“Here.”
“In…Saint View? Is it a children’s charity or something?” Her face wrinkled like the very mention of Saint View was dirty.
“No, I mean here, in this club.”
“You’re waitressing?”
I shrugged. “I own the place. So yeah, waitressing. Pouring drinks. Cleaning. Doing admin. Whatever needs doing.”
She stared at me. “Why would you buy a bar in Saint View?”
“I inherited it when my brother died.”
She held a hand up, her expression flickering through so many different emotions I couldn’t keep up. “Okay, start talking. What brother? Clearly not Everett.”
I launched into the tale, telling her everything in detail, about how Axel and I shared a mother but had different fathers. I told her how he and Nash had always looked out for me, and how after he died, I inherited the bar.
Sandra quit interrupting me every five seconds and listened to the entire story with huge eyes, like she was watching a movie with a killer plot twist that had her glued to her seat.
I sipped at my drink, needing it after talking for so long.
Sandra used the opportunity to get a question in. “So it had to be the best friend, right? Wow. This is better than the true crime shows on Netflix.”
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
“We’re playing ‘Whodunit’， right? I’ve watched enough of this stuff to know the murderer is always known to the victim. There’s no way this was a random gang thing, just for shits and giggles.” She sat back, crossing her arms beneath her breasts. “I’ve got my money on the best friend. What did you say his name was? Nate?”
“Nash.”
“Him for sure. You mark my words.”
Irritation prickled at the back of my neck. I clenched my fingers around the tabletop and squeezed hard so it had somewhere to go. Sandra was so off base it wasn’t funny. “No way. Nash loved Axel.”
“Murderers usually do.”
“Nash is not a murderer, Sandra!”
I hadn’t meant to yell it. But it echoed around the quiet bar. Rebel and Vincent both looked in my direction. Vincent’s gaze burned me, unspoken questions in his eyes, but I quietly shook my head, trying to let him know that it was all fine.
“Sorry,” I muttered to Sandra. “I didn’t mean to yell.”
“It’s fine. It’s hard to hear the truth. But think about it. You need means, motive, and opportunity, right? Means—the man lives in Saint View. Guns are a dime a dozen. No problem there. Opportunity—”
“He was here the night Axel died. Working.”
“He was at Psychos when you got here that night. He was also very conveniently around to take you right to the murder scene and act the devastated best friend for the cops. How far is Axel’s place from here?”
“Five minutes.”
“So it’s pretty feasible that Nash could have disappeared from a crowded bar for ten minutes on the guise of a smoke break. Nobody would have noticed. Are there cameras in here?”
“No.”
“Then he has no real proof he was here all night, does he?”
This was ridiculous. “Nash didn’t do this. You don’t know him. He wouldn’t.”
She pointed a finger at me. “And your feelings for him make you too close to him to have an objective eye.”
I didn’t comment on her observation of how I felt about Nash. “What’s his motivation then?”
She shrugged. “Could be anything. Jealousy over the bar. You said they ran this place together, like co-owners. Maybe Nash was pissed that Axel hadn’t signed over half of it. Maybe Axel slept with his girlfriend. Or ran over his puppy. I don’t know, people kill for all sorts of stupid reasons as well as big ones. But don’t you think you should find out?”
I shook my head. “Axel was involved in more than Nash or I knew. It had to have been a deal gone bad.”
Sandra lifted a shoulder. “Maybe. But are you really comfortable working here with Nash when he might have been the one to put a bullet in your brother’s head?”
25
BLISS
Nash and I moved around each other for the next few days without talking much. I busied myself with creating a new lunch menu with one of the Psychos bartenders, who also had some experience working in a kitchen. But George had picked out some problems with my plans for a full lunch service, a proper coffee machine, and loyalty cards.
“This ain’t Starbucks, Bliss. You think War and his guys are gonna come in here, handing over their little pink cards to get a hole punched?”