Fatal Secrets - Desiree Holt Page 0,2
end. He’d given her time in his office to again pepper him with questions. Besides, Justine had been one of his staff members so, as he told her, he still had a vested interest in the case.
Now it was Friday night, and the week was behind her. Everyone else was either going out or shacking up. She wanted a dry place and a good stiff drink. That was all. Something to ease the strain of the last few days. Too bad she still had a two-and-a-half hour drive before she could have either. That close to home she’d deadhead it out and collapse on her own bed. Thank God it would be a straight shot down Interstate 94 as soon as she reached it. A little longer, she told herself. But oh lordy, if only she could have that drink right now. Something to wipe away the cobwebs in her brain and settle her down for the gloomy drive home to Bozeman. It wasn’t far, four hours from where she was to her apartment complex, but she was physically and mentally exhausted. Drained. She wanted a small drink in a quiet place before she hit the road. Something to soothe her rattled brain.
As if in answer to her prayers, as she turned a corner in the highway leading to the interstate, a flashing neon sign on her right caught her attention.
“Red’s Place.”
That was all, just those two words blinking over the entrance to a freestanding stone and wood building. Next to it stretched a one-story motel. Zoe would bet it got a lot of business from the bar. Even on a night as bad as this, the parking lot was nearly full. Either people didn’t mind the rain or they were desperate for their drinks. On impulse she turned off the roadway into the lot and parked as close to the door as she could get. Grabbing her purse and holding her jacket over her head, she made a dash for the entrance, shoved the door open, and hurried inside.
The interior was exactly what she expected—a large room with booths along two walls, some tables and chairs in the middle, and stools lining the bar against the opposite wall. At the far left a dime-size platform held a set of drums and a couple of guitars. No music, so it must be break time.
Hello, copy of every bar in Montana.
The place was about two-thirds full, not bad for a rainy night, and she tried to decide where to sit. A booth probably would have suited her better, but she felt the need for some human contact even if it was with a stranger. The long bar seemed to be where most of the customers were, so, when the bartender looked up from serving a drink and smiled at her, she headed in his direction.
She never could figure out after the fact why, with other empty stools, she took the one next to the guy in faded jeans and a tight T-shirt. The rigid line of his body was as obvious as a Keep Away sign. Maybe she picked that seat because he wasn’t likely to bother her with questions or pickup lines, neither of which she was in the mood for. When she hoisted herself onto the stool, he slid a brief glance her way. She gave him a polite smile, but he ignored her, looked back at his drink and took a deep swallow, as if she wasn’t even there. Or gave him a bad taste.
Oo-kay. So that’s how it is.
Fine. She wasn’t in a social mood, anyway. Give her a drink and leave her alone.
“What can I pour for you?” The bartender, wearing a bright T-shirt with a Red’s Place logo on it, had moved in front of her.
She was tempted to order a double shot of bourbon on the rocks. Trying to get information from people on a nasty episode no one wanted to discuss could fray anyone’s nerves. She still had to drive back to Bozeman, though, so she settled for a whiskey sour, which at least gave her the bourbon but with a mix to tame it down.
She took a sip and let the mixture slide easily down her throat. Even with that small amount in her system, she felt the edge of the past few days begin to soften and slide away. She took another little swallow and looked over again at the man next to her.
It was hard to tell someone’s height when