Page 15 of The Mystery of the Spirits
“I’m buying.”
Neil’s breath exploded over the microphone in static-y judgment. “I want diner breakfast.”
“I hate diner breakfast,” I grumbled.
“Goodbye.”
“No, hang on. Christ…. How about Saul’s?”
“TheGet Stuffedplace?”
“Yeah. They won’t even care that you’re grimy.”
Neil snorted but said, “Okay. Twenty minutes.”
CHAPTER FOUR
TheGet Stuffedthing was actually the diner’s slogan.
Saul’s Diner: Get Stuffed.
Which was every bit a commentary on their portion sizes as it was my sense of humor.
Saul’s was a midpoint between Calvin’s precinct and the Emporium—a place we didn’t haunt often, but was convenient enough when we did, due to their 24-7 service. It was an old eatery with mellow lighting—a likely strategic decision to mask the sometimes-grubby linoleum floor—classic high-back vinyl booths, and a wall of bank windows that overlooked the street. It was still quiet inside—me in a booth, looking toward the door, one older man at a table reading the newspaper and drinking what I think was his third or fourth refill of coffee, and two girls dressed for yesterday’s night out, both of them soldiering through plates of eggs and hash browns to soak up what was left of the alcohol in their bloodstreams.
The door opened and I glanced up from my sticky menu as Neil strolled in, looking decidedly….
“Why are you dressed like Ms. Frizzle?” I asked as he slid into the seat across from me.
Neil’s usually so carefully coiffed hair was ruffled, and the slim-cut suit that gave him hardboiled PI vibes had been replaced with jeans and a short-sleeve, button-down shirt printed with an insect pattern. I’d never seen Neil wear a patterned shirt.
“What’re you talking about?” Neil grabbed for the spare menu and flipped it open. “God, I’m starving….”
“The Rot Squad episode. Where they meet the bugs and slime and stuff found in decomp.”
“Bugs and slime and stuff,” Neil echoed absently, not looking up from the choice offerings of this unexceptional establishment. “I can’t believe you’re referencing a children’s TV show from the ’90s.”
“You watched it, I bet.”
“I was more of a Bill Nye kid.” He tapped a selection and closed the menu. “I had to change.”
I leaned across the tabletop, sniffed a few times, then said, “You smell like a fish market.”
“That’s why I had to change,” Neil reiterated.
I sat back and smirked. “Mister L. B. with the MD got you that shirt, didn’t he?”
“I’m not sure where you get off judging my attire when you aren’t exactly dressed for the ball either, Cinderella.”
I tapped the decal on my shirt and said, “But I do have a nice ass.”
“I’m not going to comment on my married, ex-boyfriend’s ass.”
A matronly woman with big hips and bigger hair joined us just then, removing a pad from the pocket of her apron and setting pen to paper. “What can I get you boys?”
“Coffee,” Neil said. “And scrambled eggs and bacon.”
She nodded and looked to me next, her lips pursed and eyebrows raised.
