All The Pretty Dead Girls. John Manning
with a layer of lard, and brought out eggs and slabs of bacon and sausage from the big walk-in cooler. Monday mornings were always the busiest of the week, and this one promised to be no different. Might even be busier than usual, since it was the first day of school over at Wilbourne. As he picked up the crates of eggs, Wally looked around and made sure everything was where it was supposed to be. There was plenty of everything. There was nothing worse than having to send Marjorie over to the A&P to buy something at retail grocery prices.
The diner would open promptly at six thirty, and there were always a few people waiting outside the door when he unlocked it. Even with the competition from the damned fast-food joints out by the highway, Wally still had a good breakfast rush every morning. Although Micky D’s has cut into some of my factory crowd with their rubbery food and fucking acid coffee, he thought as he tossed an English muffin into the toaster,
At six thirty sharp, he opened the door. Waiting to come in were a couple of people he didn’t recognize—he suspected they were parents of a Wilbourne girl, heading back to wherever they called home—and just at that moment getting out of his car was Sheriff Miles Holland.
“Howdy, Sheriff,” Wally called. Miles waved back at him as he locked his car.
Sheriff Holland was well liked and respected by most people in Lebanon. Wally was always offering him a free cup of joe, but Miles always refused anything for free; he paid for every bit of food he put in his mouth. Now that is one rare cop, Wally thought. Miles was an honest man, and that he’d raised his son that way, too, had earned the respect of everyone in town. Like his son Perry and Perry’s regular standing order of chili-covered cheeseburger and fries, Miles always had the same thing for breakfast every morning—scrambled eggs, a couple of slices of bacon, buttered toast with apple jam, hash browns drowned in ketchup, and lots of black coffee.
Rosie, his morning waitress, had slipped in the back door. She was tying her apron around her waist as Wally headed to the kitchen to get Miles’s eggs scrambling. “One couple in the front booth,” he told her. Rosie nodded and hurried over to take their order.
Wally heard the tinkling of the bell as Miles came inside.
“Sure you don’t want to switch to sausage this morning, Miles?” Wally called through the opening.
“Can’t eat this morning, Wally,” the sheriff called back. “I just need to get the coffee to go, if you don’t mind.”
“No breakfast?” Wally asked, coming around to the doorway.
“No breakfast?” Rosie echoed.
Miles smiled. He was a few years younger than Wally, but was starting to spread out in the waist. He had thin legs and a barrel chest, and he shaved his head bald. Wally noticed that his blue eyes—usually so clear—were bloodshot and bleary. Since his wife died a few years back, Miles had aged what seemed like twenty years and seemed to put on weight. But this morning, Wally thought, he looked worse than usual.
“No breakfast,” Miles said, sitting down at the counter.
Rosie handed Wally the order from the couple in the front booth. He glanced down at it, then looked back over at Miles. “You look like hell,” Wally blurted out as Rosie filled a Styrofoam cup with coffee. “What’s going on?”
Miles sighed. “Got a call up to the college.” He accepted the coffee from Rosie and handed over two dollars. “Keep the change.”
“What happened up at the college?” Wally asked, his voice low, glancing over at the couple in the booth, wondering if they really did have a daughter there.
The sheriff took a sip of his coffee. “One of the girls went missing.” He raised his eyebrows at his friend. “Been a while since that’s happened.”
“And they need the sheriff for that?” Wally grinned. “She’s probably just off having a good time.”
“I don’t think so. Her bike was found by a delivery man this morning outside the front gate.” He lowered his voice. “Blood everywhere.”
“Jesus,” Wally said.
“You gonna get cooking the order?” Rosie said, sticking in her nose.
“Some girl got murdered up at Wilbourne,” Wally told her in a harsh whisper.
“Now we don’t know that, Wally.” Miles gave him a face. “I shouldn’t have said anything.” He looked over at Rosie, a thin woman in her late thirties who might have been pretty once, but now seemed dry and brittle. “But I want people to be on their guard if we’ve got some attacker running around out there.”
“No body?” Wally asked.
Miles shook his head.
“How they taking it at the college?”
“Well, you know how they get up there about them girls. They act like it’s a convent and every girl in there doesn’t have red blood flowing through her veins.” Miles sighed. “We’ve got the state forensics team heading up there, so I gotta be off.”
“Take a few minutes and eat something.” Wally coaxed. “Be easier to get through the morning with a full stomach, you know.”
“Nah, I’ve been dawdling as it is.” Miles shook his head. “I’ll be back in later before I go into the office. I’ll have my breakfast then.” He stood and picked up the coffee. “Just didn’t have the stomach for eating a lot of grease after seeing all that.”
“Given the circumstances,” Wally said, “I’ll forgive you for calling my food greasy.”
Miles grinned and gave him a thumb’s-up sign. Then he was off.
Wally watched as he drove off. Miles waved as he backed out of his spot, turned on his flashers, and headed off down the road at a steady clip in the direction of the college.
Somewhere in his mind, Wally seemed to recall another incident at Wilbourne a long time ago. He’d have to ask Marjorie later if she remembered what it was.
For some reason, his hands wouldn’t stop shaking all morning as he fried eggs and toasted bread.
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