Two Halves A Whole

Chapter 8

 *~ Chapter 8 ~*

I took a sip of my warm mug of Hot chocolate allowing my gaze to sweep the area around me. A waitress was sweeping the floor while another was wiping down the counter in preparation for the early morning rush. Only two other people beside myself occupied the small café known as Debbie’s Diner, both of which posed no threat to me. Through the large window I could see that already people were up and moving about as they bustled down the sidewalks of Ranchester, clutching their coats tighter around themselves to ward off the chill of an early Fall.

All clear.

Carefully setting down the delectable drink I looked over the documents I had spread across the table at my booth.  Anything from files to old News articles. I’ve been in town for almost two weeks now, researching and working my way into the town’s social structure in hopes that I might find something, anything that might lead me to the Hunters who did this to my family. Despite my efforts, there were no records of a house or land owned by anyone with the last name of Yagerman.

Choosing one at random, I started reading the article even though every word had already branded itself upon my mind.

“Can I get you anything else darlin’?”

My eyes snapped up to meet the summer green ones of the blonde waitress in front of me. “Oh no, thank you Delilah. I’m fine.” I replied, pasting a false, overly happy smile on my face.

She nodded with a smile that emphasized the slight crinkles forming around her eyes. Delilah was in her early Forties and had been running this place since her Grandma Debbie first got the idea to start a Diner back in the 80’s. A loud crash sounded from the back room and her smile turned into a frown.

“Dakota!” she snapped, placing her hands on her hips, “How many times do I have to tell you to put the dishes away and not just stack them till they collapse?”

A head of blonde hair popped over the counter and I had to bite back a smile at the bright green streaks in it. Dakota rolled her eyes with a huff, “I already told you Mom. I can’t put them away because the altitude change would mess up my hair and make it frizzy.”

I let out a laugh of genuine amusement, “It’s like two feet D, I’m pretty sure the altitude won’t change that much.”

The thirteen year old shot me a frown that could challenge her mother’s and pointed to her hair. “Me and frizz, do not do bizz.” She flipped her hair over her shoulder and disappeared into the back.

I couldn’t help but shout after her, “Frizz and business don’t rhyme, but nice try squirt.”

“Nobody asked you Kezia!”

I chuckled as her mother sat down across from me with a weary sigh. “That girl. She get’s more and more like her father every day.”

She rolled her eyes as if annoyed but I knew it was to keep the tears away. According to her file, her husband died in an accident eleven years ago and as much as she tried to hide it, the wound was still fresh at times. She offered a small sad smile. “So, how is your paper coming?” she asked in an attempt to divert attention from herself.

“Not very well.” I confessed, easily falling into the character of my cover story. To the town folk my name is Kezia Dennison and I’m a visiting college student doing a Psychology paper about the affect of tragedies on small towns. “It’s all so confusing. Everyone thinks that something different happened. The fire department thinks it was a gas leak, the police suspect foul play but can’t prove it, and then most of the town seems to believe that they were murdered because of some kind of gang activity. The only thing that they can all agree on is that it was a tragedy!” I thumped my head on the table in mock frustration that didn’t take that much effort to fake, considering it was fairly close to what I was actually feeling: anger. My prey had evaded me ever since I’d arrived and my patience was quickly wearing thin.