Page 6 of Nowhere Good

Her dad flashed a dangerous smile. “Whatever it is, I’m sure it can wait till later. We’re in the middle of a game here, baby girl.”

“I think something happened to Brad. Kay said she saw a bunch of cop cars and an ambulance at his house. Do you know anything about it?”

“Know anything?” He glowered at her, all serious eyes. They were the color of ice, so different from hers. “Brad Bailey was a worthless junkie, sweetheart. Sounds like he OD’d. Breaking news: bear takes shit in woods. Why would I know anything about it?”

A gut feeling, mostly. Claire’s dad had always hated Brad, and he used to say that someday, Brad would “get what was coming.”

Claire swallowed the lump in her throat. Her dad’s friends continued to watch her, and she felt uneasy under the weight of their stares. They were all like him: early sixties, tattooed, tougher than a leather boot, some with rat tails and cut-off denim vests. She hated the way they scanned her body like she was some sort of tasty meal. It’d started when she was fourteen and had only gotten worse now that she was twenty-four. It was a nauseating feeling, knowing the men who watched her grow up wanted to screw her.

The door to the bar dinged, snapping the tension in two. Claire peered through the window on the door to the main area of the bar. No customers were here this early, but a man she’d never seen before entered. In fact, she’d never seen a man like him on anything but a TV screen—clean-cut, tall, with creamy skin that contrasted against his dark attire and short brown hair. If it weren’t for his boyish, clean-shaven face, she’d think he was much older.

Her dad’s hulking frame appeared behind her, still holding Sully. “Well fuck me, that’s him, boys. The kid detective I told ya’ll about. I guess he’s replacin’ Haylock, and the state sent ’im quick ’cause of that bitch who got killed.”

Claire winced. Eliza. Her name had been Eliza.

“We oughta find the bastard who killed ’er ourselves, bringin’ more city detectives ’round here. I could handle Haylock, but I dunno about this one.”

“I’ll go talk to him, find out what his deal is.” Claire went to leave, but stopped and scooped Sully into her arms. He came with her willingly, making a cute giggling noise.

“That’s my girl.” Her dad patted her back. She tried not to let him see her flinch.

Putting on her game face—a big, bright smile—Claire breezed out behind the bar, Sully heavy in her arms. She was still baffled her tiny sister had created such a big-ass baby. He cooed and gurgled as she walked over to the man. A badge shaped like a shield was mounted to his belt, catching the amber shade of the bar lights. Claire did well to keep the bar tidy, the surfaces of the tables glossy, in spite of the dive bar aesthetic.

“Hi, good mornin’!” she chimed. “Sorry about the baby here, we don’t normally get folks in before noon. Can I help you?”

The man nodded like it was no big deal. He must’ve been warm in that outfit—slacks and a charcoal button-up, rolled up to his forearms. “Good morning, miss.” Inky blue eyes lingered on her for a moment too long. His voice was deep and smooth, but not unkind. “Are you Claire Dyer?”

She nodded. She hadn’t expected him to full name her. “I am… can I help you?”

“I’m Detective Seth Winslow. I’m working with Fairview PD. I was hoping I could ask you a few questions.”

She tensed up. “Is this about Brad? One of our regulars lives on his street, said she saw some cops and stuff… he’s dead, isn’t he?”

The detective’s features softened. “I’m afraid so.”

Claire sucked in a breath. The pain in her chest intensified, but at the same time, she felt lighter. Back in high school, she’d lived in fear of a visit like this. But time had numbed those feelings.

In a horrible way, she was almost relieved.

She held onto Sully tighter, appreciating his warm skin on hers. “I see. Well, I hadn’t known Brad in years, so I don’t think I can help you.”

“Do you mind if we sit somewhere and talk?”

He clearly wasn’t going anywhere, so Claire bottled those feelings inside and told herself she’d crack into them later. “Sure thing.” She zipped from behind the bar and looked up at the detective, quite a few inches taller than her, and managed a toothy smile. He didn’t react. “I hope you don’t mind my nephew tagging along,” she said, leading him across the bar with her arms full of Sully. “My sister Clem’s out shopping with her husband Marty, so I’m on baby duty.”

“The conversation might not be the most kid-friendly.”

They reached a booth, far from the back room. Claire sat on one side with Sully, the detective on the other. “It’s all right, he hasn’t even said ‘mama’ yet. Don’t let his size fool you—he’s only six months old.” She tickled his belly. “Ain’t that right, Sully?”

Sully giggled. When Claire glanced up at the detective, there was a ghost of a smile on his face. A dimple on each one of his pale cheeks. Everyone had to smile when they saw a cute baby. It reminded her that he was a person, just like her. No need to be nervous of him.

And he did look young, maybe only a few years older than she was. She remembered the last detective who’d breezed into town, that grizzled old man with a belly that could hold more beer than she could pour, who was respectful till he had a drink or ten in him, then the comments about “pretty girls like her” started to come out. It was sad he’d died and all, but that guy had told her to “smile more” one too many times. And Claire already was a smiler.

The subtle handsomeness of the man in front of her caught her off guard.

“First and foremost,” Detective Winslow said, “I’m sorry for your loss. I understand you knew Mr. Bailey well.”

Mr. Bailey. She hadn’t heard anyone call him that since high school, and it was always when he was in trouble. “Used to know him,” she corrected. “We dated on and off in high school, but then he got real into the drugs, and his goofy old self became less funny and more concerning. Most people stopped talking to him years ago.”