Page 79 of Obsession

“I’ll call you in the morning,” he said.

“Don’t you have to work?”

“I’m taking the morning off. Brooke can handle the day shift by herself.”

A few minutes later, Sam sat in his SUV staring up at her windows. Emma meant well, but she didn’t understand. He took out his phone and sent her a text.

Sorry for the way I acted. Make it up to you tomorrow.

He held his breath, waiting for her reply.

That’s okay. I shouldn’t have tried to push you into something you didn’t want to do. See you tomorrow. xoxo

Feeling better, he started his SUV. It wasn’t that late, and he had time enough to check out the Hideaway. Once he checked Google for the name of the owner, he drove to the sports bar out on Highway 61 that featured wide-screen TVs and dancing. Judging by the packed parking lot, business was good. Once Sam was inside the building, he paused to let his eyes adjust to the dim light. He doubted his lungs would adjust to the cigarette smoke. Sam ambled to the bar and nodded to the bartender wiping the counter.

“What’ll it be?” he asked, tossing the cloth on a counter behind him.

“Is Charlie Shaw in?” Sam asked.

The bartender looked him up and down. “You a cop? ’Cause we don’t serve minors in here.”

“Nope.” Sam was glad he wasn’t wearing his uniform and gun.

“What do you want with Mr. Shaw?”

“I knew him when I lived here a few years back, and now that I’m home again, thought I’d touch base.”

“Then you should have recognized him when you came in.”

Sam shot the bartender a puzzled look, and the man nodded toward the door. Sam turned. A couple danced to slow music on the floor, but beyond them a short, squat man with an almostnonexistent neck sat at the first table inside the building. Sam didn’t remember the owner resembling a bullfrog. “Didn’t say I knew him well,” he said. “And he’s put on a little weight since I last saw him.”

“You could say that.”

“Thanks.” Sam made his way through the crowd to Charlie Shaw’s table. “Mr. Shaw?” he said.

The man removed an unlit stogie from his mouth. “Depends on who’s asking.”

“Sam Ryker.” He held his hand out, and the bar owner ignored him. “Mind if I sit down a minute?”

“It’s a free country, but unless you’re buying something, I don’t have time to chew the fat,” he said as a petite waitress appeared.

“You have fountain drinks?”

“Yes, sir,” she said.

“A Coke, then.”

“That all?”

“Yep.”

Shaw eyed him suspiciously as Sam took the chair opposite him. “You a cop?”

“Not exactly.”

“Now, either you are or you ain’t. Which is it?” Shaw asked and stuck the cigar back in his mouth.

“I’m a ranger for the Natchez Trace Park Service.”

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