Blood in the Ozarks

8. Take the Pancakes

After an afternoon of dealing with Sheriff Dinah, another call with Cian, and a deputy who somehow set an office trashcan on fire, I couldn't imagine continuing to work. Yet, there I was the single patron of a scuzzy diner that even the locals didn't seem to pay attention to anymore. The building was the only one on the block not renovated in the last 40 years. It was almost like the place had been built there initially and everything seemed to grow around it while it remained stopped in time.

I had loaded up my laptop and pushed through the urge to lay down on my freshly made bed at the hotel. Instead, I Googled late night places to eat and headed for the nearest one.

Diners was something I started in college. I needed an all night place I could study, but not listen to my roommates gossip and neighbors blast house music into all hours of the night. I was a bit of a nerd, but it got me here. Now I found a diner or even an IHOP if I had to in whatever city I was in so that I could get a cup of coffee and a clear view of my ideas.

Country music and the smell of fried everything met me as I entered Jerry's Diner. The whole restaurant was a faded crimson and cream decor with cracked vinyl seats and dust covered curtains. What was once meant to be a kitschy 1950s theme was now a sad decrepit relic the time left far behind.

"Have a seat anywhere, sugar," a waitress instructed from behind the bar top counter. As I grabbed a booth in the dead center of the row, she made her way around the counter with an oversized menu.

The waitress was a robust woman with an excessive amount of lip gloss in a shade of mauve that capped off her make-up smoothed complexion. A name tag pinned to her polo shirt uniform read "Yvonne" with a fading happy face sticker stuck over the e.

Yvonne made her way over to the booth I'd selected and handed me a tall plastic menu with a few spots of what I hoped was syrup stuck to it.

"Can I get ya anything to drink?"

"A glass of water would be fine, thanks."

"Take all the time you need. I'll be back in a second," she instructed before sauntering off.

A florescent bulb in the ceiling buzzed and flickered overhead as I scanned the menu. After a lunch consisting of vending machine food from the Sheriff's Office, I was starving for real food. Jerry's Diner had a wide variety of options. They served everything from chocolate pie to made-to-order omelets, and all available 24/7. As tempted as I was for a large plate of only french fries, I decided to go for a less heart attack inducing meal.

Yvonne made her way back to my table with a glass of water. She was humming along with the radio as she set down the red plastic cup and took out her notepad. "What can I get ya?" She asked between bars.

"I'll have the Cobb salad, please." I started to hand her the menu, but stopped when I saw her face.

She grimaced at my selection, but wrote it down.

"Okay, maybe not the Cobb salad," I retracted.

By the look she gave me the Cobb salad was a bowl of wilted lettuce and a pile of cheese to mask the sadness. I browsed the menu trying to find something with less of a knee-jerk reaction.

After a moment, the waitress leaned over and said, "I would get the pancakes if you asked me. But no one ever does."

I wasn't normally a breakfast for dinner person, but when someone in a place like Jerry's makes a suggestion—you take it. Otherwise your order is a shot in the dark and you end up with the cheese salad.

"I'll take the pancakes then."

Yvonne nodded her approval, re-writing my order. "I'll get cha some warm syrup to go with 'em," she said, taking up my menu.