Wylie arrived at the restaurant a few minutes after seven, parking in one of the few vacant spots in the lot beside it. It must be busy, which is strange for a Tuesday night. Maybe because everyone wants to get the latest news about Emma and figures Garry might know? Guess I’ll find out.
As soon as he walked inside he saw three of their suspects. Len, of course, was bartending. Frank was seated at the bar, and Dave, still wearing his work coveralls, was standing at one end, a beer in hand. He must have come here the second he closed for the day.
Wylie started toward the bar when the hostess stopped him to ask if he was going to eat dinner. “You’ll have at least an hour’s wait for a table,” she told him, gesturing at the people seated and standing along the walls in the bar area.
“Sorry
