Page 83 of The Woman Who Couldn't Scream
Kovavitc punched him on the shoulder good and hard. “Wow, man. Youarea nutless wonder.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
The trouble with police work was that it was so damned unreliable. One week it was all slashings and car chases and break-ins and confrontations and murders. The next week, you were handing out speeding tickets and earnestly explaining the danger of crossing the street against the light.
That sucked, especially when Kateri had a moping dog, a sister who refused to admit to breaking and entering and yet always managed to find Kateri no matter where she hid, a worrisome FBI report, no lover in sight andwaytoo much time on her hands.
Thank God it was Thursday evening. She asked Moen if he wanted to go with her to the quilting group, grinned at his horror, and waved a cheerful farewell to the thoroughly bored and testosterone-soaked police station.
The Scrap Happy Stitchers, a group of ten to twelve regulars, usually women, met in the library, an old hardware store that had survived the earthquake and now housed books, children, maps, crafts, computers, toys, women, men, teenagers… After the tsunami, Kateri had been physically unable to continue in the Coast Guard. Coast Guard policy had put her through a court-martial for the loss of her vessel, and when she was cleared she was medically retired with pay and benefits. So… she became the town librarian. Because no one else wanted the job. Because the pay was crappy. Because she was handicapped and in pain, and the job didn’t require too many hours.
She had learned who lived in this small town, what they thought, who they loved, what they hoped and dreamed and did. Her command at the Virtue Falls Coast Guard had prepared her to lead, but her time at the library had given her insight into the people.
Now in its third year and under Mrs. Golobovitch’s direction, the Scrap Happy Stitchers patched together quilts for church sales, charity functions and to show at the county fair. They also talked, listened, gossiped, advised, suggested and fought. And ate. They ate whatever anyone else made or bought and loved it, because they didn’t have to prepare it themselves.
Tonight was Kateri’s night to bring snacks, so she headed to the Oceanview Café to pick up the sandwich plate she’d ordered. She walked in; the place was packed. Locals, tourists… everybody but their local dysfunctional genius, Cornelia Markum. Kateri walked up to the counter where Mr. Caldwell, the meanest old man in the world, sat hunched over a cup of coffee. “Hi, Mr. Caldwell, where’s Cornelia?”
Mr. Caldwell lifted his morose gaze from the counter. “That bitch of a new waitress told her she wasn’t going to fix her weird pie every day and she was sucking up all the Wi-Fi, and Cornelia left.”
“Linda? Said that to Cornelia?”
Mr. Caldwell slid an evil glance toward the thin, blond waitress as she whipped around the restaurant with a coffeepot. “Why don’t you ask me what she said to ol’ Setzer?”
Kateri looked around. His three friends from the old geezer table were nowhere in sight. She leaned her elbows on the counter and quietly asked, “Whatdid she say to Mr. Setzer?”
“She used that ‘nails on a chalkboard’ voice of hers and told him she was tired of having his baggy old ass taking up a chair a paying customer would use, and from now on he could get his coffee elsewhere.”
Kateri straightened up. “Dax owns the place. Can’t he do something?”
“Are you kidding? Dax is a pushover all the time, and right now, he’s a blubbering mess because he’s in love with Rainbow. Not that I know why, Rainbow never gives it to him.”
“Unrequited love,” Kateri suggested.
“Right. Like a teenager. So between Dax crying in the soup and the tourists taking every seat, Linda’s got this place held in her iron fist.”
“What about you?”
“I actually am mean enough to take up a bar stool for an endless cup of coffee. Not that I can get coffee. She won’t serve me anymore.”
“Not a problem, Mr. Caldwell. I’ll serve you.” Taking his cup, Kateri whipped behind the counter. She dumped out the old, cold coffee, rinsed the cup, poured it full of the fresh brew and put it on the saucer in front of him.
“Thank you,” he said. “Here she comes.”
Linda arrived, her blue eyes snapping. “Sheriff Kwinault, you are not allowed behind the counter.”
Kateri batted her brown eyes at Linda. “Poor Mr. Caldwell’s coffee was cold, and there are so many people in here, I knew you needed the help.”
Out of the corner of his mouth, Mr. Caldwell said, “Well done. She’s speechless.”
But not for long. Linda’s voice went up an octave. “It’s illegal for non-kitchen staff to go behind the counter!”
“I won’t arrest myself. But since I have your attention, Mr. Caldwell needs a slice of pie. With ice cream. Right, Mr. Caldwell?”
Mr. Caldwell was no longer hunched over his coffee. He was gloating over it. “That would be wonderful, Sheriff Kwinault.”
“I am not serving that old stool-sitter,” Linda snapped.
“Are you refusing service to a man because of hisage?” Kateri contrived to look shocked. “I’m afraid that is a much more serious crime than me illegally serving coffee.”
