Sweet Tea & Cigarettes

Chapter 3

The diner sat dark beneath the morning sun. Yellow crime scene tape stretched

across the front doors, fluttering in the warm Alabama breeze. Sheriff's cruisers still

occupied the parking lot, their lights no longer flashing, but serving as a reminder that

whatever had happened beneath, those old floorboards wasn’t over.

Through the front windows, Max could see investigators, moving carefully

around the section of the floor they’d torn apart the day before. The familiar

checkerboard tile was gone, replaced by plywood sheets, equipment cases, and

evidence markers. The smell of sawdust and stale coffee seemed to cling to the air even

from across the street, as if the diner itself knew it had been wounded.

She swallowed hard.

The place she’d grow up in no longer looked like a diner. It looked like a crime

scene.

Across the street however breakfast was still being served. The fellowship hall at

First Baptist buzzed with conversation as volunteers carried trays of biscuits, bacon,

scrambled eggs, and coffee between folded tables. The room smelled like butter,

grease,strong church coffee, and the sound of clattering plates and low voices filled

every corner.

”People still gotta eat,” Darlene had declared before sunrise.

So they loaded everything they could salvage before the sheriff sealed the

diner-Coffee, pots, griddles, boxes of plates-And turned the church kitchen into

Bellrose’s temporary diner. It wasn’t perfect, but it worked. Mostly.

Mags had barely finished filling the first coffee urn when she heard a familiar

voice.

”So…”

She didn’t even have to turn around.Frank Dixon.

“What did the sheriff tell you?”

She kept her eyes on the coffee as it streamed into the urn. ”Good morning,

Frank.”

“Morning.”

A beat passed.

“So?”

She sighed and set the pot down with more force than necessary.“I know exactly

as much as you do.” “I don’t believe that.”

“That’s a personal problem.”

A few nearby volunteers chuckled under their breath.

Frank only shrugged, leaning one elbow against the counter like he had all the

time in the world. ”Just asking”

“No,” Mags replied, reaching for another pot. “You’re fishing.”

He opened his mouth, probably to ask another question, but Darlene’s voice cut

through the kitchen before he could.

“Mags!”

She escaped without another word.

The kitchen was already hot enough to make her hair stick to the back of her

neck. Biscuits baked in the ovens while bacon popped on the giant griddles borrowed

from the church. Volunteers hurried past carrying trays and bowls while Darlene

somehow directed everyone without raising her voice, her clipboard tucked under one

arm like a weapon.

“You look tired,” Darlene said when Mags reached her.

“I am.”

Darlene nodded knowingly.

“Have you eaten yet?”

Mags grabbed half a biscuit from a tray and took a bite. “This counts.”

“It absolutely does not.”

Darlene shoved a plate into her hands, loaded with eggs and bacon and a biscuit

split open and dripping butter. “Sit down for five minutes.”

”I don’t have five-“

”It wasn’t a suggestion.”

Mags smiled despite herself. Some things never changed.

Around eight o’clock, nearly every table in the fellowship hall was full. Without

the diner booth to separate people, everyone sat shoulder to shoulder, close enough to

hear every whispered theory, every half finished sentence, every dramatic pause.

Which meant everyone heard everyone else’s opinions.

“I always knew Ray didn’t leave.”

”I heard they found old tools buried under there.”

“My cousin says the state police are coming.”

”My brother says the FBI.’

”Your brother thinks every problem involves the FBI.” Mags rolled her eyes as she refilled coffee cups. Bellrose could turn one mystery

into fifty before breakfast, and by lunch they’d probably have a whole new set of

suspects, motives, and family secrets to argue over.

The front doors opened. Conversations dipped. Beau stepped inside. He looked

exhausted. His T-shirt was wrinkled, dark stubble covered his jaw, and his eyes were

rimmed red like sleep had never found him. There was a stiffness to the way he carried

himself, like every step cost him something. He looked older than he had yesterday,

and somehow younger too, stripped bare by whatever the night had done to him.

The whispers started almost immediately.

“Poor boy.”

”Did they tell him anything?”

“You think they know who did it?”

Mags hated it. People weren’t trying to be cruel, but curiosity had always been

Belrose’s favorite pastime. Darlene looked up from the serving line and immediately

caught the way everyone was staring. Her expression sharpened.

She pointed towards the kitchen.

“You.”

Beau blinked. “Me?”

“Kitchen.”

“I’m fine.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

He hesitated, glancing around the room like he might argue, then gave up with

the weary resignation of a man thst knew better than to fight

“Mags,” She called. “Take him breakfast.”

Mags picked up a plate piled with eggs, bacon, toast, and hashbrowns before

following into one of the smaller classrooms off the hallway. It was quiet. Just a folding

table in a few metal chairs. Beau sat heavily. She placed the plate in front of him.

“I didn’t order this.”

“I know.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Darlene said to make sure you ate.”

He looked towards the doorway.

“Is she still scary?”

“Worse with age.”

That earned the smallest hint of a smile. He picked up his fork.

“Happy?”

“I’ll be happy after the third bite.”

He sighed dramatically after taking one.

“There.”

“There.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence wasn’t awkward. Just

different.

“I forgot how quiet this town gets after something bad happen,” Beau finally

said.

Mags frowned.

“Quiet?”

“Everyone whispers instead of talking.”

She laughed softly.

“That’s because they’re trying to pretend they aren’t gossiping.”

”They’re terrible at it.”

”They really are.”

He stared down at his coffee.

“I know they’re looking at me.”

”I know.”

“They’re wondering if I knew.”

”I know.”

”They’re wondering who killed my dad.”

Mags didn’t know what to say so she reached across the table and rested her

hand lightly over his. Just for a second.

“You don’t have to answer anyone.”

He looked at her.

For the first time since she’d come home, the walls he’d built around himself

seemed just a little lower.

A knock interrupted them.

Sheriff Wallace stood in the doorway.

“You got a minute?”

Beau immediately knew.

”So… they know?”

Wallace nodded. “They confirmed the identification this morning.”

The room became impossibly still.

“It was Ray.”

Beau closed his eyes. Just for a second then opened them again.

”Okay.”

It wasn’t acceptance. It wasn’t relief. Just exhaustion.

Wallace lowered his voice.

”The medical examiner’s still working. We don’t exactly know what happened.”

”But you know somebody buried him.”

”Yes.”

Beau swallowed hard.

“When?”

”Sometime around fifteen years ago.”

Nobody spoke for several long seconds. Finally, Wallace rested a hand on Beau’s

shoulder.

“We’ll find out who did this.”

After the sheriff left, Beau remained seated, staring at nothing. Mags wanted to

say something that would make it better. There was nothing she could say.

”I’m sorry,” she whispered.

He nodded.

“So am I.”

The church doors opened again. A woman stepped inside. She looked

completely out of place. Dark jeans that probably cost more than Mags’ monthly

grocery bill. A cream colored blouse. Sunglasses despite the cloudy morning. A rolling

suitcase trailed behind her. She stopped just inside the doorway, scanning the room.

Confusion crossed her face.

“Excuse me,” she asked an older volunteer. “I was looking for the Bellrose

diner.”

”It’s closed, honey,” the woman replied. “We’re serving over here until they

reopen.”

The stranger nodded distractedly then her eyes landed on Beau.

Frozen in time, she slowly removed her sunglasses

”Oh… my God.”

Beau looked up. Every last bit of color drained from his face.

”Beau?” She asked hesitantly while taking a careful step forward. The fellowship hall fell silent.

“Emma?” He stood so quickly his chair scraped across the floor.

The name hung in the air between them. Mags looked from Beau to the woman

and back again.

Whoever Emma was…

She hadn’t come to Bellrose by accident.