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Mick was already at the bar, wearing his trademark black leather jacket and nursing a Scotch on the rocks.
Sam slid into the seat on one side of him and Jo on the other.
“Evening, Sam, Jo,” Mick greeted, his voice as smooth as the whiskey he favored.
“Hey, Mick.” Sam returned the greeting with an easy nod.
Jo caught Mick’s startling blue eyes with her own and gave him a smile.
Before they could dive into conversation, Billie Hanson approached with a practiced smile. “The usual for you two?”
“That’ll hit the spot, Billie,” Jo confirmed, grateful for the prospect of a cold beer.
As Billie slid the beers in front of Sam and Jo, Mick tilted his tumbler in request for a refill. Billie obliged with a clink of ice cubes and a swirl of amber liquid.
“So what can I do for you guys?” Mick asked. “I mean, it’s good to see you both, but I get the impression you wanted more than a drinking buddy.”
Sam laughed and clapped Mick on the back. “You know I always love hanging with you, but as it turns out, we do have a use for your unique skill set.”
“You heard about April Summers?” Jo asked.
“The activist?” Mick asked. “Heard she got killed.”
“Yep,” Sam agreed. “Turns out she was a bit more than an activist.”
Mick’s eyebrows arched, an unspoken question hanging between them.
Jo turned her barstool to face Mick squarely. “Turns out she wasn’t quite the idealist everyone thought she was.”
Mick’s nod was slow, contemplative. “So you’re saying you need someone to do a bit of… unofficial snooping?”
“That’s about the size of it,” Jo affirmed, taking a pull from her beer.
Their conversation, now edging into delicate territory, was suddenly cut short as Bridget and Holden appeared at Jo’s shoulder.
The five of them exchanged greetings, and Billie appeared on the other side of the bar. Bridget ordered a soda water without any hesitation, and Holden did too. Jo wondered if Holden was trying to show support for Bridget.
As they waited, Jo gestured to a corner table, slightly removed from the ebb and flow of patrons. “Let’s grab that spot over there. We’ll have a bit more privacy for talking.”
They all agreed, and once Bridget and Holden had their drinks in hand, the group made its way to the sequestered table. The wooden chairs scraped against the floor as they settled in, the sound muted by the drone of bar noise.
The murmur of the bar seemed to recede as the conversation took a turn toward the serious, the group’s collective focus narrowing.
Sam, who had been sipping his beer, set it down with a gentle thud. “What’s going on with the case? Were you able to find anything on the babysitter’s family?”
Bridget nodded, her eyes reflecting the gravity of the situation. “Yes, a bit of a breakthrough. Their last name was changed to Woodson. And it turns out, they stayed around here for a good while. But that doesn’t mean anything. I guess it could be a coincidence.”
Mick raised his eyebrows, leaning in, intrigued by the conversation. “Wait a minute. Fill me in on this.”
Mick already knew the story about Tammy, so Jo quickly filled him in on the newest information about the babysitter and her family.
Mick rubbed his chin thoughtfully, his gaze distant for a moment as if he were rummaging through an internal archive of faces and names. “You might think it’s a dead end,” he said finally, “but sometimes all it takes is a fresh pair of eyes. I might be able to help.”
“How?” Holden asked, the protective note in his voice softening a bit with curiosity.
Mick’s expression was a blend of confidence and mystery. “Well, let’s just say I’ve got a knack for finding people. And I know a thing or two about how folks hide in plain sight. I’ve seen it happen before.”
Sam nodded. “He does.”
