Done in Fifteen Years novel · Chapter 7 of 32

Chapter 7: Plate Forty

Macey didn't even blink.

"My mama died," she said.

The man in the white shirt tilted his head.

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"It's fine. She was a terrible cook."

I backed away from the swinging door one slow step at a time.

The walk-in cooler was behind me, a steel box with a round porthole window in the door.

I opened it, slid inside into the cold and pulled it almost shut.

Through the porthole I could see straight across the kitchen to the order window over the counter.

The man leaned on the counter with both forearms.

"Who cooked today, then?" he said. "Smelled it from the crossing."

"My grandma."

Vernie stood at the coffee urn with her back to him.

She turned around slowly, one hand on her chest.

"Who's asking?" she said.

Then her eyes rolled up, her knees buckled, and she went down behind the counter.

It was the worst acting I had ever seen in my life.

She even said "Oh."

Macey screamed "Grandma!" and dropped to her knees.

The man in the white shirt leaned over the counter to look.

He looked back at the kitchen door.

He took one step toward the end of the counter, toward the gap that led back to me.

The screen door banged.

Deke walked in from the porch, wiping his hands on a rag.

"She does that," he said. "Low sugar. Mace, get her an orange juice."

Then he looked at the man in the white shirt and smiled with half his mouth.

"Well, hey. Didn't know they let you out of Bexar County."

The man straightened up.

"Crockett. Heard you quit on this one."

"Heard you picked it up." Deke leaned on the counter beside him like they were two old friends at a feed store. "Kilgore woman?"

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