to start.
She pulled into the almost-empty parking lot and got out of her car. A neon sign touted live music on the weekends and all-night happy-hour prices on Monday.
Merle Haggard’s voice greeted her as she stepped inside. Faded publicity posters on the wall dated back to the era of Patsy Cline, Johnny Cash and Willie Nelson during his much-earlier years. Vintage metal plaques cautioned spurs should be removed before dancing on the bar and that horses should remain outside unless they were paying customers.
Hopefully those were in jest, though from looking at the scratched and marred surface of the bar, it had likely seen some boot scooting.
She considered staking out a bar stool, but that would have left her with her back to the rest of the room. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for exactly, but anything would be better than staring at the ceiling of the motel she’d booked when sleep would be almost impossible tonight.
Taking a seat as far away from the loud music as possible, she scanned the room. To her dismay, a lot more eyes were checking her out. Not surprising since she appeared to be the only woman in there sitting alone.
Another time that kind of attention would have made her uneasy. Tonight, her mind was occupied with far more important matters.
Sydney pulled out her cell phone and punched in her instant code for Rachel the way she’d done every hour since Connie had called her that morning. The phone rang only once before a new message started.
“The number of the party you’re calling is no longer in service.”
She fought back yet another wave of nauseating dread as a young waitress with half-exposed breasts and a pair of butt-hugging denim cutoffs stopped at her table. Her name tag read Betts.
Betts smiled. “The kitchen’s closed for the night but the bar is serving until one. What can I get you?”
“A beer, something light.” That she probably wouldn’t take more than a few sips of.
“I have a good craft beer on tap that would fit that description. Want to give that a try?”
“Sure.”
“You’ve got it. Will someone be joining you?”
Sydney shook her head and went back to scrutinizing the customers. A half dozen or so couples were two-stepping around the dance floor. A few more couples occupied tables, chatting and sipping drinks.
For most, dress was casual, jeans or shorts. Footwear was predominantly Western boots for the men and sandals for the women. No one stood out as suspicious, except for Sydney in her black slacks and tailored white shirt.
A cute cowboy in faded jeans with a nice smile ambled over to her table. “Mind if I join you and buy you a drink?”
“Sorry, but no. I was supposed to meet a friend but I think she may have already left.” Sydney unzipped her purse, reached into the side pocket and pulled out a recent photo of Rachel.
She handed it to the cowboy. “Have you seen her?”
He glanced at the photo. “No, but she’s a looker. I’m sure I’d remember if I’d ever seen her and I’m in here often.”
He stepped back and stared critically. “You’re not a cop or something, are you?”
FBI no doubt qualified as his or something, but she wasn’t ready to reveal that to anyone in Winding Creek just yet.
“I’m not a cop.”
He placed the picture on the table. “If you get bored and change your mind about wanting some company tonight, you know where to find me. I guarantee you a good time.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Betts returned with a cold mug of beer and set it and a throwaway coaster on the table next to the picture. She didn’t give the photo a second glance.
Sydney decided her questions for Betts could wait. A few customers had left in the short time she’d been here. Time now would be best spent checking out the remaining customers.
Not that she held out any rational hope of just accidentally running into someone who was involved in Rachel’s disappearance. Irrationally, she couldn’t help but search for someone who triggered suspicion or a situation that piqued her interest.
Fifteen minutes later, she got her wish. She was watching the door when a tall cowboy who looked as if he’d been living on the streets sauntered into the bar. Tall, lean but muscular and with at least two days’ growth of whiskers.
Unlike the other customers who seemed to know everyone, he didn’t speak to or acknowledge any of the patrons as he walked past the bar and dropped into a chair several tables away from her.
He removed his white Western hat and ran his fingers through short, rumpled brown hair. Betts sashayed over and leaned in so close her nipples were practically looking him in the eye.
He seemed not to notice.
Sydney couldn’t hear what he ordered, but Betts returned a minute later with what looked like a glass of whiskey. It was gone in two gulps.
She was still staring at him when he lifted his gaze and looked in her direction. His eyes were mesmerizing even from that distance, bronze colored in the artificial light.
She looked away and tried to make sense of what she was feeling. Her profiler instincts and training checked in. Something about him was affecting her senses. She couldn’t just ignore that.
Sydney motioned to Betts.
“Ready for another beer?”
“Haven’t started this one yet. I just have a question for you.”
“Yeah. What?”
“See the guy sitting at the table by himself?” She nodded toward him.
“Yeah. Quite a hunk, isn’t he, but not too friendly.”
“So it appears. Is he a regular?”
“Nope. If he was I’d remember him, though he does look a little familiar.”
“Are you sure he wasn’t in here Saturday night before last?”
“Can’t say. I was off that weekend. Went to my sister’s wedding over in New Braunfels. I don’t think he’s local, though. More likely he’s renting one of the fishing cabins up near the marina. Looks like a guy on a fishing vacation.”
“Are there that many fish to be had from a creek?”
“Oh, yeah, and if you don’t want to fish in the creek, there are lakes all around here. They have big fishing rodeos every year in the spring. Man, do we get the fishermen in here then. Tips are great.”
“Just one more thing,” Sydney said. She picked up the photo of Rachel and handed it to Betts. “Have you ever seen this woman before? She’s about five foot six, slender, thirty-two years old?”
Betts
