He pondered that for a moment. It seemed like a pretty good bargain; he only had to sink individual balls to get his reward, she had to win entire games to reap hers. “Done,” he said, and gestured toward the table. “Ladies first?”
Baba shrugged. “All right,” she said. “Although I’m no lady.” She assumed the classic stance, with her left hand forming a bridge to support the cue while her right supplied power to the stick. Liam was mesmerized by the sight of her bottom swaying as she bent over the table, but the resounding crash of balls colliding and ricocheting around the felt tabletop focused his attention back where it belonged. The innocent-looking cue ball spun slowly to a stop as three colored rounds plopped into the nets, one after another.
“That’s solids,” Baba said brightly, and proceeded to run the table, sinking all of her balls with effortless ease, one after another. The steady thunk of her stick against the cue ball sounded like a clock tolling midnight. Liam just stood there, mouth open, as he lost the game without ever getting the chance to make a move.
“I think I’ve been hustled,” he finally said, as the eight ball slid neatly into the corner pocket.
The dark-haired woman shrugged again, eyes twinkling. “Hey, the stakes were your idea, not mine, Sheriff.” She took a long swallow of beer, then started racking the balls again. “But I expect you to hold up your end of the deal and give me the day I won.”
“Fair’s fair,” Liam said. “As long as you don’t do anything illegal.”
“Who me?” Baba gave him her best attempt at an innocent look. A man two tables over tripped on his own cue and fell into the guy next to him, almost starting a fistfight. Liam snorted, not impressed.
“My break,” he said. He’d been playing pool in this bar since he was in high school, sneaking down the big elm tree outside his bedroom window to come hang out with his friends. If he couldn’t manage to sink a ball when it was his turn, he’d turn in his badge and take up spot welding.
He blocked out the chatter from the neighboring tables and the music from the front room. The elusive ribbon of scent that teased him from Baba’s direction was harder to ignore, but he bent over the smooth green felt and inhaled the odor of chalk dust and spilled beer instead. The cue ball shot off the tip of his stick with a solid, meaty thud and turned the geometric precision of the amassed balls into spiraling chaos. The number three ball raced away from its fellows and slid into the corner pocket with a satisfying whoosh, like a rabbit diving into shelter with a coyote hot on its heels.
Liam felt a slightly predatory rush himself as he straightened up, cocking his head at his opponent. “Stripes,” he said. “And my first question is this: who did you think was responsible for causing all those people to get so out of control at the meeting, and why?”
He bent down to take his next shot, gesturing with the stick toward the side pocket. “Five ball,” he said. “Well?”
Baba shrugged. “A waste of a perfectly good question, Sheriff, since I was going to tell you that anyway. But I should make it clear from the start that I don’t have any evidence; just a very strong suspicion.”
“Considering I’ve got nothing,” Liam admitted with chagrin, “that still puts you at an advantage over me.”
Baba muttered something that sounded distinctly like, “You have no idea,” then added more to the point, “I think it was the woman who works for Peter Callahan. Belinda said her name is Maya something and that she got here right before children started disappearing.”
Liam was so started by this pronouncement, he muffed the shot, sending the ball skidding into one of Baba’s and nudging it into a better alignment for her next turn. Profanity made it as far as the inside of his lips and hung there, largely unspoken.
Baba stalked around the table, eying all the possible angles. Liam just eyed her.
“What makes you think Maya Freeman has anything to do with this?” he asked. “She may have shown up around the right time, but I’ve looked into her background and everything checks out.”
One solid-colored ball zoomed past him into a corner pocket, rapidly followed by another two in a blur of rainbow colors. “Appearances can be deceiving,” Baba said coolly. “And that woman is not what—who—she appears to be. All I can tell you is that I saw her do something suspicious at the meeting. Maybe it had nothing to do with the ensuing upheaval, but I wouldn’t want to bet your town’s safety on that, would you?” The eight ball followed all its fellows in as if to punctuate her statement.