Free Mustard on Top by Wanda Degolier Page B

temper firsthand, and hated that Seth, in a warped way, had been trying to protect her.
    Helen turned back toward Hot Diggitys. Someone stood and held a dark, cylindrically shaped object. “This might be it.”
    Wondering if she’d be charged with some sort of wrongdoing, Helen walked slowly back. One of the police officers, wearing a pair of latex gloves, was examining the object.
    Ben approached Helen and asked, “Are you okay? You look stricken.”
    “I’ll be fine.”
    The officer carried the chunk to the Hot Diggitys’ counter and asked, “Who’s in charge here?”
    “I’m Helen Ableman,” Helen answered from behind him. “I own Hot Diggitys.”
    The officer got her name and title before asking if the thing in his hand had shot from the building and struck the injured man.
    Helen answered, “I honestly don’t know. I didn’t see what happened, but—”
    Ben broke in. “I’m her counsel and am speaking on her behalf. At this time she has no comment.”
    “Excuse me,” Helen said.
    “Trust me,” Ben whispered under his breath.
    “If my company is to blame, I’ll take responsibility officer. Can I see that thing?”
    The officer frowned, pulled a pair of gloves from his back pocket, and held them out to her. Helen put them on, and he handed her the black lump. It was hard, lightweight, and bumpy, like a lava rock and smelled like burned meat with a hint of spice. It was also covered with dirt.
    “Hard to say. Maybe if I rinse the dirt off, we can get a better idea.”
    The officer nodded.
    With the officer on her heels, Helen entered Hot Diggitys, went to the sink, cranked the twenty-year-old faucet, and held the lump under it. Instantly, it dissolved. “Oops.” She showed the officer the black, silt-like ashes.
    The officer sighed then produced a baggy, and Helen brushed the sludge into it. The officer said, “I’ll need to get a statement.”
    Although Ben continually interrupted them, Helen answered the officer’s questions truthfully.
    An hour later, things had returned to relative normalcy. The customers kept coming, and Hot Diggity’s employees filled orders. The final meal served, Helen slid the door down that enclosed the Hot Diggity’s counter and register. She addressed Theo. “I’m going to stop by the hospital to check on our guy before I drop these off.” She held up the bags of food for her homeless friends.
    “Okay, Mom.”
    Helen arrived at the hospital only to learn visiting hours were over. Disappointed, she left a note that wished the injured man well, apologized for the incident, and gave him her contact information. Afterward, she drove to where the train tracks met the forest and dropped off the food. On her way home, she hands trembled. Disappointed about her previous days’ bad eating habits, she popped the glove box open, grabbed the last two glucose packs, and drank the contents.

    Chapter 5
    Agatha sat in her kitchen staring at the newspaper. The words on the page shimmied to her brain, but stopped short of making sense. They couldn’t compete with her angst. The angst brought on by her dozing son and the giant of a man who had visited, looking for him. Things were coming to a head.
    Agatha lifted her cup of tea to her lips and sipped. The warm liquid wetted her dry throat. How long had she wallowed in her thoughts? Four days had passed since Jeremy’s arrival and already he was sneaking off at night and was sleeping through the day. Disgusted with her own inaction, Agatha rose to her feet.
    Until he’d appeared in her home, the last time she’d seen Jeremy was at Alfred’s funeral three years earlier. In a haze of grief at the time, she could barely recall her interactions with him. Regardless, he had taken the money Alfred had bestowed upon him and disappeared.
    Agatha climbed the stairs and stopped in front of Jeremy’s old room. She knocked. “Jeremy?” Nothing, louder. “Jeremy.” She opened the door and gagged at the vinegary smell mixed with