My yawn caught the attention of Sabrina, the diner’s forever waitress. “Don’t you dare,” she said, but it was too late. She yawned. “How could you?” she asked, glaring.

“Sorry.” Laughing, I slid into the last open booth. “Eddie started it. He’s in the car.”

Sabrina pulled a pencil out of her hair, a graying bun. “That’s different. Cat yawns are more contagious than anyone else’s. If he’s waiting, we’d better make this fast. How about oatmeal and a biscuit, with coffee to go?”

“Perfect. But in addition to the milk I forgot to buy last night, I also forgot jam. Any chance Cookie could make me PB&J?”

“Consider it done.” Sabrina tapped her pad. “But you need more lunch than that. You’re going to get an apple, sliced and drizzled with lemon to keep it from getting all brown, a snack bag of crackers, and some slices of cheese. Don’t bother changing the order, because that’s what you’re going to get.”

Meekly, I raised my hand. “Can I get strawberry jam on the sandwich?”

She heaved a huge sigh and made a crossing-out motion on the pad. “Raspberry out, strawberry in. Anything else, princess?”

“No, ma’am.”

Sabrina winked. I smiled. I loved Sabrina and couldn’t imagine the Round Table without her.

“How’s he doing?” I asked, tipping my head to the back corner, where a man was typing on his laptop, magically making oodles of money doing something mysterious with stocks. Or bonds. Or something. Bill D’Arcy, after driving into the outside wall of the restaurant, had admitted to Sabrina that he had macular degeneration, at which time they’d publicly confessed their love for each other and married soon after.

“Right now his eyesight is stable,” she said. “So fingers crossed. I’ll be back in a jiff with your coffee.”

She bustled off and before the kitchen door swung shut, I could hear her shouting to the cook to get off his heinie and start Miss Minnie’s breakfast.

The front door opened and closed, and I heard a woman say, “Let’s sit in a booth, Hal.”

“None open,” said a familiar voice.

I turned. Yes, it was indeed Detective Hal Inwood. Excellent. I waved. “You can sit with me. I’m by myself today.”

Hal looked at me, looked at the woman I assumed to be his wife, and hesitated.

“Goodness, Hal,” she said, “let’s sit with the young woman. I’m sure she won’t bite.”

I told myself not to take his hesitation personally, and smiled. “Not today, anyway. I’ve already ordered breakfast. And a peanut butter sandwich to go.”

Hal frowned as they sat across from me. “That’s not on the menu.”

“Nope.” I smiled beatifically.

His wife glanced from Hal to me. “Why do I get the feeling you two know each other?”