I grinned. “I don’t mind supermarket biscuits.”
“Then you’re in luck.”
I went for the biscuit first, crunching into the treat and chowing down like a professional eater.
“Stressed?” she asked.
I looked up, my mouth full of biscuit, and did my best to speak around it. “How could you tell?”
“You’re going at those like a rat in a bin.” She raised her hands. “No judgment. You should see me with the Oreos when I get stressed. I make you look like a novice.”
I couldn’t help but smile at her friendly voice. It’d been a long time since I’d had friends. Like, forever. My life was gray and lonely and lame, but it was by my choice. I shook the thought away and said, “Right. The stress eating. I do that.”
“At least it’s not drinking.”
“Tea, maybe.” I added some milk to the cup and drank, sucking it down despite the heat.
She leaned on the bar, the sinewy muscles in her arms pulling tightly at her thin T-shirt. “Care to share?”
“Ah—” I kept checking out the mirror next to her, and my head spun. I knew how to do an investigation. I’d been trained for it. And that’s what I was doing here.
I just needed to get my head in the game.
Except the woman with the three eyes kept meeting my gaze in the mirror.
“What the hell is this place?” I asked.
“The Haunted Hound.”
“Yeah, I read that on the door. But, like, what is it?”
“A pub?”
“Right. Hidden behind weird bins and filled with people in amazing costumes.”
She frowned. “Costumes?”
“Ah…” Subtly, I tried to point my thumb toward the three-eyed woman behind me.
“Clarissa is a triclops demon.”
“Demon?” Somehow, I knew her words were true. And while I wanted to put my head between my knees and hyperventilate for about six hours, I didn’t have time for that.
The cops could show up here, and I needed to be gone—with my answers—before that happened.
So I did what I’d done when I was a kid and the horror got to be too much.
“Just keep swimming,” I muttered. I focused on the task. I had only the vaguest memories of my shitty childhood with my abusive guardian, but one of them was very clear.
I knew how to shove aside all my panic and go tunnel vision on my goal.
Right now, I needed to solve this murder.
Whatever was happening in this bar could wait until I’d cleared my name.
“You’re not from around here, are you?” the bartender asked.
“No.” I was from London, yes. But that wasn’t what she was asking. “I’m investigating a murder.”