"I can't believe you didn't get dumped." Henry shoveled a mix of beef, cheese, and jalapeño into his waiting mouth.

     "I can't believe he wanted to put a tracker on my car."

     "He put a tracker on your car?" His mouth worked over each word as he chewed.

     "He tried." I picked my way around avocado until I found an acceptable combination of beef, beans, salsa, and sour cream.

      Cheerful chatter drifted around me. Behind the shrill laughter and hushed conversation the news blared from the television above the deserted bar.

     ...wife of former Sheriff Kenneth Bergman found dead in their Ponte Vista home...

     "That's fucked up." Henry's swallow was nauseatingly loud, but there was no reason to be polite.

     "You should have seen him. He was all like 'you're scared of me'." I looked around self-consciously when I realized I'd been gesturing wildly with my hands. "I felt like shit."

     He shrugged and bit into another crispy tortilla chip. "As you should."

     ...Peter Daugherty. Wanted for questioning...

     "Gee, thanks for the support."

     "Support what? Lying?"

     "You're my friend."

     "Doesn't mean I can't criticize you."

     "I promised him I'd be more honest with him."

     He laughed. "Might as well kill the relationship now."

     "That's not funny."

     "I didn't mean it to be."

     ...the child is missing. BSO is asking the community to be on the lookout...

     "Speaking of relationship killers," I licked a splotch of sour cream from my index finger. "I don't like how you're treating my girl Robin."

     "'You're girl Robin'?"

     It was my turn to shrug. "I'm pretty sure she likes you a bit more than you like her."

     "Really?" He actually stopped stuffing his face for a moment.

     "Yeah. I got the feeling while talking to her in the bathroom. She's into you."

     "Shit." He pointed an accusatory finger my way. "This is all your fault."

     I took a small bite, careful to shield my open mouth with my free hand. "How?"

     "If you hadn't insisted I bring her she wouldn't have gotten the wrong idea."

     "Oh, come on. You don't feel anything for her?"

     "She's fun and hot, but I'm not that interested."

     "Wow. My friend the ass."

     "She knows what our friendship is about." He inhaled another forkful of beef and beans before wiping the grease from around his mouth. "She let me have sex with her within hours of meeting."

     "For real?"

     "Yep. Me and Tim went to Code a couple weeks ago. That's where I met her." He smiled when I bristled at Tim's name. "Couple of dances, couple of drinks...that's all it took."

     "Well, so what?"

     "So what? What would you think of a woman who goes home with men on the first night they meet?"

     "...That...she's...an assertive, confident woman who knows what she wants..." The thought of him slinging drive-by dick to God knows how many fuckbuddies grossed me all the way out. To me he was funny, considerate, and supportive, but to other women he was just like every other guy.

     "I don't know why it bothers you. You're different from her."

     "How?"

     "You're a nice girl. You always were."

     I raised my eyebrows, but I knew where he was going with this. "What's that supposed to mean?"

     "You made Manny wait a month and a half!" I watched the dark fizzy soda zip up his straw as he took a sip of his drink. "And he was courting you all proper and shit. Flowers, dinner, real conversations. He took you away for a weekend at a bed and breakfast. Why'd you take so long?"

     "It just takes me a minute to get comfortable."

     "Ah ha!" he crowed. Though with a mouth full of Delmar's loaded nachos it sounded more like 'hwah hwaa!'.

     "There's no 'Ah ha'. We're all different. If I call Robin a ho for living her life then what stops some woman across town from calling me a ho because I didn't make Manny wait two months, or three, or until we were married?"

     "That's a reasonable point. All I'm saying is, first impressions matter. And my first impression of her was underneath me."

     "Maybe she intended for it to be casual but then caught feelings."

     "That's her prerogative."

     "You. Are. A. Dick."

     "You knew that when you married me," he joked.

     "I'm just saying. We could all stand to be a little more empathetic and open-minded." I mentally patted myself on the back for being so nonjudgmental. Why hasn't my diplomatic ass been elected a Goodwill Ambassador yet?

     "Uh huh. And what about my brother?"

     "Han? I think if someone that busted can find love anyone can."

     He stifled a laugh. "No. Harley."

     "Uhh..."

     "Would you consider dating or marrying Harley?"

     "Hell no!" I caught myself getting loud and brought my volume back under control. "He's damn fine but you don't marry a man like Harley."

     "Ah ha!"

     "There you go with the 'ah ha's."

     "Some people are just, like, sexual junk food. You know? Like they're what you have when you're young and carefree but they get less satisfying the older you get." He nodded to himself like he was the world's greatest philosopher. "Manny's a good fit for you. He's like meat and potatoes. Safe. Reliable. Steady."

     "I'm glad you like him."

     "He's not bad." He briefly looked down at his vibrating phone before he ignored it like he always did when he was on break. "Are you sure you don't want something else? I know you said you'd be fine splitting an appetizer, but you let me eat sixty percent of the nachos."

     "I'm not that hungry."

     "Trying to keep that boyish figure?"

     "Shut the fuck up," I said with a smile. Before he could rebut my phone rang from the inside of my purse. I grabbed it swiftly and answered the unknown number, "Hello. Evelyn Harper, speaking."

     "Oh, thank God!," exclaimed the voice of a woman. "Please tell me you know where Peter is."

"I'm sorry I don't. Who is this?"

      "I'm sorry. That was rude. I'm Rachel Blair." She waited like she expected the name to be familiar. "...Peter's fiancée."

     "Oh, okay." Peter didn't tell me he was getting married. But then, their family seemed to have a knack for keeping things to themselves.

     "I wasn't sure if this was the right number. There was no name..."

     "What is this about?" I didn't mean to sound rude, but as you'll recall I washed my hands of this shit.

     "I want to hire your services."

     "I don't—"

     "Where are you?" she cut me off.

     "Excuse me?"

     "We need to talk about Peter." A car horn blared through the phone. "Is there somewhere we can meet?"

     "I'm on break—"

     "That's perfect! Where are you? It'll only take ten minutes. I swear."

     "I'm at a restaurant. Delmar's—"

     "Oh, I know exactly where that is! I'm right around the corner. I'll be there in three minutes." She hung up before I could tell her no.

     "Who was that?" Henry looked about as concerned as anyone could look with a piece of steak halfway in their mouth.

     "Some woman who wants to hire me for something to do with Peter Daugherty."

     "That guy who just beat his mom to death?"

     "Mmm hmm."

     "Didn't he kidnap his brother too?"

     "His son. She adopted his son."

     "Crazy."

     "This family is pushy as all hell."

     He nodded sagely. "Everybody's so demanding now. Todd's always saying shit like 'you're gonna miss the deadline', 'where are you', 'no one cares, pitch another story'."

     "Todd's your boss..." When he smiled at me I rolled my eyes. "You're so dumb."

     "Why didn't you tell her to fuck off?"

     "She didn't give me the chance."

     Henry went back to engorging and I picked over the five nachos he left for me on the appetizer tray. Two minutes later I heard the strange woman's voice carrying over the room.

     "I'm meeting someone here," she was frantic as she tugged at the front of her thin wrap coat. "...Evelyn Harper." The hostess was familiar enough with me to know my name and walked the woman toward our table.

     "You want to move tables while I deal with this?" I said to Henry.

     "No way. I got to see this." He gave me an amused, steak sauce covered grin. Far be it for him to be made to move while he was on his break.  "And I got here first. If it's private, take it outside."

     My best friend, ladies and gentlemen.

     When the woman got to the table she looked between us like she was confused on which one of us could possibly be named Evelyn. She looked at me and asked, "Evie Harper?"

     "Yes."

     "I'm Rachel. Rachel Blair," she pushed her way into the booth next to Henry--a move he answered with a very temperamental scowl. "I want to hire you to find Peter."

     "Peter's a murderer."

     Her shoulder length brown bob swayed when she shook her head. "I know Peter and I know he wouldn't do this. He wouldn't hurt anyone."

     "Then why did he run away?"

     "It must have been the kid," her light brown eyes gleamed with hope. "He must have stumbled on Derek beating his mother to death and ran away with him to protect him."

     "That doesn't make sense."

     "Look, all I know is that I was scheduled to get married next month and now my fiancé is out there trying to protect some kid he doesn't even know."

     "A kid who's his son." I reminded her.

     "So she said, but I don't know anything without a paternity test." And people think I'm harsh.

     I crossed my arms in front of me. "Why not rely on the police to find them?"

     "The police are not exactly known for their negotiation skills." She brushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear and leaned forward. "The longer he's on the run the more trouble he's in. If you can find him, and get me to him, maybe he'll turn himself in before it's too late."

     "Why not one of the bigger P.I. firms. They have more experience."

     "You were the last one to talk to him before it happened." When I remained silent she began rummaging through her purse. "I'm prepared to pay you three thousand dollars to find him." She pulled out a crisp white envelope. Tilting it my way, she propped it open with her fingers just enough for me to see the bank-fresh hundred dollar bills stacked inside.

     "That's a lot of money."

     "It was for the wedding but what's a wedding without a groom, right?" She stroked her fingers over the envelope as she spoke, "You find him, this money's all yours." She pushed the envelope back down into her purse.

     I do like money...but I like being alive better. "If the cops can't find him, I doubt I can."

     "I'm only asking you to try." When it looked like I was about to say no she switched tactics. "Technically this is partially your fault."

      "I didn't beat her over the head."

     "No, but if you hadn't tracked Peter down, Trudy wouldn't be dead." I could follow the logic. If I hadn't interfered Trudy might be alive. Peter might not be on the run. And Derrick might not be kidnapped...but all those things could have still happened without me. 

     "I thought you said he didn't do it."

     "He didn't. But something must have happened that night." She steepled her fingers and pressed them to her lips as if to pray. "Please..."

     I sighed. "I'm not making any guarantees."

     "That's fine." She reached into her purse and pulled out a piece of scrap paper and slid it toward me. "Here."

     "What's this?" I unfolded the paper and got a good look at her looped handwriting. The names Leonard McBride and Karen Daugherty were scribbled there above phone numbers.

     "It's his brother's name. And his biological mother. If he's been in contact with anyone it's one of those two."

     "...I'll see what I can find out."

     "Thank you so much." She reached out suddenly and grabbed my hands to give them a squeeze. They were still chilly from the weather outside. "I need to get back to work. But thank you."

     By the time she was gone Henry had finished his steak. "I already know what you're going to say," I said as I tucked the piece of paper into my pocket.

     "No you don't. You don't know everything about me."

     "You're gonna say that I shouldn't do it."

     "I was going to say if you're getting paid like that you should offer to pay the bill in full instead of half like usual."

     "I only ate forty percent of the nachos. I'm not paying a cent over fifty percent. Matter fact I should only be paying forty percent of the nacho plate--"

     "Don't do it."

     "I knew you'd say that."

     "What about Manny?" his question had lost all hint of humor. "Weren't you going to be more honest."

     "I'm gonna tell him."

     "Sure. Just like you're going to tell your mom about Rusty Valentine."

     "Relevance, your honor?"

     "He was your boyfriend for a year a decade ago! How does she not know about him?"

     "He was pretty good about hiding in the closets when her car pulled up." I pulled out my wallet; ready to go. "Again, relevance?"

     "All I'm saying is you and your mom have your...thing, which is fine because you're stuck with each other. But Manny probably has a limit. If you want to work with him, maybe you should consider your next move carefully."

     I spent the rest of the day with Henry's words echoing in my ear. I knew he was right, I couldn't keep lying to Manny. He didn't deserve it, and he was just about fed up with it anyway. The way I saw it I was only left with two choices.

     I could look into Peter Daugherty's disappearance without telling Manny and risk him finding out—and he would—and destroying the little good will our relationship had left. Or I could just tell him and risk an argument about my extracurricular activities—which had the risk of ending the relationship.

     Or of course I could put this whole thing behind me and forget about it...

     I was thinking about what I'd say to Manny as I stood on Leonard McBride's front porch. I put thoughts of hard conversations behind me and rung the doorbell before a neighbor thought I was casing the joint.

     Leonard was Peter's brother, according to Rachel. But Peter hadn't mentioned he'd had one. And the now deceased Trudy hadn't mentioned adopting another child. 

     After a few seconds the door swung inward and I was face to face with a man wearing a long tattered bathrobe. In his hand was a short, dirty glass of what I presumed to be whiskey. His sandy brown hair was balding but his eyes were kind and curious when he asked, "Yes?"

     "Leonard McBride?"

     "Yeah?"

     "I'm investigating the...disappearance of Peter Daugherty—"

     "You a cop?"

     They always asked that. "No. I'm a P.I. and a friend of a friend whose trying to find him."

     "This is about Trudy isn't it?"

     "Yes..." My feet shifted uncomfortably. "I'm sorry for your loss. I can't imagine how difficult it must be to lose your mother so unexpectedly."

     But he just laughed spitefully and said, "Well, ding dong. The witch is dead."