The Stiff in the Study by Shéa MacLeod

Author:Shéa MacLeod
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: wine mystery, museum mystery, Thriller & Suspense, amateur sleuth, female detective, beach mystery, romance
Publisher: Sunwalker Press
Published: 2020-10-11T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 13

Fork You

WINOS AND RIFFRAFF turned out to be a classic, beach-town dive bar. The ramshackle building was sagging and weather worn, huddled off the side of Highway 101 all by its lonesome, surrounded by a large, gravel parking lot filled with rusted pickups and cars with multicolored door panels.

The minute I opened the door, the din hit me. The screech of the dying sound system almost drowned out the band and people trying to shout over the top of each other. It was dim, lit in an eerie, bluish lighting that made everyone look like zombies. Cheryl made a face and stuck her fingers in her ears. I couldn’t blame her. The noise level was deafening. Even worse was the stench of stale beer and, under that, the faintest odor of vomit and backed-up sewer lines. I desperately wanted to turn around and walk out, but we had a job to do.

I stood just inside the door and scanned the crowd for Mrs. Archer, but I couldn’t see a classy, silver-haired lady anywhere. Mostly it was locals in flannel, fleece, and worn jeans, leather-clad bikers on a road trip, or overdressed tourists from Portland. I definitely had a hard time picturing Glennis Archer in a place like this. Glennis Clay, on the other hand...

A local band was on the stage playing a bizarre cross of country and hip-hop that made my ears bleed. They played loudly and enthusiastically, but not terribly well. A few brave souls littered the dance floor, swaying to the heavy beat, but most of the patrons huddled around the bar, booths along the back wall, or the small round tables taking up most of the floor. They were far more interested in their beer than in the music.

I sauntered toward the bar, my feet sticking to the floor as I walked. I didn’t even want to think about what was living on that floor. Cheryl followed close behind. She looked nervous. I hoped I didn’t look as nervous. A place like this you could get eaten alive. I swaggered to the nearest empty barstool and hoisted myself onto it, nearly toppled off, righted myself, and gave the hunky bartender a sexy grin and a hair flip. He stared me down, unimpressed. Clearly he had no taste.

Cheryl perched on the stool next to me with a great deal more grace. The bartender eyed her with interest. Figured. But maybe she’d get a date out of this. That would be something. The girl was still mooning over Max What’s-his-name. They’d really hit it off in Florida, but the minute the conference was over, he was on his merry way. Men.

“What’ll it be?” the bartender shouted over the raucous.

“Blackberry bourbon. On the rocks.” I shouted back. He didn’t even look at me.

“I’ll have a martini.” Cheryl gave him a big smile.

“Sure thing, little lady.”

Her smile turned to a scowl as he turned to make our drinks. “Did he just call me—”

“Yep. He sure did.” I could practically see the steam rolling out her ears.

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