“Phoebe.” I didn’t bother faking any enthusiasm for her appearance. “I didn’t realize you were here. If you want to take a seat, I’ll send out one of my cousins to wait on you.” There was no sense pretending that I wanted to wait on her. It was a bad idea for us to interact in any sense, and not just because I couldn’t stop myself from licking her food before serving it. “We’re still serving breakfast for a bit, but you can get lunch if you want.”
“That’s sweet, but I’m watching my carbs.” Phoebe’s eyes flashed as she took in my uniform. “It’s best when you get our age to start monitoring calorie and fat intake because the deposits become harder to shake the older you get. You might want to get on that.”
“I hear it’s best to start wearing adult diapers at some point, too,” I drawled. “You might want to get on that.”
“Yes, well ... I’m not here for the food, or what you laughingly refer to as wisdom.”
I inclined my head toward the door. “The gas station is that way.”
“I’m not here for gas either. I’m here to talk to your grandfather.”
My internal trouble sensor started alerting. “You want to talk to Grandpa?” As far as I knew, the only interaction my grandfather and Phoebe had was of the “you’re sitting in my spot and I don’t like you” variety. “May I ask why?”
“You may not.” Phoebe was prim as she tugged on her suit jacket to smooth it. “This is business, not pleasure.”
“Really? Do you mean you’re not here to try to steal my grandfather from my grandmother? I’m shocked.”
Her expression turned cold. “I really must speak to your grandfather. We have a situation.”
Phoebe headed the Downtown Development Authority — an entity that couldn’t justify its existence in a town as small as Shadow Hills, as far as I was concerned. That could only mean one thing ... and it wasn’t anything good.
“I’m guessing he won’t want to talk to you,” I countered. “Maybe you should tell me what you want and I’ll file it away for later. Then, when he’s in an especially good mood — perhaps next May or something — I’ll broach the subject.”
Phoebe shifted from one foot to the other, although I very much doubted it was because of discomfort. It was more annoyance. “I’m not leaving until I talk to your grandfather. What I have to discuss with him is no concern of yours — you’re a waitress, for crying out loud. I need to speak to the business owner.”
I was used to her condescending attitude. She’d been condescending all of my life. The fact that she thought she wielded actual power in her position with the DDA actually made me want to laugh. Still, her very presence grated.
“Well, I’ll head to the back and mention that you’re here,” I said. “He’s working the grill, so I don’t know if he’ll have time to talk to you.”
“One of your loser cousins or uncles will undoubtedly relieve him for lunch,” Phoebe pointed out. “If I have to wait, I’ll wait.”
Well that would put Grandpa in a good mood. “I’ll see what he has to say.” I kept my fake smile in place as I returned to the kitchen, shaking my head when I found Grandpa leaning against one of the freezers and eating the scrambled eggs. “I was kidding when I said you had to eat them.”
“You know I hate food going to waste.”
“You just like eating.” We had that in common, so I decided to move on from the conversation. “Phoebe Green is here.”
“Did you kick her?”
“No.”
“Slap her?”
“No.”
“How about pulling her hair? She needs a good hair pull.”
I stalked closer to him. “Look, as much as I hate her, she deserves a modicum of respect. You can’t call women girls. It’s demeaning.”
“She is a girl.”
“She’s a woman.”
“Aren’t women girls?”
I had no time to waste explaining political correctness. “She says she has to talk to you about something important.”
“Oh, I bet.” Grandpa shoveled a huge forkful of eggs into his mouth and proceeded to chew. Unlike most everyone else I knew, he didn’t believe that chewing and talking had to be separate activities. “You know how we were talking about perverts earlier? Well, your little friend is one of the worst.”
I frowned. “Are you saying Phoebe wants you to do something perverted?”
“I’m saying she gets her jollies irritating me.”
“I wouldn’t necessarily argue with that,” I hedged. “But I’m not sure what that has to do with anything.”
“She’s a pervert. I hate perverts.”
“You’re a nudist who walks out to get your mail naked every morning,” I reminded him. “You think the old ladies in the neighborhood like seeing you all ... free ... and stuff. Isn’t it a little rich for you to call anyone a pervert?”
“No.” Annoyance positively dripped from his tongue. “That’s my constitutional right. I’m allowed to do whatever I want on my own property.”
“Yeah, I don’t think that’s how that works.”
“That’s because you’ve never been interested in how our government works. You always had your head in the clouds and worried about frou-frou stuff like metaphors ... and comma splices.”
I kept my expression impassive, but it took effort. My grandfather never understood my love of the written language. In fact, when I told him I was going to be a writer — I believe I was about eight at the time — he told me to embrace a more practical profession, like plumbing. Yet when my cousin Alice told him she was going to grow up to be a princess, he was all for it. The man was odd in multiple senses.
“Let’s forget the pervert stuff,” I suggested, holding up my hands. There was no one better at derailing a conversation than my grandfather, and I was positive that was his intention now. “What does Phoebe want?”
He opened his mouth, but I shook my head to cut him off.
“I do not want to hear the word ‘pervert’ come out of your mouth,” I warned.
He grimaced. “Fine. If you want to know the truth, she’s on me about some parking lot maintenance.”
I pursed my lips. My grandfather was known for waging wars with local officials over certain issues, including building codes and beautification requirements. I figured whatever Phoebe wanted had to be along those lines. “Do they want you to replace the curb things again? You’d think they’d learned their lesson after the last time when you made them look like giant penises.”
Grandpa glared at me. “Hot dogs! They were supposed to look like hot dogs!”
“Yeah, but those metal bar things at the ends made them look like penises. The better message was sent by letting their minds wander to the dirty. Hot dogs were only mildly annoying. Penises got the whole town talking.”
“And that’s why you’re a pervert, too.” Grandpa rolled his neck. “It’s not about the curbs. They want me to paint lines for the parking spaces.”