Clay scans the place to see if there’s anyone who looks like they’re dressed for night fishing but has stopped by the bar first for some liquid courage. No such luck. Clay does, however, see people he knows. Wags Becker, Steph’s estranged husband, the auto mechanic and denier of stealing catalytic converters, stands at the bar with a few friends. One is Robert Hensel, owner of the scrapyard, bully of young Clay. They’re speaking in loud bar voices. Clay can’t make out the words, but he can isolate Wags and Robert in the din. They don’t look like they’re planning on wading into a river in a few hours, but that doesn’t mean they won’t be. If Teddy was stealing catalytic converters for either or both of them, they had plenty of opportunity to nab Teddy.
Wags has a motive. He’s losing Steph’s income and the lifestyle it provided him. Forty-five thousand dollars would go a long way toward giving Wags a comfortable transition into the singlelife. Forty-five thousand dollars that won’t show up in his bank account or on his payroll statements. Forty-five thousand dollars that would be free and clear of a divorce agreement or court-ordered settlement.
Clay also spots Steph gathered with her employees up toward the front window, looking red and blue in the light of a Hamm’s Beer neon sign. She wears a sleeveless blouse and old jeans and from this distance, Clay can see the girl he dated in high school. He watches Steph to see if she’s stealing glimpses of Wags. Divorce in a small town. Not a lot of space for the combatants to get away from each other. But Steph doesn’t look over at her soon-to-be ex-husband. She does, however, make eye contact with another familiar face sitting on the opposite side of the bar.
Eli Hensel, whom Clay met at the scrapyard, sits with a few other twentysomethings. The want-to-be re-teller ofOliver Twistthrows a wry smile in Steph’s direction. Clay is pretty sure he’s the only one in Knut’s who’s noticed the cross-bar connection. Steph and Eli. She’s forty-two. He’s twenty-two.Good for her, thinks Clay. Eli’s not a bad stepping stone out of her marriage. Smart. Interesting. Ambitious. And good for Eli. He’s not going to let twenty years get in the way of him and a beautiful, accomplished woman.
And then, as if sensing Clay’s observation, Steph looks over and offers Clay a slight smile and wave. He returns both. But Steph doesn’t walk over to say hello.
Deb’s cousin, Ash, chats up a woman who looks half his age. He wears a cherry-red polo shirt, collar popped, and paper-white pants. He’s drinking a cocktail of some sort, and the woman, or maybe she’s a girl, drinks what looks like a Long Island iced teain a big snifter. Ash is probably asking if she wants to come up to the house to see the horses and llamas. Maybe he’d better wait until she finishes her fishbowl of alcohol.
Everything else happening in Knut’s looks normal. The drink of choice by most is beer. Clay sees a handful of people downing shots, most likely Jägermeister or Fireball. The Minnesota Twins are on all the TVs except for one that shows a Stanley Cup finals game. The Minnesota Wild are not in it, and few people seem to be paying attention. Some patrons are eating pizzas that were frozen a few minutes ago. That and bags of chips are all Knut’s has to offer food-wise.
Clay’s about to get up and go to the bar to order a beer when a server approaches with a pink drink.
“Hello,” says the server. “This is for you.” She sets the glass down on his table.
“What is it?” says Clay.
“A Shirley Temple,” says the server. “Your secret admirer has sent you one.”
“May I please have a Grain Belt to go along with it?”
“You certainly may. Be right back.” The server heads toward the bar.
Clay feels like an idiot sitting in Knut’s with a Shirley Temple. He doesn’t like the attention it might draw. He considers carrying it into the men’s room to dump it, but if Steph sent it, he doesn’t want to hurt her feelings. He looks over to see if she’s watching him for a reaction, but she appears to be deep in conversation with her colleagues.
“If you use the straw, you won’t get a pink mustache.”
He looks to his right. Zoey Jensen stands near the jukebox.Out of uniform and wearing a baby-blue Minnesota Twins T-shirt and jeans. Her dark hair, freed from its braid, falls down well past her shoulders. She smiles. There must be a fluorescent light somewhere because her teeth glow white.
“I’m not afraid of getting a pink mustache,” says Clay. “But thank you. And have a seat.”
Zoey pulls up a chair and sits opposite Clay, blocking his view of Steph. “The Shirley Temple is a symbol of my wholesome intentions for our friendship. We are still friends, right?”
“Of course,” says Clay. “Some might say besties.”
“Let’s not get carried away,” says Zoey. “So let me ask you, friend. What’s a guy like you doing at a meat raffle like this? Out all on your lonesome on a Monday night?”
“Braedon’s at a sleepover. So why not?”
“Because you’re not a sit-in-a-bar kind of guy,” says Zoey.
“Yes, I am. I’ve sat in lots of bars.”
“People who sit in lots of bars usually sit atthebar. They don’t find the most out-of-the-way table and press their back against a wall to observe the shenanigans. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re staking out the place.”
“If I am,” says Clay, “I’m not doing a very good job. I didn’t see you coming.”
“That’s true. You’re not doing a very good job because I’m also staking out the place. Thought maybe I’d pick up on something that might lead to your uncle’s whereabouts.”
The front door opens, and in walk Officers Mike Wahlquist and Andy Kimmich, in uniform, guns in holsters, smiles on faces.
“Uh-oh. The entire Riverwood police force is here. Is thissome kind of three-cop operation? Mike and Andy draw the attention, you observe reactions from the clientele?”
Zoey turns around to see what Clay sees. When she turns back toward him, Clay can see on Zoey’s face that this is not a three-cop operation.
Zoey says, “Mind if I sit next to you, friend?”
