If you had fun with Milly and Waffle, you’ll want to meet Christie Watson and Curly Fries. You can read the first chapter of Christie’s story below!
Sleepy Creek had a million secrets.
Some secrets drifted below the surface like crispy French fries trapped in a well of oil, others were as juicy as a sumptuous beefy burger. Those were the secrets that intrigued me the most.
Maybe that was the hunger talking.
I hadn’t eaten since I’d gotten on the bus, hours ago.
This place was simultaneously snooze-ville and the friendliest town in the Midwest. With gossip and lies for seasoning.
I adjusted the straps of my backpack and strode away from the bus. “Here we go again.”
I hadn't planned on coming back to my hometown when I'd left years ago—which sane woman would come back after what this place had put me through? Being back here brought back way too many memories.
Don’t go there.
But now, I didn't have much of a choice. I had to be here.
“Guess it’s time eat my weight in burgers and fries,” I muttered. Emotional eating for the win, right?
“Talking to yourself, dear?” An old lady hopped off the grated steps of the bus and came over. “You know what they say about that, don't you?”
“It's the first sign of insanity?”
“No, no. It's a sign of clinical loneliness,” she said.
I blinked and shook my head. Typical Sleepy Creek.
“You should get a cat,” the woman continued. “Did you know they're capable of eating an entire human being? A dead one, of course.”
“Uh, what?”
“It’s true. I saw it on that Discovery Channel.”
“Who are you?” I scanned her lined cheeks. She had a speck of chocolate on her bottom lip.
“I'm Missi, dear, short for Mississippi,” she replied. “Cats are good housekeepers. If you die while you're here you won't have to worry about the clean-up.”
“I'm thirty,” I said, because how on earth was I supposed to respond to that?
“Accidents happen.” Missi winked then shuffled off, her silver curls bobbling atop her head.
Yeah, I definitely didn't like being back here. Any other town in Ohio would've been fine, but here—
“Christie?”
I spotted my friend outside the windows of an old-timey lookin’ barber shop, complete with a striped barber’s pole.
Her blonde hair was tied back, and an escaped strand hung loose next to her ear. That hair had a kink in it, but not from a hair tie. It was from a pillow.
She'd overslept.
My gaze flicked over the lipstick smudged in the right corner of her mouth, then to the clump of mascara on her left eyelid.
“I did call ahead to give you enough time,” I said.
“I—uh?” My blast from the past high school best friend, Grizzy, frowned. “Huh?”
“You overslept.”
“How did you know? Wait, you're doing that thing again, aren't you? That Sherlock Holmes thing.”
Ugh, Grizzy knew I hated that reference. I'd read a lot of crime novels growing up because of my mother's obsession with them. It was the reason she'd named me Christie. After Agatha Christie, of course.
“Attention to detail.” I shrugged off my backpack. “How are you?” She was tired, obviously. It'd be rude to point that out, though.
“I'm good. But what does that matter?” Grizzy grasped my forearm and half-walked, half-dragged me down the sidewalk, past groups of elderly citizens and young mothers out bright and early.
The old folks because sleep had eluded them, and the mother's for the same reason but a different cause: the screaming babies. Poor souls.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“To talk. We haven't talked in what, like, ten years? I need to get a good look at you.”
I wrinkled my nose. “It's been two days since we last Skyped, Griz.”
“That's not the same thing and you know it.” She stopped in front of her restaurant and relinquished her grip on me. She rammed her fists onto her hips. “What happened?”
“You mean, apart from my unending hunger for one of your burgers? Nothing.” I didn't want to tell her what'd happened.
“Liar.”
“I'm serious.”
“Why did you take a break from work? You love Boston. You love your job.”
“Loved,” I said. “Loved it. Past tense.”
Understanding flashed across her face. “Oh. Oh, no. I'm sorry, Chris. I'm real sorry about that.”
“It's not your fault.” It was mine.
I had overstepped the line when I'd questioned a witness. The only witness in a murder trial who happened to be a senator's daughter. After ten years as a homicide detective with the department I hadn't been offered a promotion. I hadn't led an investigation, though I’d solved countless cases.
I was my own worst enemy. Too impulsive. That was the phrase the Captain had used.
Well, boo hockey to that. I wouldn’t let a hiccup like this slow me down.
“Chris?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I zoned out for a second there, didn't I?”
The pity on my best friend's face made my cheeks hot.
“You want a burger? On the house.” Grizzy gestured to the restaurant. Its sign glimmered against the bricks overhead.
“Grizzy's Burger Bar—Guaranteed Best Grilled Burgers in Sleepy Creek,” I said.
“And don't you forget it.” She grinned. “Come on. I've got the Mexican Fiesta special going at the moment. You'll love it.” Grizzy pushed into the interior of her restaurant, and I followed her, ignoring the curiosity of the diners and the information assaulting my senses.
I was back. And my conscience prodded me—the niggling voice in the back of my mind I despised. It wanted me to investigate the one case I’d sworn I’d never touch.
My mother's murder.
Want to read more? You can grab the first book in A BURGER BAR MYSTERY SERIES FREE HERE!
Happy reading, friend!