CHAPTER TWELVE
Rylie finished her salad and started drumming her fingers on the table, again.
“What do you think this diner manager, Topher, is going to tell us?” Michael asked, polishing off every last bite of his giant chipped beef platter. It had looked unappetizing, smelled even worse, and yet, her partner had no problem wolfing it down. He’d even said the split pea soup had “tasted funny,” and yet that hadn’t stopped him from sucking down every last drop.
“I don’t know. But we have to interview him.”
“Yeah. But if he was in the back for most of it, it’s likely his story will be the same or less than Vicki’s.” He reached into his back pocket for his wallet and pulled out a couple of twenties.
“You’re saying we shouldn’t interview him?”
He swallowed his last remaining bit of dinne
