“We won’t need that either,” Dalton says, as if reading my mind. “If someone wants to trade on the side, fine, but no brothel. Isabel has agreed.”
I nod. Dalton shifts. He’s trying to figure out why I’m standing here. It’s not pure nostalgia. I have a job to do, and I wouldn’t let myself get lost in melancholy thoughts. I need him to see it himself. Independent corroboration.
He could just ask what I’m doing, but the man has never met a puzzle that he didn’t want to solve on his own. He glances around and then …
“Fuck.”
I follow his gaze to the sign beside the door.
Wednesday at the Roc
The only thing on offer tonight is our alcohol, including delicious semi-chilled beer and watered-down cocktails.
Evening special: raspberry vodka lemonade (and no, it’s not on sale)
Isabel didn’t write that sign. The fact that she even allows it to be written is proof that she likes her new bartender enough to permit this gentle mockery of her business practices.
Dalton looks at me. “That’s it, isn’t it? What you were looking at.”
I nod.
He holds Conrad’s note beside the sign. “Fuck.”
That’s why the writing looked familiar. Because we see it almost daily on Isabel’s signs.
“It’s not a distinctive hand,” I say. “As you pointed out.”
“It’s not. However…”
His gaze turns to Storm, who is still snuffling, taking far more interest than usual in the layers of scent outside the Roc’s door.
“Still not proof,” I say.
“Nor is the fact that they’ve been on the same fishing trips multiple times.”
I slump against the wall. “Fuck.”
“That’s what I said.”
“I like Brandon,” I say. “He’s always seemed like a decent guy.”
Dalton nods, and we move away from the front door. Storm snuffles for a moment, and then joins us. I glance back at the sign.
“Is there anything you can tell me?” I say. “Concerns in his background?”
He steers me farther from the Roc and then lowers his voice to say, “I think his backstory is fake.”
“What?” I glance up at him. “Sorry. That sounded shrill.”
“I didn’t know it when Isabel hired him, or I’d have said something. It’s actually Phil who suspected it and brought it to me to research when we’re in Dawson next week.”
“He’s concerned about Isabel. Protecting her.”
“Yep. We aren’t quite at the stage where Phil would bring random concerns to me. But he knows Brandon’s alleged story, which Brandon must not realize. Recently, in talking to Brandon, Phil noticed discrepancies.”
“Between what Brandon says and the backstory the council gave him.”
“None of it suggests the guy’s real background, so I can’t help you there. It could be white-collar crime. Or it could be violent. For now, Phil has just been keeping a close watch, both on the stockroom and Isabel.”
“If Brandon does have a secret background, that gives him a reason to silence Conrad—the person promising to reveal those backgrounds.”
“Take him in for a proper interview.” Dalton glances back at the Roc. “We should do that now.”
“We should.”
FIFTEEN
Dalton stays outside with Storm. Having both of us walk in wearing our work clothes would be a sure sign we aren’t there for a post-shift drink. Dalton sticks close, though, to help escort Brandon to the station.
I walk in and the burble of conversation rises to greet me. It’s just after seven, a couple of hours from peak drinking time. Most of the customers are on the back deck, enjoying their beer or wine al fresco. I spot Isabel through a window. As I pass the bar, a bearded guy in his late twenties looks up. I pretend not to see Brandon. My poker face is decent, but I’d rather not test it tonight.
I step onto the deck. Isabel doesn’t see me. She’s deep in conversation with Phil.
This has become a common sight, early in the evening. Isabel and Phil sharing a tiny table, leaning over it as they drink, enrapt in their discussion and oblivious to everything else. It’s rare to find anyone else with them. If Dalton and I come in later, we might share a drink. A few others are occasionally invited to join them. Mostly their table is a private one. A private table for private people.
Early in my Rockton stay, it’d come as a shock to realize Isabel doesn’t have many friends. She’s the most powerful woman—possibly most powerful person—in town. She’s charming and easy to talk to, a first-rate conversationalist. I wouldn’t call that an act, but it is part of her public persona. The therapist turned bar-and-brothel owner. Get to know her personally, and the conversation is even better, but the privacy shield goes up. I’m probably her closest friend in Rockton, yet that only means she seeks out my company now and then.
I’m glad to see her with Phil. I liked Mick, but this is more a meeting of the minds. Sharp minds and sharper ambitions. I only hope … Well, Isabel has made it clear she’s joining us if we start a new Rockton, and Phil has made it clear he’ll help us, but has no intention of being a pioneer. Another reason I hope it doesn’t come to that, for their sakes.
As I move toward their table, Phil notices me first. Sensing business in the air, he nods and motions to ask whether he should step aside. I shake my head and continue approaching.
“Hey, Iz,” I say. “Any chance I can steal your bartender?”
One split second of confusion, and then her shoulders slump as she sighs. Phil must have told her something. A vague warning about her new bartender.
“Anything I should know?” I murmur, too low for other tables to overhear.
“He had last night off,” Phil says.
“And no,” Isabel says, “we saw nothing suspicious in that, or we’d have mentioned it. It’s his usual night off. He was at work on time today and has been fine.”
I nod. No alibi then. Damn, I was really hoping I had the wrong guy.
Isabel rises. “Is Eric around?”
“Out front with Storm.”
“All right then. I will speak to Brandon and ask him to step outside with me to check the cistern. If you and Eric meet me there, that should minimize the drama. I would appreciate that.”
I know her well enough to understand this is as much for Brandon’s sake as hers. She’s allowing him the courtesy of a private arrest.
“I would prefer to handle this,” Phil says. “If you insist, Isabel, then I’ll ask to be there when you do it.”
She nods. “I don’t expect trouble, but yes, I will accept the backup.”
“I’ll join Eric…” I begin, trailing off as they both go still, their gazes traveling past me.
Isabel recovers in a blink with a smile and a nod. “Hello, Brandon. Please don’t tell me we’re out of tequila. That will not make our detective here happy.”
I turn to see Brandon approaching with a bottle of tequila and a shot glass.