Page 81 of Snow Creek

I twist the knob and towel off as quickly as I can.

That my wardrobe isn’t extensive is the understatement of the century—this or the last one. My closet and drawers look like a waiter’s supply outlet. Black and blue cotton slacks, white shirts. Blazers that complete my daily work attire hang like a rogue’s gallery of what not to wear.

I consider a dress but decide against it. Mindy will be there, and she’ll give me grief later.

I can hear her now.

Gee, I forgot you had legs, Megan.

I put on my most flattering jeans, a white top that at least gives me a tiny bit of sex appeal. Lipstick, and eye makeup and I’m out the door.

Originally called Hops Ahoy, the bar was supposed to be for the tourist trade. It was all done up with nets, ship’s wheels and enormous black and white blowups of our Victorian seaport. It turned out that the tourists who came here were looking for an authentic experience, one that didn’t try too hard to be a destination but was a worthy one on its own.

My heart sinks a little when I spy only Mindy sitting at a table in the bar. She brightens the minute she sees me, and I do the same. I know I’m mimicking her reaction right now. But it isn’t as though I’m not thrilled to see her.

It’s that Dan isn’t there.

“Am I your chaperone or your excuse to leave?” Mindy asks as she indicates for the waiter to come.

“Neither.”

I want a Scotch on the rocks, but I order a chardonnay.

“I don’t know,” I tell her. “I haven’t been interested in a guy for a long time. Dan intrigues me.”

She sips her wine. “Is it the beard?”

The question catches me off guard.

“How’d you know he has a beard?”

“Small town. I know things,” she explains.

I look toward the door, sinking a little inside.

“And no, it’s not the beard. He just seems like a nice guy. Interesting. There could be something there. Or maybe not.”

“Do you want to sleep with him?” Mindy asks, egging me on like she used to when we saw each other more regularly. Her teasing feels comfortable. I’ve missed her. I look at my phone. It’s only half past the hour. He’s late. He hasn’t texted that he couldn’t come.

I fill her in on what I found out from Tyra and Chantelle.

“Look before you tell me that it’s not our case—like Sheriff—I know there is a connection. The girls were extremely close. They had to sneak around to maintain their friendship because Ellie was practically under house arrest.”

“Wasn’t she in school?”

I make a quick scan of the door.

He’s not here.

“No,” I say. “Her mom homeschooled her at the behest of her husband, a real control freak.”

Mindy is doing what she does best. She’s processing the information like it’s a crime scene.

I love that about her.

“So, your theory is that, what? The girls plotted the murder of their parents? If that’s the case, why is Tyra’s dad still alive?”

“The plot was one sided. A game for Tyra. She was never going to get rid of her mother. She just told Ellie how she was going to do it—and then said she did.”

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