His eyes were rimmed in red. His words were slurred.
“He’s shitfaced,” I whispered to Vance at the other end of the bar. “How’d that happen?” I couldn’t remember seeing atrulydrunk patron in years. Not a shifter patron, anyway.
“He bought the bottle,” Vance whispered back. “Both that one, and the one before.”
So, the grieving widower was good for business.
With a sigh, I grabbed a rag and cleaned my way down the bar toward them. “Last call was ten minutes ago,” I said, lifting the bowl of snack mix to wipe the surface beneath it.
“Which is precisely when he bought that bottle,” Davey informed me.
Ah. A loophole.
“Well, you have about twenty minutes to finish it,” I told Bishop. “The Fat Cat closes at midnight on Sundays, and we’re not allowed to let you leave with a drink purchased here.”
“Violation of the local liquor laws?” he guessed.
“Exactly.”
“And Charleyneverbreaks rules…” Davey said as she closed her laptop.
“Sarcasm?” Bishop frowned. “I can’t tell whether that means she’s no fun, or she’slotsof fun.”
“No fun,” Davey and I said in unison.
Bishop actually cracked a smile, though it faded quickly as he upended the bottle into his glass. “Yvette was a lot of fun.”
Davey cleared her throat. “Mr. Mattheson was telling me about his wife.”
“She lit up the room, you know?” He glanced from me to her, then back. “Like flipping a switch. People say that all the time, I know, but it was true with Yvie. People couldn’t take their eyes off her. She just…glowed.” Bishop turned up his glass and drained it in several gulps.
“Where’s Austin?” I asked, subtly removing the empty bottle. “Close out his tab,” I whispered to Davey.
“He’s at home. At the…” Bishop shook his head, struggling to focus. “The apartment. Been reading obituaries since before the sun came up. Don’t think he’s eaten since breakfast.”
Well, that’s not good.
“Okay, why don’t I give you a ride home?”
“S’not my home,” Bishop slurred.
“I know. Give me just a minute.” The bar was empty except for two of our regulars, who were arguing in the corner booth. “Closing up early, guys,” I called to them as I crossed the bar to flip the sign on the door. “Vance, hit the neon. And ask Billy to drop some fries and make a burger to-go, please. Something quick and easy.”
“Kitchen’s closed!” Billy called out. “I’ve already cleaned up.”
“Just make me a damn burger!” I snapped. “Then you can go. I’ll clean it up myself, when I get back.”
Billy grumbled a series of expletives from behind the swinging door. But then I heard the walk-in fridge squeal as he opened it.
“Can you two close up?” I asked Vance, tossing a glance at Davey to include her in the question.
Vance nodded.
“Already on it,” Davey piped up without pausing as she counted down the register drawer. A surprising number of our regulars still paid with cash. “Did you know that I own thirty-five percent of this place?” she said to Bishop. “It used to be fifty percent, but we have a silent partner, now, so—”
I headed into the kitchen and prepped the bun and burger toppings for Billy, who was still grumbling beneath his breath. A minute later, Davey came in with the soda spouts soaking in a clear tub of bleach solution. I opened my mouth, but she started talking before I could get a word out.
“Before you say it, I wasnotignoring your instructions. I did not seek Bishop Mattheson out or ask for information about the case. He came to the bar. What was I supposed to do, refuse to serve him?”
