“Are the police getting involved again?” he asked.
“They said they would. What do you think? Reyes seems on top of things.”
“That’s one way to put it.”
The sarcasm in Kurt’s voice was unmistakable.
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve never seen him disappoint a damsel in distress.”
“Yeah—I kind of got that about him. Lots of eyes linger when he’s around.”
Kurt moved closer now, elbows on the counter, leaning forward. Nic could smell his cologne, or soap, something, and it pulled from a far corner of her mind the feel of his hands on the small of her back, then tangled in her hair.
“You noticed, huh? Most women don’t. Until the next day when he doesn’t call.”
Kurt the bartender was not that kind of man, and he brought her back, somehow, to the time before. Across that invisible line to the time when life was just life. When her future was nothing but opportunities and the quiet faith that her family would remain as it was. Happy, even when Evan and Annie were fighting over something trivial, when her parents were hovering over them. Her father wasn’t perfect—he could be demanding and rigid. But they knew he loved them.
And how he had adored their mother. It was in his eyes, the way he admired her idealism, her passion for her students. They had a special anniversary the first Tuesday in August, the facts of which they kept a secret between them. Her father always bought her something blue. She always made him a chicken salad sandwich. They shooed away the children into another room and sat alone, drinking wine and laughing. They did this every year before Annie died.
On the other side of that line was also her mother—soft on the outside, but strong on the inside. Molly Clarke had never missed a cross-country meet or talent show or football game. She’d crawled into bed with them when they were sick or had nightmares or just because they’d asked her to. She had been the definition of home, the embodiment of family. A sacred symbol of the most primal human connection. Mother and child. How ironic that it had been her dedication that left one of them dead.
Nic had thought of her family as special. Idyllic. Perfect. Maybe Annie had been her punishment.
Kurt the bartender. He had pulled her back across that line to a time when the men she chose, the boys then, were the kind ones.
Kurt busied himself with another task. “So was she helpful?”
“I don’t know,” Nic answered. “Reyes thinks she might be lying. Something about her E-ZPass records and her story about coming from New York City. Thinks she might be after the reward money.”
“Oh yeah?” Kurt asked. “Makes sense. It is strange she waited so long. What did you say her name was?”
“I didn’t—it’s Edith Moore. Lives in Schenectady.”
Kurt’s face grew still. “Edith—kind of an older woman’s name, right? Is she?”
“Is she what?”
“Older?”
Nic shrugged. “Older than we are. Younger than my mother. Why—did you see someone from out of town that night? Before you closed the bar?”
Kurt looked up at the ceiling as though deep in thought. His hand moved to his chin. His actions seemed exaggerated, like he was overselling his contemplation.
“Don’t think so. But I also closed up pretty early.”
She asked another question, her eyes fixed on his face now so she could assess his reaction.
“But you’ve never heard of her? Edith Moore?”
Kurt took her glass and put it in the sink. He wiped the water ring from the counter.
“Nah,” he said. His voice was steady. His expression giving nothing away.
Still, something was off.
“I should go.” Nic climbed down from the stool, pushed it back in.
