"C'mon, you have to admit this is the best thing to have walked into The Pie Hole," squeaked Olive on tiptoe as she peeked over the counter. Chuck, Olive's less-than-willing partner in crime, did not answer. "Forget about Ned for a second. You telling me you'd rather wait on Old Man Jacobs than them?" Olive gestured to the Winchesters and sighed.
"Old Man Jacobs isn't that bad..." Chuck started halfheartedly, following Olive's lead in staring at the two well-dressed men.
"Old Man Jacobs is gross, doesn't tip well and smells like dead fish," retorted Olive. "I bet these two smell good...sure look good...I wonder if they have any tattoos..." trailing off, she turned to Chuck, but Chuck was gone!
"Looks like they're ready to order!" Chuck called, heading away to the tables. Olive seethed. That was below the belt! Never mind Chuck, she'd find a way to get noticed.
If there was anything Olive Snook was good at, it was getting attention.
"Dude, they have everything!" Dean said, pointing to the menu excitedly. "Makes me wish you had your Tuesday-loop here!"
Sam groaned, setting down the newspaper he'd been reading, "You promised to never bring that up again." That said, Dean was right about one thing. It all looked good and the smells of the shop were intoxicating. Besides, it had been ages since he'd seen Dean this excited about anything; he had spent the last couple of weeks holed up in the Bat Cave to care for Kevin and Cas, both of whom had come down with a pretty vicious strain of flu. It had taken a large amount of coaxing to get Dean back on the caseload and he only left after he was positive Kevin could load and wield a handgun and Cas was on the mend.
"Hi, I'm Chuck. I'll be your waitress today!"
Sam looked up to see a pretty girl, red hair messily pulled back in a ponytail. "You ready to order?" she asked, smiling.
He glanced at Dean, still engrossed with the menu. "We'll take a second," Sam said, cocking his head at Dean, "He takes his pie pretty seriously."
"Alright. Hey, I haven't seen you here before, Are you from around here?" Chuck asked curiously, trying to make an excuse for loitering around the table.
"No. We're FBI. We've, uh, followed a case here." Sam decided to go out on a limb, "You happen to know of Edith Margo?"
Chuck's eyes widened in recognition. She did, in fact, know of Edith Margo, or at least the gruesome description Ned had rendered during their attempt at a relaxing evening the night before. Why were the FBI getting involved? "Yeah, she died in her sleep or something, right?"
By now, Dean had put down his menu. "Something like that, sweetheart," he cut in smoothly, "but I'd rather not mix my work with my pie. Leaves a bad aftertaste," he added with a wink. "I'll have a slice of apple and another of pecan, a la mode. Sammy?"
"Uh, surprise me," Sam muttered, distracted. Giving Chuck a strange look, he returned back to his paper. She definitely knew something, Sam just wasn't sure what.