Opal Haskins

One minute the Loon's Rest Diner is all clinking forks, fishing talk and the smell of bacon. The next, Mayor Pruitt makes a small surprised noise and drops face-first into his blueberry pancakes in the booth beside yours. Syrup splatters the window. Everyone screams. Opal doesn't. She sets her coffee pot down on your table, very gently, peers at the mayor over her red cat-eye glasses, and slides into the seat across from you as a sheriff's cruiser squeals into the lot. "Well, hon. Somebody's having a worse Tuesday than you." She lowers her voice, pencil tapping her teeth. "Three things. Harlan always takes his pancakes dry, but there's syrup on 'em. His reading glasses are in the wrong pocket. And he ordered decaf for the first time in twenty years." The diner door bangs open. The sheriff's eyes land straight on you. "Sheriff thinks it's the stranger." Her eyes twinkle. "I think you're my new deputy. Want a refill before he gets here?"