"You were alone with Watson?" The man didn't look like anyone he'd want Willa to be alone with. Ever.
"I wanted to talk to him in private."
"Why?" he asked, sensing a community-crusader story coming on.
"Craig had just purchased the diner about four months earlier, and he wasn't … um, he wasn't doing things the way the previous owner had."
"I don't suppose he was obliged to."
She turned in the seat to face him. "Okay. Let me tell you about Gertrude, so you'll understand. There used to be a little old lady named Gertrude Bliss who lived in town. She was ninety-four, she lived alone in her big old house, and all she had for income was a small social security check. Gertrude also had six cats. They were all the family she had, and they meant the world to her, even if she could barely afford them."
"Let me guess. You paid for their upkeep."
"I took them to the veterinarian for her and paid for the visits. And the previous diner owner always saved a small bucket of clean food scraps for them. Gertrude would walk to the diner and pick up the scraps every morning, along with her cup of hazelnut coffee. When Craig bought the diner, he started charging Gertrude for the scraps, claiming it caused him a lot of extra work to sort them out. He also charged her for the coffee."
"And you decided to have a little talk with Watson to get him to give Gertrude the food for free."
"Well, yeah. Gertrude was a very proud woman, and she didn't want anyone in town to know how destitute she was. Her husband hadn't planned properly for their retirement, likely because he hadn't expected them to live so long. When he died five years earlier, they were already down to just their social security. But when a husband dies, his check stops coming, and a surviving wife is left with only her check, which is usually only half of what his was if she never worked outside the home."
"So you confronted Craig Watson about charging Gertrude for the scraps. How did it escalate to broken dishes?"
"When he wouldn't agree to stop charging her, I might have threatened to tell all his customers what a rat he was. But I was bluffing, because that would mean embarrassing Gertrude." She gave him a furtive glance, then looked out her window. "I accidentally knocked over a stack of plates sitting at the edge of a shelf." She looked at Sam, her chin raised. "I wave my hands sometimes, when I get worked up about something."
"You knocked over seven hundred dollars' worth of plates?"
"The plates might have hit a couple of turkeys he had thawing on the counter, and they might have fallen into a sink full of soapy water." She waved her hand in the air. "I don't remember, exactly. But I'm betting Craig still served those turkeys the next day, even though he added them to my bill. He probably tacked on a few other things, too. I didn't exactly stick around to take inventory."
Sam was trying so hard not to laugh that his side started to ache. "Okay, then," he said, forcing a straight face. "Would you like me to talk to Watson about the table scraps?"
"It's too late; Gertrude died six months ago. I took in her cats, but four of them died of old age soon after. The other two were fairly young, and they're living at Grand Point Bluff with Ida Bates,Shelby 's mother-inlaw."
"What happened to Gertrude's home, since she didn't have any family?"
"She left it to the local humane society."
"Good for her. So back to tonight. Will you do me the honor of going to the dance with me, Willamina?"
"That depends." She looked down at her lap. "If you still want to after we talk … then yes, I'll go to the dance with you."
Sam frowned. "What's bothering you, honey? Why did you come to the diner looking for me this morning?"
He never heard her answer, only her blood-curdling scream when an oncoming delivery truck suddenly swerved into their lane and slammed into them head-on.
Chapter Twenty
Willa refused to openher eyes. She'd spent the last hour being poked and prodded, and she couldn't remember ever hurting so much. Even her hair hurt. "Hey, sweet thing. Open your eyes for me."
The voice was smooth and cajoling and belonged to the person who'd done most of the prodding since she'd arrived at the hospital. Willa slowly opened her eyes to glare at him and blinked against the brightness of the room.
His blurred silhouette moved over her, putting her eyes in shadow. "Chinablue-beautiful. I've always had a thing for blue eyes. I know you're disoriented and would probably like to tell me to go jump off a pier, but we're done messing with you for now, I promise. Let's recap, shall we?" he said, his smile bright. "I'm Dr. Zeus, and you're in my ER atBerryBayHospital . Can you tell me your name?"
It came rushing back to her in a vivid flash. The truck coming toward them, the deafening sound of impact, the airbag exploding in her face. Then the jolt sideways, another equally violent stop, her arm exploding in pain, her screams lost in the sounds of screeching metal and shattering glass. She was also pretty sure she remembered telling at least three people her name, including Mr. Happy Face here. "S-Sam," she said, her throat feeling as if it was on fire.
"Sorry, wrong gender. Try again," he said. "Can you tell me your name?"
Willa strained to swallow. "Sam! S-Sam !"
"I believe one of the men brought in is named Sam," a female voice said to her right. "Malcolm is with him."
"I'll make a deal with you, Blue Eyes. I'll have Mary go check on your boyfriend if you tell me your name."
"Willa."
"Okay, Willa. Do you know why you're in my ER?"
"Car crash."
"We're on a roll. You don't look like you're actually focusing on me, though. What color are my eyes?"
"Green."
His smile widened. "You don't happen to have a thing for green eyes, do you? Wait, I'll turn down these lights," he said, suddenly disappearing.
The pain in her forehead eased when the bright lights dimmed.
"You were involved in what should have been an unsurvivable crash, according to what the EMTs said when they brought you in," he explained, his voice moving back toward her. "They suspect what saved you was the size of your vehicle and its extensive airbag system."
Willa concentrated on making him come into focus. "Sam?"
"Mary's checking. Ready to hear a list of your booboos?"
"Water."
"Definitely doable. Here, this should help your throat."
A bent straw touched her lips, and Willa took a sip, carefully swallowing several times.
"Speaking of which," he continued, "your throat hurts because your seat belt gave you quite a bruise. The belt also bruised your left breast and hip. You have a slight concussion, but it's not as worrisome as it could have been. God bless those side-impact bags.
"Your right side, most specifically your wrist, took a bad hit when a tree decided your truck had gone far enough. That's going to require a little visit to the OR, which is where you're heading in about half an hour. We're waiting for the surgeon to arrive." His smile flipped upside down. "They don't let me play with the really sharp knives; I only get to stick you with pointy things."
"My legs hurt," she said, the water having soothed her throat enough for a complete sentence.
"I'm getting there, Willa. Your knees and especially your ankles took a beating, which is typical in head-on collisions, because you automatically brace for the impact. But you were wearing some rather heavy-duty work boots for a babe, so nothing down there is broken. You probably won't be jogging for a while, though.
"As for your insides, everything's right where it should be. You've got a couple of cracked ribs that are going to hurt like the dickens for a while, but your spleen, kidneys, liver, and other important parts all appear to be happy and healthy." He touched her hair, and his smile returned, crooked this time. "Don't scream when you look in the mirror tomorrow, okay? You're going to have one hell of a shiner, and there are cuts and other small bruises, all minor."