No Safe Winterport

Chapter 1-1

1

The sun had set, and I could see a hint of pinky-orange color as I walked around opening the windows at Cooper’s Bar. It was a little muggy, and a few degrees warmer than I’d prefer, but mid-way through September it was worth the discomfort to forgo the air conditioning whine. Glenn had poured me a cold Abita beer in an icy glass straight from the freezer, and it sent a pleasant shock through my hand as I picked it up. He asked me the question I knew he’d ask—that he always asked lately—and I took a sip before answering. I was feeling smug, and I hoped a foam mustache would hide it.

“I’m afraid I can’t start training this week,” I said, trying unsuccessfully to sound both disappointed and apologetic. “I’m flying to Orlando to see my sister tomorrow.”

Glenn grunted, picked up my beer and its coaster, and wiped down the bar again. It felt like we were alone, in part because Tuesday nights tend to be slow, but also because Glenn isn’t the kind of bar owner who engages in excess idle chit-chat with customers. Unless you’re Sydney Brennan, PI extraordinaire, and even I was pushing my luck now.

“How long you been saying you’d do this?” he asked.

I pretended to misunderstand. “We were supposed to get together later this year, but Lisa called a few days ago and asked if I could come down now instead.”

Glenn had meant meeting with his martial arts buddy, which I’d promised I’d do a couple of months before. His patience was wearing thin. An imposing looking guy, Glenn isn’t gifted with patience in abundance to begin with. He must have been feeling magnanimous, though, because he let it slide. He even set my beer back within reach.

“This the sister you haven’t seen in forever?” he asked.

Forever being over a decade. “One and the same.”

“Change of scenery’d probably be good for you, then.” He planted an elbow on the bar and stared me down. “Or is this one of those nights when I’ll have to call you a cab?”

I glared back on principle. Now that he mentioned it, drinking myself under the table was tempting. Was that really why I’d gone to Cooper’s tonight? The man was entirely too perceptive sometimes. Probably a hazard of the job.

I pointed out, “You’ve never had to call a cab for me.”

“That’s true,” he said, “but there’s always a first time.”

The anxiety I’d been ignoring since hearing my sister’s voice over the weekend fluttered in my guts and soured the amber beer in my mouth. “Maybe it won’t be that bad. It just feels weird because I don’t even know who my sister is anymore. I just know who she was when we were kids.”

Glenn settled his denim-clad bottom on a stool behind the bar and reached for his own glass of corrected Coke. He stretched his bottom lip up to strain all the liquid from his ruddy mustache before speaking. “It’s been my experience . . .”

“Oh God,” I said, “here we go.”

He knew that sometimes I had to remind him I’m not afraid of his badass, former biker self (except, of course, I am, because I’m not an i***t), and gave me a grizzled, condescending smile. “In my experience, people stay who they were when they were kids. As we get older, we learn to hide the bits we don’t want others to see. And maybe for some people, they hide things so long and so deep, the person they appear to be really is a person they’ve become. Mostly. For others, the difference between the two—who they are and who they want people to think they are—makes them crazy.”

Now I’d definitely gone off my beer. After all, there was a reason—reasons—my sister and I were estranged. Not necessarily good reasons, but reasons.

“On that cheery thought,” I said, setting cash on the bar, “I’m going home to pack. I’ll see you sometime next week.”

“Me and my buddy Vince. I’m counting on it.”

His eyes danced with mischief. I’ll bet he was. Sadist. Various rude remarks and gestures ran through my head, until his face softened and he smiled.

“Be safe.”

“You, too,” I said. I could never resist Glenn’s ursine grin.