Sintown Chronicles I: Behind Closed Doors Read Online Free Page A

to be technical, I think it is The Dot Diner."
    “Sorry, folks,” greeted a gray-haired, pint-sized bundle of feminine energy. “I was just getting ready to close."
    “You close at six?” Tim asked incredulously.
    “Not much business in downtown Dot after five.” She chuckled. “Not much going on after four if the truth be known."
    “Is there another restaurant in Dot?” Sandra asked.
    “Fraid not."
    “I met your son at the service station. He highly recommended your restaurant,” Tim explained.
    “He's my baby and a good ‘un if I do say so myself. You must be Pete Harlow's nephew. Heard you were coming. That Pete. He was something else again. I hate now I let him slip through my fingers. He kinda had the hots for me after his wife died. I figured he was too old for me. Look folks, I'm Dottie. No, they didn't name the town after me. I have some meatloaf I was gonna throw out, and probably some string beans and potatoes. If you'll settle for leftovers and not tell anybody how bad it was, it's on the house."
    “That sounds great,” Sandra replied, her countenance brightening. “I'm starving."
    “Honey, you don't look like you're starving, but you sure don't look good. I've seen horses rode too hard and put up wet that look better'n you do. You gonna be all right?"
    “Yeah. I guess I have been rode hard and put up wet too many times, but all that's changing now. I'll be okay."
    Tim did not believe anyone could eat the huge servings piled on their plates, but Sandra made quick work of her meal and helped him a bit with his own. Ten minutes after they began eating, Dottie Frank stopped at their booth and told them where to put the dirty dishes when they finished eating. She asked them to turn off the lights and lock the door on their way out, and she departed, carrying a brown paper sack full of the day's receipts.
    When they were back out on the sidewalk, Tim rattled the door. “It's locked,” he muttered. “What kind of town is this where customers are left alone in a place of business?”
    Sandra pulled on his sleeve and pointed to the sign above the door. It did, indeed, read “Dot's Diner."
    Sandra looped her arm in Tim's and leaned heavily on him as they crossed the street to the Mustang.
    “Sandy, I saw a doctor's office across the hall from Silas Coan's."
    “I'll be okay, damn it. These socks don't give much protection against the hot pavement."
    Tim looked at her feet and laughed.
    “It's not funny, damn it."
    “Yes it is. I promise we'll find you some shoes to wear tomorrow."
    “I think the old guy in the pharmacy tried to make a pass at me,” she said. “He kept staring at me."
    “Why not?” Tim replied. “You look like a tramp."
    “I am a tramp. Remember?"
    Tim thought about explaining that he was referring to the sweat suit, which didn't come close to fitting her, not her character, but he chose not to chance making things worse.
    After turning the Mustang around and heading towards Highway 13, Sandra asked, “Where are we going now?"
    “I want to try to find the farm. With daylight gone, it may be hard to do. The directions Mr. Coan's secretary gave me weren't all that clear."
    Sandra leaned back in her seat. Gently she slid her left hand over Tim's right thigh and parked it just on the inside. She did not touch anything private, but to Tim it was a very intimate gesture. He remembered reading once that in biblical times the gesture of placing one's hand on the inner thigh sealed a bargain—an act denoting sincerity, fidelity and trust. It felt good.
    “How are you feeling?"
    “The Alka-Seltzer Plus is helping, but my muscles are still pretty sore."
    “Keep your eyes peeled for a pond on the right side of the road."
    Tim pulled over at the bottom of the third hill they encountered.
    “It's too dark to see much, Tim. There could be a pond out there,” Sandra said, peering through the passenger side window.
    “If there's anything that even looks like a path to the right, let