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Without stopping at the booth, Charlayne grabbed her huge gold purse and headed back to the front door. “I have an appointment at the salon.” Her face remained completely impassive. Whether about the men fighting, or the situation with Marion and the fact she’d nearly been seriously hurt. Could’ve been killed. Kenna didn’t know which was foremost in Charlayne’s mind as the woman stepped out into the chilly afternoon air.
Betty, still standing beside Kenna at the hostess stand, was more of a schoolmarm type. Charlayne looked like a Manhattan mobster’s aging wife. Betty didn’t leave, but she also didn’t go to the table.
The two men seemed at odds, when Kenna’s impression so far had been that the two women were friends because of their husbands.
She blew out a breath. “Is this going to escalate into more than throwing water?”
Betty shrugged. “You’re the professional. Why don’tyoutry and get them to figure it out?”
Maybe because shewasn’t a shrink.
While the men continued to argue, Kenna said to her, “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you the whole truth about Marion Wells. With all you’ve been through, having your husbands accused of kidnapping those children, I knew you’d want to help even if I couldn’t tell you that’s what book club was about.” She paused. “I still liked talking about books.”
A saltshaker hurtled across the room.
Betty said, “Maybe we can do book club on a video call after you leave town.”
“I’d like that.” Kenna squeezed her shoulder.
The waitress turned away from the two men, rolling her eyes as she headed back to the coffeepot. No one else in the diner gave them much attention, though a couple of people left quicker than they probably would’ve after bills were paid.
Kenna headed over to stand at the end of the table facing both men.
They quit talking as soon as she neared.
“So you’re the PI?” The man on the left had a scar on his chin on the right side and military-short gray hair. Betty’s husband.
The other clearly dyed his hair black—and she’d guess he was Charlayne’s husband. Like a lot of married couples, they matched styles. Though, Betty’s Sunday school style was contrasted by her husband, who looked like he could probably beat the tar out of anyone who bothered her. Charlayne’s husband tried way too hard to reach his wife’s level, and to their credit she seemed to have stuck around long enough to make it work. The same might not be said about their friendship.
“Why are you guys causing a disturbance when people are trying to eat?” Kenna asked.
Betty’s husband huffed what might’ve been a laugh. “Theodore Campbell, nice to meetyou.”
“Don’t call him Teddy. It’s Theo.” Charlayne’s husband stuck out his hand. “Alonzo Bernstein.”
“Kenna Banbury.”
“Yeah,” Theo said. “Heard all about Marion Wells.” He spat the woman’s name.
“But that’s not what sent a saltshaker flying across the room. So talk.” There was a reason their wives steered clear of the fight, and no one else intervened. Or called in the sheriff.
Theo sat back against the bench with an exaggerated sigh, all his attention on his friend. “I can’t believe you lost it.”
Alonzo wiped his mouth with a napkin. “It’s been so long, I didn’t think to check.”
“You just assumed it would still be there?” Theo countered.
Kenna glanced between them. “What is it?”
“A book.” Alonzo threw the napkin on his plate. “That no one in the world cares about but us.”
“And maybe one other person,” Theo added.
“Could someone have taken it from where you hid it?” Kenna suggested. There were only two options: The book had been either stolen, or misplaced.
“Right.” Theo looked at her. “The PI can find it.”
She stared at him, feeling nosy enough to push it. “Tell me everything. Who you both are, what the book is. All of it.”