Chapter 32

The door creaked on its hinges as I stepped into the dimly lit Ellie Mae's bar, a place that seemed frozen in time with its worn leather stools and the soft hum of a neon sign flickering above the liquor shelf. The scent of stale beer lingered in the air, mingling with the faint trace of cigarette smoke from days long past when the laws were looser and the nights longer. It was the kind of place where secrets huddled in the corners and whispered across the polished wooden counter.

"Evening," I murmured, my eyes adjusting to the ambient glow cast by the lamps along the walls.

"First time?" The voice belonged to the bartender, a grizzled middle-aged man with hands that told stories of countless bottles opened and wiped down surfaces. His name tag read "Frank," and his eyes held the fatigue of one who"d seen too much yet never enough to dull the curiosity.

"Sort of," I replied, taking a seat at the bar. "I"m looking for someone who used to come here. Her name is Sarah. Sarah Chapman."

Frank"s expression remained unreadable, but a twitch in his jaw suggested recognition. He continued to dry a glass with a cloth that had seen better days. "Sarah, huh? You a friend of hers?"

"Something like that," I said, leaning in slightly. "I heard she would come here after her husband kicked her out?"

"Ah, Sarah," Frank let out a breath, setting the glass down with more care than necessary. "She came here for a while. What do you want to know?"

"Looking to understand her better," I ventured cautiously, "I get the sense her relationship with her husband wasn"t all sunshine and rainbows."

Frank snorted softly, the sound almost lost in a low note from the jukebox starting up in the corner.

"You could say that."

"Did she tell you about it?"

"She would say stuff. Sometimes."

He poured a drink, pushing it across the bar without being asked. "Passion"s a funny thing. Burns hot until there"s nothing left."

"Seems like it burned out for good this time," I mused, swirling the drink before taking a sip. Whiskey wasn't my thing, but I did it just to be polite.

"Was it just passion, or was something else mixed in there?"

"Who"s to say?" Frank shrugged, his gaze drifting over my shoulder, perhaps to a memory only he could see. "People are complicated. Love and hate are two sides of the same coin in a marriage like theirs. Having a sick kid like they did isn't easy."

"Did she ever tell you anything… any details about their relationship?" I pressed, watching for any telltale shift in his demeanor. "Anything out of the ordinary?"

"Out of the ordinary is a relative term around here," he replied cryptically. "Why don"t you tell me what you think "ordinary" is, and I might be able to answer your question better?"

"Fair enough," I conceded, a smile tugging at the corner of my mouth despite the gravity of my inquiry. "Let"s just say I"m interested in finding out what makes an ordinary couple turn extraordinary—for better or worse. They split up. He kicked her out. Did she tell you why? What happened?"

Frank exhaled a dry chuckle, his hands working on autopilot, wiping down glasses.

Then his eyes darkened. "Once…."

"Go on." I leaned in closer.

"Sarah came in, wild-eyed, on a tear about something Steven did—or didn"t—do." He paused, setting a clean glass on the shelf with a soft thud. "She threw her ring at me and screamed so loud we heard it over the music. Said he could choke on it for all she cared."

"Her wedding ring?" I asked, picturing the scene.

"Yep," he confirmed.

"Did she take it back?"

"Didn"t touch it. I picked it up and put it behind the bar, just in case." Frank gestured vaguely to the shelves lined with bottles, an unspoken history among them.

"Passion, hate, or desperation?" I murmured.

"Maybe all three," Frank replied, his voice a low rumble of brewing storms yet to come. A woman entered and sat at the bar. Frank poured her a drink. She didn't even have to ask. He knew what she wanted, and I guessed she, too, was a regular.

"Here you go, Lisa," he said, handing her the drink.

I edged my way through dim lighting, the murmur of hushed conversations acting as a backdrop to my purposeful strides.

"Mind if I join you?" I asked, pulling out the stool beside her without waiting for an answer.

She glanced up, her gaze sharp, then softened. "Free country," she said, though her voice was flat.

"Were you friends with Sarah?"

"Friends," Lisa echoed, swirling her drink. "Yeah, you could say that. We talked from time to time. Heard she got locked up, though. For killing Steven."

"Seems like she had a rough go."

"Rough," she scoffed, lips twisting wryly. "That"s one word for it."

"Frank mentioned they fought."

"Ha!" The sound was bitter. "She was mad at the bastard. I can tell you that much. Drove her to the verge of insanity."

"Infidelity will do that." I watched her carefully, gauging her reaction.

Lisa"s hand stopped mid-swirl, and she looked at me with new interest. "You know about all that?"

"Bits and pieces," I admitted. I was just guessing, but it worked. "Sounds complicated."

"Complicated doesn"t even begin to cover it." Her tone suggested a labyrinth of secrets I was only beginning to uncover.

"Remember the night the glass shattered?" Frank asked, leaning closer to Lisa.

She paused, a distant look clouding her eyes as she drifted into the memory. "Loud and clear," she murmured, almost to herself. "Sarah was a storm that night. Threw the glass in anger, and it shattered behind him against the wall."

The clink of glasses and low hum of conversation faded as I pictured it: Sarah, wild-eyed and seething, her voice a serrated knife cutting through the bar"s buzz.

"Did he ever…?" I didn"t finish the sentence, but my hand mimicked a striking motion.

"Hit her? No." Lisa"s gaze snapped back to the present. "Not that I know of, at least. But there was a rage. He drove her to the bottle, the poor thing. "

"Rage can be a motive," I muttered, thinking aloud.

"Sure can," she agreed, then leaned in. Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. "Sarah told me once about Steven"s affair—said finding out about it nearly drove her mad."

"So, he was the one who had an affair?" The word hung between us, heavy with implications.

"Of course," Lisa said, eyes narrowing. "There was this one woman… it seemed serious. Sarah thought she might be the reason he threw her out. He told her not to come back. He was done with her. Nearly broke Sarah in pieces, the poor thing."

"Did she have a husband?" The question slipped out, laced with curiosity. "The woman he had an affair with?"

"Wouldn"t be surprised." Lisa"s mouth twisted into a wry smile. "That kind always does."

"Would give someone a hell of a reason to pull a trigger," I mused, my mind racing with the possibilities.

Lisa nodded, her lips sealed tight as if locking away secrets. Our conversation fell into a hush, the weight of our words sinking into the woodgrain of the bar.

That"s when I felt it—eyes on me—a prickle on the back of my neck. I turned slightly, pretending to scan the shelves of liquor but really searching the dim reflections in the mirror behind the bar. There he was—a solitary figure obscured by shadow, a glass of something dark cradled between his hands. His gaze pierced through the gloom, fixed on us with an intensity that knotted my stomach.

"Excuse me for a sec," I murmured to Lisa, slipping off the stool.

I threaded through the tables, each step deliberate, casual. He didn"t look away and didn"t blink. The stranger's face was a mask of indifference, but something in his eyes betrayed him—a flicker of recognition or perhaps fear.

"Mind if I join you?" I asked, nodding toward the empty seat beside him.

He considered me, then gestured wordlessly to the chair. His fingers tapped a silent rhythm on the side of his glass.

"It seems you"re interested in our little chat over there." I kept my tone light and non-threatening.

"Hard not to overhear." His voice was gravel, deep and rough around the edges.

"Sarah and Steven are quite the talk of the town," I prodded, watching for a tell, a twitch, anything.

"Are they now?" The corner of his mouth quirked up, but it wasn"t a smile.

"Seems their story"s got more layers than an onion."

"Layers can make your eyes water," he replied cryptically.

"Or they can hide a core rotten to the heart," I shot back, locking eyes with him.

His gaze held mine, unflinching, before he raised his glass to his lips, the golden liquid disappearing with a slow tilt of his head. When he set the glass down, it was empty, save for a ring of condensation clinging to the wood.

"Every story"s got an end," he said, standing abruptly. "Just depends on who"s writing it."

"Got a stake in how this one turns out?" I asked, but he was already turning away, melting into the shadows that seemed eager to swallow him whole.

"Maybe," he tossed over his shoulder, his footsteps a soft echo against the buzz of the bar.

"Hey," I said, stopping him as he tried to leave.

"Did Sarah ever talk to you about Steven's affair?"

"Maybe."

"Did she ever talk about the woman? Tell you who she was?"

"Her husband had his secrets," he said. "Of the female kind."

"Names," I pressed. "Did she mention a name?"

"Maybe." He looked away. "But names can be dangerous things."

"More dangerous than bullets?"

The stranger chuckled, a sound devoid of humor. "Sometimes."

"Do you know the name of the woman her husband was seeing on a regular basis?"

"Who"s asking?" His gaze was steady, penetrating.

"Someone who doesn"t want to see an innocent person take the fall."

"Is that right?" He took a step closer, his breath smelling like tobacco and beer. "Maybe I know something. Maybe I don"t. But why should I trust you?"

"Because you"re here," I said. "And you"re talking to me instead of walking away."

"Observant," he acknowledged with a nod. "I"ll give you this—Steven was playing with fire and not just with Sarah."

"Someone else got burned?"

"Seems likely." His eyes narrowed. "But motives are like ghosts; everyone believes in them until they try to find one."

"Help me find this ghost," I urged.

"They were neighbors," he said. "That's all I know. Sarah told me one day, after a few drinks, that her husband was fooling around with the woman next door."

"Wait—" I began, but he was already striding away

"Neighbor," he repeated without turning around.

My mind raced, weaving possibilities, motives, and hidden truths. Who was this man? An ally or someone with a much darker agenda? Was he telling me the truth?

"Everything alright?" Lisa asked, her eyes searching mine.

"Maybe," I replied, glancing once more at the door. "Or maybe it"s just beginning."

The stranger"s words hung heavy in the air, a riddle wrapped in the smell of beer and cigarettes. As the bar"s laughter and chatter swirled around me, a solitary thought echoed in my head:

What did Steven do, and who wanted him dead badly enough to murder him in cold blood in his own home? Sarah? And was the neighbor he had an affair with Nicki? The woman found shot to death in her home?

It was time to have a serious chat with the husband, Adam.