Page 11 of Hallow’s Eve
“Grady, he was your boss, right?”
“Yeah. And he was just here. I’d just seen him, though I can’t place when or where. It’s been so busy in here tonight and everyone is dressed up. It’s all so distracting.” I’d actually been distracted by him, the sight of him and thinking about meeting him after work. I supposed my work was over now. I certainly wasn’t serving any drinks while we were all being held hostage, regardless of whether I believed it or not.
“You know of anyone who wanted him gone?”
“No. Is this an interrogation?”
“The sooner they find the killer, the sooner we can leave.”
“We?”
“You were meeting me after you got off, right?”
“I never said that.”
“You never said no.”
That was true. Clearly, I could have my cake and eat it too. I could see Hallow after work as in right now without having to leave the comfort of Bootsies. After all, there was some sort of party going on. Grady couldn’t have been murdered. Why would anyone kill him? The man worked six days a week. Ford said Celie said Grady had a surprise for us all. Grady had mentioned it himself to me, too, when he bandaged my hand. Additionally, he was friends with these bikers, the Royal Bastards MC, according to Ford. All the more reason for them to be in on the surprise. And they let the band leave. Bands have contracts. If they hadn’t let them leave Grady would’ve had to pay them for another set.
Celie came to the bar and declared she’d be serving up Hot Chicken and any draft beer on the house to make up for the inconvenience to our guests, and that we employees could partake as well. “But make sure to ring it in. I’ll comp it.” Worried about the business, she didn’t seem one bit shaken by the death of her ex-husband.
Plus, it was Halloween. What a very Halloweeny thing to do, a surprise Murder Mystery Dinner.
“Want some Hot Chicken?” I asked Hallow.
“Nah, can’t stand the stuff.”
“Suit yourself.” I ordered some. He did want another beer. I ordered myself one too and poured them even though Ford gave me a nasty look. If Grady was dead there was no reason not to drink or make Ford upset. I slid a beer to Hallow. We crashed our drinks together again. The Elvis impersonator sang “Monster Mash”, and I was finally settled that we were indeed partying.
“Holler and swaller,” Hallow said.
I studied his accent. It was southern but just enough. “You’re not from around here, are you?”
“You’ve got me. The Hot Chicken always gives me away. I’m from Cleveland, Ohio, originally.”
“So, a Yankee?”
“Whoa. Not exactly. A buckeye then I moved to West Virginia for a spell. You’re not from here. You’re from Arkansas.”
I put my hands on my hips. “You’ve been asking around?”
“No. I’m good with accents and tells.”
“Cause you’re the po-po. How do I know you ain’t a cop still? An Undercover Agent?”
“Trust me, I’m far from it.”
“Okay. I don’t have anything to hide anyhow. I’m from Flipping, Arkansas.”
“I didn’t mean to offend you.”
“No. I’m not cussing. The town is Flipping. It’s Flipping, Arkansas.”
“Never heard of it.”
“Only about a thousand people there.”
“What brings you to Nashville?”
