“Could be greed—they want the scrolls for either money or bragging rights. Or, it’s something to do with Seagrave.”
“Personal, then? You think the Bandit lured him there? It was a setup?”
I shrugged. I had no reason to assume it was personal other than the nagging feeling in my gut.
Colson sipped his beer. “I’ll have Tanya see what she can dig up from Buckley at the hospital. See if anyone has come in recently with a left hip injury.”
Our attention was pulled to shouting from the pool tables in the back.
“You hit my damn stick.”
“Kinda like I hit your mom last?—”
I grabbed Colson’s beer bottle and sent it shattering inches from the drunk cowboys’ heads. The bar went silent.Gaping, the rednecks turned toward me and Colson. Colson’s hand rested on the hilt of his gun.
I turned back to the bar. “Another coffee and another beer, Frank.”
Frank dipped his chin, a subtle ‘thank you,’ for not having to spend his next hour dealing with a bar fight.
“It’s on the house,” he said with a wink.
The bar remained hushed, eyes boring into my back. I was ready to go. Where, I wasn’t sure, but I wanted to get the hell out. Be alone. Figure out who the hell was the Black Bandit.
Our drinks were delivered, three chocolate chip cookies came with mine.
I eyed Frank.
“The wife made them.”
Colson snatched one up.
“Don’t forget to eat,” Frank said, eyeing me back. “That’s what she’d always tell me when I was working a case. A drop in blood sugar can make anyone crazy.” He nodded toward the cowboys, now busy picking up shards of broken bottle, then he tapped the cookie plate. “Eat. Don’t insult my wife now, son.”
I took a damn cookie and set it on my napkin. Frank nodded in approval, then pushed the plate to Colson who devoured the third cookie faster than the first.
“Not bad, Frank, but I know a chocolate chip cookie when I try one and this ain't it.”
Frank grinned. “They’re gluten free. And they got carrot and flax-something in them.”
“What’s flax-something?”
“Some sort of seed. I think.”
“What the hell is so wrong with gluten?” I asked, aquestion that plagued me ever since the gluten-free section had replaced my beef jerky section in the grocery store.
“What the hell even is gluten?” Frank answered back with a question of his own.
We all shrugged simultaneously.
Colson studied the cookie on my napkin, shaking his head. “Seeds in gluten-less chocolate chip cookies, Seagrave shot to death. What is the world coming to?”
“Stick around here a few more hours and there’ll be plenty of theories.”
“Don’t doubt that.”
“On that note.” Frank tapped the bar. “Better get back to work stocking the shelves for the crazy weekend coming up. Damn hippies. Enjoy the flax.”
Colson groaned as Frank walked away. “The Moon Magic Festival. Hotels are already booked solid. Supposed to have double the attendance of last year. And with the freaking burn ban right now…” he shook his head. “Chief McCord is rounding up extra volunteers to monitor the grounds.”
