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“I’m telling you, that new officer of yours got nailed by the jukebox,” Gus said.
Ed Nolan filled his lungs with the luscious coffee aroma rising from the mug she’d set before him. Riley’s was closer to the station house, and a good argument could be made that the coffee there was on a par with the coffee at the Faulk Street Tavern. But the Faulk Street tavern had one thing Riley’s didn’t have: Gus Naukonen.
He gave the coffee an unnecessary stir and took a sip. “Sam Harper? He seems fine to me.”
“I didn’t say he wasn’t fine.” Gus busied herself giving the stemware glasses Manny had set before her a final wipe. They came out of the industrial dishwasher slightly damp, even after the drying cycle. She didn’t want water spots on her glasses, so she gave them an extra polish with a cloth before lining them on their shelf. Manny was awaiting the delivery of a new heating element for the dishwasher. Once he installed it, he promised, water spotting would no longer be a problem on the glassware.
Ed was secretly pleased that Manny hadn’t repaired the dishwasher yet. Drying the glasses was a mindless task, which meant that Gus could talk to Ed while she did it. Ed was a man, after all. He liked having his woman’s attention—or at least three-quarters of her attention. He was willing to cede one quarter of Gus’s brain to the glasses.
“Sam Harper’s a smart cop. He’s got a little bit of an edge, which I chalk up to his being from New York.” Ed shrugged. “A little bit of an edge can come in handy when you’re doing police work.”
“Edge or no edge, the jukebox got him.” Gus set aside one perfectly polished glass and reached for the next one in the rack. “Him and the yoga lady.”
Ed shook his head. “He’s working on a case that involves her. There’s nothing more to it than that.”
“Don’t be so sure.” She turned her back to him while she stacked several glasses on a shelf behind the bar, leaving Ed to mull over her words.
Sam had discussed the yoga lady’s case with Ed. Cali Bowen had received some obscene emails from an anonymous turd. Not the sort of high-octane crime Sam was used to in New York, but getting away from high-octane crime for a while was why Sam was now working for the Brogan’s Point force. Ed thought he was managing the case well, working through the possibilities methodically and meticulously.
Sam had his issues. He’d been forthright about them when he’d applied for the job in Brogan’s Point. Then again, most cops had issues. The kid had been through hell in New York. If Brogan’s Point helped him to recover, Ed had no objection.
Besides, Sam didn’t let those issues show. He handled himself well. Ed had discerned nothing in his behavior to indicate that he was suffering from the aftereffects of his crisis in New York, let alone enchanted by a magic spell. Not that Ed believed the tavern’s jukebox could cast a spell.
“Rescue me,” Gus said.
“Hmm?” Ed glanced around. He didn’t see any imminent threats.
“The name of the song,” Gus explained. “Rescue Me. It played the first time your boy came here. You were sitting right next to him. The yoga lady was here with the artist lady.”
Ed marveled at the way Gus could pay such close attention to her customers, even as she was filling orders, overseeing her staff, monitoring her inventory, and making sure the glasses didn’t have water spots on them. “Keep an eye on that cop of yours. He’s a goner.”
Ed chuckled and took a sip of coffee. He knew better than to question Gus. He didn’t exactly believe in the jukebox legend, but he didn’t exactly not believe in it, either. His own daughter had admitted to him once that a song on the jukebox had brought her and Quinn Connor together. Maeve and Quinn were a great couple; Ed sure as hell wasn’t going to question whether some golden-oldie song blasting in the tavern had found his beloved daughter a worthy life partner.
So maybe there was some truth to the jukebox myth.
As soon as he finished his coffee, he gave Gus a discreet kiss and headed back to the station house. He could have had a cup of coffee there, of course. The break room had a coffee maker in it. But the break room, like Riley’s, didn’t have Gus. Also, the coffee in the break room sucked.
He entered the squad room, gave Helen a breezy wave which she ignored, and strode through the maze of desks. Sam was seated at his own desk, and Ed took a minute to study him.
Nothing about him seemed to be under a spell. His gaze shuttled between his computer screen and a pile of notes on his desk, and his fingers drummed against the computer’s keys.
Ed sauntered over to Sam’s desk and settled in the visitor’s chair. “How’s it going?” he asked.
Sam looked up and flashed a noncommittal smile. “Still trying to track down Howard Ellinger,” he said.
“Refresh my memory.”
“Ellinger and Cali Bowen grew up together. She claims they’re best friends. Claims he’s living with a woman in Jacksonville, Florida. But there’s no trace of him there. All the evidence is that he’s still in Akin, Vermont—his and Cali’s hometown. And they were childhood sweethearts. I like him for this.”
“Where exactly is Akin, Vermont?”
“Southeast of Burlington. About a couple of hours from here, by my estimate.”
“Maybe you ought to take a little trip to Akin and see if you can find him,” Ed suggested.
”Can I do that?”
“Sure. Just clear it with Helen first.” Ed glanced over his shoulder at the officious woman who ran the department’s bureaucracy. “I’ll clear it with her,” he offered. She’d say yes to Ed before she’d say yes to Sam. Ed had seniority.
He turned back to Sam. “Everything okay with you?”
“Sure.” Sam’s face went blank.
“Nothing going on between you and Ms. Bowen?”
Sam’s face went, if anything, blanker. “I’m working on her case.”
“Right. Just making sure everything’s okay.”
“Everything’s okay,” Sam said.
Ed nodded, pushed to his feet, and continued on to his desk a few feet from Sam’s, thinking Gus was probably correct. Something was going on between Ed’s new police detective and the yoga lady.
