Over the years Otto’s building had been home to everything from basket shop to bakery, grocery store to furniture emporium, pizza joint to antique shop, even a record shop where her father said he’d bought his first David Bowie album.
Now it was a cozy breakfast and lunch spot, its specialties banana bread French toast and the daily quiche. For Krista and other locals, the restaurant was a nice alternative away from Main Street and the tourists the town depended on. Some of those visitors would be resourceful and adventurous enough to seek Otto’s Place out.
The restaurant was only open till 2:00 p.m., and it was a little after one already — Krista had worked over the noon hour, as usual, to cover for clerk-dispatcher Maggie. But Jessy was already here, across the little dining room, perched at a chair at the counter facing the window on the kitchen, an open seat next to her. Jessy liked to sit there, closer to the wine on display.
Krista hung up her windbreaker, then slipped past the tightly arranged wooden tables and chairs, only a few of which were taken so near closing. Those who glanced up from their meals at the uniformed police officer moving among them were likely stray tourists.
The front of the place was all windows and sunshine streaming in, pleasant enough if you weren’t sitting in it. Framed local art adorned the walls, and a wooden staircase at left yawned up to the secondary dining area. Right now a young blonde waitress in a T-shirt and jeans with a brown apron classing them up was coming down with a pot of coffee in hand. She nodded at frequent customer Krista, who smiled and nodded back.
Jessy was sipping a glass of what was almost certainly white zinfandel. As Krista slipped onto the chair next to her, Jessy smiled and said, “My first glass, officer. I swear.”
“Public swearing is a violation,” Krista said.
“No shit?”
Both young women laughed a little; it didn’t deserve much more than that.
Jessy had been Krista’s best friend in high school. She was not then and was not now a raving beauty, her nose a little big for her face, but she’d been very popular thanks to her big brown long-lashed eyes and great smile and curvy little figure, all of which she still had. When Krista had played basketball, Jessy — head cheerleader — had lobbied for the cheer squad to travel to out-of-town games to support the girls. Krista still loved her for that.
Now Jessy Webster was one of Galena’s top real estate agents. She wore her dark brown hair short and wore dark suits and brightly colored silk blouses. Today was no exception. Orange blouse. Navy jacket and slacks.
“So,” Krista said, “are you ready?”
Both women knew what she meant by that: the Class of 2009 reunion was this weekend — tonight, the casual get-together, tomorrow the more formal night out at Lake View Lodge.
“As I’ll ever be,” Jessy said, eyes widening before sipping the white zin.
The friendly blonde waitress in the brown apron was behind the counter now. Krista ordered the asparagus, mushroom, and Swiss cheese quiche-of-the-day, with a cup of black coffee (never too late for caffeine in the life of a cop), and Jessy had the chicken-salad-and-bacon club sandwich and a second glass of wine (something of a risk when the chief of police was having lunch with you, and you were driving).
“I wish I’d had time,” Krista said, between sips of coffee, “to help you guys out on the reunion committee.”
“Well frankly,” she said, and sipped more white zin, “once Dave Landry stepped up, there wasn’t much left to do. He’s providing everything... and bargain-rate lodging.”
David Landry was the general manager of Lake View Lodge, his father one of the owners of the lavish resort on Lake Galena in the rolling hills of Galena Territory — four golf courses, several indoor pools, and full-scale spa. And two hundred usually pricey rooms, sitting mostly empty in off-season, which likely had helped encourage Landry’s largesse.
Krista smiled a little. “Like the yearbook said — the Boy Most Likely.”
“Likely to inherit his old man’s money,” Jessy said with a smirk. Then she shrugged. “But, really — we’re lucky to have him in the class. Not many high school reunions get this kind of royal treatment, with one generous classmate picking up most of the tab.”
“Who’s he trying to impress?”
“You coppers are so suspicious. But if I had to guess?”
“Guess, guess.”
Jessy leaned toward her. “Remember how bad he had it for Astrid?”
Krista gave up a light laugh. “And why shouldn’t he? She was the Girl Most Likely.”
“Most Likely to Dump Him back then. Most Likely to Snub Him now.”
Krista’s brow frowned while she smiled at her friend. “Astrid isn’t coming, is she? Would she really lower herself?”
Astrid Lund — class salutatorian, president of student council every damn year, president of Drama Club, editor of the school paper, The Spyglass — had looked like Kate Hudson only more beautiful. She seemed most likely to be a famous movie star. But instead she’d merely gone into broadcast journalism and a celebrated career — currently an on-air investigative reporter for Chicago’s WLG-TV on the city’s top-rated nightly newscast. She’d be anchoring on a network someday.
Astrid Lund was the single most famous person to graduate with their class. Also, the only famous person to graduate with their class. Well, maybe a few others rivaled her...
“I don’t think she’d miss it,” Jessy said. “The chance to lord it over everybody while she pretends to be nice? You should know better than anybody she wasn’t the Ms. Goody-Goody-Two-Shoes she tried to pass herself off as.”
“Should I?”
The big brown eyes got bigger and bored into Krista. “Didn’t she steal Jerry away from you, senior year? If I may be so blunt? After all, she stole Josh from me, for a while. Greedy little buh... witch.”
Josh was Jessy’s husband. He ran the All American Popcorn Store on Main, a family business. They’d been married since shortly after graduation, and parents six months later.
Krista asked, “How many glasses of wine does that make?”
“Just two. My limit.”
Their food arrived.
“You and me, we both got our revenge,” Jessy said with a shrug, before biting into the club sandwich. “Didn’t we?”
“How so?”
Jessy shrugged again. “I got Josh, and my girls, and you got Jerry back, didn’t you? Took you a while, but... how’s that going, by the way?”
Matter-of-factly, Krista told her friend about shooing Jerry out of the house to make room for a new boarder.
“Your dad’s living with you now? Since when?”
“Since Sunday.”
Jessy frowned sympathetically. “How’s he doing?”
She nodded, smiled. “Good. Better than I expected. We’re getting along. He’s a better cook than me, that’s for sure.”
Jessy was studying Krista the way she might a water-damaged ceiling. “Does he know you booted Jerry out to make room for him?”
Krista gave her friend a condensed account of how Pop had played detective and brought her to justice. And how Jerry had dropped by the office, with an interview as cover, and how badly that had gone.
Jessy sipped white zin. “Weren’t you going to the reunion with him?”
“I was. I guess I’m going stag now, or whatever you call a girl without a date.”
“Call her a woman with possibilities.”
They ate awhile. Even Jessy seemed to know having a date was better than possibilities.
Krista asked, “Who else is coming that you know of?”
“Reservations came in from quite a few out-of-towners. Chicago contingent includes Alex Cannon — would you believe it?”