Page 44 of What She Saw
“Considering it. I have contractors coming to look at the house next week. We’ll see how much renovations cost.”
“Small world.”
“It gets smaller every day.”
This was business for him, and I’d keep it that way. “How’s my appointment with Colton going?”
He stepped toward me. “Working on it.”
“Don’t give him the impression I’m anxious. I’m not. Never have been.”
“I won’t.” He studied me. “Why are you out here in the dark?”
“I was lying in the grass in the spot where my mother worked her hamburger stand. I was hoping her ghost would reach out and tell me what happened. But no luck.”
His brow furrowed with more curiosity than annoyance. “Do you often channel ghosts when you work on your articles?”
“I’ll listen to anyone who’ll give me an angle on the story.”
“You’ll have better luck with the living.”
“I’m open to suggestions.”
“There’s a café in Waynesboro,” Grant said.
“That’s about fifteen miles west of Dawson, right?”
“Yes. It’s not a big café, but they have live music every Saturday. Check out the singer. He’s pretty good.”
“The man got a name?”
“Joe Keller.”
“The guy who gave Laurie her ride into the festival and sang a duet with her.”
“The very one.”
“No one I’ve talked to in town mentioned he was playing.”
“Have you alienated the entire town yet?”
I had a reputation for upsetting apple carts. “Not everyone. But I’m working on it. Thanks for the lead, Grant. I appreciate it.”
“Do me a favor and limit your trespassing to the daylight. In the country, interlopers get shot.”
But I did my best work in the dark. Tonight was no exception. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
Chapter Fourteen
Sloane
Saturday, August 16, 2025, 9:00 p.m.
The café in Waynesboro was on Main Street near the South River. Once a junction between two railroads, the city was now a tourist stop along I-81 south and home to a few factories.
The bar was trimmed in shiplap siding and a rough-edge laminated wooden top. Behind the bar was a collection of liquor bottles, beer taps, and an opening to a small kitchen in the back. The floor area was packed with twenty small cocktail rounds, each stocked with four chairs. All were full.
The center stage was small, covered with an Oriental rug and an empty barstool. An acoustic guitar leaned next to a microphone. The entire setup took up almost all the stage’s space. I glanced around the crowd, looking for an older musician.
