One of the Peterson brothers who owned Dead End Hardware stood up. "What's next? Let's get down to it. Does anybody in town have any idea where this dad-blamed dagger might be?"
We all looked around the diner at each other, but nobody jumped up and shouted "I have it!" or, better yet, waved the dagger in the air.
I sighed. "Why can't it ever be that easy? Just once?"
Next to me, Jack chuckled and took my hand in his. He and Jed both stood, flanking me.
"Any questions?"
Rooster Jenkins got to his feet. He was in his late sixties or early seventies and shaped like a mountain with feet. "Only about a million," he called out genially, waving a bearlike arm. "Come over and let's talk when you're done with your lunch, Jedediah. Jack, Tess, I know we can count on you to figure this out with the sheriff's help. And if that queen wants to cause some trouble, she'll find out what happens when you back Dead Enders into a corner."
Everybody cheered, and I blew them kisses, feeling a wave of relief wash over me. They might all be on a different page if we didn't have better news tomorrow, but for today, our little town was on our side.
It was a great feeling.
After that, there was a lot of answering the same questions over and over, since everybody had to "pass by" our table (which was nowhere near the door) on their way out. Also, watching in somewhat horrified awe as two tiger shifters ate what felt like their body weight in fried chicken. When Jed, pausing after his third or fourth plate, cast a longing look at mine, I hurriedly shoved it over to him.
"No, I couldn't," he said, his fork already poised to dig in.
"Please. I'm not that hungry," I said honestly. The headache was coming back.
Jack, only on his second slice of pie, put his fork down and studied my face. "Tess? Is it your head again?"
He'd spoken quietly but not quietly enough, because everybody within four tables of us in all directions started firing "helpful" suggestions at me.
"Tess, you should have told me," Lorraine scolded me. "You need an antihistamine and large amounts of water. I'll bring you two more glasses and a pill, and then you go home and nap in a dark room."
"I—"
Mrs. Frost dug in her giant bag and pulled out her crossbow.
"You don't have to shoot me," I said weakly, trying to be funny. "It's not that bad."
She gave me an impatient look. "I'm trying to find … oh, there it is. Here! Take your shoes and socks off, and put this Vicks on the soles of your feet. Then put your socks back on, rub some more on your temples, and take a nap."
"I—"
She pressed her lips together, shoved the jar of Vicks at me, and pointed to my feet.
"Mrs. Frost, I appreciate it, but I'm not going to take my shoes off in the restaurant. I have some Vicks at home, and I'll—"
"No, that won't work," somebody else—I couldn't see who—called out. "She has to get the Botox."
"The what?" Jed asked.
I buried my head in my hands. "Nothing. I'm not getting the—I mean, I'm not getting Botox."
Jed touched my shoulder. "What strange remedy is this, child?"
"The Botox fixes headaches and gets rid of wrinkles too," the little old guy at the table next to me offered.
Okay, that was enough. "I don't have wrinkles, Mr. Russell! I'm not even going to be twenty-seven until Wednesday!"
"Tess, why are you shouting?" Jack asked me, trying to hide his amusement. "You might be losing it."
"I'm notshouting. I'm speaking up, because Mr. Russell forgets his hearing aid a lot," I said, enunciating carefully so asnotto shout.
"Yep, that's what I said," Mr. Russell said, nodding sagely. "You're pushing thirty. You're gonna need that Botox any minute now."
