The Arsonist

“You don’t look like your mother or Trevor.”

The apple tasted tart. “I take after my father.”

Eyeing her one last second, he turned back to his chili. “You can start making the dinner salads. Lettuce, two tomatoes, cucumber and three red onion rings.”

“I know the drill. I’ve made a million of those in my past life here.” Holding the apple in her teeth she washed and dried her hands. She took another bite of apple set it aside and crossed to the refrigerator. She pulled out a bag of precut lettuce, a box of cherry tomatoes, a cucumber and red onions. She set it all down on the island.

“Remember, only three slices of cucumber per plate,” he said.

She set the apple aside. “Tomatoes on the left, cucumbers in the middle, onions on the right. I remember.” She grabbed a stack of plates from the shelf on the wall above the sink and started to line them up assembly line fashion. She hated having to deal with this mundane stuff while knowing Nero could be alive, but for now she had to make like a waitress so no one would suspect her motives.

“Where is Trevor? Shouldn’t he be here now?” she asked.

He crushed a handful of dried red pepper flakes in his hand then dumped them into the pot. “He called your mother and said that he’ll be back by five o’clock.”

She noted a hint of irritation in his voice. “Trevor likes to play it fast and loose. Deadlines don’t get to him. Used to irritate his football coaches no end.”

“Then he is in the wrong business.” George sounded annoyed. “Restaurants are nothing but deadlines.”

“Mom says the business is doing well.” She kept her voice neutral, but she was fishing. Natural curiosity had been one of the reasons she’d become a reporter.

George shrugged. “I don’t think about things like that as long as I get paid on time.”

“Which you do?” She figured she had a right to know how Trevor ran the place.

“Most times.”

Frowning, she tore into the lettuce. She’d hoped when Trevor had taken over the restaurant that he’d grow up and become more responsible.

Let it go, Darcy. This gig was strictly a stepping-stone to her Pulitzer. “And Mom is where?”

“She is rolling the napkins and checking the bar.”

“Okay.” Darcy set out thirty plates on the center island. As she started to lay torn lettuce leaves on each, a truck pulled up in the back alley.

George wiped his hands on his apron and glanced out the screened door. “It’s about time Thompsons got here. We are just about out of everything.” He went to the door and waved. “Hey, Harvey. You can bring our order right in. We’ve got to get those chickens started if they’re going to be ready on time.”

Harvey Thompson, a tall thin man in his mid-fifties, came in the back door, with only a clipboard in his hand. He glanced over at Darcy. “Hey, Darcy, when did you get back in town?”

She grinned. “Just today.”

“You look good. You lose weight?”

She smiled. “Sure did. Twenty pounds this last year. Thanks for noticing.”

George looked impatient. “Harvey, you can start unloading any time.”

But the man hesitated. “I’m going to need a check from Trevor.”

“What do you mean—we have to pay C.O.D., Harvey? You always bill us,” George said.

Harvey’s face turned red. “You’re behind.”

George muttered a curse. “I’m a cook, not a bookkeeper. I shouldn’t have to deal with these kinds of things when I got a roomful of customers showing up in less than two hours. Wait right here.” He stormed into the dining room in search of Darcy’s mother.

Harvey glanced awkwardly at Darcy. “I knew this wasn’t going to be easy. But my boss said no cash, no delivery.”

“Trevor that far behind?” Darcy said.

Before Harvey could answer, George returned with Mrs. Sampson. “Tell Mrs. S. what you just told me.”

Harvey’s face reddened as he addressed Mrs. Sampson. “I’m going to need cash on delivery today, Jan. No money, no food.”

Her mother’s laugh had an edge. “That can’t be right, Harvey. I know Trevor just sent you in a check last week.”

“It bounced,” Harvey said in a low voice.

“It didn’t bounce,” Mrs. Sampson said. “I made a huge deposit only last week into the account.”

Harvey shrugged. “I don’t know what to say. All I know is no cash, no delivery.”

Her mother looked flustered and embarrassed now. “This has to be a mistake.”

Darcy stepped forward. “How much would you need today to make your delivery?”

“If it were anybody else, I’d need it all. But seeing as it’s y’all, I’ll take a thousand. I figure this is just a paperwork glitch.”

Her mother had never been one to handle the business end of the diner. Her father had while he was alive, and since his death, Trevor had.

“I don’t keep that kind of money in my personal account,” Mrs. Sampson said.

“I can bring the order back tomorrow,” Harvey said.

“We need today’s order or we won’t be able to open tonight,” George said.

“Don’t know what to say,” Harvey said. He looked as if he’d just endured root canal work.

The last thing Darcy wanted was to be drawn further into tavern business. She only had twelve hundred in her checking account and most of that was earmarked for her credit card bill, which was due at the end of next week. Since she’d dropped the twenty pounds this year, she’d splurged on new clothes—a lot of new clothes.

But high interest rates and minimum payments aside, if the Varsity went down, so would her cover. “I can go to the bank and pull the cash out of my account. I’m going to need to be paid back by Monday, Mom.”

Mrs. Sampson looked relieved. “Trevor will pay you back as soon as he gets here.”

Darcy nodded. “Harvey, go ahead and start unloading. I’ll be back with the cash in five minutes.”

He hesitated. “Okay.”

Despite her mother’s assurance, she felt as if she’d just stepped in quicksand. She got her purse and headed out the back alley, this time looking both ways.