Jess Lourey - October Fest

“Yes, most certainly.” I ducked out as quickly as I could and tracked down Freda. Her bruises colored her as brightly as an Easter egg, and one eye was still swollen shut, but she was thrilled by the company. We shared dinner, me eating a turkey and cheese sandwich that was surprisingly good for hospital food until I remembered it was my first solid food in nearly two days. I must have inhaled it because Freda offered me her applesauce. She tried to be good company but was still in a lot of pain. The doctors had told her they wouldn’t know until the end of the week if she’d be able to walk without help, but her attitude was as sunny as spring. I promised to stop by to visit on Wednesday when I picked up Mrs. Berns.

My next and final stop before reuniting with my beloved bed was the Old Brick Inn to find out if Brad had, in fact, slept with Sarah Glokkmann’s daughter on Saturday night. If he had, their stories didn’t jibe. He’d told me they’d only bumped uglies between sets, but Kennie’d said that Glokkmann’s daughter couldn’t offer her mom an alibi because she was out with a band all night. I wanted to know which version was true.

By the time I arrived at the busy bar, it was past ten o’clock at night and I was so tired that I was hallucinating. I exited the car into a night that was cool enough for a medium jacket and smelled as clean as frost and woodsmoke. A lonely wind rustled through the dried leaves still clinging to trees. It was the perfect weather for curling up in a quilt. I hadn’t slept in my own bed since Friday night, and had logged six total hours of sleep since then. The sandwich seemed to be staying down fine, but my stomach wasn’t yet at 100 percent. I’d make this quick.

It was unusual to find a live band in town playing on a Monday night, so either Brad was correct that Not With My Horse’s Octoberfest gig had increased their following or all the news crews in town didn’t have anything better to do. I certainly didn’t recognize most of the people seated in the darkly-lit main room, but bars tend to create their own small communities, and I’d never frequented this one much. The band had launched into a techno cover of “Delta Dawn” just as I entered. Disappointed that I hadn’t caught them on a break, I squeezed up to the bar and ordered a club soda.

Somebody tapped my arm “You here to see the band?”

I turned, immediately defensive, and then did a double take. The woman who’d addressed me was Grace Swinton, Glokkmann’s handler. “What?” I’d heard her, but I used the noise of the band as a cover to decide what I wanted to ask. I hadn’t planned on running into Glokkmann or a member of her entourage.

She indicated my club soda and raised her voice. “Not many reasons to come to a bar if you’re not going to drink.”

I took a swig. “Just needed to get out of the house. You?”

She appeared thoughtful for a moment, and then held up her drink. It was dark, and I recognized the smell of whiskey, at least a double shot. “Me too. Just needed to get out of the house.”

I considered lying, but up close, she seemed defenseless. The dim lighting colored her hair like mud, and she had worry lines feathering her eyes and mouth. I chose the straight route. “You’re in town with the representative, aren’t you?”

Her eyes flashed and she turned away.

“I’m sorry. It’s just that I saw you at the news conference Saturday morning. This must be a stressful time for you.”

She took a deep pull off her sweating glass. “Yeah.”

“Can I buy you another?”

She shrugged. “What the hell.”

Brad screamed into his back-up singer microphone like a neutered cat and we both temporarily glanced his way. I ordered her another and worked at small talk. “He’s good looking, isn’t he?” I indicated Brad, who had the poor timing to be humping the drum set, balancing his bass over his head.

“He looks like a dick.”

Dang she was growing on me. “He is. I used to date him. He cheated on me.”

She squinted her eyes in his direction, looking for what I must have seen in him. Good luck with that. “He is pretty hot, actually. But why doesn’t he have any eyebrows?”

I swiveled in my seat to follow her gaze. I squinted my eyes, too, and had to agree with her analysis of his appearance. “He had face bugs.”

She nodded as if that was the most normal thing in the world.

“Are you okay?” I asked. “You look kinda sad.”

“Long weekend.”

“I heard.” I put all my chips on the table. “I work for the newspaper in town. Somebody was murdered, somebody your boss didn’t like, and she doesn’t have an alibi for the night he was offed. It doesn’t look good.”

She surprised me with a guffaw. “This isn’t Murder She Wrote, you know.” The smile lit her face like a thousand fireflies. “The death is sad, but Sarah isn’t tied to it at all. We’re staying in town a few extra days so she can listen to the voices of her constituents and bring them back to Congress.”

I had to give her points for staying on message. “What about Swy-decker? Does he have an alibi?”

She grew tightlipped. “I can’t speak for him.”

“Fair enough.” It made sense that she wouldn’t defend her boss’ opponent. Did it make equal sense that she wouldn’t take an opportunity to badmouth him? Depended on her ethics.

“So the representative will be in town through Thursday? Friday?”

She stood and swayed slightly. “I think I’ve said more than enough. And it looks like your ex wants you. Good night.”

She wove her way through the crowd and left with her drink still in hand. Not so legal. I hoped she was walking the four blocks back to the motel.

“Mira! You came.”

Brad was upon me. His lack of eyebrows and eyelashes made him appear scared, or inquisitive. Or like a naked mole rat. “You visit the doctor?”

“Yeah, and you were right. No shot.” He held his hands wide to indicate his pleasure with this outcome. “Whaddyou think of the band? We’re on fire tonight.”

“You’ve never sounded better,” I said honestly. “Say, while I’m here, quick question. That Glokkmann chick you slept with during your show Saturday night, what was her name again?”

“Oh, Kenya?”

I snapped my fingers. “Yes! That’s right. Kenya Glokkmann. You guys still seeing each other?”

He sidled a little closer. Through closed lips, I tried to emit a high whining noise to deter bug migration onto my person.

“You want your place back in my life?”

“You’re a hard guy to forget, Brad. So, are you and Kenya an item?”

He turned away momentarily to accept a drink from a star-struck brunette, and I wondered if that’s how I’d looked when I’d first approached him after a show at First Ave. I made a note to track her down on my way out and tell her that just this morning he’d told me he had crabs.

“Naw,” he said, watching the brunette strut away. “Not dating. Just a little poke in the hay now and again while she’s in town.”

He nudged me like we shared a secret and was immediately distracted by another attractive woman strolling past. With his attention elsewhere, I grabbed a nearly empty drink and poured it where he’d touched me, figuring the alcohol would kill any critters the doctor had missed. “Did she stay for the after party on Saturday night?”

“Nope. I noticed her backstage when we de-staged to let Leif do his extended accordion solo. I was on her as soon as I spotted her. I romanced her like there was no tomorrow, and then I sent her on her way before the encore but after I’d pulled out all the stops. You remember all the stops?”

I did. Pulling out all of them took five minutes, less if there was music with a steady drum beat. “So you two didn’t even hang out after the show? Just a quickie during it?”