Gypsy King (Tin Gypsy, #1)(22)

As it turned out, The Betsy wasn’t just a seedy bar, but a place where the town’s history was as abundant as the dust mites floating from the rafters.

Thanks to three of the bar’s regulars—a trio of men well past seventy who were all somehow related to each other through cousins and marriages, I’d lost track—I had more information about Amina Daylee than I’d been able to find on my trusty sources Facebook and Google.

Amina’s name hadn’t shown up much in the newspaper archives. The only reference was a graduation announcement decades ago. It was how I’d pieced together that she’d gone to Clifton Forge High, one year junior to Draven. But besides the same alma mater, I hadn’t found much information about her family.

According to the guys at the bar, Amina’s family hadn’t lived in Clifton Forge long. Her stepfather had worked for the railroad and had been transferred here from New Mexico. One of the regulars recalled that the family had moved here not long before Amina had learned how to drive, because he’d sold them a car. I was a little too old for her at the time but that girl was a head turner.

The family was well-liked, from what the guys at The Betsy remembered, but their interactions had been limited because the winter after their daughter graduated and moved away, Amina’s parents were both killed in a tragic car accident. Somehow, I’d missed that in the news archives because her mother had taken her stepfather’s last name while Amina had kept Daylee.

Her parents were buried in the town cemetery. Maybe she’d come back to visit their graves.

“Another one, Bryce?” the bartender asked.

I swallowed the last gulp of my beer. “I’m good, Paul. Thanks.”

About twenty minutes ago, I’d lost Willy and the three regulars to the pool table while I’d stayed in my stool, finishing up my second beer. The door behind me opened, the bright afternoon light streaking inside. The thud of heavy boots vibrated the floorboards as the new customer came toward the bar.

Glancing over my shoulder, I expected a stranger’s face. Instead, I found vibrant hazel eyes and a face I’d all but memorized.

“You stole my notepad.”

Dash slid into the empty stool beside me and jerked his chin at Paul, a silent order that must have meant fetch me a beer because Paul did just that. Dash rocked on his stool, getting comfortable. The seat was so close to mine that one of his broad shoulders came a fraction of an inch from touching the bare skin of mine.

My heart skipped—stupid organ—and I gritted my teeth. I refused to acknowledge how close his forearm was to mine. I refused to look at the black tattoo that decorated his skin in wide, black strokes. I refused to budge as he crowded me because, damn it, I was here first.

“Do you mind?” I eyed him up and down. “Move over.”

He didn’t budge.

“I don’t like you.”

The corner of Dash’s mouth turned up. With his other arm, he reached behind himself and dug something out of his back pocket, slapping it onto the bar. My yellow notepad. “Here.”

“Thief.” I snatched it up and put it in my purse. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of looking through it now. But the second I was alone, I was checking every single page.

“Not much of a notetaker, are you? There wasn’t shit in there I didn’t already know.”

I scoffed. “Because I’ve already printed it in the newspaper.”

“Here you go.” Paul came over to deliver Dash’s beer. “What’s the word on your dad?”

“Bond hearing is tomorrow.”

“You think he’ll get out on bond?”

Dash shot me a wary glance, like he didn’t want to answer while I was sitting here. Tough luck, King. I was here first. “Yeah. He’ll get out.”

“Good.” Paul sighed. “That’s real good.”

Good? “Aren’t you worried that a potential murderer will be out of police custody and roaming the streets?”

Paul only laughed, killing any chance at a decent tip. “Holler if you need anything, Dash. I need to head back and change a keg.”

“Will do.” The bastard thief had a smug grin on his face as he lifted the pint glass for a drink.

Unable to tear my eyes away—more stupid organs—I followed the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed. Watched with rapt attention as his tongue darted out to dry the foam on his top lip.

“I’m going to steal something else if you keep staring at my mouth like that.”

I didn’t look away. It was a challenge, but I didn’t look away. “Has anyone ever told you that your eyebrows are rather bushy?”

Dash laughed, the low and rich sound sending a shiver down my spine. “Once or twice. How was your meeting with Mike today?”

“Informative.” He was following me now? God, this man was irritating, but I kept my expression neutral. “I’ve learned a lot today. Sunday’s paper is going to be a good one.”

“Look forward to reading it.” Dash set down his beer and twisted in his seat, his knee bumping into mine. “It’ll be the last time the Tribune prints something I don’t already know.”

“And why’s that?”

“Dad’s getting out tomorrow.”

“And what, exactly? He gets out of jail and kills me too?”