Unidentified Woman #15 by David Housewright Page B

managed to get there without inconveniencing the pool player. There were amusing signs on the wall about credit, as well as jokes involving Ole, Sven, and Lena. Conversations seemed to include everyone within earshot. The bartender could have been the girl who grew up down the street. She looked to be about twenty with sandy hair, hazel eyes, and a figure the old man would have labeled “pleasingly plump.” The thing was, though, it seemed as if all the light in the place came from her smile.
    She set two menus in front of me before I was comfortably seated, one listing the daily specials. She left, served a few patrons, and returned. The Everly Brothers were on the jukebox now, telling Little Susie to wake the hell up.
    “Whad’llya have?” she asked.
    I requested a Summit EPA, a craft-beer brewed in St. Paul, my hometown, that she didn’t serve, then switched my order to Schell’s Pilsner, which she didn’t have either. She stared at me, an expression of infinite patience on her face.
    “Grain Belt?” she suggested.
    “On tap?” I said.
    “Comin’ right up.”
    The bartender returned a moment later with a twelve-ounce mug. She pointed at the menus and asked, “Do you want to order something to eat?”
    “In a minute.”
    She started to move down the stick and I said, “I must have driven past here a thousand times on the way to my lake cabin, yet I’ve never stopped.”
    “What makes us so lucky this time?”
    “A young lady I met in the Cities told me to give it a try. Girl named El.”
    “El? You know Ella Elbers?”
    He shoots, he scores, my inner voice announced.
    I pulled out my smartphone and tried to keep my hands from trembling as I called up Fifteen’s pic, the one of her dancing in a dress made of strawberry lace. I zoomed in and showed the photo to the bartender, who took the phone from my hand.
    “Oh my God, she cut her hair. So cute.”
    “You’re friends?”
    “Of course we are. We grew up together. Went to school together. Didn’t she say?”
    “No. She just said to stop in O’Malley’s the next time I was up here.”
    “The bitch. Didn’t even tell you to say hi? That’s cold.”
    I spread my hands wide as if to announce, “That’s El.”
    The bartender returned my smartphone.
    “I haven’t heard from El in God, three months,” she said. “Oh, hey, in case she didn’t tell you.” The bartender extended her hand and I shook it. “I’m Cynthia Desler. Cyndy. With two Y ’s. Some people call me M.”
    “What does M stand for?”
    “Nothing. It used to stand for Marie. When I got divorced, I switched from my ex’s name back to mine, but the court clerk screwed up. He left the Marie part out. Now it’s just M. You believe that? I lost my middle name. My friends call me M now whenever they want to tease me. What a world. How do you know El? Oh, wait…”
    Cyndy moved down the bar and began assisting patrons with drink and food orders. How she knew they wanted help I couldn’t say. It wasn’t like they were waving—at least I didn’t see them wave. Yet a competent bartender has a sense for such things, and she was clearly good at her job. A few minutes later, she returned with a fresh Grain Belt.
    “This one’s on the house. Any friend of El’s is a friend of mine.”
    “El and M.”
    “Yep. BFFs going all the way back to kindergarten.”
    That’s how long you’ve known Bobby Dunston, my inner voice reminded me.
    I lifted the beer mug in a toast.
    “You’re very kind,” I told the girl.
    The smile, which never seemed to leave her face, cranked a few watts brighter as if it was a compliment she heard before yet never tired of.
    “How long have you been tending bar?” I asked. “You don’t look nearly old enough.”
    “Better than that, I’m the manager. Didn’t El—no, of course, she didn’t say. I’m going to kill that girl.”
    “Still, you’re pretty young for the job.”
    “What can I tell you? Ingvar hired me part-time to wait tables