Final Harvest by Barbara Howard

Author:Barbara Howard
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Short reads, African American Romance, Cozy Mystery, New Adult Fiction, African American Mystery
Publisher: Barbara Howard
Published: 2020-07-31T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

A CASE OF RIVER FOX Ale, you got it.

Traci tapped Send on the text message to Josh.

Next, she opened the B-Sober app and checked her tracker.

4 Days Since Your Last Drink ~ Great Work! *dancing sombreros*

She felt Officer Wells staring at her and she put her phone away. “Sorry,” she said brushing her hair back, “what were you saying?”

“What appetizers should we start with?”

Traci had accepted this impromptu “non-date” at Moe’s Tavern on the drive home simply because her growling stomach had betrayed her. He had suggested that they have dinner while waiting out the Raging Reds baseball game traffic that had backed up the highway. And he insisted that she call him Randall when he was not in uniform. She finally acquiesced and could feel the walls between them starting to fall.

She agreed that there was no point in sitting in the car hungry and tense from her encounter with Earl Garrett. It also gave her a chance to figure out something that had been plaguing her mind. They each picked a selection from the menu and waited to be served. Moe’s Tavern had been around for decades, a staple in Faucier County, but Traci had never been inside. She had never eaten in a full-service restaurant before, as a matter of fact. Her kitchen drawer full of condiment packets and stacks of takeout menus were a testament of that.

Randall had countered the first table offered by the hostess and opted for a location on the patio. They watched the sun lowering behind Mount PierPoint and the evening glow of candlelit tables and hanging lanterns encircled them. Under the table, Traci weaved her fingers together and pressed them into her palms. Across from her, Randall carried the conversation with more stories of his childhood baseball games and family vacations.

Traci stared at the tray of sashimi in the middle of the table, totally regretting that she let Randall choose the appetizer. He picked up a piece between his thumb and middle finger.

“Looks like they didn’t cook it,” Traci grimaced.

“Right,” he said and chuckled sweetly. “It’s fantastic. Try it.”

“I’ll pass,” she said as she sipped her iced tea and then slathered more butter on her dinner roll.

“My dad used to bring our team here after the Tornadoes ball games,” Randall said, “that’s back when they would let us kids run the bases at Porter Stadium.

“Sounds like fun,” Traci said and she meant it, “Did you grow up in Keeferton?”

“No,” he said, wiping his fingers on a napkin. “We moved a lot. My father was in the military. I never knew why he picked this area to retire. Eventually, my brother enlisted. Then I did.” He took a sip of beer, “My father’s buried at Riverview Memorial.” He took another sip, “My brother’s been MIA for almost nine years.”

Traci looked over her glass at Randall. She put it down and placed her hands in her lap. She understood that loss. Someone dead, but not totally gone. It’s that in-between place the most people don’t understand when you talk about it.

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