She smashes her lips together, apparently not satiated. “Fine. Get me the details and I’ll see what I can do.”
“Thank you, Shirley.” She waves her hand in the air as she turns and makes her way back toward the kitchen, grumbling the whole way about how everyone always wants something from her.
I shouldn’t press my luck poking around here for more information on Billy. I’ve already asked a lot of Shirley, and the mayor claims the family wanted the case closed. If I were smart, I’d obey Captain’s direct order.
Apparently, I’m not.
My feet are carrying me back toward the bar before I can think twice about it.
“What’s up, Nick? Food okay?”
“Food’s fine, Amanda. I have a question for you. Got a minute?”
She sweeps her eyes over the bar. Every man in the joint is either involved in conversation or watching the television.
“I have a couple minutes.”
I jerk my head toward a vacant high top in the corner, and her eyes narrow. She follows reluctantly, probably running through all the reasons I might wanna talk to her in private.
“I have a quick question for you, but I need it to stay between us. Okay?”
She bobs her head, worrying at her bottom lip.
“The night of Billy Garet’s death, was he acting out of character? Doing anything that seemed off to you?”
She purses her lips, appearing to think back on that night.
“Billy didn’t come in much. Not sure I’d know if anything was off per se.”
“What was his demeanor like?”
She shrugs. “He was laughing and having a good time with Marcus.”
“Marcus?”
“Marcus Wells. They were running the table all night. Seemed to be having a great time.”
“Not the sort of behavior that would lead a person to run themselves off the road and into a tree.”
Her eyes widen. “He wasn’t drunk, Nick. I wouldn’t have let him drive out of here if he was.”
“I’m not implying that,” I say, to ease her mind.
“Am I in some sort of trouble?”
I shake my head. “Of course not. Between you and me, I’m looking into Billy’s death, and I’m really not supposed to be.”
Her mouth falls open and she bobs her head. She leans in conspiratorially and whispers, “I won’t tell.”
I smother a laugh with my fist. “Thank you, Amanda.”
She straightens up. “He only had two or three beers that whole night. He was too busy winning.”
The toxicology report said as much. He wasn’t drunk, and according to Amanda, he was acting fine.
Something is off here.
“I appreciate the information.”
