Flashpoint by Lynn Hightower

and a Bengals T-shirt.
    â€œI’m Sonora Blair, this is Sam Delarosa, Cincinnati Police.”
    â€œWhat did you want to see me about?” She looked over her shoulder. “Ronnie!”
    â€œI’m in the bathroom.” The voice was muted, male, irritable.
    Sonora put the wedding picture on the counter.
    â€œDo you recognize this man?”
    Chita Childers squinted and stared down at the picture. “Yeah, this one. He’s here all the time.”
    She stabbed a long skinny finger at Keaton Daniels. Her nails were long and coated with maroon polish. Glued in the corner of each squared-off nail was a tiny zircon, glinting like a diamond.
    â€œ This guy?”
    â€œYeah.”
    â€œWas he in last night?”
    Childers squeezed her eyes shut and tilted her head upward to aid her memory. So all the thoughts in the top of her head could slide into her brain, Sonora thought.
    â€œNo, I don’t think so. He hasn’t been in that much lately. For a while, he was here two or three nights a week. But”—she opened her eyes—“not last night.”
    â€œWho about the other one?”
    â€œThe woman?”
    â€œEither.”
    â€œThe woman, I don’t know. She’s a type. Ronnie might remember.”
    â€œAnd the guy?” Sonora pointed to Mark Daniels.
    From somewhere close came the sound of a flushing toilet, the noise of running water, a door opening, closing. A man in his mid- to late thirties, slender, thinning brown hair and a mustache, came in from the dining room. He stopped in the doorway.
    â€œOh.”
    â€œPolice Specialists Blair and Delarosa,” Sonora said. “Didn’t mean to catch you at a bad time.”
    Knapp’s cheeks went dusky red. Sam coughed and cleared his throat.
    Knapp extended a hand to Sonora and gave her a firm, damp handshake. He glanced at Celia. “We’re out of paper towels in the bathroom, by the way.” Sonora wiped her hands on the back of her jacket and settled back down on the stool.
    Sam scooted the picture across the bar. “Mr. Knapp, did any of these people come in last night?”
    Knapp picked up the picture and studied it. “Last night, hmmm. That one didn’t.”
    Sonora rubbed her stomach. “Which one?”
    Knapp flipped the picture around and pointed to Keaton Daniels. “This one. He used to come in a lot, but I haven’t seen him lately. The other guy was here, though.”
    â€œYou sure?”
    â€œYeah. Talking to the blonde.”
    Sonora felt rather than saw Sam tensing. She kept her voice casual. “What blonde?”
    â€œJust some girl.”
    â€œShe a regular?”
    â€œBeen in a few times.”
    â€œWhat blonde is this?” Chita Childers asked.
    â€œYou’ve seen her. Kind of little. Delicate, sort of. Never smiles.”
    â€œHow long did she talk to this guy?” Sonora pointed to Mark’s picture.
    â€œAwhile.”
    â€œDo you remember how long?”
    â€œNot really.”
    â€œAn hour?”
    â€œMaybe not that long.”
    â€œJust a few minutes? Half an hour?”
    â€œLonger than half an hour. Like maybe forty-five minutes. Like that. They had a drink together. She drinks Bud from the bottle.”
    â€œWhat was he drinking?”
    â€œDraft beer. Bourbon chaser.”
    â€œDid they leave together?”
    â€œNo.”
    â€œWho left first?”
    â€œDon’t know.”
    â€œAbout what time?”
    â€œJeez, I really don’t know. Before eleven.”
    Chita Childers edged forward, and Celia Anders had to step backward. “She must have left before he did, then. ’Cause this guy stayed late.”
    â€œHow late?” Sam said.
    â€œAlmost midnight. I thought he’d be around to close us down.”
    Sam smiled at Celia Anders, then turned his attention to Chita Childers. Sonora leaned into the back of the stool.
    â€œAnd the blonde had left by then?” Sam