Double Shot (5 page)

“Gosh, I’ve always thought the Wade On Inn is kind of pretty,” Candy argued as we climbed out of the truck.

Karen glanced up from locking the doors and conceded that the building was interesting.

Interesting and beautiful, actually. The Wade On Inn is a huge old stone structure originally built as a grist mill.

“The setting is nice, too,” I said. “Just listen.” I tilted my head toward the sounds of the waterfalls. “If you forget about the sleazy bar, it’s almost idyllic.”

“Yeah, right,” Karen said. We held onto each other to keep from slipping, and the three of us tiptoed forward. “Take a look at this parking lot, Jess.”

Okay, so I had to admit that our immediate surroundings were not exactly picturesque. For instance, Wilson’s truck fit right in with most of the other vehicles. They, too, were ugly old junkers, several with plastic sheeting taped over this or that busted out window. But at the corner closest to Shinkle Creek and the waterfalls, the cars were decidedly newer and shinier.

I stopped to take a closer look. Why would people with the best cars park in the darkest, muddiest section of this crime-ridden place, where the overhead lights weren’t even working?

Candy must have read my mind. “This is where people using the hotel park.” She spoke loudly enough to be heard over the rushing waters. “It’s kind of impolite to notice the cars, okay?”

She looked at me imploringly until I finally understood. This was the illicit sex section of the parking lot, where teenagers parked their parents’ cars, and where adulterers parked theirs. I wasn’t supposed to recognize these cars, much less attempt to deduce who was in the hotel.

Leave it to Candy Poppe to know the proper Wade On Inn etiquette. She’s such a sweetie now, but back in her high school days she was a juvenile delinquent. She had likely spent many an evening at that hotel.

As Candy pulled me away, I asked Karen if she had ever been to the Wade On Inn.

“Are you kidding?” she said. “I’ve never had the guts.”

About then, the door opened. A big guy picked up a smaller guy by the seat of his pants and threw him into the parking lot.

“And stay out,” he shouted as the poor soul landed at our feet.

The three of us gingerly stepped around the human heap and proceeded to the doorway, where the bouncer’s considerable bulk blocked our entry. He looked like a football player who had seen better days, and he took his time studying each of us in turn. As he lingered over Candy’s legs, I noticed a book tucked into the waist of his jeans. Was that really a Bible?

The Bible-toting bouncer took one baby step aside, and we entered the cramped entranceway single file. Karen reached for the door with an arrow pointing up, but Candy and I said “No,” in unison and gestured to the door with a rather ominous-looking arrow pointing downward.

“Upstairs is where the hotel is,” Candy explained. She opened the door leading downstairs. “But we’re going this way.”

Karen whimpered as if we were ushering her through the gates of hell itself. But a glimpse of the marvelous stone slab staircase lighted with wrought iron lanterns piqued her curiosity, and she led the way.

***

“But this is great!” Karen looked around in delight as she reached the bottom stair.

We had entered into a spacious room with thick stone walls on three sides. The bar lined the wall behind us, and two enormous fireplaces, which likely hadn’t been used for a century, faced each other from across an expansive wood-plank dance floor.

The pool table stood in the place of honor, in front of the wall of the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Shinkle Creek and the waterfalls. With the bright overhead lamp above it, one could either watch the game itself, or the reflection of the game in the windows.

“I’ve put this room in several of my books,” I said. “Minus those windows, it’s my model for any and all the dungeons.”

“You must write about some pretty nice dungeons.” Karen was still wide-eyed. “And I love the music!”

“Excuse me?”

She pointed upward. “It’s the Wicket Brothers. Lucas and Carl Wicket. I love their stuff!”

It’s funny what you learn about a person when you set out to catch a killer together. It’s also funny how the mind works. I might have remembered the architecture to a tee, but I had forgotten, or more likely repressed, the fact that the Wade On Inn plays country and western music. Incessantly.

I blinked twice and tuned in to the Wicket Brothers, who were agonizing over the trials and tribulations of two guys loving the same gal. I tucked the idea away for the next time I suffered from plot plight and followed Candy to the bar.

“A Corona with lime for my friend,” she told the bartender and pointed toward Karen. “And a bottle of Korbel for Tessie and me, please.” She turned around and winked.

“Say what?” the bartender asked.

I stepped forward. “On second thought, we’ll just take a pitcher.”

Candy looked at me as if I had lost my mind. She knows I don’t like beer, and had made a solemn vow when my divorce was finalized to celebrate every day of the rest of my life with a healthy dose of champagne. I mumbled something about when in Rome.

“Oh!” Candy caught on. “Oh, yeah! A pitcher of beer!” She winked again and then swung around to the bartender, who I swear bore an uncanny resemblance to Lily Munster. She had beautiful black eyes, dark red talons, and long dark hair with a dramatic streak of grey running through it.

Karen asked what she had on tap, and Mrs. Munster listed four cheap choices before slapping both palms on the bar. “Name your poison, ladies?”

I tried not to cringe when Karen did so.

While the bartender filled our pitcher with something that promised to be lukewarm and flat, we found a couple of barstools, and my friends sat down. I set my cue at Karen’s feet but remained standing in order to study the crowd.

Some of these people had to be undercover cops. In fact, a woman sitting near Karen looked familiar. I couldn’t quite place her, but Wilson must have introduced us at some point. The head full of blond curls was a nice touch, though. Clearly she had taken pains not to look cop-like.

Goldilocks the Cop glanced up and scowled. I refrained from waving and looked away, secure in the knowledge she was watching out for us.

The only other person who caught my attention was the teenage girl sitting at the farthest end of the bar doing her homework.

Doing her homework?

I checked again, and sure enough the girl was concentrating on two textbooks and had a notebook spread out in front of her. She was indeed doing her homework. On a Friday night? At the Wade On Inn?

The bartender must have noticed me staring. “That’s my daughter Mackenzie,” she said as she set down our pitcher. “I can’t get her to take her nose out of those books. Even on weekends, she’s supposedly got tons of homework.” She shook her head. “The kid gets straight A’s.”

“You must be proud of her,” I said.

“A’s in math, even.” She glanced back at me. “Unn-believable.”

I smiled and reached my hand across the bar. “Tessie Hess,” I made sure to say.

“Elsa Quinn. I own this dump.” She shook my hand and stepped away to check on her daughter.

The child might have been a lot more studious than her mother, but they did look alike. Mackenzie had long dark hair, minus the grey, and painfully thin arms.

Karen filled our glasses and began a dissertation on the Wicket Brothers. And while Candy learned everything she ever wanted to know about Lucas and Carl, I continued my perusal of the Wade On Inn.

At either side of the room, in front of the fireplaces and surrounding the dance floor, were groups of small tables surrounded by rickety-looking chairs, all seats taken. The bouncer sat on a barstool at the foot of the stairs. Occasionally he glanced up from his Bible to check on the dancers, although I really couldn’t understand why.

Only one woman seemed to be having any fun at all. She staggered about, apparently oblivious to the fact that she lacked a partner. Suddenly she stopped short, and I perked up my ears.

Thank you, God—Lucas and Carl had finally given up. But the blessed silence lasted only a brief moment before a group of female singers began spouting off about their own angst. Stumbling slightly, the Drunken Dancer returned to her solo swaying.

“Who’s this?” I asked over my shoulder.

“Raven Claw,” Karen answered. “I love their stuff.”

I ventured a small sip of the pale yellow substance in my flimsy plastic cup and finally got around to studying the pool table crowd across the room. A young guy with curly blond hair similar to Goldilocks the Cop’s was playing against a little old black man while a bunch of onlookers watched.

No one was talking much, which was a good indication a lot of money was riding on the game. That didn’t surprise me, but the pair of old ladies sitting amongst the railbirds did. They had identical blue-rinsed hair, one held a cane, and the other a cowboy hat.

I was puzzling over that when Candy tapped my shoulder.“Are you gonna play, Tessie?” She spoke loudly, just as I had instructed her.

Karen stopped humming along with Raven Claw and assumed her role also. “Our friend J—I mean, my friend Tessie here’s a fantastic pool player,” she announced. “I bet she could beat anyone in this place.”

Candy banged a fist on the bar. “That’s right, Karen,” she said. “Tessie can beat anyone. Gosh, I just know she can.”

Okay, so my friends are not great actresses. But at least they were attempting to follow the script we had practiced earlier.

Playing my own part, I shrugged at no one in particular and mumbled something about being out of practice.

“Don’t be shy, Tessie,” Karen scolded. “You’re a real good player, and you know it.” She nodded at anyone who was watching her, but most people—most men anyway—had their eyes on Candy.

She smiled sweetly to her new fans. “Karen’s right,” she said. “Tessie never, ever loses, okay?”

Several men mumbled a mesmerized “Okay,” as Karen caught my eye.

“Now?” she mouthed.

I offered the slightest nod, and she up and pulled her wallet from the pocket of her jeans and slammed it on the bar. That went just as planned, but I almost fell over backwards when Candy lifted her money from somewhere deep down in her cleavage. Trust me, that was not in the script, and trust me, I was not the only person who noticed.

“Oh boy,” Karen said as several men practically toppled off their barstools.

***

“Now, let’s see.” Candy hopped off her own barstool and was making a show of counting out the five twenties I had given her earlier. “I have a hundred dollars, and I’m willing to bet forty that my friend Tessie can beat anyone in here.” She fanned herself with her cash and looked around. “How about you, Karen?”

Karen announced that she, too, was willing to put forty dollars on me. “Heck,” she said, getting into the spirit. “Let’s make it sixty!”

It was my turn for some bad acting. “Oh, but ladies.” I backed away and batted my eyelashes in various directions. “I haven’t played in, like, forever. I’m really not that good.”

Continuing my reluctant act, I took another step backwards, and bumped into what felt like a very large person. I cringed and turned around, expecting to see the bouncer.

But instead I had my nose in the broad chest of the blond guy who had been shooting pool a moment before. I almost didn’t recognize him since he now wore a cowboy hat. I peeked over his shoulder. Sure enough, the hat was missing from the old lady’s lap.

“Jeepers, ma’am.” Cowboy Hat smiled. “You think you can beat Avis even?”

Jeepers?

He continued, “I just lost three games in a row to him. Shucks, he’s good.”

Shucks?

“Who’s Avis?” I asked and braced myself for the answer.

“Avis Sage.” Cowboy Hat pointed to the old black man who still had command of the table, and I closed my eyes and prayed for strength.

Avis Sage was a hustler from way back when. He might be playing at the Wade On Inn these days, but once upon a time, he had visited my childhood home and shot a few games against my father. And me. But surely my brilliant disguise and several decades of aging would keep me safe from recognition?

“The only guy who could beat him around here is dead,” Cowboy Hat chirped happily as he handed Elsa an empty pitcher.

She made a show of slamming things around behind the bar and handed him his refill. “Take this, and this conversation, back to the pool table, Bobby,” she ordered.

I glanced around to see who else was disturbed by Bobby’s line of conversation and noticed Elsa’s daughter. Mackenzie wasn’t disturbed, exactly, but she was staring at the wannabe cowboy. And she had lost all interest in her homework.

Once again, Candy took charge. She tucked some of her money away from whence it came, lifted the other forty over her head, and led what amounted to a conga line across the room toward the pool table.

“Here goes nothing,” Karen whispered. She grabbed our pitcher, slung my cue case over her shoulder, and joined the end of the line. I stepped around Cowboy Hat and tagged along.

“I’d be careful if I were you,” he said from behind me.

I stopped and turned at the edge of the dance floor. “Oh?” I asked. “Why’s that?”

“Shucks, ma’am. We’ve had some trouble in here lately. Two people were killed.” He gestured toward the pool table.

“Playing pool?” I acted shocked and lied that I was from out of town. “My friends should have warned me about this.”

“I reckon they should have.”

I blinked twice and held out my hand. “Tessie Hess,” I said. “And you’re Bobby?”

“Bobby Decker.” He ignored my hand and tipped his cowboy hat. “You’d best be careful, ma’am. You hear?”

I studied him some more. “I’ve always been a cautious player,” I said eventually. “How about you?”

“I reckon I’m not the cautious type.” Bobby smiled again, and I noticed his chipped front tooth for the first time.

Chapter 6

Candy’s conga line parted, and Avis Sage stepped forward as I approached the pool table. He bowed and said it was a pleasure to meet me, and since the old guy didn’t seem to recognize me, I returned the sentiment.