I parked in the lot of the Tall Moon Tavern as far away from Church’s F150 as I could get. So far, everything had gone according to plan. Even the traffic had obeyed my will. No one had driven past the Audi that I left on the shoulder of the county road earlier while I made my way in the dark through the drainage ditch to the parking lot. No one entered or left the tavern as I opened the door to the pickup and placed my package on the floor, or as I retreated back to the Audi. As for the contents of the brown paper bag that Church left on his front seat, even that worked to my advantage. My only fear now was that Chief Gustafson had decided to take Sunday night off, that he wasn’t waiting in his usual spot down the road in hopes of nabbing a DUI violator.
I pressed a button on the side of my watch, and a blue light flared. I watched the second hand sweep around the dial. The timer told me there were twelve minutes to go.
You’re cutting it awfully close, my inner voice said.
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” I said aloud.
It was a lot quieter inside the Tall Moon Tavern this time around. It was just as crowded with men and women seated at tables, in booths, and at the bar. Yet no one was laughing; they didn’t seem to be enjoying themselves as they had the first time I had gone there. Even the jukebox was silent. I wondered if they were in mourning. This was Tracie’s ground, after all, the place where everyone knew her name.
I made my way to the bar, stepping between two empty stools. The bartender, Jeff, the one who had seemed so enamored with Tracie, reached me in seconds.
“Ringneck Red Ale,” I said.
He spun around, opened a cooler, produced a bottle, and levered off the cap. Seconds later the bottle and a glass were placed in front of me. While Jeff worked, I studied the crowd in the faded mirror behind the bar. An awful lot of people seemed to be studying me as well.
“The pool table,” Jeff said. He spoke quietly, his lips barely moving, as if he were afraid someone beside me might hear him. I took a sip of the ale from the bottle. As I did, I turned my head so I could see the table in the mirror. Church was standing behind it. He was chalking a cue. Paulie was sitting on a stool off to the right, a stick in his hand as well. They were both grinning like bad poker players who had drawn to an inside straight. No doubt they were thinking about the brown paper bag on the seat of Church’s pickup truck. Silly boys.
“Where’s Wayne?” I said.
“Men’s room,” Jeff told me. He hunched himself over the bar and spoke in a tone so low the other customers couldn’t hear. “He’s—well, he’s upset about Tracie Blake. He was sweet on her, you know.”
“I know.”
“You were a friend of Tracie’s, so I’ll tell you. The night she died, she left early after speaking to someone on her cell. Wayne asked where she was headed. She said she had a date. Wayne was unhappy about it. He didn’t say anything while she was here, just smiled, you know Wayne, but he called her a few names after she left, you know the kind of names I mean.”
“Did he do anything about her leaving?”
“Nah. Wayne’s not the kind to throw a tantrum, at least not in public. He took off for an hour. I thought he might have gone to visit Mike Randisi, but I guess he just wanted to blow off some steam or something. He was fine when he came back.”
“When was that?”
“About ten. I remember because he started buying rounds for some of the regulars, which he doesn’t do too often, you know? Stayed until last call and then closed up. Usually I close up. He seemed happy enough when I left. Next day he heard what happened to Tracie. He hasn’t been good company since. I think they’re haunting him a little bit now, the names he called her. Shhhh.”
The shhhh warned me that Wayne had emerged from the restroom and was making his way to the end of the bar. There was a shot glass waiting for him there, and a half-filled bottle of J&B. I got the impression that he had been sitting there a long time.
“You’ve got some balls coming here, McKenzie,” he said. “I’ll give you that.”
Jeff turned his head so Wayne couldn’t see and mouthed a single word to me—“Tracie.”
“I am so sorry for your loss,” I said.
“Balls,” he said again.
I was genuinely concerned that I had offended him somehow.
“Why do you say that?” I said.
He gestured with his head toward the pool table. “Church has been talkin’ loud. He’s been sayin’ how he’s going to kick your ass if you showed up.” He raised his voice for everyone to hear. “Ain’t that right, Church?”
“Soon as I’m done with this rack,” Church said.
“Don’t hurry on my account,” I said.
Church smirked at that. Paulie set his cue against the wall and started to make his way toward the door. I knew exactly where he was going and why. I glanced at my watch. It was too soon.
