Iced Romance Page 12

  I need to clear this up. I need to talk to the police and let them know I’m not missing! This is such a nightmare.

  I leave my coffee and muffin behind and make a beeline for the door. The police station is a few blocks away, and I only have an hour left before I need to be at work. I begin walking, checking the street for a cab. I don’t see one, so I pick up the pace.

  I arrive at the police station at eight thirty and go directly inside. The station reminds me of the glass plated one on Law and Order. A woman with a buzz cut is sitting at the front desk. She looks up and nods her head. She doesn’t smile as I approach.

  “Hi,” I begin, not really sure how to report yourself un-missing.

  “Can I help you?” she inquires. Her voice is low and tough, as if she’s seen things I could never dream of.

  “Yes, I need to report a missing person as not missing.” That sounds ridiculous and the woman raises one eyebrow at me, a look of confusion on her face. I try again. “What I mean is that an ex-boyfriend has reported me missing and I’m in the newspaper, but really I’m not missing. I just broke up with him and left. Does that make sense?”

  The lady frowns at me, but a muscle in her cheek twitches and she looks like she’s stifling a laugh. She turns in her chair and grabs a clipboard from the desk behind her. “So you’ve been reported missing. But you’re not missing.” Even to me, the words sound bizarre.

  I nod. “Yes. I read about myself in the paper this morning, and I’d really prefer that the policemen back home don’t spend a lot of time, you know, looking for me and all that.”

  “I don’t know how to fill out this paperwork,” the woman admits. “Hmmm, let me see if one of our detectives is available.”

  Detectives? Suddenly I know what the nagging feeling was as I walked here. David! We can’t get a detective involved!

  I panic and grab the woman’s hand as she punches in a number. “Please, don’t call anyone!”

  The woman jerks her hand away from me. “What do you think you’re doing?” she snaps.

  “Look, I have to get to work,” I say frantically. “I don’t have time to fill out a lot of forms or anything. Just write down on the paper that Kennedy Carter is not missing! Okay? I’m fine, I’m here, no big deal.”

  “Kennedy Carter?” An odd expression crosses her face. “You’re Kennedy Carter? The one that Todd Marusiak cheated on?”

  I swallow hard. Sheesh, does everyone know that? “Yes, that’s me. And, for the record, I left Todd of my own accord, and now he’s starting a man hunt for me and my face is in the papers and I really want all this to go away!”

  The policewoman stares at me and then nods her head. “Okay. I’ll notify the boys in Denver about the situation. Just let me see your identification and I’ll let you be on your way.”

  I hand her my driver’s license and she makes a quick photocopy of it. Then she gives it back, tells me that she’ll take care of it, and I thank her. I am turning away when she says, “Hey, look, I’m proud that you left him. Women need to stand up for themselves more.”

  “Thanks,” I say uncertainly. I walk away, feeling a bit better. Everything is cleared up and my life should get back to normal. Leila never reads the newspapers. The other waitresses I work with only read gossip magazines. And David is working all day today with those social work cases. He probably won’t have the time to read one even if he wanted to.

  I think my nauseating secret is still hidden.

  I slip my shoes off and pick them up. Then I start running. I need to get to work!

  I have barely run two steps when I hear my name. “Kennedy?”

  I feel my stomach heave. Thank goodness my stomach is empty or I might throw up right here. David is climbing out of a car, holding a briefcase and some files and looking at me with an unreadable expression on his face.

  “What are you doing here?”

  I must make a strange sight. I’m barefoot, wearing my puke green uniform, and am a good twenty minutes from work. I’m holding my strapless sandals in my hands and he just witnessed me leave a police station and start running down the street.

  “Uh, heading to work.”

  “But why are you at the police station?”

  I look around, hoping for some inspiration. David is walking closer to me. He’s wearing a button up white shirt, a bright red tie, and he looks gorgeous. I can smell his cologne, kind of an Old Spice sort of scent.

  “I, uh,” I have no idea what to say. I could tell him the truth. But having David know about Todd would complicate things. Besides, I don’t want his pity. Nor do I want him to think I’m an idiot, a loser with nothing to be proud of. I want him to like me, without any of my emotional baggage.

  “I had to report a, uh, robbery.” That’s sort of true. My privacy has been stolen. Now, as long as David doesn’t ask any more questions, maybe I can keep from telling any more half-truths.

  “A robbery?” David looks concerned and his forehead wrinkles. “Your apartment was broken into?”

  Crap. Maybe I shouldn’t have said that. Now I’m definitely lying to the cops. Kind of.

  “Uh, no, not my apartment. It was just a, uh,” I look around. A nearby jewelry store gives me an idea. “A necklace! I think my necklace was stolen.”

  “Did the officers inside get it all sorted out for you?” David looks way too anxious. “Where was it stolen from? Work?”

  I don’t want to get anyone at Maxie’s in trouble for this alleged crime, so I shake my head, sending my hair into my eyes. “No, not from work. It was, uh, on the street. I was wearing it, and, uh, the chain broke. So I turned around to pick it up, but this kid grabbed it and ran off.”

  I brush my hair off my face and feel heat rise in my cheeks. David’s a cop. He probably can tell I’m lying. I keep my eyes steady, refusing to look away. David shakes his head ruefully. “Poor Colorado girl. What a great welcome to Florida. Did you give the police a description of the guy?”

  I am beginning to panic. This is getting way too detailed. I am spinning so many lies! I should just tell him. “Truthfully?” I begin, pausing to sort my thoughts.

  “Truthfully?” David echoes.

  “Truthfully,” I say again, and then it comes to me. Just play it off. “Truthfully, I was going to report it missing and I came all the way down here, but then I thought, the kid needs it more than me, probably, and since he found it on the street, it wasn’t really a robbery. Right? So I guess I’ll just forget about it and move on. No need to report it to the police. Which is why I’m leaving.”

  This is how liars get caught. They give way too many inconsequential details and chatter away incessantly until they get caught in their web of deceit.

  David holds out his arms and gives me a hug. “Well, it’s your choice to report it or not. I doubt they’ll make it priority, even if you do, but I’m glad you are okay regardless.” In his embrace, I feel secure for the first time this morning.

  “I should get going.” I step away from him and avoid looking into his clear eyes. I’m afraid that if I do, he’ll see into my soul, see all my lies and what a horrible person I am.

  “I’m glad I ran into you.” David’s gaze is unwavering. “You made my morning.”

  Really? Warmth spreads through my body, making it feel as if he were hugging me all over again. “I’m glad I ran into you too.” At least I’m sort of telling the truth now. “And I wanted to tell you thanks. I had fun yesterday,” I admit shyly.

  “Thank you for coming with me.” David sounds amused again. “So you walked all the way down here before work just to almost report a necklace missing but then you decided against it?”

  He sounds like a cop on CSI, like he might, at any moment, lock me away for lying. Skeptical.

  I look at my bare feet. “Well, you know, the
morning walk really clears my head. And besides, the necklace was no big deal, which I realized after walking down here.”

  “Morning air does that for me too. Always makes me think better.” David looks at his watch. “Look, I have to run. I’ve got some calls to make before a meeting with those social workers, so I’ll talk to you later. If you’re free on Monday, do you want to grab dinner? I’ll take you somewhere far better than Maxie’s.” His eyes are on mine and I agree without looking away.

  I have no clue if I’m working Monday night or not, but somehow or another I’ll get it off.

  “Kay, I’ll see you then.” David reaches out and squeezes my arm then strides away into the police station. “Just make sure you’re wearing shoes when I pick you up,” he calls over his shoulder.

  I blush deeper. How in the world can he like me? I am shaky, but despite my humiliation, I feel something else. Something happy. I have another date!

  I look at my watch. Crap, I need to be at work in ten minutes. Now I really have to book it! My feet make a slapping noise as I run along the sidewalk, desperate to get there on time. My uniform sticks to my chest and legs and I already know today’s going to be brutal. Being the BO waitress is never a good idea when you want tips.

  Maybe, despite it being slightly evil, I can blame the smell on Gary.

  Bring it on.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The lunch rush is crazy. It’s the day after my face was splashed all over the morning paper, and, to my relief, nobody seems to have clued in that Kennedy the Waitress is actually Kennedy the Missing Fiancée.

  The diner today is packed. Almost every table is full. “What’s the deal?” I ask Leila when I finally see her in the kitchen. She is piling up a tray full of soft drinks and barely looks up at me.

  “Max applied a ‘senior’s discount’ to Mondays,” she says with a wrinkled nose. “I think it was in the community paper yesterday and look at all the people who showed up today.”

  “Good idea. It definitely has brought in more business.” I am impressed with Max. Maybe he’s not such a dud after all. “And I guess that’s why every person is over sixty-five?”

  “You got it.” Leila manages to wedge the eleventh cup on her tray and heads out the door. I turn to Gary who is sweating heavily and muttering things under his breath. “Hi, Gary,” I tell him brightly. “I’ve got an order for you. Two spaghetti’s, one soup of the day, and two burgers with fries. Need me to repeat?”

  “I never need a repeat,” Gary grumbles. “I’m not stupid.”

  “Sure, okay.” I stand there awkwardly for another second then walk back to the dining room to check if any of my tables need drink refills or if anyone else is ready to order.

  Leila is standing in the main aisle, talking to a lone guy at a table. He looks familiar, and with a little jolt I realize that I’m beginning to recognize the regulars. I’m not the newbie anymore, am I?

  The man looks up at Leila as I pass. He is holding the menu and says with a bit of a singsong in his voice, “Hmmm, I don’t know what to order. Think you could help me?”

  I suppress a laugh. He’s totally flirting!

  Leila’s reply is instantaneous. “Really? You’re in Maxie’s, ordering from our oh-so-succulent lunch menu. You’ve been here plenty of times and you know it all tastes like crap. Just pick the thing that tastes the least like crap.”

  Before I can hear his reply, an old woman beside me taps me on the arm. “Waitress? I forgot to mention that I wanted a large portion for my spaghetti.”

  I smile at her. “Of course, ma’am. All our portions, except for the kid’s menu, are the same size, so I’m sure you’ll be satisfied with it.”

  “Hmph.” She doesn’t seem convinced and turns back to her friends at the table. “People always try to rip off seniors. They think we don’t know how to defend ourselves.” She tilts her head meaningfully toward me.

  I leave before she can complain anymore about senior discrimination. A table near the back wants some pie for dessert, so I jot it down and head back to the kitchen.

  “Your spaghetti, burgers, and soup are ready,” grunts Gary as I enter.

  “Thanks,” I tell him. I cut off two pieces of the Pie of the Day (that Max buys from the bakery down the street) and carry them out to the diners. Then I return, pile the five plates on a tray and carefully balance my way back to the table with the discriminated old woman.

  “Here you all are,” I say, placing the plates in front of them. “Careful, the plates are a little warm.” I set the last spaghetti in front of the old woman and she gawks at it.

  “Are you fooling? That portion is too small! I asked for a large portion of spaghetti. Let me see your manager! This is not acceptable. Discrimination!”

  She pounds the table and a few diners nearby look over. I flush. “I’ll take it back and see if I can get you some more,” I tell her, picking up the plate. I apologize and hurry back to the kitchen.

  “What’s going on?” Leila asks, following me through the swinging door. “Somebody seemed a little huffy. Found a hair or something?”

  I shake my head. “No, she wants more pasta.” Leila looks at the plate in my hand. The spaghetti covers the entire plate.

  “What, she wants it piled higher or something?”

  I shrug. “Hey, Gary, could you please put some more pasta on top? The woman thinks we’re ageists or something.”

  “Max and his old people,” Gary comments to no one in particular. He reaches over to his pasta pot with a large set of tongs and takes out enough pasta to feed a good two people. “She wants more spaghetti? I’ll give her more spaghetti. But either she pays extra for it, or you do. We can’t just go giving away handouts.”

  He plops it on the already full plate and dumps a bit of sauce unceremoniously on top.

  “You’re going to make me pay for the extra portion?” I’m not really shocked at Gary’s penny pinching but still a bit annoyed.

  “I’ll have Max take it out of your paycheck.” Gary turns back to the stove and stirs something gray and lumpy in a bubbling pot.

  Good grief, these people today are insane. I have to hold the plate with both hands to keep it from spilling or toppling over. “Don’t worry,” Leila says as we walk away. “One time I ended up owing Max twenty dollars on a paycheck because I was drinking soda from the fountain on my breaks. Who knew he paid attention to that?”

  “You still do drink soda from the fountain on your breaks,” I point out. Leila holds the door for me and I go through.

  “Yep,” she agrees, “but now I do it sneakily.”

  I laugh and make my way back to the senior’s table like a tight rope walker. This spaghetti plate is massive.

  “Here you are.” I set the plate on the table. Seriously, that is enough food to stop the hunger in Africa. I look at her, expecting a smile, a thank you, some form of gratitude. Instead she frowns. “Took you long enough.”

  I grit my teeth. “Are you freaking kidding me?” I mutter.

  “What?”

  I show my teeth, hoping it looks like a smile, and say innocently, “You’re welcome. I hope you enjoy it.”

  She turns back to her table companions and, waving a fork in the air, proclaims, “I’m going to take most of it home anyway, but this is exactly what I’ve been telling you about. People will take advantage of you.” She squints over at me. “You’re not needed anymore.”

  I can barely refrain from flipping her off, or something equally rude. Leila sidles up to me. “Restaurants really bring out the best in people, huh?”

  “Tell me about it.”

  I am exhausted and feel dead on my feet. Just then the front door opens and a group of people march through the door. More seniors, I think grimly.

  “I got them,” I tell Leila and she no
ds.

  “Hi, welcome to Maxie’s,” I say, hurrying up to them. The man in front, obviously the spokesperson of the group winks at me.

  “Thank you, sweetie. We need a table for fourteen.”

  “Fourteen?” I look around. No way are fourteen people going to fit in here for at least a half hour, maybe longer. “That will be about a forty five minute wait,” I say, opting for the longer wait time the way I’m supposed to.

  He crosses his arms. “Forty five minutes? You are joking!”

  “No, sir, today’s a busy day,” I reply.

  “I demand to see your manager. This is outrageous. We demand some respect!” The people behind him nod vigorously; a few of them bang their canes and walkers on the ground.

  Max is counting money and a line of people are waiting at the till. No way is he going to come over to appease this grumpy old man with too-large dentures. I’ll have to handle this myself.

  “My manager is unavailable right now, but if you wait I can get you a complimentary beverage when your table is ready.” There, giving away a free soda shouldn’t be bad. If I can, I’ll sneak it out of the kitchen like Leila does. And at worst, Max will notice and take it out of my next paycheck too, but at least it’ll only be a dollar or so.

  “Drinks for the whole table?” the man is still standing with his arms folded and a few people behind him pat him on the shoulder and say encouraging words like “Yeah, you tell her,” and “Good call, you old codger, good call.”

  Fourteen fountain drinks is suddenly looking like a big deal, but the money isn’t too huge of an issue. I do have a bit still squared away in the bank, after all. I swallow my pride and nod. “Sure, I guess.” Anything to get these people appeased

  “Then we’ll wait.” The man smiles smugly and the fourteen of them clump around the door, leaning on the wall, sitting on the fronts of their walkers.