Findings by Mary Anna Evans

apron now and then. He seemed like an amiable soul, making small talk with the restaurant’s patrons as he moved among them. His outgoing nature seemed genuine, too, not the forced friendliness of someone looking for a tip. Faye had a feeling that his sharp eyes missed nothing.
    This situation couldn’t possibly last. Chip would find something else, because young men with his gifts tended to land on their feet. Maybe that would have happened sooner if he’d been a more take-charge kind of guy but, without a coach to chew his butt out for slacking, it looked to Faye like Chip was content to just drift through life. For Liz’s sake, Faye hoped Chip drifted back into college soon.
    He picked up a dirty plate sitting on the bar, right next to Faye’s steaming hot food.
    “Sorry about that. You shouldn’t have to sit next to somebody’s half-chewed food.”
    “That’s okay. Your mother and her customers keep you pretty busy.” She shifted on the stool to get a good look at the young man. Intelligent hazel eyes were set into an affable face that featured full lips and broad cheekbones. Liz had good reasons for her poorly concealed pride. Actually, Faye didn’t think it ever occurred to Liz that she should conceal it.
    “Business is good. There’s no sense in complaining about that.” He glanced around the room, and Faye could almost see the calculations spinning in his brain. She’d worked food service before, so she knew he, as the son of the proprietor, was figuring the evening’s likely gross income, based on his quick headcount of patrons. He could almost surely estimate his own income based on that number and on his personal knowledge of the regular customers tipping habits. The young man had grown up in this bar and grill, and Liz hadn’t raised a dummy. Faye knew this, because Liz had told her so on countless occasions.
    Chip set down a tray loaded with salt, pepper, ketchup, and hot sauce—everything a girl eating a plateload of eggs could ever want. He gave her a smile that might not have been intended to trigger a healthy tip, but that most assuredly would cause Faye to dig deep into her wallet, and said “Enjoy your meal. Let me know if you need anything else.” Then he took his smile elsewhere and left Faye with her eggs and her memories of Douglass.
    She rubbed the back of a hand across her teary eyes. Joe noticed—she knew he noticed—but he let her be, which was the right thing to do. On another occasion, she might wipe the same eyes with the same hand, and he would turn his head in her direction and get her to talk about what was bothering her, all without saying a word. And, on that occasion, this would also be the right thing to do. Faye didn’t know how Joe knew what she needed, but he always did.
    Liz bent her ever-brilliant red head in Faye’s direction. “How’re you holding up?”
    Faye heard herself whisper, “I can’t believe he’s gone.” She’d said the same sentence to herself, over and over, since she received Emma’s terrible call.
    Liz, whose nurturing tactics tended to involve calories, put a heaping platter of buttered biscuits on the counter in front of Faye and Joe. Faye was astonished to find that plugging an emotional wound with food actually worked.
    “Sheriff Mike will find out who did it, and he’ll make sure they pay.” Liz plunked a pitcher of cane syrup next to the biscuits, in case Faye and Joe found themselves short on carbohydrates.
    Looking for something else, anything else, to talk about, Faye settled on a subject that wasn’t as painful to Liz as Douglass’ death was to Faye, but it was close.
    “How’s Chip doing?”
    “Look at him. Still strong. Still handsome. Still smart as a whip. Still busing tables.”
    “You don’t have any idea why he came home?”
    “Not a clue. His grades were fine. I was paying his tuition and dormitory fees, and he had a job that should’ve covered everything else, so I don’t think it was a money