Page 11 of All the Missing Pieces

He folded the corner of the page as he finished whatever paragraph he was on. “The human mind is a fascinating place.”

“Or a terrifying one,” I said as I slid onto a stool.

“Ransom?” Trey asked, readying himself to reach for my favorite whiskey.

“Still on duty.”

He reached for a tall glass instead, filling it with ice and then reaching for a soda gun. “Who pissed in your lemonade?”

The question only made me scowl. “I didn’t say a damned thing.”

Trey slid the Coke across the bar. “Known you practically since the womb.”

That was true enough, and a couple of decades as a bartender gave him plenty of insight into people. But he’d always had that. Could take someone’s pulse in two seconds flat. It had saved both our necks more times than I could count. Just like I was sure it saved Trey’s when he took off on his bike every couple of months for parts unknown.

“Long day.”

Trey leaned against the bar, hands gripping the wood as he waited. Never in any hurry. The man had the patience of a saint.

“Mayor called. Wants me to downplay the rise in oxy arrests.”

Trey let out a low whistle.

“Carl called, demanding I arrest Joe because Joe added an Italian sandwich to his menu that is too similar to his own.”

Trey’s lips twitched. “It’s hard being a crotchety deli owner.”

“Celia called the station five times in twenty-five minutes wanting us to break a cat out of a van and nearly took the job on herself.”

The twitching turned into a full-out grin. “Would’ve liked to see that one. She’s what? One hundred pounds soaking wet?”

“She was making a go of ripping a trash can out of the ground,” I muttered.

“What happened to the cat?”

“Tater.”

“Huh?” Trey asked, confused.

“Cat’s name is Tater.”

He barked out a laugh at that. “I’m going to take it that Tater is just fine.”

“Owner came back in the nick of time. Apparently the van has an AC unit that runs independent of the engine.”

“Fancy.”

“Something like that.” Ridley’s face flashed in my mind. The way those blue eyes sparked and swirled.

“What’s that about?”

I blinked a few times, refocusing on Trey. “What?”

He drew a circle in the air around my face. “That look.”

“Nothing. Just want to look into the owner.”

Trey groaned. “Colt, not every person that passes through town is a serial killer or a terrorist.”

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