by Libby Kirsch
Janet kept a few steps behind him as he wound his way through a maze of cubicles. O’Dell shared one of the very few offices with a door at the far end of the space. Two desks faced each other in the cramped room. He motioned for her to sit in one of the two visitor chairs by the door. The wall facing her was covered in mug shots—a grim row of men and women snarling unhappily at the camera.
O’Dell finally cleared his throat. “Thanks for coming in.”
“Sure. I’m not sure what I can do to help, though.”
They stared at each other for several long minutes before O’Dell cleared his throat again. “I feel like we got off on the wrong foot yesterday.”
“Not you—your partner,” Janet said with a frown.
O’Dell nodded. “Mark’s very well regarded and is as thorough an officer as you’ll find here.” When she didn’t answer, he added, “He’s very . . . enthusiastic.”
“Me too,” Janet said flatly, and a smile threatened to break out on O’Dell’s lips.
“Well, like I said last night, I know your father—well, of your father—and I figured you’d want to do right by him, to do right by this case.”
She squinted up at him and leaned forward in her seat. “What does that mean?”
“It just means I know he’s good people—you’re good people. I hope you’ll keep your ears open and let us know if you hear anything about the case, that’s all. We rely on the fact that most people are . . . well, good.”
She snorted. “Is that all? Did I drive all the way down here for you to tell me that most people are good?”
Surprisingly, he blushed.
“Patrick, I’m not sure about your training or background, but next time you have something similarly urgent, feel free to call or text, okay? You already have my number.”
“Sit down.” Janet hadn’t even noticed she’d stood. “That’s not why I asked you to come in.” He waited for her to sit, then he stood and paced the tiny office. “I wanted to tell you what we know about the victim.”
“About Ike?” she asked. “I already know all I need to know about Ike. He came in almost every night, ordered five drinks—three of them during happy hour to keep his costs down—and usually drove himself home, unless he’d had a few drinks before coming in, in which case we’d call him a ride.”
“Do you know about his family, though—his history?”
“Well . . . no. I guess not.”
“His story is a sad one, but not uncommon. His family is mostly gone, and he turned to drink at some point. We spoke to his only daughter last night to break the news, and she said they’d been estranged since her mother died a number of years ago. She was at home last night meditating. He was all alone.”
Janet kept her face impassive. Everyone had a sad story to tell. Ike’s didn’t sound more tragic than any of her other regulars’. “Is that all?” she asked, standing again.
His green eyes bored into hers. He seemed disappointed by her disinterest. “For now. I’m counting on you to keep in touch if anything else comes up—especially that surveillance video from your boyfriend. That sure would be nice to have.”
O’Dell escorted her through the office to the lobby. “We’ll probably come back to the Spot tonight—we need to talk to your customers about Ike and see if anyone remembers anything from Wednesday night.”
Janet made a face but nodded. She’d figured the cops would be back. “You and Finch?”
“Detective Finch, and it’ll probably be just him. Now, now,” he said when she groaned, “he’s one of our best and has been on the force a long time. Ike deserves that, don’t you think?”
Janet didn’t answer as she wondered what her now-dead customer deserved.
“Busy day?” O’Dell asked as they stood in the doorway together, looking out onto the hot sidewalk.
“Headed to work. Did you see the news covered the crime last night? With all those live shots from our parking lot, business will be crazy tonight.”
“That’s grim,” O’Dell said.
“It’s a grim world.”
“Doesn’t have to be,” O’Dell said.
“You’re right,” Janet agreed, “but it is, and I want my staff to be ready. Speaking of staff,” she said, watching O’Dell’s face, “what can you tell me about my bouncer, Frank Ellis?”
“Frank?” he repeated, a little too innocently.
“He said on his résumé that he was a cop here. When I asked him about it after he applied at the Spot, he told me the job wasn’t what he expected and he quit, but I think I should have checked that out, you know, made sure it was an accurate reflection of why he left.”
“Hmm,” he said, and crossed his arms, leaning up against the door frame. “I’ll give you the number for HR, they can answer any questions you have about Frank, or any of our employees.” She pursed her lips, but he wasn’t done. “Oh, we’ll also want to talk to that other bartender who was working Wednesday night. Elizabeth? Detective Finch went to her house, but no one was home.”
“Mmm-hmm,” she said, crossing her arms and smiling at O’Dell. “I’ll make sure to connect you with our HR department.”
He cocked an eyebrow and the corners of his lips lifted in amusement. “Fine. You want to know about Ellis?” He dropped his arms and moved closer to Janet. “The official release papers say he was honorably discharged after serving eight months on the force to care for a sick relative.”
“And?” She tried not to breathe in his aftershave, but it was such a welcome combination of sandalwood and citrus that she leaned toward him while he answered to get another noseful.
“And that’s bullshit,” he said, his voice dropping. “He was too rough with citizens. He racked up a dozen use-of-force complaints in his first six months. Chief put him on probation, and he didn’t slow down. Boss finally told the union he had to resign on his own terms or he’d be fired. He resigned.” He looked behind him at the reception desk, then turned back to Janet. “Your turn. Elizabeth?”
“She’s scheduled to work tonight,” Janet said, distracted enough with O’Dell’s new information about her bouncer that she forgot about his cologne.
“What time?”
She shook herself, focusing on the detective. “Seven. She’s scheduled to work seven to close.”
O’Dell patted her on the shoulder and she pushed through the door, wading through the hot, humid air to get to her car.
So Frank was a liar, and nobody had seen Elizabeth since the night Ike was killed. It was a lot to process so early in the day. Her finger throbbed as she grabbed the steering wheel—and she thought absently that she’d have Cindy Lou cut the lemons from now on.
She put the car into drive and pulled away from the curb. If O’Dell thought she’d help him with his murder case because her father would want her to, he was mistaken. In fact, it only made her want to step as far away from the crime as possible. She wouldn’t lift a single finger—throbbing or not—to help.
Chapter Seven
“Speak of the devil,” Janet said, looking at the screen of her phone when it rang. She tapped a button and said, “What do you want?”
There was a beat of silence as her father processed her tone. “I miss you, too, and I love you.”
She laughed grudgingly, almost hating the fact that a man she hadn’t known for most of her life was somehow able to read her moods as well as Jason.
“What’s going on, Dad?” she asked, navigating the streets of Knoxville as she made her way toward the bar.
“We haven’t talked in a while, and I wanted to check in to see how you’re doing.”
“Oh, really?” Janet asked.
“Is it so difficult to believe a father would want to check in on his daughter?”
“This call has nothing to do with the body found behind my bar last night?”
There was a long pause, and Janet cringed when she realized her father might have been telling the truth. Finally, he said, “Well, now I am curious, Janet. Please
, do fill me in.”
“Uhh . . . It’s not a good time. I just pulled up to work.” It wasn’t exactly true, but she was only a few blocks away and there wasn’t nearly enough time to explain a murder.
“Let’s talk tomorrow—first thing in the morning,” her father said with annoying authority.
“Sure, sure, first thing,” she said with a smile, knowing he’d be in the middle of meetings and court hearings by the time she rolled out of bed.
She disconnected the call and, a few minutes later, pulled into the parking lot at the Spot. She pursed her lips when she saw the police caution tape was still blocking off the Dumpster area. “Where are we supposed to put the trash?” she asked the car.
She walked up to the deserted building, unlocked the door, and headed through the dark bar to the light panel near the office to flip on the daytime lights.
Back in the office, she fired up the computer, determined to go over the books one more time. Before she could log in, though, there was a knock at the back door. She looked at her watch; she wasn’t expecting any deliveries that day.
She pushed the miniblinds apart and saw the beer truck parked behind the bar, and the deliveryman smiling sheepishly at her through the glass.
She wrestled open the steel door. “Hey, Bud. What’s going on?” she asked the burly man leaning against the door frame. Janet grinned. She loved that the man who delivered their Bud was named Bud.
“I shorted Jason a couple cases of the lager yesterday. I only realized it when I was going through inventory this morning and I wanted to make it right.”
“I hadn’t even noticed it yet,” she said, holding up her clipboard. “I was just about to go over the books; things have been . . . busy lately.”
“Where do you want them?”
“Straight in the cooler, if you don’t mind.”
He nodded and headed back outside. Janet turned back to her computer, but she was distracted by the rolling thunderclap of sound as Bud opened the back of the delivery truck. She scrunched up her face and tried to focus on the accounting figures in front of her while Bud moved through the office with his cart. Cases of beer went in the door and the empty cart came back out. She finally closed her accounting program and waited.
“I broke down these boxes,” Bud said, holding the flattened cardboard in both arms. “Do you want me to throw them out back for you?”
Janet grimaced. “If we can,” she said, thinking about the police caution tape. She led Bud through the empty bar and out the side door to the alley, and stood there, her hip propping open the door and her arms crossed over her chest.
“Whoa.” Bud surveyed the caution tape around the Dumpster. “This is where it happened?”
“Yup,” she said. “Did the police talk to you?”
“Nah. The old guy just asked if I knew somebody named Ike. I don’t, so he watched me unload and I got right outta here,” Bud said.
He tossed the boxes over the yellow tape into the recycling bin, then he adjusted his waistband, and his eyes lingered on the exit sign.
Janet stared for a moment. Did Bud know about the security camera hidden inside? His eyes flitted from the sign to Janet and he grinned, but she didn’t know him well enough to say whether the smile was nervous or just a smile.
“Thanks again, Bud.”
“No problem.” He took a pack of cigarettes out of his chest pocket and tapped one forward. “Hey, sorry again about the mix-up. It won’t happen again on my watch.” With a final glance at the exit sign, he waved and then disappeared around the back of the building.
Bud had always been friendly, and he’d delivered beer to the bar since she and Jason bought it, but she didn’t know anything about him. Why was he interested in the exit sign? She chewed her lower lip as she headed back inside.
“Hey, boss!” Cindy Lou applied an extra coat of bright red lipstick. As usual, she was scantily clad. Today’s outfit was a micromini jean skirt and a red tank top with a plunging neckline.
Jason was right: she was going to have to say something before they got a health code violation. She opened her mouth but then felt her eyes glaze over. Who was she to tell someone else how to dress? She didn’t want to be that boss. After all, Cindy Lou was a grown woman.
“Do you know who’s out there?” Cindy Lou asked.
“Oh, it was just Bud, but he’s done now.”
Cindy Lou cocked her head to the side, and one corner of her mouth pulled up. “No, I saw Bud, darlin’. I’m talking about the lady? She tried to follow me in, but I told her we didn’t open for another hour or so. I figured she’d get back in her car and drive away, but she didn’t.”
Janet walked over and they both looked through the glass door into the front parking lot. Sure enough, a woman was taking a large black trash bag from the passenger seat of an old, beat-up yellow car. She hefted it over her shoulder and headed toward the alleyway. Janet walked through the bar, keeping an eye on the woman through the windows running along the wall.
The woman froze when she caught sight of the police tape wrapping the Dumpster and stood there for several minutes. Janet was just deciding whether to get back to work when the woman finally put her bag down and sank out of sight.
Janet hopped onto the bench seat of the nearest booth and looked down through the window. The woman squatted on the pavement, staring at the Dumpster as she rummaged through her trash bag.
“What the . . .” The woman took out a dozen tea candles, a wooden cross, and wireless speakers. A lighter followed, and within minutes, a mini memorial covered two parking spaces. It wasn’t until Janet pushed open the side door that she heard the Christian music blaring from the speakers next to the woman.
“What in the heck is goin’ on out there?” Cindy Lou asked from behind her. Janet turned around to see her tying an apron around her waist. The short apron’s pockets were only deep enough for a credit card, yet it was still longer than her bartender’s skirt. Janet raised her eyes to the ceiling and tried to focus.
Frank came in the front door and joined them at the window.
“Need me to take care of it, Janet? She’s on private property, she can’t just set up shop here.”
“No—thanks, Frank. I’ll go talk to her.” Janet squared her shoulders and pushed the door open. Her finger gave a sudden throb, and she turned back to Cindy Lou. “Why don’t you start prepping the fruit while I deal with this?”
On the pavement outside, the woman now sat cross-legged by the curb, her face and hands raised to the sky as she swayed to the music. Janet cleared her throat loudly and the woman lowered her gaze; the sadness in her blue eyes was so profound that for a moment, Janet couldn’t speak. Already, beads of sweat pooled at the woman’s hairline; her face was pale and her hands trembled. She looked like she was in her early twenties.
“Peace and greetings,” she said in a misty voice. “My name is Larsa Freeman.”
Janet’s eyes opened wide at the last name. “Are you related to Ike?”
“He was my father.” Larsa closed her eyes. “I’m embarking on a spiritual journey of justice and have vowed to sit here in prayer and meditation until my father’s killer is caught.”
Janet spun around and marched back into the bar, slamming the door behind her. She stalked past Cindy Lou and headed for the swear jar, taking a bill out of her wallet as she walked.
“A twenty? What in the world is that for?” Cindy Lou asked.
Janet shoved the bill into the jar. “Fuck.”
Chapter Eight
Janet knew two things with certainty: Larsa Freeman should have been at home or with family, and Larsa Freeman wasn’t going anywhere. She rubbed a hand across her face, trying to find the inner strength to keep from cursing again, when a commotion to her left caught her attention.
“Gosh dang it, Frank! Janet said to stop calling the police every five minutes!” Cindy Lou yelled.
Frank, his voice patronizingly calm, said, “I’m doing my job. That woman is on p
rivate property, and if Janet doesn’t have the balls to get rid of her, I’ll do it.”
While her employees fought, Janet snuck another look out the window at Ike’s daughter. In the withering heat, her arms were raised again, her lips moved, maybe in prayer. She sat just feet away from where Janet had found Ike. Didn’t the woman have anywhere else to go to mourn? Any other family? What if she didn’t? The thought pulled Janet up short.
When the argument behind her escalated, she finally turned. “Guys!” She opened her mouth to continue but both of her employees rushed to have the last word.
“Janet,” Cindy Lou said, “I told him—”
“It’s not your bar, Cindy Lou—” Frank interrupted.
“Enough!” Janet yelled over the pair. “I’ve had enough. Frank, I told you yesterday to stop calling the damn cops every time someone looks at you crossways. I do not want police here unless someone’s dead, and that’s final.” All three cringed at her word choice, but she plowed ahead. “You need to start listening to Cindy Lou, because, from now on, she’s the . . . the assistant manager of this bar. Her word is the word if I’m not here.”
Cindy Lou’s mouth dropped open and Janet noted with satisfaction that Frank’s did, as well. But before he could give voice to his sour expression, red and blue lights from a police cruiser flashed across their faces.
“Damn it, Frank!” She certainly wasn’t going to let the cops haul away a woman who’d just lost her father!
Stalking past her bouncer to the side door, Janet called out, “Larsa! Larsa, I have a table all set up for you in here, hon. I don’t want you getting heatstroke while you wait for justice.” She waved to the cop, who was just getting out of his squad car. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding. False alarm—no problem here!” She ushered a surprised Larsa in and shut the door without a backward glance.
“Frank, tell the police officer you were mistaken and then get table twenty-one ready for Ms. Freeman while I fix her a drink.”