Another excerpt from The Diner in Moonlight, this time the prologue . . .
When she entered the diner, every head instinctively turned to look at her, not so much for her dazzling beauty, which was evident right from the start, but for the simple fact that she was still behind the wheel of a pink Cadillac convertible with nothing but momentum on its mind.
The diner’s thin metallic skin had offered little resistance, peeling back with preternatural ease, as if the hole it was creating had been preordained, each atom aligning and clicking into place just so to create a hole that in the weeks that followed would be called the “caddy hole,” a hole remarkable for the fact that its outline could only have been made by a Cadillac.
The car had made its way down the aisle between the booths on the left and the counter on the right, people leaping for safety, its left fender demolishing booth after booth, splintered pine, Formica shards, and red leather flying, while the right fender lifted stool after stool, sending them into the air, red seats spinning, creating a brief illusion of stool-powered flight before they crashed down on the counter, shattering the pie case, fruit shrapnel and meringue flying everywhere, coating walls, ceiling, and the customers retreating to the far end of the diner.
Through all this, she kept her eyes fixed on her target.