contact info so I can verify where you were when all of this went down.”
“Yes, of course.”
An hour later, a Detective Franklin sat me down and asked the same series of questions I’d heard from Officer Harris. I told him everything I knew. He asked me about acquaintances, friends, enemies, bar regulars.
“There’s Candace and Mumbles, and uh, Becky. But they would never hurt Nick.”
Detective Franklin looked at me. “Do any of these people have a last name?”
“I’m sure they do but I don’t know what they are. Except Becky. Her full name is Rebecca Styles. She was a really good friend of Nick’s.”
“Enemies?”
For some reason, Jackson’s face popped into my mind. But I had bigger fish to fry. “This guy came here last night. His name was Pietro. I think his last name was like Santiago or San something.” I snapped my fingers. “SanGiacomo. That’s it. He looked like some sort of mafia guy, you know, like Tony Soprano. He yelled at Nick. Then Nick and Becky went into the kitchen with him. Becky said sometimes Nick gambled and owed money to the wrong people.”
The detective jotted all of this down. “Pietro, huh? Damn.”
“What?”
“It could be a mob hit, and if so, those are tough cases to close.”
“Really? The mob?! I was kidding about the Tony Soprano thing.”
Detective Franklin stood. “I’ve got your number and we will be in touch again. Thank you for your help. You’re free to go now.”
“But what about the bar?”
He shrugged. “I have no idea what the terms are on this place. Do you have a manager?”
I quickly said, “Yes. Me. I manage and sing.” What in the hell was I doing? I was as much a manager of this place as Mumbles.
“And do makeup for Simone the pop singer?”
I nodded.
“Busy lady. I suppose in a few days you’ll likely be able to reopen. If Mr. Gordin owned this place, he must have had a will of some sort. If you’re the manager, I’m sure you’ll be hearing from an attorney soon. Again, I am sorry, and thank you for being so cooperative.”
I managed a weak smile and left. I don’t remember the drive home at all. It felt like the day I realized my sister was gone. I felt the same guilt, too. When Hannah vanished, I was convinced it was my fault. And now I wondered, maybe if I had stayed at the bar the night before instead of rushing to Simone’s aid, Nick would still be alive, too.
Chapter Ten
I SAT IN ONE of the lounge chairs by the pool and stared down at Hollywood and Los Angeles spread out below. I had my second beer in hand and a half-empty box of tissues on the table next to me. I hadn’t stopped crying since I left the bar. The police had likely located Becky by now, but Mumbles and Candace . . . probably not. They would be devastated.
Nick’s murder had brought my sister’s disappearance sixteen years ago to the forefront of my mind. I recalled it clearly as if it had happened yesterday. I remembered Hannah had been begging my parents for days to go to a concert up in Jacksonville, nearly two hours away. Of course Daddy said, “No way.” And my mama had to back him up. Hannah was so upset.
She was almost sixteen and her best friend Karen could drive. There was a group of them going and I didn’t see the harm in it. I encouraged her to go. Told her I’d cover for her. And that is what I did. After dinner, which in our house was promptly at 5:30 p.m. every night, my sister headed upstairs. I did the dishes and then told my folks Hannah and I were going to play a game of chess. I was banking on it that they would leave us alone. My parents tend to spend the evenings reading scripture unless it is a designated family night, which it wasn’t. I went to bed, padded down the stairs to find my daddy asleep in his chair and my mother knitting a new sweater for him. I kissed her good night and told her Hannah had gone to bed already. She believed me.
When I woke at three in the morning to go to the bathroom, I went to the
“Yes, of course.”
An hour later, a Detective Franklin sat me down and asked the same series of questions I’d heard from Officer Harris. I told him everything I knew. He asked me about acquaintances, friends, enemies, bar regulars.
“There’s Candace and Mumbles, and uh, Becky. But they would never hurt Nick.”
Detective Franklin looked at me. “Do any of these people have a last name?”
“I’m sure they do but I don’t know what they are. Except Becky. Her full name is Rebecca Styles. She was a really good friend of Nick’s.”
“Enemies?”
For some reason, Jackson’s face popped into my mind. But I had bigger fish to fry. “This guy came here last night. His name was Pietro. I think his last name was like Santiago or San something.” I snapped my fingers. “SanGiacomo. That’s it. He looked like some sort of mafia guy, you know, like Tony Soprano. He yelled at Nick. Then Nick and Becky went into the kitchen with him. Becky said sometimes Nick gambled and owed money to the wrong people.”
The detective jotted all of this down. “Pietro, huh? Damn.”
“What?”
“It could be a mob hit, and if so, those are tough cases to close.”
“Really? The mob?! I was kidding about the Tony Soprano thing.”
Detective Franklin stood. “I’ve got your number and we will be in touch again. Thank you for your help. You’re free to go now.”
“But what about the bar?”
He shrugged. “I have no idea what the terms are on this place. Do you have a manager?”
I quickly said, “Yes. Me. I manage and sing.” What in the hell was I doing? I was as much a manager of this place as Mumbles.
“And do makeup for Simone the pop singer?”
I nodded.
“Busy lady. I suppose in a few days you’ll likely be able to reopen. If Mr. Gordin owned this place, he must have had a will of some sort. If you’re the manager, I’m sure you’ll be hearing from an attorney soon. Again, I am sorry, and thank you for being so cooperative.”
I managed a weak smile and left. I don’t remember the drive home at all. It felt like the day I realized my sister was gone. I felt the same guilt, too. When Hannah vanished, I was convinced it was my fault. And now I wondered, maybe if I had stayed at the bar the night before instead of rushing to Simone’s aid, Nick would still be alive, too.
Chapter Ten
I SAT IN ONE of the lounge chairs by the pool and stared down at Hollywood and Los Angeles spread out below. I had my second beer in hand and a half-empty box of tissues on the table next to me. I hadn’t stopped crying since I left the bar. The police had likely located Becky by now, but Mumbles and Candace . . . probably not. They would be devastated.
Nick’s murder had brought my sister’s disappearance sixteen years ago to the forefront of my mind. I recalled it clearly as if it had happened yesterday. I remembered Hannah had been begging my parents for days to go to a concert up in Jacksonville, nearly two hours away. Of course Daddy said, “No way.” And my mama had to back him up. Hannah was so upset.
She was almost sixteen and her best friend Karen could drive. There was a group of them going and I didn’t see the harm in it. I encouraged her to go. Told her I’d cover for her. And that is what I did. After dinner, which in our house was promptly at 5:30 p.m. every night, my sister headed upstairs. I did the dishes and then told my folks Hannah and I were going to play a game of chess. I was banking on it that they would leave us alone. My parents tend to spend the evenings reading scripture unless it is a designated family night, which it wasn’t. I went to bed, padded down the stairs to find my daddy asleep in his chair and my mother knitting a new sweater for him. I kissed her good night and told her Hannah had gone to bed already. She believed me.
When I woke at three in the morning to go to the bathroom, I went to the
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