Lye in Wait by Cricket McRae Page A

too small for his behind. He checked our LD.s more
from habit than necessity and waved us inside.
    Layers of blue-gray smoke drifted on the air, gathered into
clouds on the ceiling. On our left, three pool tables marched down
the length of the room. The muted clacking of the balls underscored the music and the voices, most of them male, which rose
and fell in conversation. Ahead, a wide aisle divided the pool tables
from the bar running parallel on our right. Here and there, small
round tables held pitchers of beer and half-full glasses for the pool
players. The whole place smelled of cigarettes and microwaved
hotdogs. A shout of laughter erupted from the end of the bar, and
as two men moved away, Meghan and I slid onto the stools they
had vacated. On Friday night the place was hopping.
    "Getchoo?"
    "What?" I shouted.
     
    "What. Can. I. Get. You?" the bartender repeated. He was nice
looking, with long hair pulled into a ponytail and friendly green
eyes. He smiled when he spoke.
    Meghan ordered a Red Hook Hefeweizen, and I asked for the
bitterest thing he had, which turned out to be the Red Hook India
Pale Ale.
    When he brought our pint glasses, I asked him, "Does Walter
Hanover still come in here?"
    He reached under the counter, and a moment later the volume
of the music lowered an iota. A guy at the other end of the bar
protested, but the bartender ignored him. No one else seemed to
notice.
    "Walter Hanover? What's he look like?" the bartender asked.
    "In his sixties, gray hair in a ponytail, always wore yellow
suspenders."
    "No...wait a minute. Walt! Never knew his last name, but,
yeah, he shows up every once in a while, has a cup of coffee. Used
to come in a lot, but then he quit the booze. Good thing, too. You
lookin' for him?"
    "You've worked here that long?" I asked the bartender.
    "I own the place. What're you looking for Walt for?"
    "Well, I'm not, exactly. I'm looking for anyone who might have
known him, and I was told he used to hang out here."
    "The way you're talkin'-something happen to of Walt?"
    I nodded. "He died yesterday."
    "That's a damn shame. Walt was a nice old guy. Heard he'd
come into some money."
    I leaned in. "We heard that, too. Any idea where it came from?"
    "No idea."
     
    "Well, thanks anyway."
    "Hey, if you're looking for people who knew him, check
out the coffee shop two doors down. I saw him in there a lot of
afternoons."
    "Thanks," I said again. "So you own this place, huh?"
    He started to answer, but there was a shout from the end of the
bar, where a man stood holding an empty pitcher in the air. "Listen, I gotta go see to business. I'm real sorry to hear about Walt."
And then he was taking the pitcher from the guy, saying something
that made the scowl on his face change to laughter. As I watched,
he took three other drink orders and had a glass of wine poured
before the new pitcher had filled. He started another one while he
took money and made change. His hands were a blur, but I was
pretty sure there wasn't a ring on the left one.
    "... go to Beans R Us. Am I right? Sophie Mae?" Meghan's voice
penetrated.
    I turned to her. "What?"
    Her eyes flicked from me to the owner of the bar, now laughing
with an older couple, and back to me. "I said, I suppose you want
to stop by the coffee shop on the way home."
    "We can finish these and head over there," I said.
    A voice behind me said, "No way. You can't go yet. Come shoot
some pool with us."
    I turned to find two men in their twenties wearing jeans and
long-sleeved waffle-weave underwear shirts with T-shirts over
them. One had a Mariner's baseball cap jammed over his blonde
hair, but the other's crop of dark curls was uncovered. The blonde
one grinned and gestured to one of the pool tables. I glanced at
Meghan, who raised one eyebrow in question. I nodded.
     
    "Girls versus guys?" I asked them.
    The blonde smirked and said, "If that's the way you want it."
    We followed the guys to the table, and