Mercy Kill_ A Mystery - Lori Armstrong [80]
“You wanna look at a menu?”
“Nope. Hook me up with a hot beef sandwich. Extra gravy.”
“That was your dad’s favorite, too.” He yelled, “Order up!” and spun the ticket on the metal wheel. Then he rested his elbows on the bar top, settling in for a chat. “So I hear you found that oil fella who got himself killed.”
I nodded and swallowed a mouthful of beer.
“I ain’t surprised someone offed him. Nobody liked that guy.”
“You knew him?”
He shrugged. “He came in here a couple times. Always acted a little . . . twitchy. Like he was on drugs.”
My mug stopped halfway to my mouth. “Really?”
“Uh-huh. Met with some guys from the rez.” Steve scowled at someone over my shoulder. “I don’t like them types showing up in my place, spooking my regular customers. You have any problems with undesirables showing up at Clementine’s?”
“ ‘Undesirables’ describes our entire clientele,” I reminded him.
His crooked smile appeared. “Guess that’s true. How’d the event go at the school tonight?”
“As well as can be expected. Harold McCoy, who emceed, cut me off when I listed points on why we should all fight the pipeline.”
“I imagine Harold did shut you down. He’s another one of them who’s gung ho about the pipeline going through. Lemme ask you something.”
“Shoot.”
“If this Titan Oil Company wanted us to believe the pipeline is good for everyone in the county, why didn’t they hire a local to convince us?”
“That’s easy. Any local person willing to lie to the landowners and the business owners about the supposed benefits of the pipeline is screwed because they have to live in the community afterward. Some guy from out of state doesn’t have to stick around and deal with the fallout.”
“Good point. But most of the business owners in Eagle Ridge are on board.” Steve pushed back and polished a spot on the bar top. “Ain’t you running into that mind-set while you’re campaigning in town?”
“I’m focused on campaigning door-to-door in the country. I figure Dawson has the town vote sewn up.”
“Probably.” Steve squinted at me as he lit a Pall Mall. “Why’d you decide to run for sheriff anyhow?”
“Bill O’Neil’s campaign committee asked me to fill in.”
“That the only reason?”
I smiled coyly. “What do you think?”
“I think your military service taught you to evade like a pro.” He shot a look at the guy two seats over and lowered his voice. “Here’s something you might not know about your competition. Nancy Greenbush, over at the feedlot, said Dawson promised them a closed-door meeting with the county commissioners about their right-of-way issues. What do you know about it?”
“Geneva filled me in. That issue has been going on a long time. But Nancy realizes a meeting with the commissioners is no guarantee the county will allow them to reconfigure their access road, right?”
“Nancy said it sounded promising for a change. Lots of folks are willing to vote for him if there’s something in it for them.”
Dawson’s platform was murky, mostly because he didn’t need one. “What else has Dawson been pledging?”
Steve flicked a column of ash off his cigarette. “Nothin’ major. Talking about adding more patrols. Harsher penalties for underage drinkers and the businesses selling liquor to minors.”
“Do you have problems with minors?”
“Owning an off-sale liquor license means there’s always kids who try to buy beer and booze. Usually the same ones. Chaps my ass they think I’m so damn stupid. But we’ve had two teenage drunk-driving deaths in the last year, so it is a problem.”
“Why isn’t Dawson already focused on that?”
“Exactly my point.”
The waitress dropped off my meal, and I tucked in. Thinly sliced roast beef piled on top of four squishy pieces of white bread, surrounded by homemade mashed potatoes, covered in thick, salty brown gravy. My near orgasmic moans of bliss sent Steve scurrying toward other customers.
More people wandered in, and the booths filled. Busy place. The panel of mirrors behind the glass shelves reflected the bar happenings. I recognized about half the customers.