“In this town?” I shake my head. “Probably not.”
“Listen, Marcus.” She leans back in her seat as one long fingernail traces circles on the tabletop. “I know there are hard feelings about the job.”
“There aren’t any hard feelings, really. I just don’t understand why you’d want to live here. No one moves here…” I look around the bar. “Which is why I know everyone.”
“My grandmother passed away in the spring and someone needed to come and straighten everything out…get her house ready to sell and deal with all her stuff. My mother has MS and travelling is hard for her, my sisters are all married with kids, so I was the logical choice.”
“So you’re here short term?” I only realize how eager that sounded when she gives me a dubious smile.
“Probably,” she says. “I’m not sure. I’m kind of falling in love with the place. Her house is amazing.”
“So, her house might keep you from leaving?” I say with a quirk of my eyebrow. “Because I’m not above arson.”
She laughs. “I hadn’t been there since I was little. I forgot how it just rambles. I’ve even found a hidden passage to a room behind the fireplace.”
I feel the brush of Carol’s belly on my shoulder as she squeezes between tables with our drinks. She sets our glasses down on the chipped wooden table. “Anything else I can get you?”
I look at Deanna as she gives me a little shake of her head as she lifts her wine glass and sips.
“I think we’re good, Carol. How’s Wyatt holding up?” I ask with a nod at her swollen belly. “Ready for diapers and late night feedings?”
She laughs. “He damn well better be. I’m hauling this thing around for the first nine months,” she says, grasping her belly. “Told him he gets the second nine.” She gives me a wink and turns for the table next to ours.
I pick up my beer and lean back in my chair. “When we were kids, we used to tell ghost stories about your house,” I tell Deanna. “The first time you took me there I kept expecting the floorboards to creak in the middle of the night, or closet doors to swing open on their own or whatever.”
Deanna laughs. “Grandma would have gotten a kick out of knowing that.”
“It was always so well cared for, but there never seemed to be anyone living there, so we thought it was haunted.” A stone sinks in my gut at the memory of Nate throwing a rock through a window one night just to see what would happen. No lights came on, but when we went back two days later, it was fixed.
“Grandma lived in that house alone since Grandpa died fifteen years ago. But like I said, Mom is sick. When her MS flares up, she needs a lot of help. Grandma spent weeks at a time in Texas with us, up until a few years ago when she got too old to travel easily. So the house would have been empty a lot.”
“She must have had someone taking care of it for her.”
“Gary, her handyman.” Her mouth curls in a wily smile. “Though I always thought he might have been taking care of more than just her house…if you catch my drift.”
I laugh at the same instant a crash and a yell comes from behind me. I turn in time to hear a slurred, “…don’t know what the hell you’re talking about!”
A man is standing near an overturned bar stool, swaying dangerously. His face is red as he glares Vicky down where she stands behind the bar.
“You’ve had enough, Bruce,” Vicky says. Her voice is low, but commanding enough that I can hear it over the music. “I’m calling your daughter to come pick you up.”
He sways again, then grasps the empty barstool next to him as he starts to topple. It does nothing to slow his fall, instead coming down on top of him. And the whole way to the floor, he’s garbling out some protest. All I catch of it is “…Addie…no damn car…” but it’s enough to twist my gut.
I stand and move toward him, righting the barstools and holding out my hand. And now that I’m closer, there’s no mistaking the face. It’s redder than when I saw him at the hospital, but it’s Addie’s dad for sure.
“I’ll get him home, Vicky,” I tell her, then bend down and start to haul Bruce up.
He shoves my hand away. “Don’t need any help from you,” he slurs, rolling off his ass onto his hands and knees. “You’re that fucking pervert.”
My stomach flips and acid climbs up my throat.
“Bruce, right?” I say, hoping anyone who might have deciphered his slur will chalk it up to his inebriated state. “Let’s get you home, okay?”
I reach for him again, but he shakes me off and drags himself up the barstool.
“Bruce,” Vicky says once he’s up. “Either you let Marcus drive you home or I’m calling your daughter. Either way, you’re leaving.”
He glares, but I’m not sure his glassy eyes really focus on anything. “You touch my daughter, I’m calling the cops.”
I lift my hands in surrender, ignoring the coil of...guilt? dread? that tightens in my gut. “I’m only trying to help here.”