Free Diners, Dives & Dead Ends by Terri L. Austin Page A

heard from him.”  I turned back
to Packard.  “That’s all he said?  You’re not leaving anything out?”
    He sighed.  “No.  Axton and
I aren’t exactly close.  If there was something wrong, I’d be the last person
he’d tell.”
    “And yet, he called you.”  I
set down my mug, picked up my purse, and dug around for a pen and paper.  “Thanks
for the coffee.  If you hear from him again, here’s my home number and my
cell.” 
    “Is there anything we can do
to help?” Sheila asked.
    “If I think of anything,
I’ll call you.  I thought I’d give your mom a call, too.  See if she’s heard
from Ax.”
    “Absolutely not.  She’s an
elderly woman and I won’t have you dragging her into this.”
    Sheila sighed.  “She’s in
the middle of the Mediterranean anyway.  Month long cruise.”
    Must be nice.  “Then I’m off
to file a missing person report.”
    Packard swiveled toward me
and shoved a finger in my face.  “Wait a minute, you can’t go to the police
with this.”
    I wanted to grab his finger
and twist it, but I batted it away with the back of my hand instead.  “I told
you, it’s been forty-eight hours.”
    “This can’t get out.  The
press will be all over it.”  I remembered my mother said Packard was thinking
of running for mayor.  Well, guess who wasn’t getting my vote?  I was beginning
to understand why Axton didn’t talk to his brother.  Packard was an ass. 
    “Oh my gosh, Pack, I can’t
believe you,” Sheila said.  “You’ve gone insane, you know that?”
    “I have a certain reputation
in this town—”
    “Maybe so, but he’s your
brother,” Sheila said.  
    The two continued to argue as
I ducked out of the kitchen, down the hall, through the front door and back
onto the brick stoop.  I wondered if they even noticed I left.
    My last stop for the night,
despite the fact it was after ten o’clock, was the police station.  I didn’t
care about Packard or his self-aggrandizing reputation, I just needed help looking
for Axton.
    Unfortunately, I left the
police station feeling helpless and dejected.  It had been a complete waste of
time.  I told my story to some bored desk cop who typed it into his computer. 
I was starting to get the impression the police weren’t that concerned about a
missing stoner.  But this wasn’t just any stoner we were talking about.  This
was my missing stoner.  Axton.  My bud, my rock, my expert on dorky sci-fi movies
from the fifties.  I missed eating off-brand pizza rolls with him, missed
listening to him lecture about the graphics of game design.  I missed him translating
English words into Klingon.  Sa’Hut was his fave.  That’s buttocks to
you and me.  I just missed him, period.
    As I drove home, I was
hyperaware of other cars on the road—making sure no one followed me.  And when
I reached my parking lot, it took ten minutes to work up the nerve to run from
my car to the building.  I didn’t like this feeling, as if someone was watching
me, waiting for me.  It was exhausting. 
     
     
    The next morning at the diner,
Ma was in bossy mode.  “No, Jorge, you need more sugar in the glaze.”
    Jorge smiled.  “Okay,
Ma.”   
    Ma nodded in satisfaction
and moved over by the grill to stand next to Ray.  “Are you using too much
butter, son?”
    Ray grunted.
    I pulled an apron around my
waist and tied it.  Although no unwelcome visitors showed up last night, I
still hadn’t gotten much sleep.  I tossed and turned and jumped at every little
noise while my brain spun in circles over Axton.  I was tired and cranky, but I
slapped a smile on my face.  “Good morning, everyone.”   
    Jorge waved, Ray mumbled
something, and Ma walked over and hugged me.  “How you doing this morning,
toots?”
    “Not so well.  I still
haven’t heard from Ax, I made a police report last night, and Axton’s brother
is an a-hole.”
    “I have a feeling things
will turn out all right.”  She squeezed