Page 14 of Lost Love on 6th Street

Kenny nods curtly. “Yeah, thought so.”

“Hope you weren’t giving her too much of a hard time, Kenny.”

Kenny grunts. “I give everyone a hard time.”

Luke laughs and I force myself to laugh too. He goes on, “We wanted to come ask you a couple questions about the good ol’ days.”

Kenny cracks a smile. I didn’t know the man was capable of smiling. “Oh yeah? What do you want to know?”

Luke glances in my direction. “Well, Eleanor is new in town. She’s working at the Reeder Music Library.”

Kenny appraises me for a moment, and the tension in his forehead softens. “Is that right?”

Though the man still scares the bejeezus out of me, I manage to smile back. “That’s right.”

“What kind of work?” Kenny asks.

I blink at him, letting the silence linger long enough that Luke has to jab me in the side with his elbow. “I’m a photo archivist!” I blurt.

“Oh. That’s nifty,” Kenny says, crossing his arms over his chest.

“That’s what I said,” Luke says. “Anyway, she and I crossed paths, and she had some questions about a piece in the collection that I can’t answer, and you know if I can’t answer it that means it’s a real mystery.”

Kenny nods once. “True.”

“Why don’t you show him the photo, Nor?” Luke asks.

Nor . . .? He’s calling me by a nickname now? People usually opt for El or Ellie. Nor is a new one. And to be honest, I kind of like it.

I realize I haven’t let go of the picture in my bag this whole time. I slide it out of its compartment and place it on the high countertop before Kenny. He whips a pair of glasses out from the front pocket of his shirt and slides them on, magnifying his otherwise beady eyes.

I glance at Luke. He ticks his chin toward me. Go on.

I clear my throat. “We don’t have any information other than the location and the date. I’m assuming from the photo she’s a musician, but there aren’t any matching images in the museum’s database and . . .”

“Mmm,” Kenny cuts me off with a low grunt. “Can’t help you.”

I’m not the only one who is stunned. Luke also seems to be taken aback, brow furrowing and lips dropping down. “What? You can’t help? Kenny, The Lone Star was yours!”

“Not then it wasn’t,” Kenny says without explanation, removing his glasses. He points the folded spectacles at the photo. “That year it wasn’t mine.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Luke says, a smile remaining on his face despite an edge of annoyance in his voice.

Kenny clears his throat. “Someone else was looking after it. I had to take a break to, uh, deal with the bottle, if you know what I mean.”

I raise my eyebrows. Well, that was an unexpected admission from a crotchety old guy.

“Been sober for almost three decades now if you can believe it,” he says with a soft smile.

“That’s amazing,” I say without considering whether I should speak or not. “Congratulations.”

The older man gives me a soft nod. “Thank you.”

I might not have any new information on the photo, but I’ve endeared myself to the record shop overlord and I’ll call that a win.

“So, someone was babysitting it for you, Ken?” Luke asks.

“Yup.”

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