“Well I’ll be damned,” he says, leaning back against the counter when he sees me. “I figured you’d be pouring drinks about now. Isn’t this normally the hour when you’re throwing people out for arguing over the jukebox?”
“Normally, yes,” I say, walking toward the counter. “But someone decided to redecorate The Rust Nail with a crowbar, so we’re closed for a few days.”
Murphy’s mouth tightens a little. “Yeah. I heard about that.”
“Of course you did,” I say. “News travels faster than the internet around here.”
Murphy snorts softly. “You’re lucky if something stays quiet for ten minutes in this town. Somebody sees something, tells their neighbor, and by lunch the entire county’s heard about it.”
I rest my elbows on the counter and glance around the store while we talk. The shelves are packed with tools, paint cans, boxes of nails, and all the random hardware people convince themselves they need for projects that never quite get finished.
“Wayne getting things fixed up?” Murphy asks.
“Yeah,” I say. “Contractors are already working on the windows and the back door. If everything goes right, we’ll reopen tomorrow.”
“That’s good,” he says, nodding slowly. “That place has been part of this town a long time. It would be a shame if something happened to it.”
I tap my fingers lightly against the countertop for a second, pretending to think about something else before I look back at him.
“So,” I say casually, “have you heard anything about a guy named Voss?”
Murphy’s expression changes.
Not dramatically, but just enough that I catch it.
He shifts his weight slightly and sets the tape measure down on the counter before answering.
“Why are you asking about him?” he says carefully.
I meet his eyes.
“Because someone trashed my bar,” I reply. “And apparently this guy thinks intimidation is a good way to introduce himself.”
Murphy lets out a slow breath through his nose.
“That’s kind of what I figured,” he says.
My stomach tightens.
“So you do know who he is,” I say.
Murphy glances around the shop like he’s making sure no one else is within earshot. The place is empty except for us, but he still lowers his voice a little when he speaks.
“People around here have been hearing that name for a while now,” he says. “It’s been floating around town for months.”
“Months?” I repeat. “And nobody thought to mention that to me before someone smashed my windows?”
Murphy gives me a tired look. “Rae, half the town knows about it. The other half pretends they don’t. That’s usually how these things go.”
I fold my arms on the counter.
“Alright,” I say slowly. “Let me ask a better question. How many businesses has this guy been leaning on?”
Murphy studies my face for a moment like he’s deciding how honest he wants to be.
Then he sighs.
“Too many,” he says.
