L. Marie Adeline- S.E.C.R.E.T

heart-shaped face, which drew to an acute point at her chin, and she was, frankly,
extraordinarily beautiful, in the way women with unusual features can sometimes be.
She wore all black—tight pants that outlined a very t body and a knit black top that
twisted around her in an alluring way. And that gold charm bracelet, now glinting
against the black sleeve of her top.
“Hello again,” I said, sliding a menu onto the table.
“I’ll have exactly what I had yesterday.”
“Green tea, egg salad?”
“Right.”
I brought the tea and sandwich a few minutes later, and later still relled her hot
water when I was asked. When she had nished and I went to clear her plate, she
invited me to join her at the table. I froze.
“Just for a second,” she said, nudging the chair across from her.
“I’m working,” I said, feeling clenched and a little cornered. I could see Dell in the
kitchen through the cutout window behind the bar. What if this woman asked me
questions about the notebook?
“I’m sure Will won’t mind if you sit a bit,” Matilda said. “Besides, the place is empty.”
“You know Will?” I said, sinking slowly into the chair.
“I know a lot of people, Cassie. But I don’t know you.”
“Well, I’m not that interesting. I’m just me. I’m just a waitress and … that’s it, really.”
“No woman’s just a waitress, or just a teacher, or just a mother.”
“I am just a waitress. I guess I’m a widow too. But mostly I am just a waitress.”
“A widow? I’m sorry to hear that. You’re not originally from New Orleans. I detect a
slight Midwestern accent. Illinois?”
“Close. Michigan. We moved here about six years ago. My husband and I. Before he
died. Obviously. Um, how do you know Will?”
“I knew his dad. He owned this place before—it’s twenty years ago now that he died, I
think. Probably the last time I was a regular here. It hasn’t changed much,” she said,
looking around.
“Will says he’s going to renovate. Expand upstairs. But it’s expensive. And right now
it’s all any restaurant can do in this city to stay open.”
“That’s true.”
She glanced down at her hands and I got a better look at her bracelet, which seemed to
have a lot more charms than Pauline’s. I was going to comment on its beauty, but
Matilda spoke again.
“So, Cassie, I need to ask you something. That book that … Dell found. My friend is a
little worried that someone might have read it. It’s a diary of sorts with lots of very
personal stuff in it. Do you think Dell would have read it?”
“Oh God, no!” I said, with a little too much conviction. “Dell’s not the type.”
“The type? What do you mean by that?”
“Well, I mean, she’s not nosy. She’s not really interested in other people’s lives. Just
this place, the Bible, maybe her grandkids.”
“Do you think it would be odd to ask Dell? To see if she read the book or showed it to