False Pretenses - Kathy Herman [8]
“There you go,” she said. “Still warm from the dryer. And don’t worry about the coffee spill on the other one. There’s almost no stain I can’t get out.”
“Aw, you take such good care of us.” Tex Campbell’s bushy silver eyebrows shifted as he winked at his tablemate. “What would we do without you?”
“You mean, besides starve?”
Father Samuel Fournier shot her a knowing look, his hazel eyes magnified by his thick lenses. “There’s more truth to that than I’d like to admit.”
Savannah Surette’s petite frame whisked past the table in the direction of the kitchen, her ponytail swaying. “I’ll bring you more coffee. Hebert called in his breakfast order and is on his way.”
“I wonder what’s keeping him?” Father Sam said. “He’s usually the first one here.”
Zoe shook her head, her arms folded. “Hebert shouldn’t be living alone. One of these days someone’s going to find him dead in his sleep.”
“Would that be such a bad way to go?” Father Sam pushed a lock of white hair off his forehead. “But that skinny mullet will make ninety-five on his next birthday and hardly ever sees a doctor.”
“He still needs looking after.”
“That’s what he’s got us for,” Father Sam said. “And he seems just fine to me.”
“Shoot”—Tex waved his hand—“he shamed us at checkers the other night—again. All his burners are still lit.”
“That’s beside the point,” Zoe said. “He’s an old man.”
“Old is as old does.” Tex sat back in his chair, his thumbs hooked on his suspenders, his bald head shiny under the overhead lights. “Hebert’s mind is sharp as a tack.”
“He’s old enough to be your father.”
“Impressive, don’t you think?” Tex flashed a grin as wide as the Rio Grande. “I suspect that ornery Cajun is gonna be around for a while yet.”
Savannah stopped at the table, filled two cups with coffee, and set the white thermal pitcher on the table. “Your orders are up next.”
The tinkling of the bell on the front door caused Zoe to turn just as Remy Jarvis shuffled in the front door, a red cap backward on his head and two copies of Monday’s Les Barbes Ledger in his hand.
“Happy day, everybody,” Remy said. “I am late. My bike got a flat tire. Mister Ives fixed it for me. It cost fifty cents. That’s two quarters.” Remy’s eyes were wide. “And I had two quarters!”
“Ives is a good friend, isn’t he?”
Remy bobbed his head, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “Mister Ives is my friend. I brought two newspapers, Miss Zoe. Sorry I am late.”
Zoe took the papers and patted Remy’s cheek. “You’re not that late, and it couldn’t be helped. I knew you’d be here.”
Remy beamed, a seven-year-old in a grown man’s body. “Bye. Happy day, everybody.” He turned and left the eatery.
“That was sure kind of ol’ Ives,” Tex said. “Wanna bet he asked Remy how much money he had on him and acted like two quarters was exactly what he charges to fix a tire?”
“Ives would do just about anything for Remy,” Zoe said, scanning the front page. “I’d like to think we all would.”
A few seconds later the front door opened again, and Hebert Lanoux stepped inside, dressed in too-short khaki pants, a wrinkled yellow shirt, and socks that didn’t match.
“There you are,” Zoe said.
Hebert, his mass of mousey gray hair sticking up in the back where he’d slept on it, shuffled over to the table and kissed Zoe on the cheek, then sat next to Father Sam. “Bonjours, mes amis. And how’s everybody dis fine day?”
“Couldn’t be better,” Tex said.
“I’m feeling great.” Father Sam took a sip of coffee, looking authoritative in his black and white cleric shirt. “How come you’re late?”
“Oh, I made da mistake of listening to da news and lost consciousness.” He laughed, exposing a row of discolored teeth. “So much of what dey call news is rahdoht.”
A row of lines appeared on Tex’s forehead. “What’s raw dot?”
“Boring talk dat goes on and on and on,” Hebert said. “Can’t get jus’ facts anymore. Now we got to listen to everybody’s opinion. And den somebody’s opinion of everybody’s opinion.”
Zoe nodded. “That’s why I prefer the newspaper. Pierce listens to cable and tells me what I absolutely