But Anthony was moving the burgers and fries, mixing the salads, and generally cooking like a demon, and she didn't have much time to look at her employer as, over the next few minutes she carried trays back and forth, fulfilling long overdue orders for both her tables and Anthony's.
When she was caught up, she came back to get the carafe and the pitcher of iced tea for refills. Frank's girlfriend had got up and was heading out of the diner via the back hallway. Either that or going to the bathroom, of course.
And Frank had seemed to wake up. "No," he yelled at Anthony. "What are you doing?"
Uh-oh. Now the explosion came, Kyrie thought. But as she approached, she realized Frank wasn't storming over the fact that Anthony had been manning the grill and the deep frier. Instead, he was throwing a fit because there was a little insect on the counter, and Anthony had been about to squish it with a paper towel.
"What?" Anthony said, his hand poised above the little creature—who looked like a beetle of some sort, only too small to be any of the normal ones found in diners. "It's an IPS beetle, man. It lives in pines. It must have come in because the windows are open."
"There's no need to kill it," Frank said, pushing Anthony's hand away and taking the paper towel from it at the same time. With infinite patience, he coaxed the beetle onto the paper towel.
Anthony shrugged and turned the burgers. "It's not like it's endangered or anything, you know? They spray for them up in the mountains. They kill spruce."
But Frank didn't seem to care. He got the beetle all the way into the towel, then walked out back, along the hallway.
Half fascinated, wondering what could have turned Frank, purveyor of burgers to the masses, into a lover of the small and defenseless, Kyrie followed him part of the way. Enough to see him open the back door and put the beetle out, on the ground, close to the Dumpster.
Then he waved at his girlfriend, who was walking across the parking lot.
"Is she an animal lover?" Kyrie asked as Frank came back in.
"Debra? No. Why?"
Kyrie wasn't about to explain. Instead, she said, "Is it quite safe for her to walk home alone at night like that?"
He looked at her surprised. And behind the surprise something else. As if he were wondering why she was asking him the question. "Sure. She lives just at the castle. She'll be fine."
It didn't seem to admit further discussion.
* * *
"No more hot dogs," Keith told Tom. He handed him a thin pack of something cold. "Sliced ham."
Tom grabbed at it, trying to focus. He was vaguely aware that he'd eaten something like twenty-six hotdogs. And drunk something like four huge cups of something sickly sweet with a flavor vaguely reminiscent of cherries.
Somewhere at the back of his mind was the awareness that he was going to need to use the restroom soon. Even a shifter's bladder couldn't possibly hold that much.
But much closer at hand was a need for protein. Lots of it. He grabbed the pack Keith gave him and was about to bite it as Keith pulled it away.
"Whoa, you need to unwrap it."
Tom was aware of growling. Or rather he was aware of several faces of tourists roaming around turning to him in shock. He was aware of Keith jumping, then shoving the pack—now peeled halfway—back at him.
He shoved the ham into his mouth and ate it, becoming aware, halfway through, that his manners left much to be desired. And that the burning pit of hunger at the center of his being was . . . calmer, if not completely filled.
Rafiel, to whom Tom had handed a hundred dollars to deal with the damage, because he couldn't think and eat at the same time, approached them, carrying a bag of food. Tom could see a block of cheese and a couple of containers of what might be yogurt through the bag.
"Ready?" Rafiel asked. "You seem to have slowed down some."
Tom finished the last crumbs of meat, resisted an urge to lick the package. "I'll use the restroom," he said. "And I'll be right out."
"Good point," Rafiel said. "We grabbed you snacks but no drink. Keith, get us a six-pack of water." He passed Keith some money. "Tom, can I use your cell phone? In the car?"
Tom nodded.
When he got back to the car, Rafiel was behind the wheel and Keith next to him. "You get in the back," Keith said. "We figure you'd want to sleep some."
"There's cheese and cold cuts and stuff in the bag," Rafiel said. "If you're still hungry. And there's water. You can lie down. I drive better than him."
"And there's a bag of baby wipes," Keith said. "Your face is caked with blood. I didn't even think how weird it looked till we went in there."