The Mockingbird Murders - A John Riley Novel

Chapter 4 - Failure to Connect

"Here ya go," he said and handed the phone back to her. His eyes flickered to the screen and then back to Melissa, a smile curling his lips. "Hey, you're a twin? Or is that a clever photoshop?"

Melissa took the phone and gazed fondly at the lock screen.

Angie's face stared back at her. The photo was of the two of them, their faces almost identical to anyone who didn't actually know them. She could see Angie's slightly shorter nose and her stronger jawline, but it was something she often had to point out. Even their own mother had difficulty telling them apart if they weren't standing.

"Neither actually," Melissa said, then cleared her throat. "That's my sister, Angie. Believe it or not, she's a year older than me." She smiled. "We share the same birthday too. We're exactly one year apart."

"It's kinda like you were determined to be twins one way or another," he said. He pushed his black-framed glasses up his nose and Melissa. He leaned forward, ready to make a joke that she didn't want to hear.

"Is everything okay? It's just that you look really upset—"

"Look, I'm sorry. My life is a fucking mess right now, and as much as I'd love to flirt with the cute boy in the coffee shop, I just don't have the energy. Okay?"

"Hey, hey, no worries at all," he said with a sheepish smile. "Just glad I could save your phone."

"Me too," she replied. It's the only thing keeping me sane right now, was what she didn't say out loud.

Melissa tapped through her phone, skimming the news and then social media. She was sure that Weekes would have responded by now, but there were still no messages, no missed calls. And she still had forty minutes before Riley showed up to meet her. If he showed up at all.

She looked around the little coffee shop. The man who had saved her phone had packed up and left quietly. A new song played now, something that she could vaguely hum along to, but not know the actual words. The chorus of the song came on and Melissa froze, a wave of grief threatening to overtake her. "Everybody hurts..."

Melissa fled ...

***

...to the bar across the street. It was exactly what Melissa needed, plus it was close enough for her to get back to the cafe to meet Riley when he finally showed up. Hair band music from the 80s played on the jukebox, all power chords and booming drums, nothing maudlin and thoughtful to trigger her emotions. It was dark and grungy, the type of place you to hide from the world for a while and drink yourself stupid. If you were lucky, maybe take your aggression out on some other drunk and end up in jail or the hospital. It was perfect. She wheeled her luggage directly to the counter and sat, forcing a smile on her face.

The bartender had a shaved head, a soul patch on his lower lip, the only hair on his head. "What can I getcha?" he asked, scanning her quickly in the way most bartenders did. Nothing creepy, simply getting a sense of if she was going to be trouble or perhaps a little flirty.

"Whiskey, neat," she ordered and that got his silent approval.

"Just so you know, ain't nothing fancy on the menu here."

"You gonna pour or try to talk me into a cocktail which you will inevitably screw up?"

The bartender grinned good-naturedly. "Hey, Oscar," he called out, "you wanna tell the pretty lady about the last time I made a cocktail?"

Oscar turned out to be a bearded old biker two seats down. He was a large man, easily over six-feet and whatever muscle he had once possessed was now obscured under a layer of fat. His leather jacket was cracked and worn and had clearly seen better days. The sleepy giant shook his head mournfully.

"Don't you listen to his lies," Oscar rumbled. "Davey ain't never made no cocktail wasn't named Molotov."

Melissa would have spit out her drink if she had been drinking. She smiled instead and really meant it. The pressure on her head lifted at last, giving her some relief.

Davey the bartender smoothly poured from a bottle of Jack Daniels. He casually slid the glass over. "Jack and Coke is about as mixed as we get around here."

"Damn right it is," Oscar agreed and sipped his beer.

Melissa downed the drink in one swallow. She slammed the glass down and surveyed the bar.

"Again," Melissa ordered, and placed her phone onto the counter. There were still no new messages.

Davey poured again, giving her a thoughtful look. "You might want to take it easy there, miss. Whatever's going on with you—"

"My sister is missing, and I just need a little something to take the edge off."

"In that case, the next one is on me," he replied, placing his hand over his chest in a touching salute, "but still, take it easy."

"My brother went missing when I was a kid," Davey rumbled. "Worst fucking time of my life, excuse my English." He burped.

"Did you ever find him?" Melissa asked hopefully. She paused, the drink halfway to her lips.

"Naw, but ain't no reason for you to give up hope," Oscar said thoughtfully. "Just don't be a deadbeat like my daddy and change address every two months."

Melissa knocked the drink back and relished the slow burn as the alcohol made its way down into her stomach. The edge was definitely off now.

"I don't 'do' hope. I plan," Melissa said. "One way or another, by this time tomorrow, I'm going to be on a plane to find her myself."

Melissa turned back to Davey, ready to order another drink. She paused as a tall man slid up to the counter next to her and knocked twice rap, rap, on the counter to get Davey's attention. There was a gentle thud as he placed his cellphone onto the counter next to hers.

"I'll get light beer if you have it," the gaunt man said.

Melissa found herself frozen, unable and unwilling to turn to look at the man next to her. She had never gotten the chance to see him upclose after all, but that tan jacket was eerily familiar.

Melissa was deadly sure that the man standing next to her was the killer detective Riley had been following.