“Hello?” I gave her a cheery smile.
“You girls lost?” Her voice had a querulous quality to it.
“Um, why do you ask?”
“You been sitting in front of my house for an hour and a half. Then you ran off, and I figured you were gone. Then you come back. Are you casing the joint or something?”
Oh, great, a Nosey Parker. Just our luck. “Well, no, we’re waiting for someone, actually.” I winced a little, but I figured by the time Nosey Parker was able to spill the beans to Mrs. Archer, we’d have already confronted her.
“Is that so?” The woman crossed her arms over her scrawny bosom. “Who would you be waiting for?”
“Mrs. Archer,” I said, cool as a cucumber.
The old woman snickered. “You’re gonna be waiting a while then, dearie.”
“Why is that?”
She gave me a doubtful look. “Well, I don’t know as I should be telling a stranger.”
“But I’m not a stranger,” I soothed. “My name is Viola Roberts, and I’m a friend of Mrs. Archer’s.” Which was a total lie, but how was the old lady to know?
She gave me a long measuring look. “I don’t know...”
“Oh, please.” Cheryl leaned over and gave her big, brown eyes. “We’ve come a long way to see her.”
The old woman squinted at Cheryl. “Huh. Well, as you’re friends, I guess it’s all right.” She leaned closer to the car. “Thing is, the Archer woman never comes home on Friday nights. Out until the wee hours of Saturday she is, and dressed like a hussy.” She looked like she was sucking on lemons. “Not that I’m one to judge.” Ha! “But it doesn’t seem fitting, a woman like her dressing and behaving like that. Been that way since her husband died. God rest his soul.”
Cheryl and I exchanged glances. “Well, then, I guess we’ll come back tomorrow,” I said.
“You do that.”
“Thank you,” I called as I started the car and pulled out onto the road.
“Where are we headed?” Cheryl asked.
“We just got our answer.” I grinned. “Winos and Riffraff, here we come.”
Chapter 13Fork You
WINOS AND RIFFRAFF turned out to be a classic, beach-town dive bar. The ramshackle building was sagging and weather worn, huddled off the side of Highway 101 all by its lonesome, surrounded by a large, gravel parking lot filled with rusted pickups and cars with multicolored door panels.
The minute I opened the door, the din hit me. The screech of the dying sound system almost drowned out the band and people trying to shout over the top of each other. It was dim, lit in an eerie, bluish lighting that made everyone look like zombies. Cheryl made a face and stuck her fingers in her ears. I couldn’t blame her. The noise level was deafening. Even worse was the stench of stale beer and, under that, the faintest odor of vomit and backed-up sewer lines. I desperately wanted to turn around and walk out, but we had a job to do.
I stood just inside the door and scanned the crowd for Mrs. Archer, but I couldn’t see a classy, silver-haired lady anywhere. Mostly it was locals in flannel, fleece, and worn jeans, leather-clad bikers on a road trip, or overdressed tourists from Portland. I definitely had a hard time picturing Glennis Archer in a place like this. Glennis Clay, on the other hand...
A local band was on the stage playing a bizarre cross of country and hip-hop that made my ears bleed. They played loudly and enthusiastically, but not terribly well. A few brave souls littered the dance floor, swaying to the heavy beat, but most of the patrons huddled around the bar, booths along the back wall, or the small round tables taking up most of the floor. They were far more interested in their beer than in the music.
I sauntered toward the bar, my feet sticking to the floor as I walked. I didn’t even want to think about what was living on that floor. Cheryl followed close behind. She looked nervous. I hoped I didn’t look as nervous. A place like this you could get eaten alive. I swaggered to the nearest empty barstool and hoisted myself onto it, nearly toppled off, righted myself, and gave the hunky bartender a sexy grin and a hair flip. He stared me down, unimpressed. Clearly he had no taste.
Cheryl perched on the stool next to me with a great deal more grace. The bartender eyed her with interest. Figured. But maybe she’d get a date out of this. That would be something. The girl was still mooning over Max What’s-his-name. They’d really hit it off in Florida, but the minute the conference was over, he was on his merry way. Men.
“What’ll it be?” the bartender shouted over the raucous.
“Blackberry bourbon. On the rocks.” I shouted back. He didn’t even look at me.
“I’ll have a martini.” Cheryl gave him a big smile.
“Sure thing, little lady.”
Her smile turned to a scowl as he turned to make our drinks. “Did he just call me—”
“Yep. He sure did.” I could practically see the steam rolling out her ears.
“Why, that...” She half stood from her stool.
I grabbed her and pulled her back down. “Hey, at least let him make us our drinks before you punch his lights out.”
She sat down, clearly still fuming. She mumbled something which I couldn’t hear. Probably for the best.
The bartender returned with our drinks. He gave Cheryl a long, slow look. I think it was supposed to be sexy. I could tell she was trying not to strangle him.
“You have fun,” I said, sliding off my stool. “I’m going to mingle. See if I can spot Glennis.”
Cheryl opened her mouth, probably to argue, but I squeezed between a couple of dancers and hurried away before she could say anything. No doubt I’d get an earful for abandoning her, but we were on the job here.
I strolled around the edge of the dance floor, carefully eyeing
