Pros and Cons by Jenna Black

“real” customer. Having learned my lesson at Top of the Hill, I took no more than one or two sips of my drink in any one place, not letting myself get even a hint of a buzz. While alcohol might lower my inhibitions enough to let my subconscious hunches shine through, I couldn’t afford to let my tongue get away from me. Besides, I was driving.
    I had no luck at the first two bars I tried. No one at either place even recognized Heather, much less Doug. A bartender and a waitress at the third place recognized Heather, and the waitress thought she might have seen Doug around, but she couldn’t be sure, and she didn’t know his name.
    I hit pay dirt at bar number four, a tiny little place called Farraday’s. It was upscale, as were all of Heather’s hunting grounds, but it didn’t have the pretentious decor and stuffy atmosphere of Top of the Hill. The bartender recognized Heather and knew her by name, and though he didn’t recognize Doug, he directed me to the bar’s owner, who was apparently the kind of hands-on type who spent more time at her establishment than any two of her employees combined.
    Linda Farraday was a friendly-looking forty-something whose body language screamed confidence and competence. There was a sharp intelligence in her eyes that made me swallow the pretext I’d made up about why I was hunting for Doug. So far, I’d made up a different story at each bar, tailoring the story to my audience, but my instincts suggested that Linda might know bullshit when she heard it.
    Of course, I couldn’t tell her the truth about why I was looking for Doug, either, so after our initial greeting and handshake, I got right to the point.
    â€œI’m a private investigator,” I told her, drawing the now much-handled photo print of Doug and Heather from my pocketbook, “and I’m looking for this man. I have reason to believe he’s spent some time at this bar.”
    Linda took the photo from my hand and put on a pair of reading glasses to examine it. I saw immediate recognition in her eyes, though I was pretty sure she was trying to remain impassive and not give anything away.
    â€œWhy are you looking for him?” she asked. “Is he in some kind of trouble?”
    I quelled my natural desire to manufacture an explanation. “It’s a private matter,” I told her instead. “I can’t violate my client’s confidentiality. I hope you understand.”
    She gave me a shrewd look over the top of her reading glasses, and though I wasn’t sure she’d be willing to talk to me without any explanation, I knew I’d made the right decision in not lying.
    Linda stared at me another long moment; then she shrugged. “I can’t tell you a whole lot. He’s only been in here once that I know of, and if he hadn’t been such an asshole, I probably wouldn’t remember him at all.” She peered at the picture again. “He looked a lot scruffier when he was here, and he wore glasses. I thought he looked like a guy I went to school with, so I tried to talk to him.” She made a face. “He acted like I was trying to pick him up instead of reconnect with an old classmate. Like I said, an asshole.”
    â€œSo, was he your old classmate?” Something within me resonated, told me I was on the right track. I tried not to look too eager.
    She shrugged again. “He said no. Said he never went to Georgetown.” She handed the picture back to me. “Maybe I’m just imagining the resemblance. People change a lot in twenty years, and I never really knew the guy. Just had a class with him.”
    My enthusiasm dimmed, but that was just logic talking, throwing doubts on my gut reaction. “What was his name?” I asked. “This classmate of yours?”
    Linda scrunched up her face in thought, but eventually she gave up with a regretful sigh. “I don’t remember. I’m not sure I