Down Home and Deadly Read Online Free PDF

grin.
    “Yep.” I gritted my own full set of teeth into some semblance of a smile and tapped my order pad with my pencil. “What can I get for you today?”
    “I’ll have the meatloaf special. Gettin’ to be a habit of yours, idn’t it? Gettin’ involved with murder? I’m surprised you’re not out back helping the police look for the gun.”
    His cronies laughed.
    “Hush up, Grimmett,” Marge Templeton scolded from the booth across the way. “Jenna can’t help being in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
    “Grimmett” ducked his head, his weather ed face mottled with embarrassment. Apparently he hadn’t realized that Marge was nearby. Her late husband, Hank, had been my first “ wrong place at the wrong time .” Even though I hadn’t actually found the newspaper editor’s body, I’d eventually solved his murder. Sort of. And almost gotten m yself and Carly killed in the process.
    I gave Marge a grateful glance. We shared a bond of having been in a sticky situation together. I knew I could count on her to watch my back. She owned the paper now , and although it wasn’t common knowledge, she was also my boss. She and her niece, the new editor, were the only two people besides Carly and me who knew that I moonlighted as advice columnist, Dear Pru.
    The other old - timers told me what they wanted to eat without incident. As I wove my way through the busy dining area with their orders, I admitted to myself that Grimmett was right about one thing : I’d much rather be out back with the police looking for the gun that killed J.D. But I had sense enough to know John would come unglued if I got anywhere near them.
    “Ma’am! Ma’am!” A big-haired lady on the opposite side of the room waved her arm. “This isn’t what I ordered.”
    I glanced around the busy dining area. Where was Debbie?
    I made a quick detour to the woman’s table , and she gestured toward her plate. “I know you aren’t our waitress, but ours seems to have disappeared. I ordered a salad and chopped steak. This is meatloaf.”
    I took the offending plate. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I’ll be right back with your salad.”
    “Thanks. I heard y’all talking about that guy that was killed here last night . Wasn’t he from here originally?”
    I shook my head. “Not that I know of.”
    She nodded to the mousy - looking woman across the table from her. “Didn’t your grandma say he grew up here?”
    “Yes,” the woman said.
    “I hadn’t heard that.” And as much as I wanted to hear more , I knew I needed to find Debbie before Carly lost customers because her wait staff was too slow. “I’ll just go get your order.”
    I leaned over the counter into the kitchen to see if Debbie was in there. All I could see was orders piling up. I glanced over to the salad bar where Marco was dumping fresh lettuce into the huge stainless steel bowl. “ Marco , I think Debbie must be on break. Can you help me serve for a few minutes?”
    For the next half hour, we worked frantically, sorting out orders and making corrections and apologies.
    When the lunch crowd thinned slightly, I thanked Marco . “Can you handle things out here for a few minutes while I find Debbie?”
    He nodded.
    I looked in the kitchen and even opened the mop closet. But no Debbie. Finally , I went to the ladies’ room and peeked in. Empty. I started to let the door shut, but a muffled sobbing drew me back. “Debbie?”
    Just a soft hiccup in answer.
    “Debbie? Is that you?” I glanced under the stall and saw her scuffed white tennis shoes, still slightly speckled with the butternut paint from the remodel. “I know it’s you. You might as well talk to me.”
    She blew her nose loudly , and in a few seconds, the stall door creaked open and she stepped out.
    “What’s wrong?” I asked.
    “This whole murder thing. I just feel bad about J.D. It’s so sad.” She bent over the sink and splashed cold water on her red , puffy face.
    I met her gaze in the mirror. “It