Page 26 of Rest In Peace

"So, he was the one who had an affair?" The word hung between us, heavy with implications.

"Of course," Lisa said, eyes narrowing. "There was this one woman… it seemed serious. Sarah thought she might be the reason he threw her out. He told her not to come back. He was done with her. Nearly broke Sarah in pieces, the poor thing."

"Did she have a husband?" The question slipped out, laced with curiosity. “The woman he had an affair with?”

"Wouldn't be surprised." Lisa's mouth twisted into a wry smile. "That kind always does."

"Would give someone a hell of a reason to pull a trigger," I mused, my mind racing with the possibilities.

Lisa nodded, her lips sealed tight as if locking away secrets. Our conversation fell into a hush, the weight of our words sinking into the woodgrain of the bar.

That's when I felt it—eyes on me—a prickle on the back of my neck. I turned slightly, pretending to scan the shelves of liquor but really searching the dim reflections in the mirror behind the bar. There he was—a solitary figure obscured by shadow, a glass of something dark cradled between his hands. His gaze pierced through the gloom, fixed on us with an intensity that knotted my stomach.

"Excuse me for a sec," I murmured to Lisa, slipping off the stool.

I threaded through the tables, each step deliberate, casual. He didn't look away and didn't blink. The stranger’s face was a mask of indifference, but something in his eyes betrayed him—a flicker of recognition or perhaps fear.

"Mind if I join you?" I asked, nodding toward the empty seat beside him.

He considered me, then gestured wordlessly to the chair. His fingers tapped a silent rhythm on the side of his glass.

"It seems you're interested in our little chat over there." I kept my tone light and non-threatening.

"Hard not to overhear." His voice was gravel, deep and rough around the edges.

"Sarah and Steven are quite the talk of the town," I prodded, watching for a tell, a twitch, anything.

"Are they now?" The corner of his mouth quirked up, but it wasn't a smile.

"Seems their story's got more layers than an onion."

"Layers can make your eyes water," he replied cryptically.

"Or they can hide a core rotten to the heart," I shot back, locking eyes with him.

His gaze held mine, unflinching, before he raised his glass to his lips, the golden liquid disappearing with a slow tilt of his head. When he set the glass down, it was empty, save for a ring of condensation clinging to the wood.

"Every story's got an end," he said, standing abruptly. "Just depends on who's writing it."

"Got a stake in how this one turns out?" I asked, but he was already turning away, melting into the shadows that seemed eager to swallow him whole.

"Maybe," he tossed over his shoulder, his footsteps a soft echo against the buzz of the bar.

"Hey," I said, stopping him as he tried to leave.

"Did Sarah ever talk to you about Steven’s affair?"

"Maybe."

"Did she ever talk about the woman? Tell you who she was?"

"Her husband had his secrets," he said. “Of the female kind.”

"Names," I pressed. "Did she mention a name?"

"Maybe." He looked away. "But names can be dangerous things."

"More dangerous than bullets?"

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