Don't Look (Pike, Wisconsin #1) - Alexandra Ivy Page 0,70
Lynne into the bar. They’d lingered over their dinner, sipping wine and enjoying the homemade pasta that Bella Russo had been serving in her restaurant for the past thirty years. Kir had savored the sight of the tension draining out of Lynne as they’d chatted about her years in vet school and his early attempts to build his business. They even shared a few laughs as they recalled their childhood years.
They might not have been best friends in school, but they could both recall the day that Kenny Atkins released a flock of ducks in the girls’ bathroom. And sledding down the big hill that spilled onto a narrow creek. More than one kid had ended up in the hospital after falling through the ice, including Kir.
At last he’d reluctantly urged her to cross the street to the bar. Not only did he want to talk to Rita before she was too drunk to be coherent, but Lynne had to get up at an ungodly hour in the morning. He wanted her home and in bed as soon as possible.
Stepping into the taproom, they were instantly shrouded in the strange illumination that came from a combination of thick shadows and blinking neon lights. Like being sucked into another world. They stopped to allow their eyes to adjust, and Kir instinctively glanced toward the bar at the back of the room. He saw the woman bartender from the last time he’d been there, and an unfamiliar man who was filling a glass cooler with bottles of beer.
“Nash isn’t here,” he muttered, turning his attention toward Lynne. “Is that unusual?”
She made a sound of disgust. “He always complained that he worked every night. Now I know he was probably in some other woman’s bed.” She rolled her eyes. “Jerk.”
Kir wrapped an arm around her shoulders and tugged her close. This couldn’t be easy for her. Especially not after the day she’d already endured. “We won’t stay long,” he promised.
“I’m fine.”
Keeping her tight against his side, Kir turned. It was no surprise to find Rita sitting at the same table she’d been at before. Alcoholics liked routines. The same bar, the same seat, the same drink of choice . . . Kir didn’t know if it helped keep them grounded when their world turned to a drunken mist, or if it was a need to have some sort of control in their chaotic life.
Rita was wearing a different jogging suit. This one was a painfully bright purple, and her hair had been pulled into a messy knot on top of her head. He urged Lynne forward and they took a seat across the table.
“Kir.” Rita easily recognized him, her gaze still clear. “I didn’t expect you to become a regular.”
“We just ate dinner at Bella’s and decided on a nightcap before heading home.”
“Nothing wrong with a nightcap.” Rita grabbed her bottle and shook it to reveal it was empty. “Or six.”
Kir obediently lifted his hand toward the bartender and indicated three beers.
Rita smiled and glanced toward Lynne. “Who’s your friend?”
Lynne held out her hand, a genuine smile on her face. “Lynne Gale.”
“Rita King.” Rita shook her hand, then settled back against the leather seat with a faint frown. “Hey, was your dad the vet?”
“Yep.”
“I liked him. I heard he moved to Florida.”
“He did.”
“Smart man.” Rita glanced toward the window where they could see the snow falling in lazy, swirling patterns.
“He seems happy,” Lynne assured the older woman.
“Hey, Lynne.” A new female voice broke into the conversation. “Good to see you again. It’s been a while.”
It was the bartender. Kir struggled to recall her name. Cherry? Yeah, that was it.
Lynne stiffened, her face pale. “Thanks.”
Detecting Lynne’s unease, Cherry unloaded the bottles from the tray and hurriedly returned to the bar.
Rita grabbed one of the beers, studying Lynne with a frown. “I remember now. I’ve seen you with Nash. Are the two of you having a thing?”
“Ancient history,” Lynne muttered.
Kir cleared his throat. He’d known this was going to be awkward for Lynne, but it was even worse than he expected. Time for a distraction. “I suppose you know there’s been another murder?” he asked.
Both women sucked in a startled breath. Maybe he’d been a little abrupt. Still, it worked to distract attention from Lynne.
“Yeah.” Rita took a chug of her beer. “Madeline Randall.”
Kir folded his arms on the wooden table. “Did you know her?”
Another chug. “Unfortunately.”
“You didn’t like her?”
Rita’s face hardened, emphasizing the deep wrinkles that made her look closer to sixty than forty-four.