Page 6 of Devious Madness
“Do I frighten you?” His voice dips with the question. “You seem rattled.”
Tugging my wrist out of his grip, I step further away from him. “I’m fine.”
His eyes narrow slightly, just enough that some of the brown of his irises disappear. He looks disappointed in some way.
“You’re fine?” He sounds like my father when I was in high school.
If I told my dad a lie, he’d repeat it back to me, so I could hear how silly it sounded. It was his way of giving me a chance to change my answer.
“Yeah.” I clear my throat. “You can pay your check up front.”
Before he can snag my wrist again, I spin around on my heel and hightail it away from him.
The hair on the back of my neck is still standing when I drop his dirty dish into the wash-bin in the kitchen. Closing my eyes to block out the bright fluorescent lights of the room, I take several slow breaths.
I don’t know who he is, but that man definitely suspects something about me. He can’t be working for Marco; he didn’t look or sound Italian. His accent was heavier, but it was only slightly there. Like it was fading from years of living here in the states.
He couldn’t be a cop, unless he’s a really good undercoverdetective. But if that was the case, he wouldn’t be acting so weird.
“Mira!” Marybeth hurries into the kitchen waving cash at me. “That guy just left you a huge tip!”
“What guy?” I ask, hoping by some miracle she’s talking about someone other than the snake tattooed guy in the leather jacket.
“That big one.” She grins and hands me a hundred-dollar bill.
“Did you check that?” Barbara asks, looking over Marybeth’s shoulder. “Make sure it’s real?”
“Of course I did.” Marybeth waves her off.
Wendy gets a look at what we’re talking about and scoffs. “I’m so mad I gave that table to you!”
“You didn’t.” Marybeth turns with a confused look. “I sat him in her section.”
“No. Table seven is in my zone.” Wendy corrects her.
Marybeth frowns. “Oh, well, he specifically asked to sit at one of Mira’s tables. I thought I was putting him in her section.”
Cold washes over me.
“And he said to give this to you, too.” She hands over a small piece of folded-up paper. “Maybe it’s his number?”
“I don’t know; he seems a little old for her.” Barbara frowns. Always the mother hen.
I unfold the paper.
“You ladies gonna get this food out to the tables or what?” Robby steps into our little circle. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.” I crumple up the note and toss it in the nearby trash can. “C’mon, let’s get this food out.”
I shove the hundred-dollar bill into my apron pocket and grab the plates for my tables.
Whoever that asshole was, he is not going to spook me.
He’s obviously not here by Marco’s order.
But today’s message is more personalized. Definitely meant for me, no way to think it’s not.
I have two more hours on my shift. I’ll think about that message later.
