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“When you return to the table, sit in the chair on Jeff’s right.”
“Why?”
He hit the cue ball, breaking up the other balls, sinking three of them. “Never sit with your back to the door in Deadwood.”
“Are you mediating for Wild Bill’s ghost now?”
He took aim at the four-ball. “He never played poker in here.”
“How do you know?”
“He told me.” He took the shot, the four-ball dropped into the pocket.
“Oh, okay. What else did he say? No, let me guess. Something about aces and eights, right?”
“Just trust me. Sit in the other chair.”
“Are you serious?” When he didn’t crack a grin or look up from lining up his next shot, I weaved my way back toward Jeff replaying that conversation over in my head, making no more sense of it than I had the first time around.
A yellow basket overflowing with fries and chicken strips awaited my return. Wow, I must have dawdled in the bathroom longer than I thought.
Jeff frowned around his mouthful of burger as I pulled out the chair on his right and sat.
“This one has a window view,” I explained, still wondering why Doc had insisted I switch chairs. More importantly, why had I even listened to him?
“How do you know that guy?” He pointed in Doc’s direction.
I glanced at Doc, catching him watching me. He nodded and then returned to his pool game. “He’s a client of mine,” and nothing more, according to him.
“He hangs out at the Rec Center a lot.”
I couldn’t have asked for a better segue. “How long have you been a swim coach?”
The wrinkles spanning Jeff’s brow deepened. “A couple years, why?”
“Just curious. What made you decide to coach?”
He stuffed a bunch of fries in his mouth before answering. “Kelly’slittle friendjoined the team and talked Kelly into signing up, too. The coach at the time got a job in Wyoming. He knew I’d been a lifeguard back in school and asked me to take over.” He swallowed a visible lump of fries. “One season rolled into the next.”
The little friend must have been Emma. I dipped a chicken strip in the tub of BBQ sauce nestled amongst my fries. “It must be hard for you, what with three girls from your team disappearing in the last year.”
“Hard?” He threw back his head and laughed—not a Shirley Temple giggle, more like a Charles Manson cackle.
I squirmed on the hard wooden chair and glanced at Doc, who stood watching us, his lips thin, his eyes narrow.
“You’ve no idea, Violet Parker.” Jeff grabbed my chicken-free hand and squeezed too hard for comfort, his greasy fingers pressing into my skin. His blue eyes locked onto mine. “No idea.”
Forcing a smile, I patted his arm while trying to pull my hand free. My heart pounded against my ribs, trying to hammer its way out and bounce to safety. I struggled to keep my voice even. “Why don’t you tell me about it.”And why you threw those clothes in the Dumpster.
“Tell you what?” He loosened his grip so he could pour beer down his throat. “What do you want to know?”
If you kidnapped the missing girls. I shoved my hand under the table and sat on it so he couldn’t hold it hostage again. “If there is anything I can do to help.”
“Well,” he chewed on another bite of burger for several seconds. “Funny you should ask.”
“Why?”
“Donna left me.”
