The Bitterroots (Cassie Dewell #4) - C.J. Box Page 0,52
top from a cardboard box with a spigot.
“I don’t think they serve a lot of wine here,” she said to the woman.
“Are you surprised?”
“I guess not.”
The woman turned slightly away on her stool as if to signal that she found her phone more interesting than Cassie. Cassie got the message, but she couldn’t help not doing a quick visual profile on the woman.
Her big diamond ring glinted in the overhead bar lights, and beneath a gold pendant necklace a dime-size ruby hung at the plunge of her breasts. The ruby matched the color of her lipstick and manicured nails.
Cassie felt dowdy sitting next to her. What didn’t add up, though, was why an attractive woman in a place like the Hayloft would be sitting alone.
The question was answered a few seconds later when one of the drunk fishermen approached from behind them and leaned on the bar with both elbows and turned to her. “I was wondering if I could buy you a—”
“Fuck off,” the woman said quickly and firmly before he could finish.
“Drink,” the man finished.
“Maybe you didn’t hear me?” the woman asked.
“I heard you loud and clear,” the fisherman said.
“Then fuck off,” she repeated.
“Okay, I got the message.”
*
Rather than continue to glare at the exchange and watch the wounded fisherman skulk away, she studied the mirror and the backbar. Above the bar was a long row of ancient beer cans. Cassie recognized some of them from her youth: Great Falls, Schlitz, Hamm’s, Grain Belt.
“Would you like to see a menu?” the server asked when she delivered Cassie’s wine.
“Sure.”
Cassie was careful when she raised the glass to take her first sip. It was so full she didn’t want to spill it on her clothes. The wine was better than she would have guessed it would be.
She glanced around the bar. There were three female employees serving drinks and food. One was a severely thin blonde with huge breasts, the other a cowgirl with tight sequined jeans and a massive buckle, and the server who poured Cassie’s wine. All wore the tight black tank tops and any of them could be Lindy, she thought.
It was a long menu but several items were highlighted as local favorites, including the patty melt, chicken-fried steak, and fried chicken gizzards. Cassie ordered the patty melt.
“It goes excellent with your wine,” the server said unconvincingly.
“Thank you,” Cassie said. “Can you tell me—is Lindy working tonight?”
She hoped the server would say, “I’m Lindy.” Instead, she frowned at the mention of the name.
“Not tonight, I guess,” the girl said.
“When will she be in?”
The server rolled her eyes. “Your guess is as good as mine.” Then she left to put in Cassie’s order.
An odd thing to say, Cassie thought. Didn’t the employees have a schedule posted somewhere of their shifts?
“You’re looking for Lindy Glode?” the woman next to Cassie asked.
“Yes.”
“Let me guess,” the woman said, leaning back to give Cassie the once-over. She did it in a way that was full-on, not in the furtive way Cassie had profiled her. “You’re either a pissed-off wife out to tell Lindy off for flirting with your husband or you’re a cop.”
“More the latter,” Cassie said. She was impressed but not flattered.
“I know all the cops in this neck of the woods so you’re from out of town.”
“Bozeman.”
“So why is a cop looking for Lindy?”
“I want to ask her some questions. Her name came up in an investigation. She’s not in any trouble.”
“Ah,” the woman said with a sly smile. “You don’t want to tell me.”
“Do you know her pretty well?” Cassie asked.
The woman continued to smile as if she was in on the conspiracy, whatever it was.
“I’m in here two or three nights a week, honey. I’d say I knew her pretty well.”
“Do you know where I can find her?”
The woman turned and sipped the last of her drink. She signaled the server for another, and nodded toward Cassie’s wineglass as well.
“ Really, I’m okay,” Cassie said.
“That’s what you think.”
Another odd statement, Cassie thought.
“Lindy kind of sets her own hours,” the woman said. “I think she’s using again. When she jumps back off that wagon her appearances here can be few and far between.”
“Do you know where she lives?” Cassie asked.
“Now why do you think I’d know that?”
“Just asking.”
The server delivered another full glass of wine to Cassie and a bourbon on the rocks to the woman. She said, “Do you want me to put both of these on your tab, Cheyenne?”
“Yes.”
Cheyenne. Cassie tried not to let her mouth drop