Toad in the Hole -- The Rachael O'Brien Chronicles book 4

Chapter 2 Face Down on "Rory O'More"--Floor

by Paisley Ray

Chaper 2 Face Down on "Rory O'More" -- Floor

A draft blasted into the bar as two men crouched beneath the collars of their jackets, pushed into the Red Lion pub, letting the hinged door slam itself on the outside wet. Afternoon snuck into early evening, and GG excused herself to make some phone calls. Mumbling about putting his feet up, Edmond went with her.

Travis's thumbs outlined the Murphy's Pale ale decal imprint on his pint glass. "How long have GG and Edmond known one another?"

Busy people-watching, I shrugged. The pearly kings and queens voices gained momentum before breaking into song: "Up the apples and pears, Cross the Rory O'More."

"Since I was kid, at least. Why?"

"Edmond is attentive to your grandmother, don't you think?"

"She buys things and pays him to repair or refinish them. Edmond is one of a kind."

Travis coughed loud enough to break my gaze from the bar. Leaning back against the booth, he said, "Edmond seemed all too pleased to escort your grandmother back to her room."

"If you're trying to gross me out, it's working."

"Hey, senior citizen sex. It's a reality."

"How would you know?"

"Ha ha. Doing it doesn't stop when you get a membership to the AARP."

His comment caused my arm to flinch and reflexively I drained my pint, which helped dull the throb in my dodgy shoulder. An old bunk bed injury that flared with rain began aching when we landed. "Ya, it does. And they are not doing it."

"Wanna bet? Twenty bucks says something's going on."

My eyes lodged under my eyelids as I greedily inhaled second hand smoke. "I'm taking the bet, but the last thing I want to do is catch them...at it."

"It wouldn't be the first time you've witnessed live action."

"Watch it."

Licking beer froth from his lips, he said, "Discovering things is your specialty." Was he flirting?

"That's ridiculous. I'd know if something was going on between them." Changing the subject, I leaned in. "See those two at the bar?"

"For the love of... we've only been here, what? Two hours? And you've found a guy?! Get your hormones in check, Rach."

"Seriously. The two guys standing. Have you ever seen them before?"

"There are like forty guys at the bar and I've never seen any of them before."

I watched the two men who came in last make their way to the corner of the bar near the taps. They reminded me of squares trying to stuff themselves into circles and I was sure that the didn't have any affiliation with the pearly party. Olive-washed skin, one in a polo under a jacket, the other in a striped oxford. Both wore jeans, normal enough. But theirs were dark denim and had creases ironed into them. Gold watchbands hung on their wrists and scuff-free supple leather slip-ons, like penny loafers without a slot for the coin, clad their sockless feet. "Look again. The two at the end."

Barely glancing, he said, "Not my type. Are you looking for an older model with an international appeal?"

"They look suspicious."

"Oh, here we go."

"What?"

"You're manufacturing trouble."