Chapter 4 - The Diner ShadowDawn broke with a cold, grey drizzle that slicked the streets of Route 9. I felt hollowed out, having slept barely an hour. Every creak of the old wooden floorboards sounded like an intruder stepping through the front door.
I managed to get the children dressed, fed, and off to school, but my hands shook so badly I dropped a coffee mug, shattering it against the linoleum.
"Grandma, you're acting weird today," Ben said, pausing by the door with his dinosaur backpack. "Are you sick?"
"Just a headache, buddy," I forced a tight smile, kneeling down to ruffle his hair. "Be good for Lily. I'll see you right after school."
At 8:00 AM, I clocked in at the diner. The smell of frying bacon and stale coffee, usually comforting, now made my stomach churn. My boss, Martha, noticed my distraction immediately as I wiped down counter stools.
"Hey, Carolyn, you look like you've seen a ghost," Martha said, tossing a dish towel over her shoulder. "You want to take the early shift off? You've looked wrung out since your daughter..." She trailed off, looking apologetic.
"I'm fine, Martha. Really. I need the work," I replied quickly.
Around noon, the bell above the diner door chimed. Two men walked in out of the rain. They didn't look like regular patrons. Both wore immaculate charcoal suits, expensive overcoats that didn't belong in a greasy spoon diner on Route 9, and kept their sunglasses on despite the gloomy weather.
They sat at the very last booth in the corner—the one with a clear view of the entire room, including the register where I stood.
My breath caught. Darla’s warning echoed in my ears: Not the men wearing dark suits who will come asking questions.
I kept my head down, grabbing a notepad and a pot of coffee, forcing my legs to move toward their table. My knees protested with every step.
"Morning, gentlemen. What can I get you?" I asked, keeping my voice steady through sheer willpower.
The man on the left looked up. He had sharp, hawklike features, a thin scar running along his jawline, and cold, dead eyes that appraised me like a piece of meat on a butcher's block.
"Just black coffee, ma'am," the man said, his voice smooth, low, and laced with an unmistakable menace. "And maybe a little information."
"I only serve food, mister," I replied sharply, turning to walk away.
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The man’s hand shot out, catching my wrist with a grip like a vice. His fingers were cold, pressing into my arthritic bones with terrifying strength.
"We know about the delivery truck, Mrs. Vance—excuse me, Mrs. Miller," the man whispered, leaning across the table so only I could hear. "We know what Darla left behind. You’re an old woman who loves her grandchildren, aren't you? It would be such a shame if an accidental fire broke out at your little house tonight while the kids are sleeping."
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