“Oh, yeah, I remember. You and that lady were talking with the police chief. Cyrus comes in at around nine. He gets tea and a scone or some other pastry. Why? You a fan? He doesn’t like people making a fuss about him.”

  I shake my head.

  “I had an appointment with him this morning at his house, but he wasn’t there. I’m hoping he’s okay. Did he stop here by any chance?”

  She thinks for a moment.

  “As a matter of fact he did, but not at his usual time. And he didn’t stay. He took his order to go. He seemed to be in a rush.”

  I try not to smile too much. The Big Shot Poet was in a rush all right.

  “Something must’ve come up. I’ll give him a call. Thanks.”

  Three’s Company

  The Cowlicks are tonight’s band, so the Rooster is rather overheated from all the sweating dancers. Jack has the doors and windows open, which means I smell smoke, tobacco and otherwise, from time to time, and I hear the voices of the smokers near the front door. People are happy it’s spring although we could have an abrupt and very brief backslide to winter. Yup, we could still get snow. It wouldn’t stick around for long, but it’d be annoying as hell.

  In the corner of my eye, the kitchen goes dark. Lisa comes through the door. She’s done in there. I’ll be gracious and admit Lisa did an okay job keeping up with the food orders. I expect the kitchen is as clean as it was when I arrived earlier. She knows how to work a kitchen. I will give her that at least.

  “Hey, Iz… ” The word stops on the end of her tongue. “How about a whiskey on the rocks?”

  I glance back at the three rows of hard liquor.

  “You have a preference?”

  “Yeah, top shelf.” She gives her head a swing as she pulls out the band holding her hair back. She makes a smug smile. “I’m worth it.”

  She’s worth it, eh? But I keep my comment to myself.

  “Sure enough.”

  I smile at her effort not to use the accursed “Izzie” but that’s before I realize she’s taking the stool closest to my station, with my bad luck the only empty one at the bar. While I pour her drink, she chats up the man to her left, a True Blue Regular who is semi-happily married at last report.

  I place the whiskey in front of Lisa.

  “How’d it go on your first night?”

  She takes a sip.

  “Last night was easy. Just burgers and fries.” She glances toward the dance floor, where Jack collects empties. “But I told Jack we need a dishwasher.”

  “I presume you mean a machine and not a human.”

  “You got that right. That kitchen’s too small a room for another person. I’m not a slave like his sister or Carole.”

  “How is Carole doing?”

  “Not so hot, I hear. I may be here a while.”

  “That’s too bad for Carole.”

  The True Blue Regular places a buck tip on the bar before he announces he’s heading home.

  “She should be happy,” he says. “I’m only an hour late.”

  I try not to roll my eyes. Sometimes I feel like giving some relationship advice to the people who drink here, such as bring the little woman with you once in a while. Or it might be a good idea not to be dancing so close to that man who’s not your significant other. But that wouldn’t go over well. Besides, my job here is to pour booze and be friendly to the customers. What I hear and see at the Rooster stays at the Rooster, well, except for telling Ma, who gets a kick out of those stories.

  But just as the True Blue Regular leaves, another takes his place. A seat at the bar is a premium spot at the Rooster.

  “What’ll it be? Let me guess. A Bud?”

  The new True Blue shows a couple of missing teeth when he grins.

  “You a mind reader, Isabel?”

  “Nah, that would be dangerous in a place like this.”

  Jack is back. I catch him eyeing Lisa’s drink, but he acts cool about it as he drops the tray of empties on the counter. He tells me he’s keeping a watch on the far table, where the ex-girlfriend of one of the Semi-Regulars showed up with her new boyfriend. As Jack has said, hard feelings and booze are a bad combination.

  That’s when the Cowlicks begin playing “Good Hearted Woman.” Lisa grabs Jack’s arm as she slides off her stool.

  “Let’s go dance,” she says.

  Now, this is an awkward moment, certainly for Jack and me. As you may recall, this is supposedly our song. Jack would shut down the bar with a clang of a cowbell while he and I went at it on the dance floor. But that ain’t happening with this song until this darn sling comes off although we have danced slow numbers.

  I don’t say a word as I slowly drop the empties into the cardboard box below with my free hand. I want to see how this plays out.

  “Not now,” Jack tells Lisa. “I’m kinda busy.”

  “Aw, Isabel can handle that job.” She still grips his arm. “Hey, I feel like dancin’.”

  “I’m sure you can find somebody else to dance with you,” Jack says.

  “Come on. This is a great song. Right, Isabel?”

  I smirk.

  “Uh-huh.”

  Jack looks at Lisa then me. I swear this song is gonna be over before he decides what to do.

  “Do you mind, Isabel?”

  “Go ahead. I can hold down the fort here.”

  “You sure?”

  “What the hell,” Lisa says.

  Jack and Lisa are off to the other side of the room although he gives me a glance over his shoulder. I grab a towel to wipe down the bar. I spot Jack’s head bouncing above the crowd. It’s only a song, I tell myself. Jack and Lisa are dancing in a room filled with people. It means nothing. But, yeah, it is our song. And if that damn Pete Woodrell hadn’t run my car off the road, I’d be dancing it with him.

  I glance at Lisa’s drink and feel like dropping poison in it.

  I’m only kidding, of course.

  “Hey, Isabel.” Jack’s cousin, Fred, formerly el Creepo, stands in front of me. “This seat taken?”

  “Lisa was sitting there. That’s her drink.”

  “Well, she ain’t now. I saw her with Jack.” He plunks himself down on the stool. He even has enough nerve to take a large sip from Lisa’s drink. “I thought that was your song.”

  I point to my sling.

  “Kinda hard to dance fast with this thing.”

  “You’re being an awfully good sport.”

  “Yes, I am. What can I get you tonight?”

  By time the song is over, Fred has his Bud and a shot of rotgut, working off his rather hefty tab for helping Jack paint the Rooster. He almost spills his shot when Lisa slaps him hard on the back.

  “Hey, that’s my seat,” she says.

  “Jesus, Lisa, take it easy, will ya.” Fred slips off the stool. “Just keepin’ it warm for you.”

  I have my back to the bar as I replace the bottle of rotgut to the bottom shelf. Jack is beside me. His voice is quiet.

  “You okay, Isabel?”

  Damn it, I’m beginning to tear up not because of the dancing but because he’s being so damn thoughtful. I make a quick swipe. I don’t dare look at Jack. He slips his arm around my waist.

  “Yeah, I’m okay,” I whisper.

  “We can talk about it later. All right?”

  But this tender moment is interrupted when shouting erupts from the other end of the room. The music has stopped. My best guess is the ex-boyfriend of the ex-girlfriend and the new boyfriend are going at it. Jack mutters their names under his breath. That’s exactly what’s going down.

  Jack speeds from the bar. Fred follows.

  I can’t see what’s happening because everybody is blocking my view. Even Lisa has joined them. No one sits at the bar. No one asks for a drink. There’s a much better attraction on the other side of the room.

  Just then, Annette and Marsha, aka the Tough Cookie and Floozy, make their grand and loud entrance through the side door and head right to the bar.

  Annette hooks her thumb toward the crowd.

  “What the hell’s happenin’ over there?”

  “Two guys are going at it. I hear it’s over a woman.”

  “Who?”

  Both women make loud snorting laughs when I tell them.

  “That skank?” Marsha says.

  I tip my head toward the crowd.

  “You interested in joining them?” I ask.

  Annette slaps the bar.

  “Nah, I’ve seen plenty of bar fights. Give us a beer instead.”

  I smile. These two women crack me up with their in-your-face comments.

  “Coming right up,” I say.

  I pop the tops and slide the beers forward.

  Annette fishes bills from her pocket.

  “I got this,” she tells her cousin. “Hey, your mother’s car is ready for a test drive. You two can come by tomorrow like we talked about before. By the way, I’ve decided if she likes it, it’s hers. No charge.”

  “Uh, my mother won’t like that. She did get money from the insurance company. She’ll want to pay you for fixing it up.”

  Annette snorts.

  “Tell Maria her money’s no good with me,” she says. “So, how about tomorrow? I had Abe wash and wax it for her.”

  “I’m meeting Gary Beaumont tomorrow at four. I can come before that to see you. We can kill two birds with one stone.”

  Annette winks.

  “That’s one bird I wouldn’t mind you killin’,” she says.

  Then, the two women are gone, slipping through the crowd to get a better view of the action. Minutes later, Jack hustles back to the bar as the lead singer of the Cowlicks says, “Back to the music, folks,” before the band plays the opening cords to Merle Haggard’s “The Fightin’ Side of Me,” which is pretty damn funny, if you ask me. I hear a few yelps in appreciation.

  “So, how’d it go, sheriff?”

  Jack grins.

  “I gave them a choice. Cool it or they’ll be banned from the Rooster.” Jack doesn’t lose his grin. “They all split. So much for true love.”

  “Good work.”

  “Besides, I had help from Bob Montgomery. He’s had his share of dealing with hotheads.”

  Now, I’m grinning. Bob Montgomery, as you may recall, is the retired state trooper who lives in Conwell. He’s on my list of people to contact for my case. Luck is with me on this one.

  “Jack, do you mind if I take a quick break? I wanna talk with Bob.”

  “For that case of yours?”

  “Yup, for that case of mine.”

  “Go ahead.”

  I reach up to give Jack a peck on the cheek before I slip through the crowd, which is a little tricky with my arm. I don’t want some drunken yahoo hitting or bumping into me. But I find Bob sitting alone at a table as he listens to the band working through that Haggard song. The table is filled with half-filled bottles, so I figure his drinking partners are on the dance floor or outside smoking.

  “Isabel, how nice to see you,” he greets me. “How’s the P.I. biz?”

  “Funny you should ask. I have a case that involves you.”

  “Cary Moore? I heard.”

  “Remember how I called you about that a long time ago?”

  “Sure do,” he grins. “Chief Lively was the one who told me you have this case. I have some time on my hands these days, so I did some snoopin’ after talkin’ with him. I took a drive out to Titus the other day.”

  “And?”

  “I couldn’t figure out whether Cary had been standin’ on that bridge or the cliff across the river before he went in the river.”

  I smile. The possibility that Cary could have fallen from the cliff has scenarios popping inside my head. Maybe the Big Shot Poet saw him in the woods and figured it was his chance to push him over the edge. No one would ever find out the poems he passed off as his were written by Cary. Or maybe they got physical and things got out of hand. While we’re on the topic, the Big Shot Poet didn’t call me back or return the messages I left on his cell and landline when I got home. As I told my mother, I guess I will just have to surprise him.

  I keep smiling.

  “That’s useful. Thanks.”

  “If I were you, I’d check in with Sue Lehman. She’s the gal who delivers mail in that part of Titus. She sees everythin’.”

  “You’re the third person to mention Sue. Too bad she’s away,” I say. “You ever have any dealings with that poet, Cyrus Nilsson?”

  “The man sure doesn’t like people droppin’ by to see him. After a few times callin’ us, I told him it wasn’t our job to stop ’em. My advice was for him to put up a gate, get an alarm system, or a big, loud dog.”

  “He followed your advice on two of those.”

  The song ends. Bob’s drinking buddies return. We share hellos as I get to my feet. Break is over.

  Steve, the lead singer for the Cowlicks, steps to the mike.

  “Here’s a new song for us. We’re dedicating it to our favorite bartender,” he says. “Isabel, this one’s for you.”

  The man may not have Elvis’s voice, but I admire his courage in attempting his “Can’t Help Falling in Love.” That has to be one of the best love songs, country or not, ever. I blow the band a kiss with my right hand.

  Bob Montgomery wags a finger.

  “Uh, Isabel, you might wanna turn around.”

  “Huh?”

  That’s when I notice Jack standing behind me. His hands are out.

  “Wanna dance, Isabel?”

  I glance toward the band.

  “You put them up to this?”

  “You bet, darlin’.”

  After Hours

  It’s just Jack and me sitting at the bar. The lights are off except for the ones near the counter, so we can see what we’re doing, which is drinking beer and chatting. Jack makes me laugh as he retells what happened when he broke up that fight tonight. Of course, that leads to stories about other fights and near fights at the Rooster.

  “To tell you the truth, one of the worst was between two guys you’re friendly with. Your new buddies.”

  “Who’s that?”

  “The Beaumont brothers.”

  “Uh, Jack I wouldn’t say we’re buddies. But what the hell happened?”

  “That was when they could still drink here. One night Gary kept ridin’ his brother, Larry. Dunno what it was. I didn’t pay attention until Larry shoved his brother and the shouting began. At one point, Larry pulled out a knife. Shit, I prefer a gun to a knife most any day.”

  “Please, go on.”

  “Luckily, Cary showed up. It was a miracle, really. Nobody called him. He was able to calm Larry down.” He raises his bottle. “I forgot that story. I guess Cary was an all-right guy.”

  “What I’m learning is that he was an all-right guy with problems.”

  “That’s what I recall, too.” He takes a swig. “What happened with that poet you were hunting down?”

  I give Jack a quick low-down on my failed attempts with Cyrus. I raise my chin.

  “But I have a plan to corner him.”

  Jack chuckles.

  “He doesn’t know who he’s messin’ with.”

  Jack’s right, of course, but I don’t feel like talking about the Big Shot Poet or the case. I have something else on my mind.

  “Can I ask you a personal question?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Why did you marry Lisa?”

  Jack hums.

  “In those days, you got married if you thought you were in love. That’s just what people around here did. Different times for sure. We kids had sex in the back seat of a car or in somebody’s barn. But if you wanted it on a regular basis, you got hitched. No one ever shacked up unless they made it legal. My folks sure wouldn’t have liked it.”

  “Yeah, different times.”

  “We weren’t as darin’ as you hippie types.”

  “What makes you so sure I was a hippie?”

  He chortles.

  “I can tell.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “Sure. I can see you with hair down to the middle of your back and wearing bellbottoms and not much else.”

  “Don’t forget the love beads. And I didn’t wear a bra.”

  “See. I got you pegged all right.”

  “Someday I’ll show you the photos.”

  He takes a drink of beer. His face has gotten serious.

  “I’m a bit jealous of what you and Sam had,” he says. “You were together how many years?”

  “Almost forty.”

  “That’s a real long time. I never had that with a woman. Or raised kids with one. I’ve had girlfriends. The one that mattered the most was Adela, of course, but we never lived together. Hell, nobody knew we were in love. She wanted to keep it a secret.” He sighs. “But I never had one of those loves that lasts years and years. Through thick and thin and all that.”

  I smile.

  “It’s not too late if that’s what you want.”

  “You sure?”

  I nod.

  “I’m sure.”

  He gives me a wink.

  “Glad to know.”

  We both go silent. The only sound in the bar is the hum of the beer cooler.

  I study Jack. This is the most I’ve gotten out of the man about this topic. It appears I’ve hit a vulnerable spot, a source of regret. I want to hear more, but I’ll take a different tack.

  “Do I know any of these women?”

  He laughs.

  “Some you do. Some you don’t.”

  “Come on. I wanna hear about the some I do.”

  “You asked for it.”

  And just like I asked, Jack gives me a who’s who of the women in his life, and because I press him, the dirty details. It changes the mood completely. We’re having a fine old time at these women’s expense, or rather Jack’s minefield of a love life. I start giggling and can’t stop giggling. I don’t even attempt to take a drink of my beer or I might make a mess.

  “Her? You went out with her?” I say when he mentions the name of a woman in town who is definitely not a Rooster Regular.

  Jack laughs with me.

  “As I recall, she was newly divorced and a very good cook.”

  “And that one you mentioned before her.”

 

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