No Story to Tell by K. J. Steele Read Free Book Online Page B

empty.
    “Well, that was very kind of you to make that dressing up for us Pearl, but we’d prefer just Thousand Islands all by itself.”
    “But I only got one bottle left.”
    “Well, good. It shouldn’t be a problem then should it?”
    “But . . . it ain’t opened yet. I gotta keep my costs down, ya know. Ya don’t know nothin’ ‘bout runnin’ a res’rant. I gotta keep my costs down.” Pearl’s eyes were running a little wild as she felt herself being pushed beyond her will.
    “Pearl,” Rose said, her voice rising as she began to lose patience. “We’d like our salads the way we ordered, please.”
    “But, I’d have to make new ones!” Pearl’s eyes stretched wide, her mouth gaping in protest.
    “That’s right. Listen, Pearl, you remember what we talked about, right? You remember what you told me?”
    Pearl’s head gave an imperceptible nod, a flickering of fear shadowing her eyes.
    “Well, okay then. We don’t want to get back into all that now, do we?”
    Pearl shook her head, her gray face slumping as she scooped the salads up and shuffled off toward the kitchen. Halfway there something caught her eye, and Victoria noticed her mood seemed to brighten considerably. Following her gaze out the window Victoria could see a flashy Buick depositing a rather disoriented-looking couple out onto the sidewalk. Both were impeccably dressed. The man wore a crisp navy sports jacket, a glowing white shirt and gray slacks. His wife was a study in black. Calf-length black skirt and chin-height black turtleneck set off by a somber pair of black pumps. The only ingredient saving her from complete dowdiness was an expensive-looking pearl necklace, which entwined itself around her elongated, erect neck. These she played with anxiously while perusing the outside of the hotel, rubbing the pearls like an impromptu rosary. Pearl stood stock-still as she watched them edge closer to the café, her eyes slit in careful concentration.
    “Can I help ya?” she called out cheerfully as soon as they had scraped open the door and took a couple of tentative steps inside.
    “Uh,” the woman uttered then stopped, apparently tongue-tied by such a ludicrous suggestion. Her quick, pinched eyes made an indiscreet, unfavorable judgment against the room and its occupants.
    “I’m not sure,” droned her husband. He spoke as if something sticky had lodged itself in the roof of his mouth.
    “You folks from around here?” Pearl asked as she slithered around behind them to discourage any thoughts of leaving.
    “Ow! No,” the woman retorted brusquely. “We’re not from anywhere around here. We’re from Montreal. And before that, London, England.”
    “Hmm. Well, that explains the funny way yous speak,” Pearl replied. “Spose you come up for the funeral today, then?” she said with a slight indication toward the woman’s black attire.
    Victoria smiled over at Rose as a few of the regulars cast smirks and glances around the café, everyone knowing there was no funeral in Hinckly that day.
    “Uh, no,” the man said, hesitatingly taking a step backward as Pearl inched toward him. “We’re not here for the funeral. We’re not here at all, actually. We were just passing through on our way up to Alaska and thought we might stop for something to eat.”
    “Well, you’s lickety-split right in time,” Pearl said, smiling grittily. She shuffled a few steps closer to him and again he stepped backward, Pearl slowly but surely edging him toward a booth with all the skill of a well-seasoned herd dog. “Ain’t it jus' a stroke of luck? I was jus' gittin' this here table all set up with this here house salad.” She waved her hands forcibly toward him, and he sat down abruptly to avoid being pummeled by a salad bowl.
    Moving quickly, Pearl positioned herself in front of his booth, sealing off his escape. Seeing her husband ensnared, the woman had little choice but to follow suit. Which she did, all the while slicing daggers at