Gayle Trent Read Online Free PDF Page A

way.”
     
    I followed her to Jim’s favorite table.
     
    He stood and took my hand. “Myrtle, you look lovely as always.”
     
    I smiled and thanked him. He looked nice, too. He was wearing brown slacks and a nice tweed sports jacket. The man had good taste; I had to give him that.
     
    The hostess asked if she could get me anything to drink, and I asked for a sweetened ice tea. She left, and I sat down. “You must come here a lot . . . to have a favorite table and all.”
     
    “I do enjoy coming here.” He winked. “It sure beats my T.V. dinners and bologna sandwiches.”
     
    “I suppose it does.”
     
    The waitress brought my tea. I thanked her and took a drink.
     
    Jim was watching me. “Is it good?” he asked.
     
    “Very,” I said. “So Flora was the cook in your family, huh?”
     
    “Oh, yes, and a fine one, too.”
     
    “What else did she do?”
     
    “I beg your pardon?”
     
    I shrugged. “Did she garden? Sew? Read?”
     
    “She liked knitting and embroidery . . . things like that.”
     
    “Did she ever work outside the home, or did she dedicate her life to home and family?”
     
    Jim frowned a little. “She worked part-time at the library for last five years of her life. Mostly, she enjoyed taking care of her home and . . . her family.” He sipped his coffee. “Why do you ask?”
     
    “Well, I’ve always heard you can tell a lot about a man by the type of wife he chooses. I suppose I’m just trying to get to know you a little better.”
     
    The waitress came to take our order then, so I was spared from coming up with any other reasons I was trying to find out more about Flora. I ordered a filet mignon, and Jim ordered a prime rib. He got the baked potato, and I got fries. I love Smiddy’s big ol’ steak fries.
     
    I didn’t bring up Flora again. Then Jim and I talked about where we grew up, our childhoods . . . things like that. It was a lot of fun. Surely, a man who grew up with a dog named Biscuit couldn’t have killed his wife.
     
    Jim had to go to the men’s room. While he was gone, the waitress stopped by and asked if I’d like some more tea.
     
    “Thank you, dear, but I believe I’ve had plenty,” I said, with a smile. “The hostess mentioned that Jim—Mr. Adams—comes here often and that this is his favorite table.”
     
    “That’s right,” the waitress said. “I’m glad it’s my table because he tips really well.”
     
    “I’m glad, too. What about Flora, his wife? Was she nice?”
     
    She cocked her head like a curious puppy. “Mr. Adams was married?”
     
    “Yes. He’s a widower. Maybe he has only been coming in since her death.”
     
    “That must be it!” She grinned. “He’s been coming in for nearly two years now, and we’ve never seen him with the same—” Her eyes widened, and that grin dropped right off her face.
     
    “Same what, dear?”
     
    “Uh . . . tie. Yeah, that’s right, we’ve never seen him wear the same tie twice.” That said, she scurried off to the kitchen.
     
    Two years, hmm. And with a different . . . tie . . . every visit. Maybe a boy who’d grown up with a dog named Biscuit wouldn’t kill someone; but maybe the man that boy grew into would. After all, people change. Maybe his next dog was named Killer.
    Jim returned to the table, and we said our good-byes.
     
    “It’s the funniest thing,” I said, “the waitress stopped by and said that you’d been a regular customer for over two years but that she’d never seen you with the same tie on.”
     
    He frowned. “I never realized anyone was paying so much attention to my wardrobe.”
     
    “Yeah, well, you never know when that Mr. Blackwell might be lurking about, do you?”
     
    “Who?”
     
    “The guy who puts out the best and worst dressed lists.” I waved my hand. “Never mind. Is it hard for you to come here now without Flora?”
     
    “Oh, uh, no . . . no, it brings me comfort to continue enjoying this restaurant.”
     
    “Yes. I