Riding the Thunder - Deborah MacGillivray [135]
“She will. Run on and have a great night. I’m going to eat a piece of cheesecake and close up early. These winds depress me. No one ever comes when the weather is bad. No use staying open.”
“Sam’s off night. He’s over at Melvin’s playing poker. He won’t be back ’til late. You’ll be okay here?” Colin seemed on edge from the wind, too.
She rolled her eyes. “I’ve run this place since I came back; no one’s cared before. Now Jago’s not here, suddenly everyone’s concerned I’m by myself? My purse is under the counter—with my gun. Run along and have a lovely time with Winnie. With this weather, you’ll have The Cliffside to yourselves.”
Colin nodded and slid on his navy windbreaker. Fixing his collar, he hesitated, eyes troubled.
Asha paused, her back to the swinging door to the kitchen. “I meant to tell you how handsome you are with your new duds and haircut.”
Grinning, he bounced on his feet. “Yeah—I’m pretty cute, eh? ’Night, Asha.”
“’Night, Colin.”
In the kitchen, she picked up a saucer for herself, then on impulse lifted another. Delbert might like a treat, too. And maybe now was a good time to look at his photo album. Going into the food locker, she used a pie cutter to divide the cheesecake, carefully lifting out each slice to leave the remaining pie in perfect condition—Sam got cranky when she just cut slices off with a knife. It was comical, the way he fussed at her. She might be the owner of The Windmill, but he was boss in the kitchen.
She carried the plates out and placed them on a tray. Going behind the counter, she filled a glass with pink lemonade for her, and snagged a milk carton out of the cooler for Delbert. Once again, her eyes went to the phone, half expecting Jago to call. With a sigh, she closed and locked the front door, flipped the sign to CLOSED, and then turned out the overhead lights.
The jukebox sedately played a Gene Pitney tune, as she picked up the tray. “You better be glad I love you, you metal escapee from The Twilight Zone. Someone else would have pulled your innards out long ago.” Balancing the food tray with one hand, she reached out and gave it a pat. “Night-night. No ‘Bird is the Word’ or ‘The Lion Sleeps Tonight,’ eh? Delbert and Sam need rest.”
Two steps and she booted something hard, nearly tripping. “Bloody hell, I almost kicked the bucket,” she joked. She’d stubbed her toe on the metal pail Colin had used to clean putty from the tiles he was putting in. Using the side of her foot, she nudged it over to the corner out of the way.
At the porch, she allowed Clint out of his ‘prison.’ The puss padded inside, dancing, sure he was about to be fed again. His company was comforting; Asha enjoyed him being underfoot, and was sorry she had to keep him out of the restaurant. He’d been on the glider swing, staring off into the night as though he expected Jago to show up.
“Sorry, puss. I sent Mr. Mershan on a wild goose chase. My guess, he’s still in England, trying to get connections back. Maybe in a day or two.” Asha locked the outer entrance, pausing to stare out into the night, too. “Sheesh, I’m as bad as you, Clint. He’s not coming. We’d best forget it. Come on, let’s spend the evening with Delbert.”
Another gust of wind slammed the front of the old overseer’s house, shaking the whole structure. She was less worried about the restaurant. Five years ago, because of insurance regulations, the windows had been refitted with shatterproof safety glass, and the wood door reinforced with steel. You could take a sledgehammer to them—they’d crack, but likely wouldn’t shatter. However, the main house caused her concern. Built in the early 1800s, the antebellum home was, for the most part, constructed solidly; ceiling joists were not of pine but heavy poplar. It creaked and groaned in protest, making Asha suck in a breath, alarmed, as the air seemed to push under the eaves and nearly