The jukebox stood silently in the corner of the diner. It was very unusual; the folks of Hillrose often came here just to listen to Ray’s collection of 60’s music, while sipping on some coffee and tucking in to his daughter’s famous pecan pie. Today however was far from usual, for it was not every day that they found someone dead under suspicious circumstances. In fact there was not a single murder for at the last fifteen years. Ray, who was usually not seen in the diner before lunch time, was there now at 10 o’clock, pouring coffee, serving breakfast bagels, cookies, and muffins with bacon and eggs to the crowd who chose his place to swap theories about the death of June Sanders. The news spread like wildfire, and the excitement was almost tangible.

“I say it was one of her, ahem, clients. He wanted something more than he paid for…” said the old man in the grey shirt, leaning closer to the gentlemen seated next to him at the counter.

“If he wanted more, he could have gotten more. You know these girls, Callum! For money they would do anything”, he replied knowingly and shovelled another forkful of his eggs into his mouth.

Ray leaned on the counter with a grin.

“How would Callum know?”, he guffawed. “His wife would kill him if he set foot in that place. Ain’t that right, Travis?”

“My Irene would do no such thing”, Callum protested, not very convincingly and busied himself picking the blueberries out of his pancakes.

In another corner three blond heads were bent in a conspiratorial manner. Their coffees sat on the table untouched. They did not come for a drink this morning.

“They will probably ask him, what he’d been up to last night”, said one one of them in a hushed voice.

“What?”, came the high pitched answer from the second one. “Debbie, honey, you can’t seriously think that David had anything to do with this. He’s so handsome!”

“Vilma, you are not listening. I did not say he had anything to do with anything. But they surely will think so, and maybe there is more to this affair than meets the eye… That woman was trouble. He should have steered clear of her. Poor guy…”

The blonde, whom she referred to as Vilma, just rolled her eyes, but did not say anything. She knew better than to confront Debbie Rofkovsky about the topic of the men of their small town.

“Well, all I’m saying is”, Debbie continued, leaning closer, “that he was the one going out with her. He ought to know more…”

“I don’t know”, said the third blond, shaking her head in disbelief. “Why would he hurt her, if he was going out with her?”

“Lisa, you are so naive, bless you”, Debbie patted her friend’s hand. “He was obviously not the only one.”

When the door opened and a gust of wind found it’s way to the diner, all heads turned to see the newcomer.

“Morning, Emily!”, Ray greeted the woman with a smile, and noted how pale she looked. Her usually smooth dark hair was somewhat dishevelled. “Coffee?”

“No, thank you, Ray”, she replied with a faint smile. “Just a camomile tea, please.”

If Ray thought anything of this request, he did not say so, but a slight frown indicated that this was not the answer he expected. Camomile tea and all these grassie concoctions were a mystery to him. Why on earth would anyone drink anything other than coffee?

Emily continued to the booth where she met her fiends, Gloria and Lillian every Saturday for a breakfast. She just settled in when Ray appeared and placed the mug in front of her.

“There you go, love”, he said and looked at the other two, ready to take their orders.

“Can we have pancakes with strawberries?”, said Gloria, her eyes glimmering, no doubt visualizing said pancakes already.

“… and cream”, added Lillian greedily.

“Actually, I don’t want any”, said Emily, and her declaration made the other two look at her in utter disbelief. She added with an apologetic smile “I’m not feeling too well this morning.”

When Ray disappeared, Gloria and Lillian got down to business.

“You heard of what happened, right?”, turned Gloria to Emily.

“Yes… I heard”, she nodded, then added, “Mrs. McClusky told me when I left the house.”

“I bet the old bat was camping out on her porch just for this”, Lilian said, giggling into her napkin.

Gloria shot her a withering look for interrupting her story. “Apparently someone stabbed her”, she said, not even trying to lower her voice.

“No, I heard she was shot”, Lillian replied. “Three times!”

“What? Who said that?” Gloria demanded. She was not one to be argued with when it came to town gossip. “It was definitely stabbing. Not once…”

None of them noticed that Emily turned an even whiter shade of paled, excused herself, and ran to the toilet. They only finished their bickering when they heard the sounds of retching from behind the closed door.

“Oh dear!”, Lillian exclaimed, and both women jumped to their feet.

Gloria was at the door in two big steps. “Emily?”, she said, knocking on the door. When there was no answer, just more retching, she rattled the door. It was locked. “Ems? Are you ok?”

After what seemed like an eternity, Emily’s voice sounded like she was miles away. “I’m fine.”

Gloria and Lillian looked at each other, eyebrows raised. The croaking voice indicated that their friend was everything, but fine.