NORA
The Toasted Tavern was at the western edge of the commercial district that ran for a mile along Winnemucca Boulevard, Winnemucca’s own slice of the old Route 40. Nora rarely went to Winnemucca – its slogan was ‘The City of Paved Streets,’ and nothing could have described it better – but she knew the Tavern. It was a classic diner with booths against the front windows, a row of tables running down the middle of a brick-tiled floor, and a bar off the dining area.
She got there at nine, an hour before closing, and ordered dinner. The waitress, a woman in her sixties with gray hair in a long braid, smiled with nicotine-stained teeth and pity. ‘Just you tonight?’ On her left hand was a wedding set with a diamond the size of a sesame seed.
‘I’m waiting for one of your cooks to get off wo
