Seven Empty Deposit Envelopes Showed What Was Happening At Carters Diner
“Can I help you with something?” Troy asked, his voice carrying that familiar, mocking tone as he looked through the crack.
“Just looking for the washroom,” Carter said, keeping his gravelly voice low.
“End of the hall, chief,” Troy said, leaning back in his chair and picking up the silver quarter again.
Carter turned and walked away, his mind racing with the sight of the hidden blue book.
By mid-morning, the smell of toasted rye had faded, replaced by the damp scent of the green mop rag.
Carter walked out the heavy kitchen door into the gravel alley behind the building to clear his head.
The yellow grease film on the kitchen exhaust fan vibrated above him, casting a dull hum over the narrow space.
Henry was sitting on a blue plastic delivery crate near the dumpster, his knees pulled up toward his chest.
In his rough hands, he held a small, orange plastic bottle of generic pain relievers, his stiff fingers struggling to twist the safety cap.
“Let me help you with that,” Carter said, stepping over the gravel.
Henry looked up, startled, then handed the bottle over with a small, embarrassed nod.
