Page 62 of Sleigh My Heart

“Oh, you know me. I’m a computer guy. I don’t know my cars, but it was a light-colored truck. I couldn’t tell you much about it. They all look the same to me.”

“You didn’t happen to catch a license plate or any logos on it, did you?”

“It was getting dark. I don’t remember anything. I definitely didn’t get the plate. There might have been something on the side, but I didn’t get a good look at it. Sorry, I guess I’m not much help.”

“No, Dave, that’s great, thanks. If you remember anything else, shoot me a text. I’d appreciate it.” Michelle waved goodbye to grandma and Dave’s wife, who poked their heads around the corner from the kitchen before she slipped out the door.

Light-colored truck. Hmm... Like a builder’s truck? Or a maintenance guy’s truck? Although she already knew that Junior didn’t drive a truck, she’d have to check and see what Garmen drove.

At home, Michelle was greeted with a big meow. Charlie ambled over and rubbed against her leg.

“Hey, Chuck. Everything quiet today?” She hung her hat and coat on the rack by the door, set her gun on the table, and put fresh food and water in his bowls.

Her eyes strayed to the couch. The last thing she wanted to do was go to a dive bar and look for a guy who was probably dead. She groaned. Friday night crowds. It could be a good thing or bad. More patrons meant the likelihood of a few of them knowing Cliff.

She dragged herself up the stairs, decided to skip the shower. A hard day’s sweat would smell better than anything in Trudy’s. She slipped on her jeans and an old band tee. Grabbed her taser, slipped it into her ankle holster, and made her way down to the kitchen.

“Protect the house,” she said to the cat as she slipped her gun into her waistband and grabbed her coat.

As she drove across town, Michelle replayed the events of the case in her mind. Jonny and Cliff picked up the sleigh from the welding shop. They didn’t take it back to the mall, so where did they store it for a weekend before it and Jonny turned up in the alley?

And where was Cliff? On the run? She wouldn’t know until she found him. She just hoped he wasn’t at the bottom of the Minnesota River.

She stopped for a light and tapped her gloved fingers on the steering wheel. And how was Russ Jolley’s accident involved? Or was it? Same with the vandalism. It could be some teenager she busted for smoking pot behind the bleachers.

But her gut didn’t believe it. It whispered that HighTower Development was involved. Directly or indirectly, she didn’t know. But if she were a betting woman, she’d bet her favorite taser, the one with the extra range and full muscle lock-up, they were. God, she loved that weapon. It could stop a bull.

She found a parking spot in the back and checked the concealment of her weapons. The last thing she wanted was for her presence to scream cop, but she didn’t go anywhere without them. Holstering up was as much a part of her morning routine as putting on her bra and underwear. With everything contained, she got out, and clicked the lock.

As usual, her head was on a swivel as she crossed the parking lot to the entrance.

One foot inside the door, Michelle was glad she hadn’t wasted time showering and doing her hair. The smell of stale cigarettes and other smokables hung in the air, not that she saw anyone lighting up. The Minnesota Clean Indoor Air Act prohibiting smoking in public establishments had been in effect for well over a decade now.

Knowing the customers of Trudy’s and the haze of smoke by the overflowing cement ashtray outside, Michelle would bet the smell had been baked into each piece of clothing in the bar.

She weaved around high tops and slipped into one of the last open seats at the bar. Trudy was at the other end, chatting with the men who were here the other day. Michelle had just slipped a cheek off the stool to go see if either of them had any new information when another bartender, a middle-aged woman with long red nails and leathered skin, stopped in front of her.

If Michelle had to guess, she’d bet the bleached blonde had spent a fair amount of time on the back of a Harley.

“What can I get you, Honey?” The ride-or-die tattoo on her forearm waved as she swished a towel across the scarred wooden surface in front of Michelle.

“A Michelob in the bottle.” Michelle put a bill on the bar. She didn’t need to run a tab tonight. She wouldn’t be finishing this one once she got what she came for.

The bartender set the bottle down and gave Michelle a hard look. “I haven’t seen you in here before.”

“It’s been a while.” She didn’t think she should mention the other day. “Have you been working here long?”

“Too long.” She glanced over her shoulder at Trudy. Somebody slammed an empty on the bar and yelled, “Another!” Biker Mama rolled her eyes and leaned on her elbows. “So, what brings a pretty thing like you in here tonight?”

The woman’s voice was gravelly, and Michelle barely heard it over the noise. What brought her in? It wasn’t the clientele, she thought as she scanned the bar. “I’m looking for a friend of mine. Maybe you know him, Cliff Garmen?”

“Sure, I know Cliff. I haven’t seen him in a while.”

“So, he’s not here tonight?” Michelle didn’t expect him to be, but she had to ask.

“No. It’s been a couple weeks. But then, I was out of town last week. I was at my old man’s place.”

“I hope it was somewhere warm.” Michelle lifted the bottle to her lips.