“Going out?” Cal called from behind a lawn of fanned papers on his desk.

He didn’t look up until I slowed down. “Yeah, Sal’s diner on Brecker. In case we go missing.”

“Hmm…” Cal kept his tongue in his mouth out of respect for the supposed lady present, but I saw him thinking. His eye flicked to the crystal ball sitting on the corner of his desk. Nothing moved inside the bulged view of his office, but he nodded as if it had spoken to him. “Stay away from I-18.”

“Thanks. We’ll find another way.”

Marcella lingered, trying to get a look at Cal’s office. I guided her to the door, but she had her chance to peek around when it got stuck. As I convinced it to open, her eyes went from Cal to the muted TV playing the news in the corner of the room.

“What was that about?” she asked.

I got the door unstuck and turned around to grab Marcella. The image on the TV cut from the white noise of election news to an aerial view of a freeway, I-18. Cars and trucks were piled up with smoke spewing from crumpled hoods, blocking all three lanes of traffic.

I shrugged and pulled her through the doorway. She kept looking back over her shoulder, even when we were outside and blinded by the full force of the sunlight lensing through the fog. “I saw the sign, but I thought it was…”

“Bullshit?” I asked, leading her to Dolores parked on the curb. Virginia had her hand on the door before I thought to suggest we take her car, instead.

I was going to warn her it was rusted shut, but it opened for her. I let it go and got in the driver’s seat. Something about having Marcella around put Dolores on her best behavior. She started on the first try and hardly sputtered when I gave her some gas and got her moving.

Marcella made some notes as I drove. Owing to the jam on I-18, I took the side streets trending south, passing closer to The Margin than I would like to go.

Sal’s was on a corner lot, but there wasn’t much to look at on the cross streets. Kitty-corner to the diner was an abandoned car dealership with an expansive lot filled with nothing but weeds and empty wrappers tumbling in the wind. A name I recognized from garish, low-budget TV advertisements showed as a palimpsest in the block-letter weathering above the door. Before the sign had been removed, the sun had bleached the wall around the letters and gunk had built up at the edges.

Sal’s was a classic American diner, a chrome-plated monstrosity like an oversize Airstream with a bricked-glass vestibule. Freestanding letters shot out from the edge of the roof, projecting Sal’s name so astronauts could read it from orbit. An irregular quadrilateral, underscored by an arrow pointing toward the entrance, alerted prospective patrons that Sal’s three-fruit waffle stacks were not to be missed.

Marcella reached for the door as soon as I pulled into a spot facing the diner, but I was hesitant to even put Dolores in park. I looked for black Cadillacs first, but when I saw none, my myopic focus expanded to search out signs of violence, unfurled caution tape and chalk outlines. I finally hit on what set my alarm bells ringing when the diner’s door opened and two pot-bellied cops came rolling out.

The squirrel on the left held a pink cardboard box in his left hand and a glazed fritter in his right. The guinea pig next to him bore the sacred responsibility of carrying their coffees. They talked in the low grumble of cops who professed at every opportunity they were, “getting too old for this shit,” as they waddled to a cruiser parked in the handicap spot. I had been so tuned to ominous luxury sedans, I had missed the multiple police cars in the lot. I had thought Sal’s was a family-friendly joint, but it looked like it attracted an unsavory clientele after all.

I slid down in my seat, making myself small. Marcella gave me a curious look. “Something wrong?”

I watched the first cop car roll away, waiting for the driver or his partner to look over at me. I breathed a sigh of relief when they made it out of the lot.

“Virginia doesn’t have a car, remember?” Marcella said. “We won’t know if she’s here unless we go inside.”

“Yeah, yeah,” I said. “Just getting my bearings.”

“Well, hurry up. I’m starving.”

I watched the puff of her tail whip out of the way to avoid the door she slammed behind herself. My eyes went from there to the glove compartment. I was averse to carrying around a gun for no reason, but knowing there were going to be so many guns inside the building made me jumpy. Probably a good idea to leave my revolver tucked away for just that reason.

I kept my hat low over my eyes as I followed Marcella inside. The air was thick with the steam of cooked eggs, pervasive grease of sizzling bacon, clicking spoons and coffee cups, and the grainy sound of the jukebox playing whatever was under the spindle.

The sensory assault, topped with a tinkle from the bell over the door, overwhelmed my senses. I froze to look for threats and spotted another pair of cops by the window facing the parking lot. Both sipped their coffee and picked at lumpy piles of grits soaking in the pool of fat left by a plate full of sausages.

When I noticed Marcella was gone, I spun around to see her taking a seat at a window-side booth in the diner’s other transept. She gave me an imploring look and I joined her.

I didn’t have time to get my coat settled or even consider taking my hat off before the waitress, a giraffe with a hunched neck, drooping eyes, and a nametag that said “Darlene” came by with a carafe of coffee. She filled our mugs with a rote efficiency that betrayed a life in the greasy spoon industry, then flipped two uncomfortably slick menus out of her apron. They glided across the table, stopping smoothly in front of each of us.

“Good morning, dears. I’ll be back to take your order in a minute.”

I tracked Darlene around the room as she made the round with her pot. Most of the guests, a demographic skewing closer to the grave than the cradle, gave her gruff thanks. The cops played by their own rules, had to make sure they were noticed. I didn’t hear the words they said to Darlene, but I saw their sinister smirks and Darlene’s forced grin in response.

The things some people had to put up with to earn tips and make a living wage… It was a damn shame.

When Darlene came back around, she took our orders on a notepad with pages so stained and crinkled they looked like strata in a rock cliff. I kept my order simple, bacon, eggs, and toast, but Marcella went all out with the advertised three-fruit waffle stack special. I hoped she remembered she was paying for it. My couch cushion cache could only stretch so far.

Darlene shouted our orders through the window behind the counter, into the hissing kitchen. A rooster with a large wattle, glistening with the same sweat that stained the tank top he wore under his spattered apron, poked his head through the curtain of steam to confirm with a grouchy cluck. I guessed that was Sal, and I guessed by his red face and snapping beak there was a reason he was at the grill and not behind the counter.

Marcella and I tried out small talk while we waited, but we were both watching the room. Darlene buzzed around from table to table, taking food as it appeared out of the fog at the window, ringing people up at the register, and making the rounds with the carafe. She looked up every time the bell over the door rang and was there to greet the newcomers within a minute. The proper function of the diner was on Darlene’s back.

I was stressed just trying to keep up with her with my eyes. After a few more minutes, another waitress came in through the back door, tying an apron around herself. At first she was just a white blur with a long neck, and I got nervous it was Virginia. I saw fur, not feathers when the llama finally stood still long enough for me to focus on.

She was slower than Darlene, and the effort of trying to keep up showed on her face. She handled the coffeepot and a few orders, but Darlene handled all the food.

Darlene turned around in a hurry after dropping off our plates, but Marcella caught her attention before she dove back into the fray. “Darlene?”

“Just a minute, hun.” Darlene had only taken a few steps to grab a jug of syrup off the counter. She slid it in front of Marcella to complement the parti-colored stack of waffles on her plate. “That what you were after?”

Marcella clapped her hands together and rubbed them in a theatrical display of greedy hunger. “Perfect. Thanks so much!”

Darlene gave an appreciative hum and started away. I wanted to grab her and make her stick around, but I couldn’t think of anything subtle enough. If she saw me as another animal like those cops, she wouldn’t be real receptive to talking.

Marcella had the same idea, only she didn’t struggle so much to avoid being creepy.

“Oh, that’s a lovely necklace,” she said. Darlene had been on the cusp of breaking away, but Marcella’s call pulled her back. She paused as the switch in her mind clunked into a new position.

She turned with her hand on the simple sliver at the end of the chain around her neck. The banal bit of silver hadn’t stood out to me at all.

“Do you mind if I asked where you got it? Our anniversary is coming up, and I think I’d like something quite like it.”

Marcella gave me a pointed look, drawing a scowl from me and a laugh from Darlene. “Sorry, hun. As far as I know it’s one of a kind. This one belonged to my grandmother.”

I mouthed the word “anniversary” while Darlene took an introspective moment to fiddle with the necklace, which I now saw was a crescent moon.

“That’s too bad,” Marcella said, aiming a shrug at me. “Hey, while I’ve got you here, I wonder if I could ask you a question.”

The bell at the window rang. Darlene’s weight shifted toward it, but she relaxed when she saw the llama rounding the counter to cover the table. “What’s on your mind, dear?”

“It’s just last time I was here, I had a different waitress, a tall crane, think her name was Virginia. You know her?”

Darlene’s lifted mood took a plunge like a diver off the ten meter platform. Her lips became a tight knot and slid to one side of her face while her eyes tracked the parabola of a tossed ball the rest of us couldn’t see.

“I was hoping to talk to her again. Do you know when she’s scheduled to work?”

“Don’t know if the schedule will matter much, hun. She’s supposed to work this afternoon, but she already called out.”

By the flat tone of her voice, I inferred Darlene would be the one covering her shift.

“That’s too bad,” Marcella said. “My husband didn’t believe me when I told him I recognized her from somewhere. Maybe you could help settle the argument for us.”

Her lips betrayed a smile when she referred to me as her husband, but the look I gave her, paired with the whisper she dropped into, helped sell her story. I was supposed to be embarrassed. “Is she Virginia Crane? Like the Virginia Crane, from Barnyard?”

Darlene looked around the room again, judging if she had enough time for the drawn-out sigh Marcella’s question deserved. “Same girl, different name. Goes by Calhoun for now.”

“Right, of course. I remember seeing her in the news. Guess it makes sense she’s been missing work considering her son and everything.”

Darlene checked again, this time focusing on the curtain of steam behind the window. When she decided Sal wasn’t going to pop out and start squawking, she crouched next to our table. She had to get low to be even with us, but it allowed her to lower her voice further and still be heard.

“Now, I don’t want to go telling tales outside of school here”—the intense look in her eyes told a different story—“but she’s been off for a bit. Last couple months at least. I’ve been trying to cover for her, but I’m exhausted.”

“She’s been missing work since before Ethan disappeared?” My instinct was to pull out my notepad and pose my pencil over the page, but I resisted. Marcella had her roped in, and my questioning was odd enough already. I didn’t want to scare her off by going full-on detective.

Fortunately, Darlene had been waiting for an opportunity to vent. “Sometimes she calls in. Sometimes she just doesn’t show up. When she does make it in to work, she’s tired and makes a lot of mistakes.”

“Did you talk to her about it?” Marcella asked.

“Sure. We get along fine, and I was worried about her. But she didn’t want to say much. Lord knows I understand how people all have their own problems, but Virginia’s were clearly too much for her to carry herself. As hard as I tried to cover her caboose, Sal was starting to pick up on it. I got the sense he was working up to firing her and getting someone more reliable until the news about Ethan broke. Can’t very well do it now, can he?”

“I suppose not…” Marcella said.

Sal dinged the bell on the counter. This time, the other server wasn’t right there to get it, so Darlene stood up. “Didn’t mean to gossip your ears off. You two enjoy your meal and let me know if you need anything else. All right? I’ll be around.”

Darlene didn’t wait for thanks. She was next to the table one second and behind the counter scooping up the tray full of dishes the next, leaving only a soft gust to remember her by.

Marcella hummed to herself and attacked the waffles on her plate. She cut off a corner, getting all three layers of waffle and the red, blue, and orange jam between them into one bite. She looked content, but drizzled syrup on the stack to make it even sweeter.

She caught me staring and waggled her loaded fork at me. “See, sometimes all you need to get to the answers is a woman’s touch.”

“A woman’s touch…” I repeated. Unable to resist my own plate any longer, I picked up a piece of bacon, soggy with fat, and took a bite. It was on the rubbery side, but gave my mouth something to do while my mind chewed on the implications of what Darlene had said. “A woman’s touch…”

I swallowed the wad of gristle and things started to coalesce before I took another bite. “You think Virginia went looking elsewhere when Heifer turned her down? Maybe she got a job at a less reputable establishment, the kind that kept the lights down low so it didn’t matter much what the girls looked like.”

Marcella considered it between bites, twirling her fork in the air as if deciding where to stab it. “Could be. Or maybe she went the other way, toward the spotlight instead of the red light.”

I kept my mouth busy with a bite of toast so she knew I was listening.

“We don’t know what Virginia was after with Heifer. Maybe the money was secondary. Could be she really just missed having people look at her.”

“You think Ethan wasn’t the only one trying to break into the industry? Maybe Virginia got the bug spending time around agents and auditions.”

“She didn’t seem to have any actress ambitions any of the times I talked to her.”

“Maybe she’s better at acting than we’re giving her credit for,” I said. “We already know she’s been hiding something.”

“It’s as good a guess as any,” Marcella said after mulling it over. “Whether she wanted fame or money doesn’t change your theory about the scam she tried to run with Heifer. The way you laid it out, seems like the money and attention are intertwined.”

I considered it some more. “Guess it tracks. If she was really only worried about the money, she wouldn’t put this job at risk chasing after other paychecks. But why keep up the act now that the scheme’s underway? Shouldn’t she be acting as normal as possible to avoid detection?”

“Sure. She should. In my experience, most criminals aren’t the masterminds they think they are.”

“Or she might be going somewhere else now,” I said.

Marcella sipped her coffee expectantly.

“Could be she knows where Ethan is. Or at least who has him. Maybe she’s visiting him or working out the kinks in the plan to ‘find him.’”

“I’m hearing a lot of coulds and maybes,” Marcella said. “As far as I can tell, we’re just spinning our wheels.”

“What would you suggest? Go to the cops with the scraps we have?”

Marcella watched the two officers I’d had my eye on. They were getting up from their booth and tossing back the last of their coffee. Darlene rang them up at the counter and gave them her best attempt at a smile as they made lewd comments under the guise of just joking around.

When I looked back at Marcella and saw her pinched face, I thought she had bitten into the lemon wedge on the lip of her untouched water glass.

“Don’t think that would help anybody. I say we go straight to the source. We know Virginia was supposed to be here today, but she’s going somewhere else instead. We should find out where that is.”

Marcella shoveled the rest of her waffles into her mouth and got up, hoping to draw me up too.

“Forgetting something?” I asked.

She looked around, checked her pockets, then the seat she had been sitting in.

“I don’t think so. Hurry up, we don’t know if—”

“You said breakfast was on you. Payback for tricking me into giving you everything I had. If you want to keep tagging along, you had better start pulling your weight.”

She glowered like a moody teenager, but I held my ground, contentedly chopping up the remaining eggs and loading them up on the last corner of my toast.

“Fine. But you had better make it worth my time.”