Page 34 of Girl, Reformed

But she shut that down quick. Ripley hadmade it crystal she didn't want Ella's nose in her business. Not when it cameto Martin and his possible extracurriculars.

Luca's voice yanked her back to the hereand now. ‘I'm not seeing any mutual friends here. Bolton and Newman might aswell have been living on different planets.’

Ella pinched the bridge of her nose.‘Their financials telling a different story?’

‘Nada. She was all dive bars andnightclubs on the few occasions she did leave the house. He was more PBR andvideo games. Opposite ends of the spectrum.’

This was getting them nowhere fast. Sheshoved back from the table and said, ‘Let's look at this from another angle.Maybe it's not about their social circle, but their daily routines. Where theyworked, where they played.’

Luca flipped through a sheaf of papers.‘Bolton was slinging drinks at a joint called The Rusty Nail. Newman waspulling pints at The Boathouse Brewery.’

‘Both service industry, both dealing withdrunks and bachelorette parties.’ Ella started pacing, the gears in her headgrinding. ‘What about extracurriculars? Either of them have any regular haunts?Places they frequented outside of work hours?’

More shuffling, pages rustling. Lucahuffed. ‘Not seeing any crossover. Bolton was all about the party scene,anywhere with a pulse and a two-for-one special. Newman's credit card shows alot of activity at sports bars and a pizza place that he frequented withalarming regularity.’

Ella stopped mid-stride, something pingingin her brain. ‘Wait. Pizza place?’

‘Yeah. Bella Napoli Pizzeria. Sounds likea nice place.’

A memory tickled the back of Ella's mind.Ella dove back into the Bolton file, scanning the pages like a hawk searchingfor prey. She flipped through Georgia's social media history, a blur of drunkenselfies and scathing posts about ex-lovers and former friends.

And there, buried in the deluge of digitalvitriol, she found it.

A post from three months ago, Georgiaranting about some ‘punk-ass pizza jockey’ who'd kicked her out of his pizzashop.

And she’d tagged the page for Bella NapoliPizzeria in the post.

'Hawkins, check this,' Ella said. Shepushed the file over to him. 'Apparently, our girl Georgia got the boot forbeing a belligerent drunk.'

Luca’s eyebrows shot up. ‘Same place whereNewman was burning his cash. He practically had a standing order at thatplace.’

Ella could picture it – Georgia swaggeringin, all fishnet and attitude, tossing slurs and insults like confetti. Thingsescalating, tempers flaring. Maybe a full-blown tantrum at table six.

‘Maybe they got into it with a server orbouncer. Pissed off the wrong person. Maybe even got someone fired?’

It was thin, but it was something. Morethan they'd had five minutes ago.

Luca leaned back in his chair, a slow grinspreading across his pretty-boy mug. ‘Bella Napoli. That's Italian, you know.Just like yours truly.’

She pushed to her feet, snatching herjacket off the back of the chair. ‘What gave it away? The ‘Napoli’ or theItalian flag on the logo?’

‘Just saying.’ Luca shot out of his chairand shrugged into his jacket in record time. The kid’s enthusiasm was a welcomeshot of adrenaline in the arm.

‘You’re Italian?’ Ella asked.

‘No, I’m as American as a bald eagle,’Luca said as he scooped up his things. ‘My dad’s middle name was Luke, and hisfavorite sport was lucha libre. He just combined the two.’

‘Smart. Just don’t tell anyone.’

‘My lips are sealed. Now, let’s pay avisit to my people.’

Ella mentally ran through thepossibilities. If Georgia and Archie had gotten into it with an employee atBella Napoli, it could be the break they needed. A disgruntled server, apissed-off pizza slinger. The kind of everyday slight that could fester intosomething deadly in the right kind of broken brain.

She thought of their unsub, out theresomewhere, stewing in his own twisted juices. Building his next torture throne,picking his next vic. The familiar urgency thrummed through her, the need tohunt, to chase, to catch.

Time to rattle some cages, kick down somedoors, maybe grab a slice of Italy’s finest import. It was a long shot, but inthis game, you played the hand you were dealt, and you played it to the bloodyend.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

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