No U Turn

6

It was almost eleven o'clock when the door to the cafe squeaked open on hinges that protested every time they were forced to let a customer in or out.

"Never had need of a bell on the door. Not with them blasted hinges," Rosie had explained to Lori on her first shift several weeks ago. "As long as they keep squawking, I know business is okay," she said, lighting a cigarette and wandering back to the kitchen to fill the next order.

There had only been three people the whole morning. This made four.

Lori was smiling when she looked up from wiping a table clean.

She was expecting her boss, full of excuses and that quaint Southern charm the old lady was so full of. Her face registered shock when she saw the tall deputy in a tan uniform standing in the doorway.

The smile disappeared when she noted the stern look in his eyes. Lori's eyes wore a mask of indifference.

"Uh," she said, "if you're looking for Rosie, she's not here, yet. She's running late."

"Do you work here?" he asked.

"Yeah. Lori Jamison."

"Sit down, please."

"You have the bedside manner of a porcupine," said Lori.

"Please," he said, motioning toward a seat in the first booth.

Lori felt the heat rush from her collar. She was sure her face was a thousand shades of red. Barring that, she knew the scarlet rash of nerves was painting her neck as she stood there sizing up the officer.

"Please," he said, softly.

The red vinyl cushion surrendered to her weight.

"I'm afraid I have bad news, Ms. Jamison," he said.

"O God. It's Rosie," Lori said. "She's had a heart attack, hasn't she? I told her to stop smoking those . . ."

"No, ma'am. Not a heart attack," he said. "But I'm sorry to have to tell you that . . ."

"She's dead," said Lori, flatly.

Slamming her palms down on the table, she started crying.

"I should have known something was wrong when she didn't come in. I should have. But I didn't. I . . ."

"Ma'am?"

The door hinges squeaked. Two old gentlemen in overalls and plaid work shirts were coming through the doorway.

"For a buck eighty, I think . . ." one old man was saying.

"Sorry, guys," said the deputy. "Closed today."

"Ain't no closed sign in the winder," his partner said.

"I said closed," the deputy said sternly.

The two men backed out of the diner, and the door closed behind them.

"Sorry, ma'am."

"This is terrible. Terrible. How? How did she . . . ?"

The right side of the officer's mouth dropped down.

"I'm afraid I can't tell you much," he said. "There's an ongoing investigation and . . ."

"Investigation? She's been murdered! Oh, God!"

Lori's hand was in front of her mouth.