Ties That Bind

Chapter 9

THE WEATHERED ROSE WAS A PUB STYLE BAR, which dated back to the seventies based on layout alone. An oak bar lined one wall, backed by a gold-speckled mirror that showcased alcohol bottles on glass shelves in front of it. Two tiers were full of tables and chairs. At one end of the elevated level, mounted flat-screen televisions broadcasted sporting events while patrons watched with a pitcher of beer and a plate of wings.

A couple of older men played pool on a table with red cloth and quarter slots. They both appeared to be in their late sixties and intent on the game they were playing. One had a head of white hair, and the other had very little but he had a substantial paunch pressed against the table when he took a shot. He didn't seem to notice, and it told Madison he had probably been overweight most of his life and was comfortable with who he was.

A working jukebox pumped music, adding to the cacophony of sounds. The smell of fresh beer mingled with wings and garlic bread saturated the place. An underlying scent of cigarettes scratched at Madison's sinuses. Most places had long conformed to the new norm of banning smoking. From a quick survey of the room, not many were taking advantage of the option to light up. There was limited smoke in the air.

"Who names a bar the Weathered Rose?" Madison asked.

"Heck, I don't know."

She glimpsed over at Terry, but he continued looking over the place. "Although here I am speaking to a man who named his dogs Todd and Bailey. Sounds like people names to me."

"Maddy, what do you know? If only you would take my advice and get yourself one. Everyone's different and they have their own personalities. Some people give them middle names."

"You've got to be kidding me. On both counts. First of all, they've got four legs, they stink, they drink out of the toilet bowl, and you told me they eat their own sh—"

"You can't hold that against them."

"Oh, yes, I can." She scrunched up her face in disgust. "And speaking of unsavory, it's not that high class in here."

"Yet you tell me I state the obvious."

She punched his arm. He pretended to act like it hurt. "Always the smart ass."

He steepled his hands and bent forward but stopped short of a full bow. "My master has taught me well."

She shot him a dirty look. People were noticing them and seemed to identify them not only as outsiders but as cops. A man in a leather vest hurried past them to the door. As Madison watched him walk by, she briefly caught eyes with the bartender who tried to act as if he hadn't seen her. He pulled back on a beer tap and poured the golden draft into a glass, topping it off with a perfectly sized head.

"Could I get you one?" The tender must have noticed the drool hanging from Terry's mouth.

"I'd love to have—"

"He'd love to, but he can't." She displayed her badge and introduced them. "We'd like to ask you a few questions about Laura Saunders."

"Be back in a sec." He walked away with the fresh beer and placed it in front of an older man sitting down a couple stools. The older man had downed a gulp before the tender walked the few steps back to them.

Madison addressed him. "First, what's your name?"

"Justin." He grabbed a white towel, bunched it in his hand, and began wiping the wood counter.

The man's brown eyes were complex and Madison had a hard time reading them. It wasn't something she often encountered. They weren't shifty, but they weren't settled either. He almost seemed uncomfortable talking with them. Why? "Who was the man in a hurry to get out of here?"