Lies We Tell (Thistle Cove 3)

“Yeah, and she always wore that bright red lipstick.”

“Her signature.”

I swallow, feeling warm all the sudden. So Rose did come here. Enough to have a regular drink and to be recognized. To be missed.

“Why do you think she came here?” I asked.

“To meet men,” he says with zero hesitation. “Look at this place. It’s filled with businessmen.”

He’s right. There are also a few women sitting alone at the bar.

“This is so weird.”

Miranda walks back over with a tray flat on her hand. She places a beer in front of Ezra and the green martini in front of me.

“Uh, Miranda, how long do you think it’s been since I was in here last?” I ask as casually as possible.

“Wow, a few months, right? Around Halloween? I think we had the bar decorated.”

“You sure it wasn’t closer to summer?”

“Maybe, but I have a distinct memory of you sitting at the bar under the hanging spiderwebs.”

Apprehension tickles my ribs. “Oh right. Yes, that’s when it was.”

She looks at Ezra.

“You look familiar—have we met?”

He shakes his head. “First time here.”

“I’m usually good with faces but once in a while I’m wrong.” She chuckles and looks up when another table calls her name. “Let me know if you need anything.”

She walks off and I hold my breath, about to burst.

“Ken—” he starts, already knowing where this is going.

“Ezra, what if she was here at Halloween?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t believe for a second Rose Waller is still alive.” He looks across the bar at Miranda. “I do believe she came in here, I’ll give you that, but after September? Not a chance. Sorry, babe.”

He takes a gulp of his beer and squeezes my thigh, excusing himself to the bathroom. I sit alone, mulling over everything Miranda said. I’m deep in thought when she appears, holding a second drink—a shot glass of warm, amber liquid.

“I waited until your friend left, but the gentleman over at the bar asked me to send this to you.”

My eyes flick behind her to a well-dressed man at the end of the bar. He’s got sandy-blond hair and a handsome face. He’s old—older than my dad. He lifts his own drink toward me.

“I’m not sure I can accept this.”

“I told him that. Especially after last time. He insisted.”

Last time? I’m dying to ask.

“I don’t think my date would like it.”

“He’s a little young for you, right? Gorgeous, but young.” She looks over her shoulder where Ezra walks down the hall. “Although I see the resemblance. You have a type.”

“A type?”