Death Waxed Over - Tim Myers [42]
She said, “If I don’t hang the telephone up just right, it doesn’t disconnect.” Becka turned to Vince and said, “Sorry about that.”
“Becka, you were supposed to call me if you saw that bum again.”
She said, “I’m sorry, I know I should have. Harrison, when you weren’t there, I started thinking maybe I was just jumping at shadows. It might not have been him after all.”
“Yeah, well, next time call me, no matter what,” Vince said. “I can be over here in thirty seconds, and I’ll bring my baseball bat with me.”
“Thanks, Vince,” she said. The dismissal in her voice was obvious, and I turned to leave with him.
“Becka, I’m glad you’re all right,” I said.
“Harrison, why don’t you come in for a minute?”
“Honestly, I’d like to, but it’s late and I’ve got an early morning.”
Vince said, “I could stick around if you want some company. You know, just to make sure everything’s okay here.”
Becka stifled a yawn, then said, “On second thought, I’d better take a rain check on company. I’ve got to get up early tomorrow myself. Sorry to bother you both.”
Vince and I walked out in front of the apartment and stood there for a second in the glow from the security light. He finally asked, “You think she’s going to be all right?”
It was obvious he was worried about her, too. “Yeah, at least for now. It’s good of you to keep an eye on her.”
“Hey, she’s nice, you know? Not like some of the flakes we have around here. See you, Harrison. It was nice meeting you.”
“Nice meeting you, too,” I said.
As I drove back to River’s Edge, I found myself wondering why Becka had called me instead of Vince. He was a lot closer than I was. It made sense enough when she’d rushed into the candleshop for protection, but I was a good ten minutes away from her apartment. I’d never been anyone’s protector before, and I wasn’t sure I liked the responsibility. Still, if she needed me, I’d be there, and what’s more, Becka knew it.
I just hoped the next time she had a real emergency, I’d be able to get there in time.
Chapter 11
“I’d like to see the owner,” I said the next morning as the hostess of The Ranch Restaurant approached me. She wore a fringed black vest and tall boots that nearly reached the hem of her skirt. I had decided the night before to pay a visit to Martin Graybill, one of the other property owners who’d hoped to make a deal with Runion. I wasn’t scheduled to come into the candleshop till noon, though no one would probably have noticed if I took a few days off. While business was beginning to pick up a little again, it was still quite a bit off from what we’d been having before Gretel’s murder.
“Is there something I can help you with?” the pretty redhead said.
“Sorry, I need to see Mr. Graybill.”
“He won’t be in for another half-hour. Would you like a table in the meantime?”
“No thanks, I’ll just wait at the counter.” I found a seat on one of the spinning stools and looked around. True to its name, The Ranch Restaurant sported all kinds of cowboy memorabilia, including lassos hung over the bar and a white counter dotted with cow spots. There was country music playing in the background, and I half- expected the waitresses to be wearing cowboy hats. They did all sport similar fringed vests and shiny boots, just like the hostess wore. I wondered what the waiters wore, but when I scanned the workers, the only men I saw were working back behind the grill. There was a signed photograph on the wall in front of me, and I wondered who would want the autograph of a rodeo clown.
An older blonde with a big smile filled up my coffee cup before I could refuse. “What can I get you?”
“This is fine,” I said.
“Just coffee? Okay then. If you want something else, let me know.” She moved on down the line and refilled a few more cups, each time pausing to look expectantly at me. It got to the point where I refused to make eye contact with her.
I’d been there ten minutes, nursing what was in my cup, when somebody slid onto the stool beside