The riverbed was dry and about as ancient looking as dinosaur bones. Rookie FBI Agent Angie Dunaway stopped her white government issue Jeep 4x4 halfway across the shallow bed of stones and got out to stretch her back a little. Her energy was running low. She felt as sleepy as the sun looked dropping quickly beyond the crest of Pinetops. and she had been driving all day long. The winding mountain blacktops and overgrown fire roads leading to nowhere were taking their toll on her enthusiasm. She was starting to doubt there were any marijuana crops in this part of the state and this assignment was looking more and more like busy work for the rookie.
Her cell phone chirped. "Dunaway," she spoke into the tiny phone.
Just at that time an eagle slowly circled overhead looking for a late evening snack. The distant sound of wind working feverishly through the leaves of the trees. The restaurant directly across the street from the hotel, was a homely little place with a glass front. Posted on each section of the street-facing windows were the daily specials written with shoe polish like the price on the windshield of a used car. The theme, as Jim saw it, was simply good home cooking. Management made no attempt to woo the passersby with cheap and flashy gimmicks; there were no banners or strobe lights. There was, however, a rotating sign two hundred feet above the roof. But in the evening gloom, the sign was only just visible.
The inside was just as simple. There were cream-colored booths flanking the two outer walls, a cash register at the door, and a long counter along the back wall with a line of matching cream-colored swivel stools. Behind the counter was the area for the cooks and the orders to be filled. There was a glass case with brightly colored desserts neatly placed inside. Three ceiling fans rotated slowly and their low hum was the only noise as Jim entered.
A woman at one of the booths looked up from her meal, nodded to the stranger in town and went back to eating. Two little boys of Indian decent wearing cowboy hats were seeing which one could spin the fastest on their swivel stools. Their behavior caused a young waitress to bend down and whispered something to them. An older man stood near the cash register and studied his receipt as if it were a tax audit.
"Go on and have a seat wherever you like. I'll be right with you," the same young waitress. She reached behind the counter and pulled out a hand-written menu of daily specials.
