Page 30 of Before She Disappeared

Now I get out a half glass, scoop in ice, douse it in white boozy sweetness, then push it toward the detective.

“One girly drink for the big guy. I’ll be back.” I head to the other end of the bar, topping off water for one customer, pouring fresh beers for three more. I keep my movements easy, my face bright, and pretend I don’t feel Detective Lotham’s stare burning a hole in my back.

A wave from the corner booth. I walk around to take an order for three burgers from a trio of elderly gentlemen who seem to be having a very good time. The one closest to me gestures me closer. “You the new girl Viv was talking about?” He has gray whiskers, sparkling brown eyes, and a mischievous smile. I’m willing to bet he was hell on wheels back in the day. And that day might’ve been yesterday.

“I’m the new girl,” I confirm.

“Mmm-hmm. I tell you what, girlie. That Viv give you any trouble, you come find me. I’ll set her straight.”

“Viv? You’re offering to protect me from Viv?”

“That’s right. She can be uppity. Bossy, too. And I should know; I’m her big brother.”

“That so?”

“Albert.”

“Nice to meet ya, Albert. But I’m afraid I’m gonna have to be blunt: We both know that you’re no match for Viv. Thanks for the offer, though.”

The man’s friends chortle across the table. My customer’s grin broadens. Whatever the test, apparently I passed it. A parting wink, then I deliver the order slip to Viv, informing her that she has a table of admirers, including older brother Al. She merely rolls her eyes and drops down another bucket of fries. I escape before the greasy steam coats my skin.

Back at the bar, I notice Lotham’s drink has been barely touched. Apparently, he’s planning on staying for a while. With the bar pared down to the night owls, there’s nothing that demands my immediate attention. I plop my elbows on the counter across from the Boston cop.

“So... of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world?”

He smiles briefly. “I had some time on my hands, wanted a drink.”

“Really? Because I think you’re still rankled that the new girl is sniffing around your turf.”

“You didn’t leave the school after our conversation.”

“Never said I was gonna.”

“You talked to students. Kyra and Marjolie.”

“I liked their yellow ribbons.”

Detective Lotham takes a sip of his RumChata. When he sets it down and exhales, his breath smells like cinnamon.

He has dark eyes, thick eyebrows, and battered features. His nose has definitely been broken, probably a couple of times, and he’s missing a piece of his ear, as if someone took a bite out of it. There’s a story there, no doubt. I like that about his face. That it’s a road map of been there, done that. It’s interesting.

In my drinking days, I devoted my share of nights to drunken hookups. Even back then, it wasn’t about the sex for me, which was generally a clumsy and forgettable affair. I liked the quiet right after. When neither of us were speaking. Just the sound of chests heaving, heartbeats slowing. That short, fleeting moment that occurs right before regret. When you can smell the sweat on your body, now mixing with someone else’s, and wonder again how you can remain so disconnected. Like it wasn’t your arms, wasn’t your legs, was never your body to begin with.

I wouldn’t invite a man like Detective Lotham up to my room for sex. But even now, I wouldn’t mind tracing the line of his chewed-up ear, his weathered jawline.

I stand, putting distance between us, then pour myself a glass of water and down it.

“I called the names you gave O’Shaughnessy,” Lotham offers up casually.

“And?”

“Wouldn’t say they sang your praises, but it does sound like you’re legit. I mean, as legit as an inexperienced, untrained civilian can be.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“No seeking of financial reward, or attention from the press.”

I shudder automatically. “I don’t care for the press.”

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