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Maggie saw us as soon as we walked in. “Hi Gertie. Hi Ida Belle,” she greeted and then looked at me. She smiled. “Fortune, right?”
I returned the smile. “That’s right. How fresh is your peach pie?”
“Pretty fresh,” she said. “Y’all have a seat anywhere and I’ll bring out three pieces.”
“Pecan for me,” Gertie said. “I prefer the pecan.”
“You got it,” she said. “Three coffees; decaf?”
We all nodded.
The place was a little slower than the last time we were in. Maggie brought out the pie and a second waitress brought the coffee.
I decided to not beat around the bush. “Have you seen Georgia in here lately?” I asked Maggie.
“No, she hasn’t been in or I would have called you.”
“Are you talking about that mean woman with the space between her teeth?” the second waitress chimed in.
“I’m sorry,” Maggie said. “I didn’t introduce you. This is Rita Faye. She’s new here. I’m showing her the ropes. Rita Faye, this is Ida Belle and Gertie, two long-time customers. And this is their friend, Fortune.”
“Pleased to meet y’all,” she said with a high pitched southern twang. Rita Faye was long and lean and could not have been over nineteen. Her arms and face were freckled. She had long, fine dark brown hair parted down the middle. She was adorably cute.
“Hi Rita Faye,” I said. “The woman we’re discussing... Have you met her?”
“Yep, three nights ago. Maggie hadn’t started her shift, and I was struggling to keep up, being new and all. Most of the customers were real nice, but that woman... she was a real piece of work. She treated me like dirt. I almost cried in the back.”
Maggie gasped. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I was embarrassed,” she said. “I wanted to forget it.”
“Tell us what happened,” Gertie said.
“I couldn’t do anything right,” Rita Faye said. “She comes in upset because there was a customer at her regular table. I told her I was sorry but I couldn’t do anything about it. The woman didn’t like the way I cleaned her table; she thought her silverware was dirty and demanded I make a fresh pot of coffee when she tasted what I’d given her. And she was none too nice about any of it.”
“That sounds like her, all right,” Maggie said.
“Did anyone join her?” I asked.
Rita Faye nodded. “Yep, about twenty minutes after she got here an older gentleman came in and sat across from her. It looked like they‘d just met.”
“Did you catch his name?” I asked.
“No, I’m sorry,” she said. “The odd thing was, the woman turned as sweet as she could be the moment he sat down.”
“That sounds like our gal,” Gertie said.
“And you never saw this man before?” Ida Belle asked.
Rita Faye shook her head, no.
“Can you describe him?” I asked.
“He looked as old as my grandpa,” she said, “and he’s 75. This man was bald, had a white beard trimmed. He was pleasant, smiled a lot. Oh, and he was tall, like six-feet-six?”
“Oh my god,” Maggie said. “I hope she doesn’t have her hooks in Raymond.”
“Who’s Raymond?” I asked.
“Raymond is a sweet old man, a widower,” Maggie said. “He lost his wife of forty years. He’s been coming in here once or twice a month since then. Loves to talk. I think he’s lonely. He’s a sweet old bird.”
“Does he have money?” I asked.
“I don’t know for sure,” Maggie said. “He always tips well, though.”
“Do you know his last name?” Ida Belle asked.
She shook her head, “We’re all on a first name basis here, darlin,’ you know that. Y’all been coming here for years and I don’t know your last names.”
“Did he pay by credit card?” I asked.
“No. Cash. Always cash.”
“What kind of car does he drive?” I asked.
“A truck,” she said, “one of the newer Dodge Ram trucks. It’s red.”
“Anything else you can tell us?” Gertie said. “Anything at all?”
“He hits on me about every time I see him. He’s sweet about it and we play it off as a joke, but he’s lonely and vulnerable.”
“How can we find him?” I asked.
“Maybe wait until he comes in again,” Maggie said. “He comes in about the same time. Rita Faye or I will almost always be here.”
“But you said he only comes in once or twice a month,” Ida Belle said. “That may be too late.”
“The VFW!” Maggie called out. “He wears a baseball cap with VFW written on it.”
“Ok, I know I’m not from here but what the hell is VFW?” I asked.
“Veterans of Foreign Wars,” Ida Belle says. “Really, Fortune. You don’t know what the VFW is?”
“I don’t know either,” said Rita Faye, the only other person within earshot born after Duran Duran broke up.
“It’s an organization for veterans,” Gertie said. “The original intent was to take care of soldiers in need of rehabilitation. These days they get together, drink, salute the flag and tell military stories. I hear some of those stories may even be true.” She winked.
“If he wore a VFW cap, he’s a veteran,” Ida Belle said.
“I wear a New Orleans Saints baseball cap,” I noted. “That doesn’t mean I can block and tackle.”
“It’s a good point, but at his age, I’d wager if Raymond is wearing a VFW cap, you can find him there,” Ida Belle said. “Fortune, let me use your smartphone to find out where the nearest chapter is.”
I handed my phone to Ida Belle.
“Did they leave together?” I asked Rita Faye.
“No, I don’t think so,” but I saw Raymond giving her his number.
“Really?” I asked.
The young waitress nodded. “I remember, because I was pouring a coffee refill. She said something about her phone being broken and she was picking up a new one the next day.”
“Georgia is smart and cautious,” Gertie said. “The woman wants no one having her number to trace.”
I nodded. If Georgia was who I thought she was, then she hadn’t eluded the authorities this long by being careless.
“Damn,” Ida Belle said. “They’re closed.”
“We’ll come back,” I said. “Are they open tomorrow?”
“Yes, and they are having a social event tomorrow evening,” Ida Belle said. “It’s from 7:30 p.m. to 10:30 p.m. There will be food, live music and dancing. They’re expecting two-hundred people.”
“The dance of the living dead,” Gertie jibed. “He could well bring her to the event.”
“I doubt it,” I said. “Something tells me Georgia Fame wants as few people looking at her as possible, but if the event is important to him, he may go anyway.”
“I think it’s our best shot,” Gertie said. “I can call Officer Gene but my equity with him is getting a little thin. Plus, I’m guessing a man named Raymond who drives a Dodge truck would be hard to trace.”
“How do we get in?” I asked.
“Leave it to me,” Gertie said.