgenroth - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kate Morgenroth
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store I glanced over, and there was Neil at the plate-glass window, with his rag and his bottle of 100-percent-guaranteed no-streak glass cleaner. I saw him lift the bottle and spray, then lift his arm to wipe the special cloth across the glass. Suddenly the sun burst through the clouds, lighting up all the streaks and dust that clung to the glass. Then Neil swept the cloth across the glass, and he left behind a rainbow arc of pristine, transparent glass.
THE INVESTIGATION
CRIME SCENE
Forensic scientists, when talking about their jobs, often quote the renowned French criminologist Edmond Locard: “Every contact leaves a trace.”
When the crime scene crew came in to work the room at the bed-and-breakfast, they found hair from seven different people, dozens of fibers, and even more latent prints. So many people had passed through the room and left traces of themselves.
There is invisible but undeniable evidence of everyone’s passing. But, unless there is a tragedy, no one bothers to look.
Nora
Nora Walks Out on Timothy
I took him to Joe’s Diner. I had promised Neil I wouldn’t, but what was I going to do? There was no place else to take him, not at three o’clock in the afternoon anyway, unless we went to one of the fast-food places out near the highway.
Starbox was always empty, and Joe’s was always crowded. Maybe it was because Joe’s diner made sense. It belonged to Joe. It was a diner. There were no sizes for coffee in the diner, because they would refill your cup till you burst.
We slid into a booth at the back, and the busboy came over with menus and water.
We both opened our menus and looked, even though I knew exactly what was on it. Nothing had changed in all the years I had been coming to Joe’s. Not even the prices. Joe didn’t like changes. He was always complaining about how the prices everywhere went up so much. So he decided not to raise the prices in his diner—as if he thought that somehow other people would take a cue from him and do the same. As a result, for the last ten years the town had had to hold a raffle to raise money to save Joe’s from foreclosure. But every year the raffle managed to scrape together enough money, and Joe’s kept on serving a meat-loaf dinner for $2.50.
Timothy looked at the menu, and I looked at him.
“What’s good here?” he asked. Then he looked up and grinned. “Oh, wait. Forget I asked. I’ve discovered your recommendations aren’t exactly trustworthy.”
“I can’t be held responsible for the pumpkin disaster,” I said. “You can’t ask an employee their opinion on the things they’re selling. Half the time, if they told you the truth they’d lose their jobs.”
“So who’s responsible?” he asked me.
I raised my eyebrows at him. “Well, who’s left?”
Our waitress came over to our booth. It was Jeanette, who had been in my class in high school. She’d been working at Joe’s since she graduated, and she was a terrible waitress—well, whenever I came here with Tammy or my sister or my mother, she was a terrible waitress. She took the job description literally, at least the part that had the word “wait” in it; we always had to wait for at least fifteen or twenty minutes before she even came over to take our order.
It was different this time though. I knew immediately that something was up when she appeared within three minutes of our sitting down and said perkily, “Hey there, Nora. How are you?”
“I’m good, Jeanette. Thanks. How are you?”
“I’ll be better when you introduce me to your friend here,” she said. She sure didn’t waste any time, I thought.
“Jeanette, this is Timothy. Timothy, this is Jeanette.”
“Timothy, a pleasure. How did you all meet? Are you together?” she asked suggestively, looking from me to Timothy.
Jeanette was not a subtle person.
I opened my mouth to answer her, when Timothy beat me to it.
He looked up at her and smiled. “You want
THE INVESTIGATION
CRIME SCENE
Forensic scientists, when talking about their jobs, often quote the renowned French criminologist Edmond Locard: “Every contact leaves a trace.”
When the crime scene crew came in to work the room at the bed-and-breakfast, they found hair from seven different people, dozens of fibers, and even more latent prints. So many people had passed through the room and left traces of themselves.
There is invisible but undeniable evidence of everyone’s passing. But, unless there is a tragedy, no one bothers to look.
Nora
Nora Walks Out on Timothy
I took him to Joe’s Diner. I had promised Neil I wouldn’t, but what was I going to do? There was no place else to take him, not at three o’clock in the afternoon anyway, unless we went to one of the fast-food places out near the highway.
Starbox was always empty, and Joe’s was always crowded. Maybe it was because Joe’s diner made sense. It belonged to Joe. It was a diner. There were no sizes for coffee in the diner, because they would refill your cup till you burst.
We slid into a booth at the back, and the busboy came over with menus and water.
We both opened our menus and looked, even though I knew exactly what was on it. Nothing had changed in all the years I had been coming to Joe’s. Not even the prices. Joe didn’t like changes. He was always complaining about how the prices everywhere went up so much. So he decided not to raise the prices in his diner—as if he thought that somehow other people would take a cue from him and do the same. As a result, for the last ten years the town had had to hold a raffle to raise money to save Joe’s from foreclosure. But every year the raffle managed to scrape together enough money, and Joe’s kept on serving a meat-loaf dinner for $2.50.
Timothy looked at the menu, and I looked at him.
“What’s good here?” he asked. Then he looked up and grinned. “Oh, wait. Forget I asked. I’ve discovered your recommendations aren’t exactly trustworthy.”
“I can’t be held responsible for the pumpkin disaster,” I said. “You can’t ask an employee their opinion on the things they’re selling. Half the time, if they told you the truth they’d lose their jobs.”
“So who’s responsible?” he asked me.
I raised my eyebrows at him. “Well, who’s left?”
Our waitress came over to our booth. It was Jeanette, who had been in my class in high school. She’d been working at Joe’s since she graduated, and she was a terrible waitress—well, whenever I came here with Tammy or my sister or my mother, she was a terrible waitress. She took the job description literally, at least the part that had the word “wait” in it; we always had to wait for at least fifteen or twenty minutes before she even came over to take our order.
It was different this time though. I knew immediately that something was up when she appeared within three minutes of our sitting down and said perkily, “Hey there, Nora. How are you?”
“I’m good, Jeanette. Thanks. How are you?”
“I’ll be better when you introduce me to your friend here,” she said. She sure didn’t waste any time, I thought.
“Jeanette, this is Timothy. Timothy, this is Jeanette.”
“Timothy, a pleasure. How did you all meet? Are you together?” she asked suggestively, looking from me to Timothy.
Jeanette was not a subtle person.
I opened my mouth to answer her, when Timothy beat me to it.
He looked up at her and smiled. “You want
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