Chapter 40

Iset a refill down on table six, taking a deep breath and schooling my face. How in the hell did I get myself involved in this? Oh, yeah, Mia. Of course. That girl could get me to do just about anything and definitely has over the years.

We’ve joked that we’re each other’s ‘bury the body’ friend. You know, the one you call when you accidentally-on purpose kill your cheating SOB of a boyfriend, and when you call them, they show up with a shovel and the gasoline? Yeah, that kind of friend, so this shouldn’t be too bad.

In theory. At least that what Mia and Thomas had said.

“You two okay? Looks like somebody pissed in your Post Toasties. And just to be clear, I would never do that to a customer’s food,” I say with a smile, hoping to get a returning one from Mia at least. I don’t know what it’d take to make stone-faced Thomas smile, but Mia’s easy game.

“Not really, Izz. Just some work stuff that’s hard and sad and infuriating and all the emotions rolled into one, basically.” She sighs and reaches for Thomas’s hand, comforting him as he returns her sigh.

Okay, tough crowd.

I pour their coffee. “Anything I can do to help? I mean, I’m no corporate genius, but the chocolate cake has solved some pretty serious problems before, especially with a scoop of vanilla ice cream on the side. Free of charge, of course. Benefits of friendship.” I frame my face with my free hand, highlighting the awesomeness Mia gets by being my friend.

“Actually, yes. Cake for lunch is just what we need. It won’t solve a damn thing, but I could go for some feeling stuffing right about now,” Mia says.

I plop a shareable slice on a dinner plate—no little side plates for my girl—and then add two scoops plus a drizzle of chocolate syrup. Feeling stuffing, coming right up. I’ve got you.

I set it down between them, interrupting.

“... understand why Bill would do something like this?” Mia says.

I can’t help it, I hear everything that goes on in this place. It’s like tying an apron on makes people forget you’re human and they basically ignore you until they need something. Mia’s not like that, but I can’t help what I overheard.

“Bill? As in your boss, Bill? He comes in here often. Eats quick and leaves, not much for conversation. BLT with double bacon, onion rings, and Diet Coke, like that makes a damn bit of difference with that meal. Nice guy, though, tips me a fiver every time. What’d he do?”

Two sets of eyes turn to me, and Thomas says, “You know Bill Radcliffe from Goldstone?”

“I don’t know him, know him. But I know lots of people from Goldstone. We’re the best diner around, you know that,” I reply with pride and not a bit of sarcasm. It’s the absolute truth.

Thomas looks at Mia with an expression I can’t read, not that I could begin to read him in the first place. But apparently, Mia can because they start some whole silent conversation with just their eyes and I excuse myself from their weirdness to go serve my other tables.

I return a few minutes later, and Mia asks me if I’ll do her a ‘small favor’.

This right here, this madness is no small favor. But I’d do anything for Mia, I remind myself. I give Elaine a wink, letting her know that I’m about to start my weirdness. I’d had to tell her I was doing something for Mia so that she wouldn’t think I’d lost my marbles when this whole farce starts. The door opens, and Bill comes in, heading straight for his usual seat at table ten, right by the window.

I pinch my thigh hard so that tears spring to my eyes and think about those commercials with sad-eyed puppies in the rain, begging for your thirty cents a day. It works, and I get a good cry on before I approach Bill’s table.

“Hey, Bill. How’re you tonight? The usual?” I say, my voice flatter than Henry’s pancakes. Actually, our cook and part-owner, Henry, makes great pancakes. So maybe that’s not the best description. Flatter than my Grandma Sue’s pancakes. That woman could make frisbees out of food.

“Yeah, that’d be great,” he replies, and then he looks up at me. “Shit, you okay, Izzy?”

I swipe a tear from beneath my eye and glower at the window to the kitchen. “Yeah, I’m fine. Henry’s just being an ass and it’s making for a rough night. I’ll get your order in. Maybe the King will deign himself to cook without bitching me out this time.” The lie flows off my tongue as slick as turpentine. Henry’s a great guy and a great boss, but that truth doesn’t serve Mia’s purpose.

I place Bill’s order and return with his Diet Coke while the food’s cooking. Like the heavens part and sing down praises on this ridiculous plan, Henry looks into the dining room and calls out.

“Izzy, fries up, girl. Show some hustle.” He’s not even in on the plan. His words are meant to be fun and just a part of our camaraderie, but they play right into Mia’s evil hands and my twisted luck.

Grabbing the fries, I deliver them to table nine and scoot past Bill’s table. A little more attention tonight, nothing too crazy as to raise his suspicions.

He tells me, “Chin up, Izzy. You’re doing well.”

I sniffle and offer a watery smile.

I grab Bill’s food and deliver it to his table with an eyeroll that’d make a teenage girl proud. “Oh, my gosh, he’s such a bear tonight. Of course, I might’ve had a little something to do with that,” I say, holding up my finger and thumb an inch apart.

As I hoped, Bill raises his brows. “How’s that?”

I glance over my shoulder at Henry and hunch down a little, whispering, “So just between us, Henry is like the biggest, absolute worst caffeine addict in the world. Buys this fancy ground coffee, blah, blah, blah special roast. So when he’s giving me an extra-hard time, I offer to make him a pot. Out of the kindness of my heart, you know?”

I add a bit of devilment to my voice and then smirk. “And then he drinks that all night long. What he doesn’t know? I don’t make his fancy high-octane coffee. Nope, I use grocery store stuff, the cheapest swill I can find. And it’s decaf.” I say the word like it’s poison.

And then I slap my hand over my mouth like I just told state’s secrets to the mob, horror taking my expression. “Oh, my God, don’t tell him about that. Please, Bill. He’d fire me in a heartbeat. I don’t know why I told you that.” I look over my shoulder at Henry, who’s oblivious to his usefulness in this plan.

Bill chuckles. “No big deal, Izzy. I won’t tell. Though you’d better make sure my coffee is the good stuff.”

My eyes widen. “Really? You won’t say anything? You’re a lifesaver. Thank you. I’d get tossed out of here in the middle of dinner service if he found out.”

I don’t want to lay it on too thickly, but it’s my big play, the breath-holding moment in all this charade.

Bill is still laughing. “Really. We all do it to asshole bosses who deserve it. A little decaf here, a little fudged number there. It’s no biggie.”

I sigh in relief at the flippant share, but I want to really make sure the screw is tight. “That’s right, you’re a numbers guy. You’d really do that? I’m not a horrible person for getting a little revenge?” I hang my head ashamedly.

He shakes his head. “We all do it in some way. One little slip as I’m typing, and oops, that four becomes a five.”

I look up in hope, like his casual comment makes me feel so much better. Then I shake my whole body like I’m letting go of the worry and smile sweetly.

“Thanks, Bill. I needed that. You know what you get today?” I point at the counter with my thumb. “One of our pieces of chocolate cake, on the house. Consider it ‘hush cake’, and hell, I guess I’d better go make a pot of coffee too. You want some? Caffeinated, I promise. And the good stuff.”

“Sure, coffee and cake to go, please.”

Minutes after Bill’s left, a guy named John comes over and casually pops the bug off the bottom of the table. If I hadn’t watched him put it there earlier, I would’ve been none the wiser. He gives me a subtle nod and is gone.

Operation Spy Izzy: success.

I think I’ll get a slice of cake for myself too.