Read Perfect Trust: A Rowan Gant Investigation for Free Online

I
answered.
    “Good deal.”
    “Coffee, sir?” The young woman who’d done the
two-step with me moments ago appeared stealthily at our table, a
Pyrex globe of the black liquid in each hand. They were
distinguished, as usual, only by the green or orange pour
spout.
    “Don’t call ‘im sir,” Ben quipped with a
chuckle. “He’ll get a big head.”
    “What’s wrong? Are you jealous?” she asked
him before returning her attention to me. “Sir? Coffee?”
    “Absolutely,” I answered, instantly turning
the heavy mug in front of me upright and sliding it toward her.
“Regular, please.”
    She deftly filled the mug, pouring expertly
from the side of the pot, then topped off Ben’s in the same
fashion. “You guys ready to order, or do you want a few
minutes?”
    “I’m ready.” Ben looked over at me and raised
a questioning eyebrow. “How ‘bout you, Row?”
    “Uhmm,” I muttered as I pulled a single page
menu encased in well-worn laminate from behind the napkin holder
and gave it a quick once over. “How about…a number three,
over-easy, wheat, and a side of biscuits with sausage gravy.”
    “Ewwww, runny eggs? Don’t you know you can
get sick from those,” she said as she wrinkled her nose.
    “Wendy ain’t ‘zactly the most tactful person
when it comes to ‘er opinions,” my friend expressed.
    “Oh, shut up, Storm,” she chastised him with
the same good-natured familiarity of her earlier jab, which told me
he was a regular here just as I’d suspected. Then turning back to
me, she offered, “How about you have scrambled instead?”
    “Would that make you feel better?” I asked
with a grin.
    “Yes. Yes it would.”
    “Okay, scrambled is fine.”
    “You want cheese on those?”
    “Sure.”
    “Cheddar, American, or Monterey Jack?”
    “Hmmmm, do I want cheddar?” I asked her with
a bit of hesitation.
    “Yes, you do. Good choice.” She smiled. “Now,
what about you, Storm? I guess you want your usual?”
    “Yeah.” He nodded and flashed a quick grin
her way.
    “You’re in a rut, Storm,” she told him with a
grin of her own as she turned and headed back up the short
aisle.
    “Hey, Wendy,” Ben called after her, a
good-natured tone underscoring his words. “Tell Chuck I said don’t
be so friggin’ stingy with the onions this time.”
    He had purposely spoken loud enough to be
heard by virtually anyone in the diner but most especially the
fry-cook. His answer came as a grumble and a mock threatening wave
of a spatula from the large man behind the grill. “Yeah, yeah,
yeah, Storm. Yer always complainin’ about somethin’.”
    The exchange was met with a few lighthearted
chuckles from some of the other regulars in the diner, along with
some additional friendly jibes. Chuck finally laughed then threw up
his hands in an imitation of surrender, announcing in the process,
“Hey, if youse don’t like it, go eat somewheres else.”
    The restaurant settled quickly back into its
morning routine, leaving our booth in a quiet wake.
    “Okay,” I finally said after taking a healthy
swig of coffee and giving Ben a solemn look. “So what’s up? It’s
been my experience that when you offer to buy me a meal, something
is going on, and it’s usually not good.”
    “Hey,” he feigned insult. “Did’ya ever think
I might just wanna buy ya’ breakfast and visit with ya’?”
    I nodded. “It crossed my mind, but then
reality got in the way.”
    “Jeez, white-man.”
    “So, am I wrong?” I asked. “Is this just
social? If so, I apologize.”
    He sat mute, took a sip of his coffee,
and then stared out the slightly fogged window next to us for a
moment before turning back to me. “Well, no, but it ain’t
necessarily a bad thing. Maybe .”
    “Okay.” I shrugged. “So what is
it, maybe ?”
    He sent his large hand up to the back of his
neck and gave it a quick massage as a mildly troubled expression
panned across his features. After a moment he reached down into the
seat next to