Mickey’s, an old-style bar and grill in Evanston, was owned by Owen Dougherty, who bought it from Mickey so long ago that no one remembered who Mickey was. Which wasn’t a bad thing for the customers who’d been flocking to it for years. In the years Georgia had been hanging out, though, little had changed, which wasn’t good for future business. Evanston had been inundated by high-end establishments, and two new hipster places had opened on the same block.
But Mickey’s sported the same scarred bar, scuffed booths, and even the same waitress, a single mother of three who was studying for her CPA at Kellogg. Owen wore the same apron and draped the same bar towel over his shoulder, except when he took off for Arizona during the winter and left his son-in-law in charge. Georgia wondered if Owen’s snowbird status was an omen.
She walked in, trailing a gust of cold air, which was snuffed out by a delicious warmth scented with grease. Samantha Mosele sat in a booth, sipping a glass of wine. Sam was a brunette with precise features and dark, merry eyes. She’d recently cut her hair, and her short curly bob gave her an elfin quality. She and Georgia had met years ago when they were both taking courses at Oakton. They’d remained friends, unusual for Georgia, who was a loner by nature.
She slid into the booth. “You get my message?”
Sam frowned. “What message?”
Sam wasn’t the most dependable person in the world. Georgia told her about the phone call two days earlier.
Sam shook her head. “Wasn’t me. I’ve—um—been busy.”
“I thought I heard a man and a woman. Arguing.”
“Well, I’ve been with a man. But I definitely wasn’t arguing.”
Georgia drummed her fingers. If it wasn’t Sam’s cell, butt-dial or not, whose had it been?
“Hey, I’m hungry,” Sam said.
“Thirsty, too, I see.”
“I’m celebrating.” Sam tipped her glass toward Georgia. “New client.”
“Website?”
Sam nodded. A graphics designer, Sam was coming into her own, developing and maintaining websites. “An appliance company. They’re moving their commerce online. And here’s the best part. Lots of updates and revisions, all the time.” She waved toward the waitress, who was bussing plates at the next booth. “Another round for me and my friend.”
Gemma came over. “Howdy, stranger,” she said to Georgia. “Where you been?”
“Being a couch potato. You?”
“Just started my last semester. With any luck, I’ll have my CPA by fall.”
And you won’t be working at Mickey’s, Georgia thought. Another omen. Aloud she said, “I’ll have a Diet Coke with lemon.”
Gemma floated back to the bar and returned with their drinks. After setting them down, she motioned to the menus. “You need some time?”
Georgia shook her head.
“The usual?”
Georgia smiled. She loved that someone knew what she wanted without her having to ask.
Gemma turned to Sam. “And you?”
“Double it.”
Gemma disappeared into the kitchen.
“So what’s new?” Sam asked.
“Strange doings.” Georgia explained about the tail who was gunned down.
Sam looked shocked. “What are you doing about it?”
Georgia told her she’d cross-checked the plate online, followed up with interviews, and was about to do more data mining. “But since it was a homicide, the cops are doing the heavy lifting.”
“Aren’t you worried? I mean, someone follows you and then gets shot. And you get a strange phone call. That’s a little too close for comfort, right?”
“Maybe. Maybe not.”
“You need to be careful.”
“Let’s drop it, okay? I just want a nice burger.”
Sam shrugged and started in on her second glass of wine. “Have you ever calculated how much time you spend at the computer every day?”
“Way too much.” Georgia said. “But that’s what PIs do these days. Checking sources, databases—”
“Excuse me.” A male voice cut her off. “My friend and I would like to buy you a round. Would that be okay?”
Georgia looked up. She’d noticed the two guys at the bar when she came in. About her age, they had the Chicago winter look: jeans, boots, heavy sweaters, down vests. One had dark hair, and dark eyes with just enough lines at the corners to suggest a life well lived. The other was blond, with a scruffy growth of something that wasn’t quite a beard. He also had a nice butt, which Sam was happily eyeing. Georgia and Sam exchanged brief looks; then Georgia turned to the one with dark hair, the one who’d spoken.
“It’s not necessary. I just drink Diet Coke with lemon.”
Sam pursed her lips at Georgia, then looked at the guy with an eager smile. “But I drink Chardonnay…”
Dark Eyes grinned and went back to the bar. As he did, Gemma brought their food: burgers, very rare. Georgia tore into hers and shoveled fries into her mouth. Meanwhile, Nice Butt slid into the booth next to Sam. “I’m Noel.”
Dark Eyes returned with a Chardonnay for Sam and a Diet Coke for Georgia and sat next to Georgia. “I know it wasn’t necessary, and my name is Jay.”
Sam introduced herself, and then, after a pause, so did Georgia. Sam took a sip of her drink. “Thanks.” She smiled at Jay, clearly enjoying the attention. “So,” she said, “if we can only know one thing about you two, what should it be?”
“How about that I think you have the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen?” Noel said.
Sam made the sound of a raspberry. “You’re gonna need to do better than that.” She turned to Jay. “What about you?”
He paused. Then, “I raise chickens in my backyard. And I give my neighbors the eggs.”
Georgia, pleasantly surprised, turned toward him. “How’d you get into that?”
He answered by talking about sustainability and reducing his carbon footprint. While he talked, Georgia noticed his lips. Not too thin—she wasn’t a fan of thin lips. Maybe this wasn’t a bad idea.
He grinned as if he knew what she was thinking and it was fine with him. “Okay. Your turn. What should I know about you?” Jay said.
“Well.” She considered it. “I’m a PI.”
“A what?”
“A PI…private investigator.” Better to tell him now. It always had an effect. Men who were intimidated or had something to hide drifted away.
He didn’t seem concerned. “So, you’re like…what…that woman on Castle?”
“She’s a cop. I’m private.”
“Wow…I wouldn’t have taken you for a dick.”
She sighed inwardly. So he was trite. Most men were. “Actually, I was just telling Sam I spend most of my day hunched over a computer.”
Georgia stole a look at Sam. She and Noel were now chatting, leaving the impression they didn’t want to be interrupted. She turned back to Jay. He wasn’t intimidated by her being a PI. He raised chickens. He was sexy. She rolled a fry in ketchup, put it into her mouth, then decided she wasn’t hungry anymore. She was glad she’d worn her hair down. She ran a hand through it so it would fall over her face just right. Ever so slightly she angled her body into his personal space. “So what do you do when you’re not raising chickens?”
“I own a plumbing company.”
Stable. Responsible. Established. Even better. And his lips were just right. He gazed back at her with an expression that said there was nothing but clear sailing ahead. Her stomach flipped. This could be a good night. Maybe a great one.
He slid closer and picked up one of her fries. “You mind?”
She shook her head. He’d just finished chewing it when his cell trilled. He fished it out, checked the screen, then got up from the booth and moved out of earshot to answer it.
She stiffened.
She watched him, talking softly, his back to her, shoulders hunched. Then he snapped the phone shut, slipped it back in a pocket, and sauntered back to the table, mustering a weak smile.
But the spell was broken. “You’re married,” she said.
He swallowed and dipped his head. At least he had the decency not to deny it.
Georgia thought about it. “This must be what it looks like to have egg all over your face.” She paused. “Thanks for the drink, but it’s time for you to go home.”