Creep - Jennifer Hillier [85]
A waitress with frizzy red hair approached. “What can I get you boys?”
Morris consulted the menu and ordered the mushroom-Swiss burger with onion rings. Jerry ordered the fish and chips. Both ordered Miller Lites, on tap.
Morris felt a stab of guilt. It was officially the first time in two years he’d ordered alcohol in a restaurant.
“The one thing I love about not working for the department anymore,” Jerry said as he raised his glass to his lips, “is I can drink while I’m working.”
“I’ll toast to that,” Morris said.
The waitress smiled as she wiped the bar in front of them. “What are we toasting, boys?” Her voice matched her face, hoarse and weathered.
“Drinking on the job.” Jerry smiled at her and raised his glass again. “This is Morris. I’m Jerry.”
“Jean.” The waitress shook both their hands. “I haven’t seen you’s here before. You from Seattle or just visiting?”
“We’re locals,” Morris said. “I don’t get down this way much. I live on the East Side.”
“So you’re slumming it.” Jean chuckled. “What, they don’t have pubs on the East Side?”
“Hey, Jean,” Jerry said, pulling out the picture of Sheila. “You ever seen this woman?”
Jean picked up the photo and dug into her apron pocket for her glasses. “I knew you guys was cops.”
Jerry laughed. “I’m retired. I work for myself now. This guy’s my client, and we’re looking for his fiancée. She went missing two weeks ago.”
Jean stood with the photo under one of the small halogen lights illuminating the bar, examining the picture closely. “Yeah, I’ve seen her before,” she said, her eyes crinkled in concentration. “Buncha times. She comes in here a coupla times a month. Always gets the same thing—mushroom-Swiss, Diet Coke. Seemed nice enough.”
“Was she here two weeks ago?”
Jean’s face scrunched up. “Yeah, she was.”
“You sound certain.”
The waitress looked uncomfortable as she passed the photo back. “Well, I remember ’cause she came in at her usual time, but instead of sitting alone like she usually does, she met someone. He came in a little later, went right to her table.”
“What’d he look like?” Morris’s hand tightened around his beer glass.
“I don’t know. It was dark. My eyes ain’t what they used to be.”
“Try and think.” He couldn’t keep the impatience out of his voice. Jerry shot him a look.
The woman bristled. “Well, now, I don’t know if I want to. Not if it’s gonna get her in trouble.”
“Jean, she’s missing.” Jerry’s voice was calm. “Anything you can tell us would be helpful. We’re trying to make sure nothing bad happened to her.”
Jean leaned over the bar toward them, focusing on Morris. “Look, it’s not any of my business what kind of relationship you’s two were in. I’m not one to judge. But this woman you’re looking for, your fiancée, she wasn’t acting like a woman about to get married. They sat right there.” Jean pointed to the table in the center-most part of the pub. “And they were close. Leaning into each other, smiling. I served them. He was a real good-looking guy.” She gave a description that matched the one Fisher had given them. “He wasn’t from around here. He had some kind of accent.”
“Like he wasn’t from Seattle?”
“Like he wasn’t from the USA.”
Morris’s stomach burned. “Did they leave together?”
Jean’s wrinkled face was sympathetic. “Yeah,” she said finally. “They left together. He was kind of touching her elbow, and he was limping a little. She looked tipsy, even though she wasn’t drinking. I figured she was giddy ’cause she’d snagged such a handsome guy.” Jean’s lips tightened. “Truth be told, I was a little jealous.”
“How’d they pay?” Jerry asked.
“Cash, I’m pretty sure. Separate checks,” she said to Morris, as if it would make him feel better.
“This place have a security camera?”
The waitress guffawed. “You’re funny.”
“Any chance you saw what he was driving?”
“Sorry.” She looked around and lowered her voice. “So, what, you boys think this guy did something to her?”
Morris said nothing.