Page 57 of Home Is Where the Bodies Are

“Hey, Casey,” Nicole greets him in a warm voice.

The officer nods and says, “Hey, Nicole.”

Casey. Casey. My brain searches for familiarity. I catch a glimpse of his name tag.Dunn. That’s it. Casey Dunn. He was good friends with Nicole in high school, and it looks like he’s made something of himself.

“Hey, Beth,” Casey says.

She swivels her barstool around, greets him, and brings the glass of Elijah Craig to her lips, taking a long sip.

Casey extends his hand to me. “Michael.”

I shake it and say, “It’s nice to see you.”

His eyes scan over us as he expresses his condolences. It’s that awkward song and dance ofthanksandyeahandit’s such a shame. No one ever knows what to say. We repeat what we’ve heard from movies or TV shows or, for some of us, we call on those experiences when death previously touched our lives.

“What brings you here?” Beth asks.

“Oh.” His gaze briefly shift to Nicole. “Just stopped in for a drink.”

He’s lying but I don’t call him out.

I flag the bartender down and order Casey a double whiskey. She pours it quickly and slides it to me with a smile.

“Here,” I say to Casey, handing him the glass.

He stammers and thanks me, clutching it in his hand like it’s a live grenade. He takes the smallest sip. His reaction and reluctance tell me he’s still on duty. But then why is he here? Casey makes small talk, asking what I’ve been up to. I ask him the same, even though I can see exactly how his life has played out. The conversation is stilted and clumsy, like catching up with a stranger. Finally, he looks to Nicole and asks if he can speak with her outside.

That’s why he’s here.Nicole. And this is clearly the friend who “borrowed” Emma Harper’s case file. The two of them head toward the entrance. He sets the nearly full glass of whiskey on a table he passes. I wonder what he’s got for her now. Shaking my head, I swivel my stool to face the bar.

“What?” Beth asks, squinting at me.

“He’s bad news.”

“Who?”

“Casey.” I sip my whiskey.

“Why do you say that?”

“Because what he’s doing is illegal. You can’t just take police case files and hand them out to anyone you want.”

“No one’s going to notice they’re even missing.” Beth shrugs.

“Someone might.”

“I wouldn’t think twice about it,” she says. “We’ve got enough to worry about as it is.”

“I guess.” I take another sip and glance over at Beth. “Did you decide what you want to do with the house?”

“Not yet. Why?”

“I’ve been thinking more about it, and I’d like to buy it from you.”

Her shoulders tense up, but she quickly relaxes them—not before I notice. She busies herself by rotating the glass in her hands. It’s like she’s giving herself time to come up with an excuse as to why she won’t sell it to me. She said she wanted money, so why not take it from me?

I lean to the side and retrieve a piece of paper from the back pocket of my jeans. Unfolding it, I slide it across the bar in front of her.

“What’s that?”

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