Lending a Paw(88)

I waited my turn at the cash register, listening to the conversations about boat rides and weekend plans and where the next meal was going to be eaten. When I got to the front of the line, I asked if there were any cinnamon rolls left.

“Not sure,” said the young woman. “Hang on, okay?” She scurried off through the narrow double doors that led to the kitchen. On the wall behind the register hung a calendar displaying a picture of the Petoskey breakwater and lighthouse. I simultaneously admired the photo and wondered where the month of June had gone. It was the last Friday of the month, a month to the day that Stan was killed.

Oh, Stan . . .

I turned away, looking for a distraction. And there, in the back corner, I found it. Bill D’Arcy’s booth was occupied by someone else. Four someone elses, to be exact, and they looked as if they’d been there for some time, judging by the breakfast detritus scattered about.

I spotted Sabrina, weaving through the crowded tables with plates of burgers and fries. When she’d distributed the meals, I called to her. “Morning, Sabrina. Where’s your best customer?”

She made a face. “Mr. Won’t-Talk D’Arcy? Don’t know and don’t care.”

That sounded a little harsh. “Has he been in today at all?”

“Nope.”

Just like the day Stan had been killed. One month ago, exactly. I frowned. Something was tickling the back of my thoughts. What would take someone away from a favorite haunt? What would be four weeks apart? Did men get their hair cut that often? But how could that take all day or even half a day?

WHUMP!

The entire building shook. There was a short second of silence; then children screamed, women shrieked, and men yelled. Dust filtered down. “Earthquake!” someone yelled. But I was already running through the front door with Sabrina and half the restaurant patrons on my heels.

It wasn’t an earthquake. Not only were earthquakes exceedingly rare in this part of the country, but through the window I’d seen the cause of the whump.

Half a dozen running steps and I’d reached the passenger door of the car that had struck the building. I grabbed the handle and flung the door open. “Are you all right?” I hunched down and saw large hairy arms flailing around, shoving aside the released air bag. I half sat on the passenger seat. “Sir? Are you all right? Do you need an ambulance?”

“No!” he yelled.

“Bill?” Sabrina ran around to his side of the car. “Bill! Are you okay?”

It was Bill D’Arcy. How Sabrina had recognized his voice, I didn’t know. I wasn’t sure he’d ever spoken more than one word in a row.

“Yes, yes, yes.” He shoved aside more air bag and opened the car door. “I’m fine.” He stood, swayed, put his hands out.

Sabrina was right there, supporting him, guiding him. “You get back down. You’ve had a nasty little scare and you need to sit.” She got him settled back into the driver’s seat, ignoring his bleats of disapproval. “You need to get your breath, hon. Just sit for a minute.” She looked around at all the people. “Anybody here a doctor?”

“Don’t need a doctor,” Bill said.

Sabrina gave him a considered look. “Oh, you don’t, do you?”

“Just came from one.”

“Oh, really?”

He should have recognized the tone in her voice. And if he’d taken one look at her just then, he would have seen more danger signs. Hands on her hips, eyes thinned, chin jutting forward. No good was in store for Mr. D’Arcy.

“And what, pray tell, did this doctor say?” Sabrina asked.

“None of your business,” he muttered, staring straight ahead.

“Really.” She folded her arms on her chest. “I’ve waited on you every day for weeks. I know how you like your coffee, I know how you like your hash browns. I know you don’t read the sports section, I know what stocks you watch. I know you’re less grumpy when the sun is shining and that you don’t like to go out in the rain. I know you have high blood pressure and are trying to do something about it. I know—”

“You don’t know anything!” he roared.

She bent down, pushing her face closer to his. “Because you don’t tell me anything! How can I know what you won’t tell?”

“I didn’t want to worry you!”

Over on the sidelines, I blinked. He didn’t want to make her worry? What on earth . . . ?

“Do I look like someone who would worry?” Sabrina shot back. “How about you, sitting with that laptop, never looking up, never seeing what’s going on around you? You’re hiding from something, and that means you’re worried. Tell me what it is.” She poked him in the shoulder. “Tell me!”