The instant Bart excused himself to go change in one of the locker rooms, I dashed over to find Deena. She was sitting on the stationary bicycle, not moving her legs. “I’ve had enough exercise for a month,” she groaned. “I’m sore in muscles I never even knew I had.”
“Where’s Rocky?” I hissed.
“I don’t know. He had to help someone else.” She gave me a curious look. “What happened with Bart? Did you get him to talk?”
“Not yet, but I will.” I quickly filled her in. “You have to find Rocky and follow me, okay? I don’t want to be alone with Bart, but I want to be alone with him.”
“What?” She stared at me, incredulous. “You’re not making sense.”
I waved my hand, as if to erase what I’d said. “Oh, you know what I mean. I think there’s a better chance he’ll talk to me without an audience. But I’d like y’all nearby in case I need rescuing.”
“Got it,” said Deena, wincing as she climbed off the bicycle. “You’re going on a date with him.”
A date? I frowned. That wasn’t what I had in mind. “No, no. It’s just a drink. Just a friendly, impromptu—”
“Date,” Deena supplied.
Ugh. “Never mind what it is. Just hurry!”
I headed to the ladies’ locker room, where I finger-combed my hair and applied a touch of tinted lip balm. Did Bart think we were going on a date? I hadn’t expected to have a full workout this evening, so I didn’t bring a change of clothes. My shorts and T-shirt would have to do. Luckily, anyplace we’d go for a drink in Aerieville would be as casual as a family get-together. And there weren’t a lot of choices.
My dad was in the office on the telephone when I passed through the lobby. I waved at him through the window and hurried outside. Bart was waiting on the sidewalk, freshly showered and smelling slightly of menthol and pine-scented soap.
“Cuties’ okay?” he asked.
“Yeah! That would be great.” I pointed toward my orange car. “I’ll meet ya there.”
He nodded briefly and headed to a silver sedan. It was kind of odd to see him driving something other than his delivery van. Who knew what else I’d learn tonight?
I shot off a text to Deena, letting her know where we were going. I wanted to text Calvin too, but I didn’t have time. I started up my car and drove the four blocks to Cuties’ Pool Hall. We almost could have walked there.
It was surprisingly busy for a Monday night, though not even half-full. Some folks were watching football on the large screen behind the bar, while others were finishing up dinner in the attached restaurant. Bart led us to a corner booth in the pub side of the establishment. Sliding into the seat across from him, I immediately felt a twinge of awkwardness.
Maybe he does think this is a date. In the dim lighting over the cozy table, it sure felt awful date-like.
“Are you hungry?” he asked. “I can ask for a menu.”
“I could munch on something,” I said. “Maybe I’ll order an appetizer.”
A waitress came by to take our drink orders—draft beers for both of us—and gave us menus. We spent the next few minutes studying our options. In the end, I decided on loaded potato skins, and Bart ordered a burger with a side of coleslaw. As soon as the waitress left, I sat back and grinned.
“Coleslaw? Who orders slaw with a burger?”
He looked at me with surprise. “I like it,” he said, a touch defensively.
It was on the tip of my tongue to tease him about being old. (How old was he anyway, forty-five?) But I held back. I realized it might come across as flirty, even though I didn’t mean to be. I was beginning to think I’d sent Bart the wrong signals with my friendliness.
“I like it too,” I said. “And I bet it’s pretty healthy. I just crave salty potatoes with beer.”
He nodded without saying anything. Good ol’ stoic Bart. Well, he’d invited me here, I thought. I’m gonna make him talk, darn it. It was time for some rapid-fire questions.
I leaned my forearms on the table and fixed him with an interested gaze. “Tell me about yourself, Bart. Where’d you grow up? Where do you live now? Do you have family around here?”
He took a swig of beer and averted his eyes. I just kept looking at him. Finally, he shrugged. “My life is kind of boring. I grew up in a tiny hamlet on the other side of the mountain. I’ve moved around some, but now I have a house and some acreage out in the country, ’bout twenty miles west of here.”
“Do you have animals?”
“A couple of cats. I’m on the road too much to take care of more than that.”
“What do you do for fun?”
A strange expression, something like wistfulness, passed over his face. Then it was gone, and he shrugged again. “I like to hunt and fish. I do some home brewing too, beer and cider mostly.”
“Ohh,” I said, knowingly. “You’re a moonshiner!”
He cracked a hint of a smile—possibly the first one I’d ever seen on him. It made him look younger and even kind of cute.
I smiled back at him. “You ever been married, Bart?”
Just like that, his smile disappeared. Bart became stony-faced again, staring at his beer bottle like he might bore a hole through it with his eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I said softly. “Sensitive subject?”
His jaw twitched. “My wife died. I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Oh, okay. I’m so sorry. No problem.” I cringed at my faux pas. Poor Bart! Why did I have to press him like that? No wonder he rarely smiled. He was probably heartbroken.
For a moment, neither of us said anything. I wondered how long he’d been a widower. Was this a fresh pain? Or were the circumstances so terrible, he still couldn’t talk about it no matter how much time had passed? Come to think of it, I was kind of surprised Felix had never mentioned it.
As we drank our beer, the absence of conversation stretched into awkward territory. When the waitress brought our food, I breathed a sigh of relief. It was a welcome distraction.
I used a fork to cut off a bite of cheesy potato and blew on it to cool it down. Bart offered me a taste of his coleslaw, which was a nice gesture, I thought. I declined and made small talk while we ate. I also gazed around the room. Where were Rocky and Deena?
Our booth was at the end of a line of tables, closest to the bar. On the other end of the long wooden counter, in the corner across from us, were a couple of dart boards. The center of the room held the main attraction: six pool tables situated in two rows of three. There were more booths on the wall adjacent to ours. At the end of those seats, in the opposite corner, were a foosball table and a pinball machine. Twisting in my seat, I finally spotted my brother chalking up a cue at the pool table behind the one nearest to our booth. Deena walked over to him and handed him a bottle of beer.
Speaking of ostensible dates.… If I didn’t know any better, I’d think the two of them were on one. Then I noticed the way Deena watched Rocky as he geared up for a shot. There was definitely something like appreciation in her gaze. Huh. Well, Rocky was only four years younger than us, and he’d definitely been admired before by folks of all ages and genders. But Deena had never said anything to me about being interested in him. And they were so different from each other.
I started to turn back to Bart when I caught sight of a familiar trio enter the pub: April, Vince, and Isaiah. They strolled in from the adjacent restaurant, looked around, then claimed an empty pool table on the far side of the room. I could no longer see them from where I sat.
“Your brother is quite the protector, isn’t he?” said Bart.
“What?” I gave him an innocent look, as if I had no idea what he was talking about.
“Twice now he’s stopped someone from coming over here.”
“Oh?” Now I really was surprised. “Like who?”
“Just townsfolk, I think. One was Nell Cusley. Rocky just held out his palm and shook his head no. That was enough to make her turn tail.” Bart appeared to be amused.
“Well, I’m grateful to him, then. People want to gossip about the murder, and I’d rather not.” I took another bite of my appetizer and took a peek at my phone. It wasn’t that late yet, but I found myself thinking about Calvin again. I wondered if he’d want to come to Cuties’ some time.
“People are terrible,” Bart said with a scowl. “Always poking their noses where it doesn’t belong.”
“Yeah, sometimes. But it’s natural to be curious. And it could be they wanted to offer moral support.” I was starting to grow weary of Bart’s dour mood. He also seemed to be discouraging any further questions.
We ate in silence for a minute. Bart finished off his beer and set it on the table with a tap. He waved the waitress over. I thought he was going to ask for the check, but instead he ordered a second beer. “You ready for another?” he asked me.
“Uh, no. I’m good.” I looked over my shoulder again to make sure Rocky and Deena were still there. They were—and still apparently not paying any attention to me.
Just then April crossed the room, heading for the door. She held her cell phone to her ear and glowered. “Are you listening to me?” she said loudly. “I told you I have it covered!”
I pushed my plate away. “Would you excuse me for a minute? I’ll be right back.”
Bart nodded, as I slipped out of the booth and followed April. In between the pool hall and the restaurant was a narrow hallway leading to the restrooms. I exited the bar in time to see April push her way into the ladies’ room. Perfect. I knew from past visits to Cuties’ that the restroom had two parts: an outer room with a large mirror above a wide counter and a connecting inner room with three stalls and sinks. April was standing in front of the mirror, but her head was down as she continued her phone conversation. I proceeded directly into the other room and stood at a sink around the corner as I listened.
“Just because Lowry’s gone doesn’t mean the well is dry.” April wasn’t yelling anymore, but she still sounded intense. “I’m in charge now.”
In charge of what? I craned my ears, so I wouldn’t miss anything. After a pause, April raised her voice again. “Isaiah said what? That’s not true. I’m the one you need to deal with now.”
She fell silent, and it occurred to me her call must be over. Quickly, I switched the water on and washed my hands. When she didn’t appear around the corner, I turned off the water, grabbed a paper towel, and walked into the adjacent room. April was redoing her braids and looking at herself thoughtfully in the mirror.
“Well, hi there!” I said brightly. “So, you decided to take my advice and give Cuties’ a try?”
“Hey,” she said. “Yeah. Fun place.” She gave me a tight little smile.
I walked up to the mirror and pretended to fix my hair. I wanted to ask her so many questions, but I didn’t know where to start.
She tied off her braid, then tilted her chin toward me. “Will you watch my bag?” She pointed to a pink leather hobo bag on the counter.
“Of course,” I said.
April disappeared into the other room, and I was left staring at the open bag. Oh, the temptation. Would it hurt to take a tiny peek?
I glanced around the corner to ensure she was in one of the stalls. She was. It was now or never. Without moving the bag, I carefully lifted the flap to open it a bit wider and looked inside. Her cell phone was right on top, next to an oversized wallet and a striped makeup bag.
I sure would love to know who she was just talking to. If I could see the phone number, I could memorize it and call it later. For that matter, I was also extremely curious about her text messages—especially to Isaiah and Vince. What did they say to one another about the murder?
With my heart beating fast as a hummingbird, I grabbed the phone from April’s purse and pressed a button on the side. The home screen flashed to life. The wallpaper image was a selfie of April making a duck face. I swiped the screen, and a keypad appeared. The phone was locked. Dang it!
For the heck of it, I pressed 1-2-3-4, which of course didn’t work. Then I recklessly started pressing random buttons. The sound of a toilet flushing made me jump. Then the outer door opened, and I almost screamed. A middle-aged woman walked past me with barely a glance. Jeesh.
Catching my breath, I carefully replaced April’s phone in her bag. By the time she rejoined me at the mirror, I was languidly applying lipstick from my own purse, just as calm as can be.
“Thanks,” she said, shouldering her bag.
“Anytime. We girls gotta stick together, right?”
She gave me a look that almost made me laugh—that of the cool teenager embarrassed for an adult who’s trying too hard. Clearly, she didn’t see me as a peer.
“Women,” I amended. “We women gotta stick together.”
“Mm-hmm.” She started to leave. As she reached for the door handle, I called her back.
“April, wait a minute. Can I ask you something?” I couldn’t resist the chance to question her.
Turning, she raised her eyebrows with a forced politeness that failed to cover her impatience. “Yes?”
“Could you tell me a little bit about Professor Lowry? I’ve been hearing different things, and I’d love to hear your perspective.”
For a second, she narrowed her eyes in suspicion. Then she tossed her head, as if nothing could bother her. “He was brilliant. Top in his field. And he was an excellent teacher. He was involved in all kinds of important research projects, yet he still made time for his students outside the classroom.”
“Outside the classroom? You mean … on a more personal level?” This was interesting. Was she going to confirm Calvin’s assertion that Lowry had used some of his students as his personal “lackeys”?
She rolled her eyes, once again revealing what she thought of me. “That’s not what I meant. He gave his best students opportunities to build their résumés and gain extra experience—like with special research projects. And the summer field trip.”
I watched her closely as she spoke. For all her femininity and diminutive stature, she was certainly not shy. She was a confident young woman. There was also an edge about her, a note of defiance even. Maybe she felt the need to defend the professor against the accusations she must know Calvin had made about him. In a way, it was kind of admirable.
One thing, however, was noticeably absent from her demeanor: any hint of sadness or sorrow that he was gone.
I gave her a small smile. “I can tell you thought highly of him. I’m really sorry for your loss.”
Something crossed her face briefly—I could have sworn it was a smirk.
“Thanks,” she said shortly. Then she swept out of the room, as regally as a little queen.
By the time I returned to Bart, he was half-finished with his second beer. A fresh glass, filled to the top, sat in front of my place.
“I thought you’d got lost,” he said.
“Sorry.” I slipped into the booth and took a tiny sip of the beer. “I had to make a phone call and check on my dog.” That was partly true. After April had left the powder room, I texted Calvin to let him know I’d be just a while longer. He’d replied that he and Gus were chilling out in front of the TV. That had tugged on my heartstrings a little. I almost told him to leave Gus in his apartment and come join us at Cuties’. But I resisted. I still had a mission to see out.
“I’m kidding,” said Bart, with a smile. (His second one!) “Ladies always take a long time, right?”
Hmm. Was the beer loosening him up? I couldn’t let this prospect go to waste. Lifting one shoulder in a coy shrug, I raised my glass. “A toast,” I said.
Screwing his eyes in confusion, he held up his glass as well. “To what?”
“To flowers, of course! The source of your employment and mine.”
We tapped glasses.
“To flowers,” he echoed.
“How long you been driving for Pauly’s Plants?”
He stuck out his lower lip in thought. “’Bout eighteen years. A long time.”
“Wow, you must enjoy it. You get to see a lot of countryside, huh? How big is the region?”
“It covers Central and Eastern Tennessee, plus parts of Kentucky and North Carolina. I clock a lot of miles.”
“Do you mostly deliver to flower shops in small towns?”
“Oh, no, I go to big cities too. Charlotte, Knoxville. Even as far north as Lexington.”
“Is it true drivers in cities are the worst?” I didn’t know if that was true, but I was curious to see his reaction.
He bared his teeth in a snarl. “Nothing makes me madder ’n bad drivers.”
“Like Professor Lowry, right? Or was he pretty extreme?”
Bart gave me a strange look and took a gulp of his beer. “He was something else,” he mumbled.
I quietly sighed. This was going nowhere. I tried to think of another approach, when Bart stood up and waved at the waitress. “I’ll take a refill,” he said to her. To me, he said, “I’ll be back.” Then he headed to the exit, and presumably to the restroom.
Rolling my eyes, I turned to try to get Deena’s attention. That’s when I saw Vince walking away from the bar. He caught my eye and came over, a bottle of beer in hand.
“You won’t tell Professor Washington, will you?” he said, by way of greeting.
I shook my head. “You’re over twenty-one, right?”
“That’s right.” He gave me a lazy smile. “I saw you over here with the delivery guy. You like to live on the edge, huh? Flirt with danger?”
“Danger? Bart doesn’t seem dangerous to me.”
He set his bottle on the table and leaned in close. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.”
I felt my eyes grow wide. “What am I doing?”
“You’re playing detective. Tryin’ to ‘solve a mystery’ like a regular Nancy Drew or something.” He used air quotes as if solving a mystery were some kind of game.
I kept my tone light and playful. “It’s a free country, isn’t it?”
“That it is,” he said.
Bart returned then, brushing past Vince as he resumed his seat. He glared at the younger guy until Vince picked up his bottle and tipped his head in farewell. “See you around,” he said to me.
Bart eyed my still-full glass. “Don’t you want anymore?”
I slid it across the table. “You can have it. I think the waitress forgot about you.”
He took a swig of the beer and squinted in the direction Vince had sauntered. “Was that guy hitting on you?”
“Um,” I said. Was he? It was hard to say.
“I bet a lot of guys hit on you,” he said. “Like that pompous professor, Lowry.”
The waitress came over then, as I tried to process what Bart had just said. Why did he think Lowry had hit on me? The only time I’d interacted with the professor was at the entrance to Flower House. Was Bart watching, and did he somehow misinterpret that exchange?
Bart motioned for the waitress to set the beer down next to the one I’d given him.
This is getting ridiculous. “Uh, Bart. You have a long drive ahead of you tonight, don’t you?”
“Naw,” he said, with a wave of his hand. “I don’t drink and drive. I have a motel room here in town.”
“Oh! Cool.” That was a relief. I leaned forward, noting that Bart’s eyes appeared bloodshot. “So, speaking of Lowry. Had you ever met him before?”
He frowned slightly. “No, I don’t think so.”
“Tell me something. That afternoon—before the cops came and everything—were you sitting in your truck the whole time? Did you notice people going in and out the back door of Flower House?”
He stared at me blankly. “Sure,” he finally said. “I wasn’t paying special attention, but I could see the door.”
I tried to remember the timeline of events. “Did you see me and Cal leave the house with Gus?”
The corner of his mouth twitched. “Yeah. You started to come up to me and then didn’t.”
“I didn’t know you saw me.” I recalled he’d been looking at his phone. Maybe he’d caught a glimpse of me in his peripheral vision. “That was right after we’d discovered Lowry’s body.”
Bart didn’t respond but continued to stare at me.
I swallowed. “Who came out of the house immediately before us? One of the students?”
Before answering, he took another swill of beer and licked his lips. Then he leaned forward and spoke in a hoarse slur. “I didn’ tell the cops, but I did see somebody come out.”
“Who?”
“That short older lady with the dyed hair ’n’ the long dress. I think her name was Wanda.”