alley was
off limits. He looked nervous, eyed Duncan suspiciously, and after the introductions
and instructions were done he pulled me aside so that we were standing next to the
door. “It’s not the best time to be bringing in someone new, what with Ginny’s death
and all.”
“Maybe not,” I agreed. “But I’m doing a friend a favor.”
Gary shot a troubled look toward Duncan. “And just how is it you know this friend?”
“His father knew my father,” I said, relaying the story Duncan and I had worked out
earlier. I hoped Gary wouldn’t inquire any deeper and he didn’t. But then I told him
about Jenny and the fingerprinting, and he got angry.
“I’m not doing that,” he said with vehemence. “It’s a violation of my rights.”
“I know it’s a pain,” I countered in the softest voice I could muster. “But they need
our prints to rule us out.”
“Or pin something on us that we didn’t do,” Gary grumbled. “And since I live alone,
I don’t have an alibi for last night. That’s the kind of stuff these cops love.”
“Lots of people won’t have alibis,” I told him. “Hell, I don’t have one.” Gary still
looked ticked so I tried a different tack. “Look, I told the cops all of my employees
would cooperate with their investigation. It was a condition for them letting me open
the bar tonight. So please do it, Gary. I need the money.”
Gary scowled and started to say something more, but a knock on the front door interrupted
him. It was my two cocktail waitresses Debra Landers and Missy Channing. During the
week I could usually get by with just one waitress, a bartender, a part-time cook,
and myself. But on the weekends things got busy enough that I needed to ramp up the
help. Gary unlocked the door to let them in, and Duncan, apparently unwilling to let
us have any more time out of his earshot, joined us.
Debra was a forty-something married mom of two teenaged boys. She typically worked
from eleven to five Wednesday and Thursday and eleven to eleven on Fridays and Saturdays.
Her husband made a decent living as a car salesman but there was little left over
at the end of the month, so Debra’s work money went toward the occasional extras and
a savings account earmarked for her boys’ college tuition. My customers loved her,
not only because she had a fun and charming personality, but because she was a good
listener. She had a knack for helping people sort out their problems, a trait that
earned her the nickname Ann because of her last name. She also loved to bake and more
often than not she arrived at work with samplings of her latest efforts, which she
then generously shared among her lunchtime customers. Tonight she had a tray full
of cupcakes that the dinner crowd would get instead.
Missy, a twenty-two-year-old single mom who lived with her parents, was my full-time
night waitress, working from five to closing Wednesday through Sunday. She was also
the only employee I hired myself and didn’t inherit from Dad. An attractive blonde
with a bubbly personality and a nice figure, she was the flip side of Billy’s coin
when it came to bringing in customers; I’d wager half my male customers had a crush
on her. But on the downside, she wasn’t very bright. She dropped out of high school
her sophomore year because she got pregnant, and two kids later she was still trying
to get her GED. But she had a savantlike ability to remember faces and drinks. If
she waited on you once, the next time she saw you she wouldn’t remember your name
or when she last saw you, even if it was just the night before. Nor could she total
up your drink tab or calculate a tip. But she’d remember what drink you ordered.
“Oh my G-d!” Missy blurted as soon as she was let in. “I can’t believe you found a
dead body in the alley! I mean is that freakish or what? Was it anybody we know?”
She and Debra both stood there