Page 7 of Winning Bid

“How would you describe your relationship with the deceased?”

Adversarial. I sigh. “I didn’t really know him all that well. We met at a bar after I went through a breakup and got laid off, so I wasn’t exactly in the best headspace to be meeting someone. We texted some, and then I went back to working at my old bar?—"

“O’Mulligan’s?”

And with that one word, I know they know way more about me than they’re letting on. I am dying inside. But I roll with it. The only way through is through. “Yeah. I used to bartend there back in college, and when I got laid off, I went back to it for a while.”

“Seems you’ve bounced back,” Detective Wachowski says, glancing around my office.

“Thanks.”

“Go on,” Detective Banks tells me.

I clear my throat. “Anyway, one night, he shows up at O’Mulligan’s, and he hangs out. It was a little strange. I mean, we’d hung out one night at another bar, and then he stays for hours when I’m too busy to talk to him?” I shrug. “I dunno. Guys are weird. But he was nice enough to offer to walk me home after my shift, so I took him up on it. Getting out of the bar late, you never know what might happen. He walked me home, and we said goodnight. I didn’t hear from him after that.”

Detective Wachowski pulls out his phone and reads off of it, “Several eyewitnesses said Mr. Johnson put his scarf on you and kissed you before you left the bar. Can you corroborate that?”

I laugh, shaking my head. “Wow. They have better memories than me.” Those fuckers.

“Do you kiss enough men to forget the dead ones you kissed?”

Whoa, what the fuck? “I beg your pardon?”

“Seems to me the news report shoulda jogged your memory of that kiss. Don’t you think?”

I sit back and try to rebuild the smile I had going a minute ago. “Tell me, Detective Wachowski, have you ever been a bartender with a killer rack and a flirty side? Because I have. Frequently. Random kissing happens. I won’t apologize for having some fun with a guy, and you won’t make me feel uncomfortable for forgetting about a measly drunken kiss. Slut shaming should be beneath a man of the law.”

“Where is the scarf now, Ms. Devlin?” Detective Banks asks.

Oh, you want me to admit to having evidence? “I don’t even remember the scarf. I have no idea where it’s at now. This was months ago.”

“Why didn’t you text him after that kiss?” the other one asks.

“What girl does that?” I laugh as if the mere thought is absurd. “If a guy wants to talk after we’ve kissed, then he can text me. Let him prove he’s interested. Let him stick his neck out. I am done chasing men. I do not waste my time. Life is too short.”

“And did he text you?” Detective Banks asks.

I huff and give a little pout. “No. I mean, it all worked out in the end.” I flash my engagement ring, which is coming in handy more times than I thought it would today. “But at the time, I was kinda bummed Neil didn’t text after that. He was really cute.” Saying anything nice about that monster makes me nauseous, but I hope I’m selling this. “He seemed like he liked me … wait. The news said he was in the water for a long time. Do you think that’s why he didn’t text me? He was dead?”

They both look at me like I’ve lost my mind. Detective Banks says, “It’s possible. Why do you sound happy about that?”

I laugh nervously. “Well, I mean, if he was dead, then it’s a little less of an ego hit that he didn’t text me. I can’t blame him for his bad choices if he was dead. Does that make me the asshole if his being dead is a relief?”

Banks smirks at that, but Wachowski looks appalled. He grunts, “You sure you don’t know anything else?”

“I wish I knew more. He was nice enough, I guess. A little odd, but no one deserves whatever happened to him.” If I can send them down the path of finding any of his other victims, then I will.

“He was odd how?” Detective Banks asks.

“Well, the night he walked me home, he said some strange stuff about women. About how he didn’t like it when women were mouthy or told him what to do. I didn’t know where he was going with all of that. It sounded misogynistic to me and made me uncomfortable. I mean, I think a lot of guys feel that way, but they don’t say it out loud. Not Neil. He just put it out there like it was a normal thing to say to a woman. I dunno.” I shrug. “He was weird.”

Detective Wachowski says, “You remember a random comment like that, but not kissing the guy?”

I smile at him. “Kissing isn’t a big deal, but a guy going on about opinionated women is a big deal. Considering most men know better than to say that kind of thing to a woman, it sticks out.”

“And there’s nothing else you can tell us about him?”

“All I know is he said he was a hedge fund manager, and he was from Nebraska. Oh, and he liked sci-fi novels. That’s about it.”

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