The Gardens of Digby Green: Tuna Deja Vu

The Gardens of Digby Green: Tuna Deja Vu

Detective Marquez parked his car in the station lot, steeling himself to ignore the FBI agent’s superior smirk he expected. The atmosphere in the squad room was somehow lighter, but why? His radio hadn’t broadcast any breakthroughs.

Marquez opened his office door. His eyebrows rose. The room didn’t have its recently usual cloying smell of maple doughnut frosting. Sikes’ computer case wasn’t encroaching on Marquez’s desk space. Chuckling, the detective moved the extra chair to the spot where he preferred it sat, and stacked multiple case files on it.

The tardy agent wouldn’t have any place to read over his shoulder.

“Come on, good citizens, tell us you’ve noticed that pesky green pickup.”

He settled to write the morning’s reports: One missing college student reported himself safe, there’d been a seizure of stolen property, and one jerk who’d been scamming the elderly was currently off the streets.

“Sure wish the pro bono lawyers would refuse those guys. Our luck, we’ll collar him again next week.”

His phone rang.

“Marquez. Yes, Captain. A meth lab? Yes, sir. I’m on my way.”

He pushed his chair back. If Sikes came in at all, he’d learn nothing, and any sighting of the perpetrator’s vehicle would come through on the radio in Marquez’s car. The detective slipped out the door and jogged across the parking lot.

By the time Ray spotted Digby’s truck in the lot, and found space for the Chrysler, Digby had been out-of-sight in the main building of the truck stop. Pulse racing, Ray entered. First, he’d check the restaurant.

It wasn’t easy, picking his quarry out of the number of diners wearing baseball caps. The dining room hostess had given him more than one sharp glance before Ray spotted Digby at a table as he lifted a thick burger to his mouth.

Given the crowd, Ray decided he couldn’t chance waiting for a meal of his own, so he shook his head and backed out of the doorway.

He went to the area where other truckers were picking up assorted items. Ray grabbed a travel-size laundry soap, a razor and shaving cream, three bottles of water, a pre-made sandwich he picked up without reading the label, and a bag of potato chips.

Several people waited to pay ahead of him, and Ray had a hard time repressing the urge to turn and see if Digby Green was leaving. He dug his debit card out of its wallet slot instead. The cashier was quick, and efficient.

The chrome car door handle nearly burnt his fingers, and hot air rushed into his face when the door opened. Ray rolled down the window, put his lunch on the passenger seat, and the rest of his purchases on the floor behind the driver’s seat. He popped open the plastic shell container, and bit into the sandwich.

Tuna salad. Instantly, his mind replayed his confusion and dread on the night he learned his Rose had vanished. His eyes flooded with tears, and he nearly choked. Ray gulped water to force the mouthful down, but he couldn’t take another bite. He stuffed the food back in the box and snapped it shut.

The Gardens of Digby Green: Tuna Deja Vu is an installment of a short story which posts on Fridays. You can find the first part and read from the beginning, here.