Flamingo Diner by Sherryl Woods

tormented Don in his last weeks. Gabe was a cranky old geezer on his good days, but he and Harley somehow managed to get along, and Don had always found a few minutes to sit with them once the breakfast rush had died down at the diner. Matt doubted they’d exchanged any deep, dark secrets, but after knowing each other for a lot of years, there was no telling what they talked about. Matt wandered over, hoping to pick up some tidbit of information on the sly, but they were on to him at once.
    “Might’s well come all the way over here, if you expect to hear what we’re saying,” Gabe told him irritably.
    Matt grinned at having been caught. “I thought I’d wait to see if you were talking about anything interesting. I don’t want to be bored to death listening to you two moan about your prostates.”
    Harley gave him a dark look. “We’re talking about life and death, if you must know. Can’t figure out how Don missed that curve. He drove along the lake twice a day at least, sometimes more. He knew the road. Was there any evidence that he was hit by another car?”
    “None,” Matt admitted.
    “He was smart, too,” Harley added. “I’d bet there was one of those gizmos in the car that can crack a windshield in an emergency. Why do you suppose he didn’t use it?”
    Nothing in the report Matt had gotten just that morning indicated that there was a tool to shatter glass inside the car, but he agreed with Harley that it was the kind of thing Don would have, given the number of canals around Central Florida. He needed to check on that.
    He tuned back in to what Gabe was saying.
    “I just don’t get it. He had a great business, a terrific family—what more is there?”
    “Nothing I can think of,” Matt agreed.
    “You think the mob was after him?” Gabe asked with more enthusiasm than usual. “Maybe they ran him off the road.”
    “Are you crazy?” Harley retorted. “What’s the matter with you, old man? Have you been watching The Sopranos again?”
    “Only sopranos I know sing in the choir at church,” Gabe responded. “But everybody knows the mob likes to pokes its nose into all sorts of placesasking for protection money. Maybe Don wouldn’t pay up.”
    “Protection from what?” Harley demanded. “What kind of crime do we have in Winter Cove? Matt here sees to it that we don’t have a lot of criminals on the loose.”
    “He does his part,” Gabe agreed with a nod in Matt’s direction. “Doesn’t mean he doesn’t have a little help. You never know.”
    “I know,” Harley retorted, scowling fiercely.
    “You don’t know everything.”
    Matt decided it was time to step in before the two men came to blows. “I think we can safely assume that there was no mob involvement in this. I know a little bit about organized crime.”
    Gabe nodded enthusiastically. “It’s rampant in the big cities, am I right?”
    “I wouldn’t say rampant,” Matt countered. “But it does exist. I just don’t happen to think it’s made its way to Winter Cove, certainly not to the point where our residents are likely to be the target of a hit that’s made to look like an accident.”
    “Maybe it wasn’t an accident at all,” Gabe suggested. “Maybe he killed himself because they were after him.”
    “Oh, give it a rest, you old coot,” Harley said, regarding him with disgust.
    “You got any better ideas about why a good driver like Don would wind up in the lake?” Gabe asked, clearly annoyed that his theory hadn’t been taken seriously. He turned to Matt. “You think there’s something funny about the way he died, too, don’t you?”
    Matt refused to answer. He didn’t want to sendtheir already wild imaginations into a frenzy. Who knew where that could lead?
    Gabe regarded him with disgust. “Okay, don’t say it, Matthew. I can see the truth written all over your face. That’s what brought you sneaking over here to listen in on our conversation. You don’t think it was an accident any more