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“We played football together.”
“You’re from Crystal Lake, then.”
Hudson turned back to the woman and accepted a fresh cup of coffee. “I am.”
She nodded to the man at the till. “That’s my husband, Milo, and I’m Beatrice. We bought this place a couple of years ago. Originally from LA.”
His eyebrow shot up at that. “You’re a long way from California.”
She snorted. “And happy to be. Life is so much slower here. We love it.” She paused. “I haven’t seen you before. Must be a while since you’ve been home.”
“You could say that.”
“You got a name?”
He liked Beatrice. She was direct, and he was going to assume her bullshit meter was in fine form. “Hudson Blackwell.”
“Blackwell?” She whistled and smiled. “I see it now. You look a lot like John.”
Startled, Hudson took a sip from his coffee. “You know my dad?”
“He comes in every morning for his coffee.” Her smile dimmed a bit. “That is until he took sick.” She wiped up the counter once more. “How’s he doing, by the way?”
“Hanging in there.”
“Good. Glad to hear that.”
Hudson glanced back at Harry. “What happened?”
Beatrice lowered her voice a bit. “Motorcycle accident, I think. At least that’s what I was told. He’s a sweet soul and, after his morning coffee, likes to sweep my floors. He has a hard time sitting still.”
Jesus. Harry Anderson had been one of those guys who’d had it all. A popular guy, he’d had unlimited potential and a love of life that should have taken him far. He was a gifted athlete and had gotten a full ride on a hockey scholarship, if Hudson remembered correctly. And now he was mopping floors in a coffee shop.
Hudson was silent as he drank his coffee, his thoughts dark and his mood blacker. Sometimes life sucked, no way around it. The bell tinkled, and, lost in thought, he didn’t bother to turn around. Someone slid onto the seat beside him, and after a few seconds, Hudson glanced over.
Mackenzie Draper ordered a coffee and b
agel from Angie and nodded. “Blackwell. Heard you were back in town.”
“Draper.”
Rebecca’s brother was dressed casually in old jeans, boots, and a plaid jacket more suitable for a lumberjack. He accepted his cup from Beatrice, took a sip, and then set it down.
“I hear the old man is holding his own.” It wasn’t really a question, and the green eyes that regarded him weren’t exactly friendly.
“He is. How are your folks?” Hudson realized Rebecca hadn’t mentioned them once, and as Mackenzie’s eyes narrowed, he found himself curious. He’d always liked Rebecca’s mother, Lila Draper. Her father, on the other hand, was a no-good son of a bitch with a mean streak that was well known.
“Not much has changed there. Mom’s good. She keeps herself busy at church. I guess she thinks if she prays enough, some of that holiness might rub off on Ben. He’s a bad habit she just can’t give up. He’s drying out again. We’re all hoping he’s gone for a good long while.”
“Sorry to hear that.” He knew firsthand how much of a bastard Ben Draper was. Most folks in town did. But back then, and even now, he supposed, most people turned a blind eye to problems of the domestic sort. Figured if they didn’t get involved, the bad things they suspected might be happening, weren’t.
Mac shoved his bagel into the pocket of his jacket and scooped up his coffee-to-go. When he turned back to Hudson, curiosity filled his eyes. “You’ve been in DC?”
“Yeah. For over five years now.”
“FBI, I think I heard.”
Hudson nodded.
