Diner

"My son, Arthur, is on the spectrum," she said, "but he also has some psychic ability." Wendy Lutz watched nervously as the detective bent down to dig a form out of the lower drawer of his desk. "He dreams about a diner - he likes diners - and he sees a lot of crimes play out there. The dead are there ... uh ... and, typically, the person who murdered them." "Okay," the detective said, sliding the form over to her. "You can just take this home and put as much detail as you'd like into the main comment section - in the middle there." "Last night, Arthur saw the Corcoran girl at the counter; she was afraid to order anything, because the food was bad," Wendy said softly, taking the General Public Comment form. "Okay, great; be sure to put that down," the detective said, "and thanks for coming in today." "The cook is your man," Wendy whispered, putting her purse over her shoulder and moving away. Angry and dejected, Wendy Lutz strode quickly to her car in visitor parking; you had to try with these things, but almost no one listened. "Mrs. Lutz?" a voice to her left rang out. "Wait for a second!" Wendy turned to see another detective, younger than the man at the desk, waving her down. "Yes?" she answered, wondering if she'd done something wrong. "I couldn't help overhearing ... I'm on the Corcoran case and my ears picked up," the detective said quietly. "The name's Mosen. Can I ask you ... is Arthur ever wrong when he has these dreams?" Wendy shook her head "no". "And did he, by chance, get a good look at the cook in the diner?" Mosen asked next. "He made a point to; in the dream, he excused himself to go to the bathroom so that he could peer into the kitchen on his way," Wendy whispered. "Could we start again, Mrs. Lutz? Would you come back in with me and tell me everything?" She nodded "yes" and put her keys away, thinking of a lonely spirit at a diner in Limbo - just sitting there, afraid to drink the coffee.