Page 234 of Waiting Game

Her brows lift even higher than before. “Is there a reason for that?”

“Her uncle owned the bar and she inherited it.”

“If it doesn’t land in my mailbox, it’s a payment I don’t have to worry about. Yet.”

“So, you’re in debt?”

“Mountains of it. But I have a debt consolidation loan and I’m paying it off. I also have enough savings to cover the loan for at least three more months.”

She takes a seat by my side. “Why not sell the trading cards? The Yogi Berra one has to cover most of your debts on its own.”

Before I can answer, Cole does for me: “She’s sentimental.”

Her eyes narrow at his interruption. Then, she flicks a glance between the pair of us. “You do know that you won’t be allowed into the interview room, Cole?”

He harrumphs.

“I didn’t do it,” I repeat.

“And clearly, Cole doesn’t want you to go to jail whether you did or didn’t because he wouldn’t have acquired my services.”

The cost of her shoes alone tells me that Cole brought in the big guns.

Turning to him, I ask, “Do you believe I wasn’t behind the fire?”

“I do,” he promises. “But that doesn’t mean I have faith in the US criminal justice system either. I’m protecting you from incompetence. Let’s nip this in the bud before it can sprout stinging nettles.”

“Another of your mom’s sayings?” I ask him softly.

He shoots me a smile. “Yup. Rachel’s the best at what she does, Mia. She’ll make sure this is the last interview you have to attend.”

His faith in the other woman, in the fact that I didn’t do this, makes the tension in my shoulders settle down some. Hishand smoothes up my arm until it finds the back of my neck. His warmth eases even more of the tension away, making it that smidgen easier to breathe.

“Do you have a reason to think someone could do this to you, Mia? An enemy?”

“The cops didn’t believe me when I brought this up.”

“I’m not the cops,” is her simple reply to my mumbled retort.

“They wish they were on her pay grade,” Cole adds cheerfully.

With shoes like hers, I wish I were too.

“There was a long-term patron that I banned from the bar?—”

“Why?” she interrupts.

“My uncle was a lot more permissive than I am as the licensee. He was aggressive to staff, a bully, and he didn’t know how to keep his hands off the female servers.”

“Your uncle allowed that?”

“I think he thought it was funny.”

“Chuck was such an asshole,” Cole mutters.

Wishing I could argue with that, I sigh. “He was old-fashioned. When a mutual friend of ours used to work for him, we had a running joke that we’d hammer Jason in the head with one of Chuck’s baseball bats. It kept him in line until Chuck passed away, then he started being… weird.”

“Weird, how?”

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