Filcher found a parking spot on Main Street and strode empty-handed into Marci’s Restaurant, the place Andrew noticed when they passed the previous day. Marci’s, named after Marcia Caldwell, served only breakfast and lunch and usually did a brisk business on the weekends. Residents of all ages stopped in for her French Toast and imaginative egg dishes. Her staff of pretty high school girls hustled for their pay, but it almost always proved to be worth it. Smiling, rapid service and great food – not to mention coffee – usually led to generous tips.
Filled to capacity, the restaurant accommodated about eighty people in booths, at tables and at a counter with ten swivel chairs. It was here that Abe Filcher sat for what he planned to be his last meal.
“Hi, Abe, what can I get you today?” Mar
