Open Secrets

Pe

“Uh-huh,” Allie replied, pushing away from the counter and moving toward the cooling units beneath the bar. “I figured you were keeping a low profile or something.” She retrieved a bottle of beer—his favorite brand—and turned back to the wall behind her to get a glass, giving Pe

“I usually kill people for less than that,” Allie said, and Pe

Holding the glass up in salute, Pe

Allie moved to another section of the bar, took a cleaning cloth from a shelf, and began to wipe down the polished wood. “So, where’ve you been? I haven’t seen you around much lately. Seeing someone behind my back?”

“That explains a bit of it, yes,” Pe

“I guess if I were in your shoes,” Allie said as she continued the time-honored tradition of wiping down the bar, “I might keep a low profile, too. I can’t imagine it’s fun with everyone blaming you for everything that’s going on around here.”

No one had actually come to him to express displeasure at what he had written, but Pe

“Can’t say as I blame them,” Pe

As for Theriault, she had not said anything to make Pe

“Oh, by the way,” Allie said, snapping her fingers, “I almost forgot. I’ve got something for you.” Looking between the bar and the counter and back again, she frowned as she searched for something Pe

Pe

“Seemed okay when I saw him last night,” Allie said. Then her brow furrowed. “Come to think of it, though, he has been a little off the past couple of weeks. I hate to admit it, but I think I liked him better when he was drunk all the time. At least then he was predictable.”

Pe

It occurred to Pe

Reaching across the bar, Pe

Allie shook her head, gesturing toward the back of the bar with her free hand. “Knock yourself out. But hey, if he died and left you everything in his will, you’re cutting me in for a slice, understand? I figure it’s the least he owes me after all the pawing he’s done since he showed up here.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Pe

“Count on it,” Allie replied, without looking up from where she had busied herself with something beneath the bar.

At the back of Tom Walker’s place was a quartet of personal communications vestibules, each ensconced within its own shell of opaque, soundproof glass. None of them was occupied, and Pe

An instant later, the grizzled image of Cervantes Qui