“I hope there are no hard feelings.”
“Hard feelings? No. Firm feelings, maybe. Slightly rigid feelings. Al dente, I think, is how I would describe my feelings. But not truly hard.”
“Great. Glad to hear it. Don’t change your number or address without letting us know,” I added as I followed him up the stairs.
The bar went quiet as we emerged from the kitchen. As I walked Nolan to the door. He said hi to several friends, who returned his greetings quietly.
“What do they know?” I whispered to Davey, watching through the window as Nolan got into his car. “About why he was locked up.”
She shrugged. “They all saw the fight in the parking lot. They assume he had something to do with Yvette Graham-Mattheson’s death.” She lowered her voice, as the buzz of conversation picked up. “But to my knowledge, they don’t know about any of the rest of it.”
“That’s about to change,” I warned her. Davey nodded. Then I turned to face the dining area and cleared my throat. “We’re closing early tonight, guys!” I called out, to a chorus of groans. “Sorry. Can’t be helped. Last call will be at eleven-thirty. Doors close at midnight.”
“Seriously?” Davey practically squealed. “I can stay?”
“Yes.” I dropped the cloth cash deposit bag into the safe in the floor of my office, then I lowered the top and twisted the handle, sliding three one-inch-thick hidden bolts into place.
“Okay, I know you’re only saying that because there’s a killer on the loose and you don’t want me to go home unless there’s an enforcer next door to listen for trouble through the wall, but I’ll take it!”
She wasmostlyright. I didn’t want her to go home until Tucker was free to be in his apartment below hers.
While I was virtually positive it meant nothing that Vance had cleaned his place when he realized I’d be searching it, I couldn’t take that risk. If hehadgotten rid of evidence of his involvement in infecting Yvette and the others, I could no longer trust him with Davey. Maybe I shouldneverhave trusted him with my sister’s safety. Yes, he’d have to be an idiot to strike so close to home—to strike someone I’d specifically put under his care—but I wasn’t willing to take that chance.
I would be keeping Vance very close at hand until I knew for sure that I could trust him, no matter how badly it stung that I still had to consider my best friend a suspect.
“You want me to get some snacks for you guys?” Davey asked. “Chips and salsa? Or I could have Billy make a giant platter of nachos.”
“Chips and salsa sound great. Let Billy finish up in the kitchen, please.” It was Thursday, the night he cleaned all the grease traps in preparation for the longer weekend hours. “And I know you’ve already cleaned the beer taps, but—”
“I’ll put one back together and pull pints for everyone.”
“Thanks.”
She headed into the kitchen, and I moved past her, through the swinging doors into the front of the bar, where Vance was almost done sweeping and Tucker was cleaning the last of the front windows. “Thanks guys,” I said.
Austin and Bishop were already seated at the large corner booth.
Billy went home, and Vance and Tucker put away their cleaning supplies, while Davey set up a tray of snacks behind the bar.
“Just so everyone’s on the same page,” I said, standing at the end of the booth. “We have one possible new lens to look through, as we narrow down our suspect pool.”
“You’re talking about this Silas Moreland?” Bishop said.
“Morelock,” Vance corrected him.
“Yes,” I said. “Well, not him specifically. He’s dead. But it’s possible that we’re looking for someone who either knew him or knew about what he did and has decided to carry on that…work. For lack of a better term.”
“Criminal endeavor,” Davey supplied as she set a large tray of chips and salsa on the table. “I think the appropriate term is ‘criminal endeavor.’”
“Yes. So it is,” I acknowledged.
She practically beamed at me as she slid into the booth behind Vance and Tucker, sitting sideways so she could see all of us.
“Okay, so what do we know about this Silas Morelock?” Bishop asked.
“I’ve already run a background check, and other than a couple of speeding tickets, he has no record,” Austin said. “He maintained fishing and hunting licenses until three years ago, but there was no property in his name. Not even that cabin you mentioned.”
“Oh!” Davey popped up out of her booth and dashed toward the bar. “I forgot the beer.”
