Lucky Stuff (Jane Wheel Mysteries) by Sharon Fiffer Page B

being on her own behind the bar at the EZ Way Inn gave her such a different grown-up feeling.
    “What it’ll be, Francis?” she asked, her voice squeaking like a ten-year-old.
    “Got any coffee?”
    Jane panicked. She had no idea how to make coffee with her mother’s contraption.
    Looking over at the big metal pot warmer that sat on the counter next to the kitchen door, she saw that Don had made a pot of coffee before he left. A carafe sat there, full, hot, and ready to strip away any protective lining that might still exist within the interiors of the regular customers.
    “Coming up,” said Jane. She poured coffee into the thick green jadeite cups that Nellie had used since the seventies.
    “Why do I need to get new ones? If it ain’t broken, don’t fix it,” said Nellie every time Jane mentioned that the cups were now collectible and Nellie might want to sell them since she really only needed about six cups and saucers at any one time.
    In the case of the Fire-King jadeite, it wasn’t likely to ever get “broke.” The thick china could be dropped over and over without chipping. This was a coffee cup that could take a punch, Jane thought, as she added a few packs of sugar to the saucer and a spoon from the top drawer of the cabinet.
    Jane’s phone vibrated and she reached for it after giving Francis his cup. She had no idea what Nellie charged for coffee. A tall coffee at her local Starbucks was around two dollars, wasn’t it? Doing a kind of Chicago-to-Kankakee math, a designer signature roast ratio to the no-name sludge she just poured, she guessed at a price.
    “Fifty cents? A dollar?” Jane asked. “Sorry, Francis, I don’t know what to charge.”
    Jane sent Tim’s call to voice mail, then looked up at Francis, who looked wounded.
    “I don’t get charged a thing, Janie. Your dad never charges any of his delivery men for coffee,” said Francis.
    Jane did a quick calculation. Francis hadn’t delivered anything to the EZ Way Inn in well over ten years. Quite the lifetime perk. Jane smiled to herself thinking about free coffee as a perk, even though no one really knew what a percolator was anymore, and her smile was immediately misinterpreted.
    “You can ask your mom and dad. I never get charged for coffee,” said Francis.
    “I believe you, Francis, I was just thinking about coffee … never mind. Of course it’s on the house. I’m new at this, you know,” said Jane.
    “You come by it naturally, you’ll catch on,” said Francis. Then he remembered that this was totally out of the ordinary. “Where are Mom and Dad?”
    Jane might be able to sub behind the bar. She could pour a coffee or draw a halfway decent mug of beer. She might even be able to pour a shot of whiskey without spilling too much, but she knew her limits. Breaking the news to the regulars about Carl was not her job. Don and Nellie had been the oddball parents, Carl the weird uncle, to this dysfunctional family for too many years and Jane was not about to be the dreary messenger.
    “They had to take care of something important this morning, so I told them I’d fill in,” said Jane. Francis accepted the nonanswer and Jane could tell by his scrunched-up eyebrows he was trying to think of anything that he and Jane might be able to talk about.
    “How’s your son?” asked Francis.
    Bless his heart, thought Jane. She filled Francis in on Nick’s school and how happy he seemed to be. Just last night Nick had texted about new friends, referring to Alex and Trevor and Ian as if he had known them for years. He would have done fine at Evanston High School, but Jane knew that he was thriving in a whole new way at the academy. Of all the second-guessing she practiced as if it were her own special brand of meditation or yoga, she could let her thoughts about this decision rest. Sending Nick off to this gifted program had been the right thing to do.
    Jane went over and wrung out one of the clean white terry-cloth bar rags and started