Chapter 4
I decide the best course of action is to brew a fresh pot of coffee—or rather, several fresh pots. We need what little heat the coffeemakers can generate. I sweep up the mess the ghost made—all coffee grounds mixed with shattered glass—and pull out new carafes.
The water on the stove makes an effort to simmer, but the cold rolls through the restaurant in waves, sucking up all its warmth. It’s better than nothing, and when the aroma of the coffee joins the steam, my thoughts don’t feel quite as frozen, although when I blink, I can feel the cold against my eyes.
I grab a cow pitcher of half and half and an order pad. I find two cups and, with deliberate steps, make my way to Belinda’s booth.
She has her legs pulled up onto the seat cushion, but her wan smile suggests she’s stil
