Ties That Bind

Chapter 22

THE WEATHERED ROSE SEEMED LIKE it had aged since she was here days ago. Maybe it had something to do with the number of gray-haired patrons tonight. But older or not, they were speaking at increased volume as if trying overpower the volume of the jukebox, which blared Blondie rocking it with One Way or Another.

All Madison could do was curse under her breath. She only had herself to blame. Her work seemed to follow her everywhere. It's not as if she set out to be a detective or felt predestined to fulfill a family obligation. She wanted to be a lawyer—a defense attorney, in fact. It was a career option she decided not to pursue because of the endless hours required. Looking back, maybe she hadn't made the smart choice. It wasn't that she didn't like her current job, but she had the endless hours, with a lower paycheck.

She sat down heavy on a stool and flagged down the bartender.

"I answered your questions last time." Justin's eyes scanned the room. They were hard to read as before, but his body language wasn't. He feared losing his customers due to a cop.

"I'll have Daniels on the rocks."

Justin made the drink and placed it in front of her. "Must've been one hell of a day. Where's the Beer Man?"

"Actually, on second thought, maybe a little club soda." She pinched her index finger and thumb to within an inch of each other.

He took the glass back and added the soda. "On the house. Enjoy."

She wasn't in the mood to discuss her partner, nor offer an explanation, no matter how brief, as to his whereabouts. How could a good cop, a respectable cop, shut his eyes to the fact Layton didn't match the necktie, even for the sake of closure? She lost respect for him for considering it.

She took a long draw on her whiskey. It burned as it went down her throat.

That is where their agendas differed. Terry wanted the case closed, not that she didn't want that just as much, but to her it was also about finding the truth. Sometimes, she wondered if he cared more about the stats than the people behind them. Maybe it was her initial interest in defending people that drove her need to get all the answers. Maybe she wasn't obsessive compulsive.

She watched as a man worked his way around the bar, hitting on women, and repeatedly being rejected. The guy, apparently desperate, grasped onto one woman's hand. She pulled her hand back and yelled something at him.

Laura hadn't fought off Photo Guy's attempts to pick her up. In fact, she went home with him. Layton said he followed them there. Was her cavalier attitude toward a stranger what killed her? Three men fought for priority—Layton, the unnamed bookie, and the man in the photo. The only one who didn't have a clear motive would be Photo Guy. But then, maybe there wasn't a bookie. Layton could have hired a contract killer—Photo Guy—to take care of things, but then why act so jealous and draw attention to himself? And no hit man would leave his picture behind. None of it made sense.

Madison took another sip, this time savoring the sweetness of the burn. A waitress went by with an order of chicken wings, the smell instilling an overwhelming hunger that was hard to ignore.

"I'll have one of what you're drinkin'." The man who crawled onto the stool beside her had beer breath, but a pleasant smile.

Great, it was the desperate Romeo. Maybe if she ignored him, he'd take the hint and get lost.

"I said I'll have one of what you're drinkin'." He bumped her elbow with his.

Did he just touch her? She moved away from him hoping he could read body language.

"All right, that's how it's going to be. I'll have to use my psychic powers then. Narrow in on it..." He held a hand over her glass.

She turned to look at him. He smiled until she spoke. "Can you just fuck off?"

"Someone takes herself a little too seriously." He left the barstool in search of someone else to harass.

Finally.

She took another sip and felt lightheadedness setting in from an empty stomach combined with the strong drink.

Justin came over. "Everything good? Want another?"

She held her glass at an angle, studied the small amount she had left. She felt the whiskey hit a little more. She was planted on the stool for the time being. "I'd love another. And an order of wings. Mild BBQ."

"Yeah, of course." Justin smiled at her, wiped the counter, and walked away.

No doubt, he smiled because he recognized her weakness, or it could have been her conscience attributing that judgment. Once she reached a certain point, she could continue drinking until she was cross-eyed. She started to regret having her car outside. Otherwise, she could sit here and drink all night while thinking about the life Laura had. She seemed to have so many people who cared about her, including her share of men. Madison had no one. She was all work, no play. She drained the rest of the drink and glanced at the jukebox. Was she actually considering getting up?

It was then she saw the man tucked away in a back corner. It wasn't the man from the photo but someone who had her attention nonetheless. Another man sat beside him and passed something under the table. The lights were dim, and he was the right distance away to make clear focus nearly impossible.

She rose to her feet and felt the head rush from the alcohol. She had to regain her balance before she attempted to walk. It had to be the empty stomach. She wasn't usually this tipsy from one drink.

The jukebox was close enough she could use it as a cover to see him more clearly. She leaned over it to read off the songs but keep looking at the man in the shadows. Was he dealing drugs? She considered the man he had exchanged with—corporate-type, loosened tie. Both men's attention went to a wall-mounted television. A baseball game was on. When the Yankees lost, the Suit turned to the man of three hundred plus pounds wearing the leather vest and said something. Madison didn't need to consult notes for the latter man's name. It was Lou Mann, the man who was in a hurry to leave when she and Terry came to The Weathered Rose the last time.

Madison pretended to be interested in the selection of songs. Both men separated and left the bar. Damn.

"Your wings are ready." Justin walked past her. "I left them on the bar."

Fresh food and a refreshed drink, what more could a girl ask for? It wasn't like anything would get solved tonight. She might as well enjoy it.

As she ate, she didn't feel alone but empowered by her solitude. She thought about what she had just witnessed—what it was and what it meant. Did it mean anything? She traced her fingertips up and down the glass and watched the world slow down around her.

Enjoying this Madison Knight novel? There are 8 other published titles in this series.

For more information on available titles in the Detective Madison Knight series visit http://carolynarnold.net/detective-madison-knight-series/