name, didn’t Fleetwood have somebody named Fernandez working for him a few years ago?”
“Right,” I said, “but he wasn’t from Eastern Washington. Do you have time to eat lunch with me?”
“I don’t have time to eat lunch, period,” Milo grumbled. “I have to go with Tanya to her appointment with Dr. Reed at twelve-thirty and I’m shorthanded with Heppner out sick. I’ll be lucky to be home by six. Tanya’s coming for dinner. Bill’s pulling night duty.”
“Poor you. I’ll go away now and leave you alone.”
“If I were alone, I’d have some free time.” Milo hung up on me. Married or not, there were some habits he couldn’t seem to break.
Vida, however, was free for lunch. In fact, she asked if I’d like to join her at the Venison Inn. “One of my Gustavson nieces is working there during the lunch hour. Mandy—you remember her?”
“Yes,” I said, not even bothering to try untangling the branches on Vida’s enormous family tree. “Wasn’t she training to be the daytime bartender before she quit to have a baby?”
“Just briefly,” Vida replied, adjusting the duck, which had listed to the pillbox’s port side. Maybe he’d spent time at the VI’s bar when his owner wasn’t looking. “That was a few years ago. Mandy didn’t care for the job’s rather unsavory aspects. She’s filling in for her cousin, Nicole, who’s taking college classes. A journalism major, as you may recall. Somehow I inspired her.” Vida’s attempt to look modest failed.
As usual, Vida chose the booth with the best window view to keep track of the passing parade. “Oh, dear,” she said under her breath, “there goes Crazy Eights Neffel on a unicycle. He really shouldn’t weave in and out of traffic like that.” She gasped; the duck wobbled. “Goodness! He just swerved into the clock tower by the bank!”
I turned around to try to see how our local loony had landed, but a UPS truck blocked my view.
“That’s my nephew Ronnie Blatt driving,” Vida said. “I wonder if he’ll stop to see if Crazy Eights is hurt. It’d serve him right if he is.”
Ronnie and the UPS truck moved on. I noticed a couple of people apparently helping Crazy Eights. I suggested it to Vida as a “Scene” item.
She shook her head. “You know I try to avoid sightings of that lunatic. It only eggs him on.” She opened the menu and frowned. “The special is a roast beef sandwich with a side of potato salad and a dill pickle. That sounds rather skimpy, don’t you think?”
I shrugged. “I’m going for the fish and chips with the coleslaw.”
“Oh.” Vida frowned. “Maybe I should have that, too. I suspect it’d be more slimming. You’re very fortunate you don’t have to count calories,” she murmured, putting the menu aside. “Genetics, of course. I’m forced to watch my weight. Oh—here’s Mandy.”
Vida’s niece looked as if she should be watching her weight, too. Mandy hadn’t shed most of the pounds she’d gained during pregnancy, despite the baby being almost a year old. But most of the Runkel and Blatt women were big-boned and tall. No matter how much Vida fussed about her diet, I could never tell if she’d gained or lost an ounce.
I drifted while aunt and niece exchanged family chitchat. Finally, Vida inquired about the fish and chips. “There are only
two
pieces of fish?” she asked in dismay.
“They’re good-sized portions,” Mandy said.
“Hmmm.” Vida fretted her upper lip. “Might you be able to add just one more? Smallish, of course.”
“Sure, Aunt Vida,” Mandy replied. “Anything else?”
“Well … I’m not that fond of coleslaw, dear. I noticed there was potato salad with the special. Could you substitute that?”
“I can try,” her niece offered.
Vida nodded. “Fine. As for the chips, the last time I had them, there didn’t seem to be enough to go around with the fish. I like my fish
and
chips to come out even. They complement each other so nicely,
“Right,” I said, “but he wasn’t from Eastern Washington. Do you have time to eat lunch with me?”
“I don’t have time to eat lunch, period,” Milo grumbled. “I have to go with Tanya to her appointment with Dr. Reed at twelve-thirty and I’m shorthanded with Heppner out sick. I’ll be lucky to be home by six. Tanya’s coming for dinner. Bill’s pulling night duty.”
“Poor you. I’ll go away now and leave you alone.”
“If I were alone, I’d have some free time.” Milo hung up on me. Married or not, there were some habits he couldn’t seem to break.
Vida, however, was free for lunch. In fact, she asked if I’d like to join her at the Venison Inn. “One of my Gustavson nieces is working there during the lunch hour. Mandy—you remember her?”
“Yes,” I said, not even bothering to try untangling the branches on Vida’s enormous family tree. “Wasn’t she training to be the daytime bartender before she quit to have a baby?”
“Just briefly,” Vida replied, adjusting the duck, which had listed to the pillbox’s port side. Maybe he’d spent time at the VI’s bar when his owner wasn’t looking. “That was a few years ago. Mandy didn’t care for the job’s rather unsavory aspects. She’s filling in for her cousin, Nicole, who’s taking college classes. A journalism major, as you may recall. Somehow I inspired her.” Vida’s attempt to look modest failed.
As usual, Vida chose the booth with the best window view to keep track of the passing parade. “Oh, dear,” she said under her breath, “there goes Crazy Eights Neffel on a unicycle. He really shouldn’t weave in and out of traffic like that.” She gasped; the duck wobbled. “Goodness! He just swerved into the clock tower by the bank!”
I turned around to try to see how our local loony had landed, but a UPS truck blocked my view.
“That’s my nephew Ronnie Blatt driving,” Vida said. “I wonder if he’ll stop to see if Crazy Eights is hurt. It’d serve him right if he is.”
Ronnie and the UPS truck moved on. I noticed a couple of people apparently helping Crazy Eights. I suggested it to Vida as a “Scene” item.
She shook her head. “You know I try to avoid sightings of that lunatic. It only eggs him on.” She opened the menu and frowned. “The special is a roast beef sandwich with a side of potato salad and a dill pickle. That sounds rather skimpy, don’t you think?”
I shrugged. “I’m going for the fish and chips with the coleslaw.”
“Oh.” Vida frowned. “Maybe I should have that, too. I suspect it’d be more slimming. You’re very fortunate you don’t have to count calories,” she murmured, putting the menu aside. “Genetics, of course. I’m forced to watch my weight. Oh—here’s Mandy.”
Vida’s niece looked as if she should be watching her weight, too. Mandy hadn’t shed most of the pounds she’d gained during pregnancy, despite the baby being almost a year old. But most of the Runkel and Blatt women were big-boned and tall. No matter how much Vida fussed about her diet, I could never tell if she’d gained or lost an ounce.
I drifted while aunt and niece exchanged family chitchat. Finally, Vida inquired about the fish and chips. “There are only
two
pieces of fish?” she asked in dismay.
“They’re good-sized portions,” Mandy said.
“Hmmm.” Vida fretted her upper lip. “Might you be able to add just one more? Smallish, of course.”
“Sure, Aunt Vida,” Mandy replied. “Anything else?”
“Well … I’m not that fond of coleslaw, dear. I noticed there was potato salad with the special. Could you substitute that?”
“I can try,” her niece offered.
Vida nodded. “Fine. As for the chips, the last time I had them, there didn’t seem to be enough to go around with the fish. I like my fish
and
chips to come out even. They complement each other so nicely,
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