"What? I do great Elvis, don't I, Ringer?"

"The Elvis guy. He never came out." I repeated.

King exchanged looks with Dannielle. "Maybe you have got a concussion, Ringer. We better get you back to the hospital."

I shook my head, ignoring the increase in pain it caused, and hollered for Angie. She came running. "What is it, Mitch?"

"You remember the little guy in the Elvis costume who came in yesterday afternoon? He spoke to you."

"Sure. He wanted to use the restroom. I told him to go on back. He seemed to know the way."

"He never came out. At least, I didn't see him. Did you?"

"Come to think of it, no. But he must have. Surely?" Doubt crept into her voice.

"What's your beef with Elvis? Maybe he went out the back door." King spoke up.

"Yes." Angie, Dannielle, and I said it at the same time.

"What of it?" King still looked puzzled.

Angie explained. "We think somebody hit Ringer with one of the broken chair legs while he was down. One's missing. We couldn't figure who could have done it. Gus ran out the back door and around through the alley. We thought everybody else besides us and you and your friend had gone out the front door."

"Why would anybody hit Ringer? The food's not that bad." King tried to laugh it off.

"The doctor found a piece of wood in that gash on his head. He didn't hit his head on a table or chair when he fell." Dannielle crossed green silk clad arms and stared at King.

His smile died and he looked at me. "Any idea why this Elvis imitater would want to do you in?"

"No." But something was nagging at me again. What? Was the little guy behind the white fringed outfit and big pompadour hairdo somebody I knew?

I needed sleep. I announced to the group around the booth that I was going upstairs and take a nap on the sleeper sofa I'd installed in my office after Frankie left. King said he'd ask around on the street if anybody noticed a guy in an Elvis costume yesterday.

Three hours later when I came back down, another confrontation was taking place. This one was between Dannielle and a tiny blonde in black slacks and frilly high-necked blouse. Frankie.

"Who the hell do you think you are? Get out of my way." Frankie glared up at Dannielle. Not one to let size intimidate her, Frankie had faced down a lot of belligerent drunks and their furious wives and girl friends.

"It's a little late for second thoughts, Mrs. Ringer." Dannielle said.

"Second, third, or tenth, it's nothing to you, bitch. I'm going up to my husband's office."

I moved around to stand beside Dannielle. "No need. Here I am. What do you want, Frankie?" I looked at the lovely oval face of this mini woman who had been my wife, and a part of me wanted her back. Then a memory bludgeoned the longing. She'd left me for a cook with a diamond stud in his nose, which she probably gave him.

"Mitch!" She flung herself at me. My abused back protested, I grunted, loud, and we both would have gone down if Dannielle hadn't reached out to steady me.

Frankie stepped back, an odd look, almost like fear, in her eyes. "What's wrong, Mitch?"

I narrowed my one good eye, the other one was barely open anyway. "Where's Larry? Left him already, Frankie?"

"I have to talk to you. If this Amazon will give us some privacy." She scowled and pulled me over to a table. She didn't seem to notice the missing table and backless chair in the corner.

"We - I need money, Mitch. This place is at least half mine." She leaned on the table, hands clenched, and her eyes darted toward the door every minute or so.

"Romance wears off pretty quick when the money runs out."

"Like I said, this place is half mine."

"And you know better than me it's no gold mine." I shifted in the oak chair, trying to ease my back.

"There's some money left from the insurance settlement. I'll take that."

"Like hell. It goes for medical bills."

"Give me the money, Mitch, and I'll sign my half of Frankie's over to you. You'll never see us again." She sounded almost desperate. This was not the take-charge Frankie I was married to for ten years.

"He put you up to this, didn't he?" I grabbed her hands and held on as she struggled to free herself, almost whimpering. Frankie whimpering. I let go in sheer surprise. The long sleeves of her blouse had slipped up. Ugly blue bruises covered her wrists and continued on up her arms under the fabric. She shoved the sleeves back down.

Fury shot through me. How dare the bastard manhandle Frankie. I stood up. "I'll find the little prick and break his neck."

Frankie jumped up, reached to grab me. "No. Mitch. No. He's mean. He'll kill you next time."

I stopped in mid step and turned to face her again. Her hand was over her mouth and open fear in her eyes. "Next time? So he was Elvis. What was his original plan? Knife me? He couldn't know the fight would break out and give him the opportunity to crack my skull."

"I don't know. He'll kill me now. You've got to help me, Mitch." Tears were running down her face, smearing her makeup.

"Tell me where he is. You'll be safe."

She shook her head and wrung her hands. "I can't, I can't, he'll kill me." Then her blue eyes opened wide, shock flaring in them, as the bell over the door jangled. I turned back toward the door.

Glenn King grasped Larry's right arm near the shoulder, long sausage-like fingers meeting his thumb as he shoved the smaller man through the opening. Larry's venomous yellow-green eyes focused on Frankie. "Bitch. You're a dead woman."

"Larry, no. I didn't give you up. I didn't. I swear." Frankie hugged herself, pleading, even though the little coward was handcuffed.

"I was going to ask you and Angie if this was Elvis, but I guess we know. Let's go, perp." Glenn propelled his prisoner back through the door and toward his squad car at the curb.

I couldn't sit on that hard wooden chair any longer. Taking Frankie's arm with a light touch, mindful of her bruises, I walked her to a booth. After I signaled Angie to bring a breakfast and two coffees, I said, "No talk until you've eaten."

I drank coffee and watched her eat. She swiped the last of her eggs with a piece of toast the way she always did. At last, she looked up. "What's going to happen to me?"

"Did you know Larry was going to try to kill me?" I wasn't sure I wanted to hear the answer.

"No, Mitch. Of course not." She dropped her eyes and pushed a crumb around on the table with a ragged nail. I'd never seen Frankie with a ragged fingernail, even when we scrubbed and painted the place.

I chose to believe her. "So, what brought it on?"

The bell over the door jingled. I looked up to see Glenn King again come through the door. He gave Frankie a hard look and pulled his handcuffs from his belt. "You're under arrest, Frankie.

"What the hell, Glenn? On what charge?" I bellowed.

"Aiding and abetting felony murder. Come on, Frankie."

"I - What could I do? He would've killed me if I said anything." Frankie whined. She rose and stuck her hands out.

"Murder? I'm not dead. You can't arrest Frankie."

"Not you. Laurence Mayhew is wanted in two states for murder. Killed a woman in North Carolina three weeks ago, stole her car and money. Frankie was with him during that time."

"I didn't know. He said a man gave him the car." Frankie wailed. "He ordered me never to question him about anything."

"Why'd the two of you come back to Fall Creek?" King asked.

"He said we had to come back here and get money from Mitch. I told him we'd financed the restaurant with credit cards, any profit went to pay them. Then he started about the settlement money." Her voice trailed off to a whisper.

"So that was his idea?"

"Yes. He was ranting that we deserved it and the restaurant. He said it was his cooking and my management that kept it going. I was so scared."

My hands itched to be around his neck. How in God=s name did Frankie fall for the little snake? "He wanted everything."

"He said if you were dead we'd have it all. He was drunk. I didn't think he meant it." Her voice was barely audible. She raised her head, lip trembling. "Mitch, I'm so sorry. I never wanted you dead. You know that."

"Let's go. You'll get her a lawyer, Mitch?" Glenn asked.

I slid out of the booth. "Yes. I'll go with you, Frankie."

Dannielle was behind the counter, a towel tied around her waist, when I got back to the restaurant. Frankie'd been booked and the lawyer I called was going to see her that afternoon. "Did I hire you? Where's Charley?"

"Angie went to the bank. I told her I'd take over till she got back. Charley went to work."

"Yah, nobody gives her any lip about my cooking, either, like they do Angie." Gus called from in front of the grill.

"Charley said you're a computer whiz, not a hash slinger." I lowered myself to a stool in slow motion.

She glanced up from folding paper napkins. Long eyelashes descended over one green eye, covering the twinkle for an instant. "For his own sake, Charley doesn't have to know everything about me."

The End