Free Hotter than Helen (The "Bobby's Diner" Series) by Susan Wingate Page B

something different, something sounding like surrender.
    She didn’t say goodbye when the phone went dead.
    This time she called Roberta asking for her to help in order to find Gangster.
    Georgette went to the cupboard and grabbed a can of cat food. She unzipped its lid, a final sure-fire way to get her cat to come to her, hoping the familiar sound, the ensuing call of Zummy! would bring Gangster back.
     
    19
    “Yes. Helen Wellen’s room, I believe she’s staying at your hotel, thank you.”
    Music intermixed with hotel ads looped in Georgette’s ear for so long she switched the phone from to the other ear. The hotel operator came back on the line saying no one was answering.
    “Yes, please. A voice message will be fine. Thank you.” Georgette agreed.
    The robot recorder announced Helen as the guest and instructed Georgette to speak after the brief tone. A bell droned and Georgette began.
    “Helen, it’s Georgette Carlisle. Look, I’m leaving Sunnydale for a while. I’m calling for two things—first, you’re not getting any part of my diner. Roberta has decided to buy in, so looks like you’re out. Don’t even think about contacting a lawyer. I’ll fight it until I have to sell the diner to some drifter if that’s what it takes to keep you out. And, second, you can have all of Hawthorne Biggs. Goodbye, Helen. I hope we never see each other again.”
    She hung up hard, hoping it would sound that way at the end of the message.
    ***
    Nearly six hours passed and Gangster still hadn’t returned when she finally went to bed at midnight. Georgette’s anxiety made her wake up during the night, rising every hour, looking around the house for him, going outside, calling his name, shining the flashlight, searching the desert around her house.
    Then she wondered if her mind playing tricks on her? She thought she heard him. That slight muffled mewl of him calling in desperation. But the windy night sucked sound away so fast it nearly laughed at her, letting her know her know how powerless she really was.
    Giving up each time, she returned to bed feeling somehow that Gangster knew she was looking for him but kept missing him. She couldn’t help but feel she was letting him down. She refused to think the unthinkable.
    Her eyes hung heavy with exhaustion when the doorbell chimed.
    She climbed out of bed. It was late the following morning and she still had to get to the diner. They could serve a leftover and call it the day’s special and serve it with extras for a dollar cheaper than yesterday’s dinner.
    The disappearance of her cat had consumed her now. That and the dismantling of her future with Hawthorne.
    Peering through the spy hole in the door, Georgette saw Roberta looking around outside, waiting for her.
    “Hey, Rob. I can’t believe this.” She said as she opened the door for her.
    “When did you see him last?”
    “Yesterday morning before work. I’m going nuts.”
    Roberta walked in and seeing no coffee had yet been made, went over to the pot and helped herself. She cranked open the water, filled the glass pot and poured it into the maker. Then she opened a cupboard and pulled out a can of Folgers. Something she always kidded Georgette about, but today she didn’t comment. Today Georgette wouldn’t take kidding kindly.
    “Well, maybe if you take one side of the property and I take the other, we might flush him out.”
    “I don’t know, Rob. It’s like, well, I’ve looked all over out there. He never goes off too far and even if he did, it’s not like we couldn’t spot him a mile away. It’s barren, just a couple of mesquite. It’s not like he can hide.”
    “No. You’re right. Gosh, George, what could’ve happened to him?” She paused and then spoke the thing Georgette had feared the most. “Do you think he got hit by a car?”
    “Oh, Rob, please. I thought I left him inside yesterday. I don’t remember though. Everything’s been so topsy-turvy in my life. Poor Gangster. It’s not