Seven Empty Deposit Envelopes Showed What Was Happening At Carters Diner
Carter stood by the driver’s side door of his pickup truck, his fingers hooked into his pockets as he watched the first orange light of the sun catch the upper corners of the front windows.
The glass had been washed the night before, and the reflection of the sunrise looked like a clean, sharp line of copper wire stretched across the front of the building.
A blue sedan turned into the lot, its tires crunching slowly over the damp limestone gravel before coming to a stop near the dumpster.
Linda opened her door and stepped out, holding a thick manila folder against her dark blue coat.
She did not look tired, though she had spent the previous evening filing the transition reports in the regional office.
The new morning cashier is already inside setting up the register drawer, Linda said, walking over to join him by the truck.
Clara, Carter said.
Clara, Linda said, nodding. She worked at the bakery down on South Grand for three years, and her references are solid.
And the grill? Carter asked.
