Anything You Can Do(53)

"Say, if you come in here a lot, maybe you know a couple of my friends, Candy Miller and Alvin Wilson. I was kind of wondering if they'd be in tonight."

"Sure I know Candy and Al. She ought to be here pretty soon, but he don't come in with her since they got that car wreck thing going. Don’t want anybody to find out they know each other."

The man drained what remained of his beer in one gulp and slammed the empty can onto the bar, causing Bailey to jump at least six inches.

"Ready for another one, Mike?" the bartender asked as he replaced the can with a full one.

Bailey's heart raced as she clutched her own drink in both hands and made a pretense of sipping. She had obtained some vital information, but where did she go from here? This wasn't quite the same thing as examining a witness in the courtroom.

"Reckon they'll still remember their old friends after they get all that money?" she finally asked, affecting a drawl.

"Shoot, yeah. Don't you remember a few years back when Candy and that other guy, Murray, I think his name was, got a big settlement on his neck after he let her run into him? His golden neck, he used to call it."

Mike guffawed, and Bailey squeezed out a smile in an effort to join him.

"No, I don't remember that," she said when Mike settled down. "Candy had just run old Murray off when I met her."

Mike laughed with his whole body this time and swigged another portion of beer. "You women," he said. "Old Murray run off and left her one fine day is what really happened, but don't you tell her I told you so."

"I won't. Don't worry. So he left her, you say? What a jerk." Bailey wrapped both hands around her glass to keep them from trembling. "Uh, that wasn't Murray Anderson, was it?"

"Nah. I think old Murray's last name was Ferritt or Ferrell—that's it. Murray Ferrell."

"Oh, yeah. I remember now." You asked for it, you got it. "Would you excuse me?"

"For what?" He looked at her quizzically.

"I need to go to the ladies' room." She had to be alone for a minute and assimilate this new information.

"Over there," he advised, pointing to a dark corner.

"Thanks." Bailey slid off the stool and tried to avoid eye contact with any of the men who looked, whistled, or made other obscene noises.

The ladies' room wasn't exactly conducive to thinking. It hadn’t been cleaned in at least a century, and someone had used it for a private smoke recently, not the kind of smoke purchased from a vending machine. Since she didn't dare sit anywhere or even lean against one of the walls, she paced back and forth in the small room.

The evidence was overwhelming that Candy Miller was a fraud. She'd been involved in an insurance scam before, and she didn’t want anyone to know she was acquainted with Alvin Wilson.

Okay, Bailey thought, you've got the information. Now what on earth do you do with it? Drop the case? The accused was presumed innocent until proven guilty. She hadn't really proven that Candy was perpetrating a fraud. But the circumstantial evidence was pretty incriminating.

An impatient knock sounded on the door, and the knob rattled.

"I'll be right out," Bailey called. She flushed the toilet, washed her hands after touching the knob, then felt she needed to wash them again after turning off the faucet.

As she strode back into the bar, the low murmurings and whistles broke into her concentration, irritated her. With her haughtiest gaze in place, she raised her head to confront the creeps and shut them up. They smiled at her, completely undaunted. And coming in the door, as luck would have it, she saw a man who looked vaguely familiar though she couldn’t quite place him.

She slid back onto her stool and turned to look again.

He definitely reminded her of somebody. He was attractive in a rural sort of way. Great bod, as Paula would say. Slim hips, dark hair bristling out of his unbuttoned shirt. As he momentarily turned away from her, she saw the name "Bubba" on the back of his belt.

"Somebody you know?" Mike asked.

"No. He looks familiar, but I don't know anyone named Bubba."

Beside her, Mike slammed another empty beer can down. At the far end of the bar, Bubba slid onto a stool. The bartender handed Mike another beer, then moved on to the new customer. Bubba looked up at the bartender, in Bailey's general direction.

It wasn't possible, but even in the dim light and behind the glasses, she couldn't mistake those eyes.