The Salty Taste of Murder by Christine Zane Thomas

Author:Christine Zane Thomas [Thomas, Christine Zane]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-11-01T00:00:00+00:00

TO: Foodie Allison <[email protected]>

FROM: Clay Adams<redacted>

SUBJECT: AGREED!!!

Allie,

I have to say I tend to agree with your review of The Southern Depot. Yes, it’s a shame about that girl. But the prices are SKY high! And the food—well, I’d as soon go to the diner. Good on you for your honesty!

Clay Adams

11

On my way home from the coffee shop, I took an ill-advised detour and drove past The Southern Depot. After all, hadn’t the girl said they’d be open for lunch today?

It was a little early, but kitchen prep would’ve started. There were a few cars in the parking lot. Miller’s truck was one, and there sitting in the same exact spot was the silver truck that had startled me yesterday. The other cars were probably kitchen and dining staff.

A honk from behind my car forced me into the realization I’d been putzing on a heavily trafficked road. To avoid the notice of an onlooker’s gaze, I kept going down the street and across the railroad tracks. When I got to Jefferson Street, I turned down it and went the long way home.

I’d gotten to thinking about that truck yesterday. Was the driver trying to scare me or was it some strange coincidence? This wasn’t a movie, after all. It was real life. People don’t do things like that in real life, do they? Maybe I’d just built it all up in my head…

But another thing about living alone was I’d gotten really good at internal monologue. The thoughts festered. I shouldn’t have let it get to me. But I couldn’t help it. It was like the fallout with Jessica in high school, only amplified—I guess I’ve been this way my whole life.

I raced inside the house having somewhat mentally formulated a plan. In the spare bedroom that I used to call an office, I kept an old bulletin board in the closet. I’d meant to hang it there on the wall. I’d hoped to have an office with a real desk—a place to write—a bookshelf, and inspiration hanging on the wall.

What I had was a room filled with clutter. The bookshelf was still in a box, unbuilt. Books were stacked on the floor. And I’d moved the nice desk out to the living room to be closer to the TV.

It took some digging, but I finally dug it out from behind a cardboard box filled with last year’s dinner receipts.

The board itself had come from my room at home that Mom still kept mostly intact. I scrounged items from it here and there. This bulletin board had been a prized possession at one time. Faded pictures of my childhood and notes from friends were tacked into the cork. I relished the memories before carefully stripping the photographs away.

The clutter of the room got to me. So, I set up shop again at my desk in the living room. There was a pink pad of sticky notes on the desk. I began scribbling on one after the other.

Organizing things had always been a stress reliever for me.

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