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“Yes, and he was kind of a jerk to me. He said I mother Jake, which is creepy. Also, some guy died at the senior center and no one seemed to think it was anything other than natural causes but Ryan insisted it was a homicide.”

“It’s easier to kill old people because that’s what everyone assumes—natural causes.”

That made me jerk back and hit my head on the buckle of a belt that was dangling down. “Ow,” I said automatically, even though it didn’t really hurt.

Alyssa’s words had struck a chord.

Ryan’s intel said it was a homicide. Just because at first glance no one in emergency services didn’t think it was didn’t mean a thing.

“You are so right,” I said. I dropped the suede pumps in my hand and pulled my phone out of my hoodie. I typed in James Kwaitkowski’s name.

What popped up was not his obituary, as you would expect, but a few social media hits and his rap sheet. He’d been convicted for not paying child support and for domestic battery.

“Hmm.”

“Hmm, what?”

“I don’t know.” I went to his social media page and started scouring through his posts. He typed in shorthand, with zero punctuation, which wasn’t a crime, but should be, but otherwise I didn’t see any violent rants and cussing out of the ex-wife or girlfriend. I also didn’t see any pictures of his child or children either.

It was mostly James in bars with a variety of people his age, holding up drinks.

The one bar, Danny O’s, appeared to be his favorite haunt, based on the number of times he marked himself there. I couldn’t tell from the pictures if it was all the same place. One dive bar looks the same as any other. But given the crowd seemed to be the same people and the background was generally the same, it was a fair assumption he was a Danny O regular.

“Do you want to go to Danny O’s with me later this week?” I asked Alyssa.

“Ew, no. Why would you want to go there? That’s one sketchy and…sticky bar.”

Not reassuring.

I knew vaguely where it was but had never even contemplated going in there before today. It definitely looked like a third shift bar, given the number of smokers outside of it at seven in the morning.

“To see what the patrons at Danny O’s know about our recently deceased spirit?” I asked, hopeful. I didn’t want to walkin there alone and start asking questions. I’ve been told I look like a social worker. I showed her my phone. “It’s his favorite bar.”

Alyssa eyed me. “If I say no, you’re going to go alone, aren’t you?”

I nodded, biting my lip.

“Oh, Lord.” She sighed. “I’ll go with you. I’ll ask Lawson to go with us if you don’t want to ask Jake.”

I didn’t want to ask Jake. I didn’t want to lie to him either. “But if you invite Lawson, then Jake will find that weird. If I just say you and I are going out, he won’t think anything of it.”

“You and I just strolling in there is going to be weird. We’re going to have ninety-year-old convicted felons hitting on us.”

“There are worse ways to spend a Thursday night?” I posed it like a question because I couldn’t convince even myself that this wasn’t a bad idea.

Alyssa snorted. “I would take laser hair removal over this. A colonoscopy. A meeting with the IRS because you owe them money.” She paused. “Okay, not the last one.”

“See, there are worse things.” I shoved my platform wedges onto the closet shelf. “What should I wear?”

“A gun.”

That made me laugh. “You’re exaggerating.”

But not by much.

A blast of hot air that smelled like fried bologna hit me in the face when I yanked open the door to Danny O’s at nine that night. I had wanted to go immediately but Alyssa wisely pointed out that even barflies don’t usually hit the local watering hole before seven.

“At least they don’t cheap out on the heat,” Alyssa murmured behind me. “It’s like a sauna in here. A stinky sauna.”