Franki lit up as we walked into the diner. As much as I would have liked to think her enthusiastic reaction was for me, it was all for my lunch partner, Marty. He was quite the celebrity in town. After Franki's hug and a hand flourish showing us the way to what she referred to as his favorite table, nearly every customer in the diner had to greet or shout hello to him. And he took it all in stride with his sparkling gray gaze and kind smile. We sat down at the table, and Franki dashed off to get Marty his usual cup of coffee. She completely forgot the other person sitting at the table until she returned with his coffee, which happened to be in a special blue mug with the name Marty in dark blue lettering.
"Oh, Lacey, sorry, I didn't ask what you'd like to drink." She looked somewhat embarrassed, but it passed quickly when she turned her attention back to Marty. "I've just taken a hot cornbread out of the oven. Should I bring you a chunk with some whipped butter?" she asked him. (Again, nothing for the woman sitting across from him.)
Marty, being the wonderful person he was, smiled graciously across the table. "What do you say, Lacey? Should we have some cornbread and butter to start?"
"Yes, that sounds perfect, Marty." I shot a slightly annoyed look at Franki. "Hot tea, please."
"Sure thing. I'll be right back with that cornbread." I had never witnessed Franki being anything but herself, a plainspoken, sharp business woman who somehow managed to keep her life moving smoothly along, even as a single mother of four teens, but she winked rather flirtatiously at Marty before bustling away to get his fresh cornbread.
I sat up straighter so I didn't have to talk too loudly over the chorus of conversations surrounding us. "Why do I feel as if I just walked into this diner with George Clooney?"
Marty chuckled. "I think people get excited when they see me because that means I'm not dead yet. It's more like a woo hoo, there's Marty, still kicking around and breathing."
I pressed a hand against my mouth to stifle my laugh. His droll humor was nothing short of charming. (Maybe I had walked in with Clooney.)
In what I would label as the quickest service ever, Franki swept right back with a small basket brimming with cubes of steaming cornbread and a bowl of her special whipped butter. My hot tea was nowhere to be seen.
Franki snapped her fingers. "That's right, Lacey, you wanted hot tea. Be right back with that." I wasn't counting on it.
"I hear there was a murder at the marina." Marty offered the basket to me first before taking one for himself. He pushed the butter bowl my direction too.
"Yes, a woman who was visiting on a boat called Funtasy. She wasn't the first victim though. There was a murder in Chesterton earlier in the week, a man who was also new to town."
Marty clucked his tongue. "I sure miss the days when people weren't always getting killed."
I slathered butter on the bread and pushed the bowl his way. "What time period was that, exactly?" I asked wryly. "As I recall, this entire town's tourist appeal is based on an infamous murder."
He nodded once. "So true. Then I suppose it's better to say, I wish there was a time when people weren't getting killed."
We both chuckled and took a moment to enjoy the cornbread. Franki returned. Surprisingly, she remembered the tea. "Guess you two should decide on lunch before you fill up on all that cornbread," she noted.
"I'll have some of your vegetable soup," I said.
"Hmm, that sounds good. Make it two," Marty said. "And a tuna melt."
Franki smiled. "Be right back with that."
"Have you seen the photographer?" I asked. "Or has she left town already?
"I'm not sure. I know she was finished with the lighthouse pictures. Funny thing, this morning I was taking a walk to the market, and I spotted her heading across to the wharf with her camera and her big black camera bag. I waved and called hello, but she was so preoccupied by something she didn't even look to see who was calling her name."
"Maybe she didn't hear you." I sipped some hot tea.
Marty nodded. "Could be. My voice is always a little hoarse in the morning. Comes from all the years of living in a damp filled house. That coastal fog knows how to get through every crack and crevice. Maybe she was just too wrapped up in her book deal with Ballard Publishing."
"I think you mean Shuster Publishing." I had little self control when it came to Franki's cornbread. Who was I kidding? I had little self control at all when it came to yummy treats. I reached for another square and was slightly disappointed that the cornbread hadn't stayed magically warm in the basket. I glanced up from buttering my bread. Marty was scratching his chin in thought.
"No, I'm certain she said Ballard Publishing. Don't know how I would have come up with that name otherwise. I don't know much about the publishing world."
I sat back, genuinely perplexed. "How weird. She told me Shuster. I wonder if she just got mixed up."
"Maybe," Marty said. "Although, it seems like a sort of strange thing to mix up."
Franki returned with the soup. "Here you go, Marty, topped with a sprinkle of cheese and toasted croutons just the way you like it." She placed my unadorned soup unceremoniously in front of me and dashed away.
I smiled behind my hand. "If I didn't know any better, Marty, I'd say Franki has a crush on you."
He shrugged. "Not surprised. It's the Tate curse. Women just can't get enough of us."
We both had a good laugh as we sat forward to eat our soup.