The Ex Who Hid a Deadly Past

by Sally Berneathy

  “That’s not true.”

  “And nobody ever lies to the cops and gets away with it?”

  “If he said that, he’d have to admit that he has illegal drugs in his possession.” Amanda went back inside. “Dawson, that guy who was just in here, did you see him?”

  “Yes, I saw him.”

  “Have you ever seen him before?”

  “No, but you said you knew him.”

  “I was being polite. I don’t know him.”

  “He knew you.”

  “So he said. But I think I would have remembered him if I’d ever met him.”

  “He said you looked different with your hair back. You always wear that braid when you work or when you’re riding. Maybe he was at some social event where you had your hair down and met a lot of people, so many you don’t remember him.”

  Amanda shook her head. “I haven’t been to any big social events recently or even not recently. Well, I’m not going to worry about it.”

  “Yes, you are,” Charley said.

  He was right again.

  Amanda hated it when that happened.

  Chapter Seven

  Promptly at six Amanda moved her bike inside, put out the Closed sign, and locked up.

  She shivered as she crossed the parking lot to her apartment. The evening was unusually dark. Clouds swirled overhead, driven by a chill wind.

  Halloween was in two days. The kids might have to wear coats. Not that she ever had any Trick-or-Treaters. Her neighborhood didn’t appeal to families with young children.

  That didn’t make it a bad neighborhood as Jake had implied.

  A noisy bar down the street, a corpse in the parking lot...things like that could happen anywhere.

  She paused at the bottom of the steps leading up to her apartment and listened.

  No music or shouting coming from the bar. Tuesday night. Should be a relatively quiet evening. Sometimes on weekends the music and noise were loud enough she could hear. That was her only experience with that bar. She’d never been inside. Bert was drunk or on drugs or just plain crazy.

  But he knew her name.

  Knew what she did for a living.

  Knew where her shop was.

  Knew about her interaction with Lenny.

  He said he’d bought her a beer at Bikes and Brews.

  She didn’t drink beer.

  She had never been in that bar.

  Surely she wouldn’t have forgotten something like that. She went to Whataburger and Taco Bell on a regular basis and couldn’t recall the details of any specific visit. But that was different from completely forgetting she’d ever gone there.

  “Why are you standing outside in the dark?” Charley asked. “You’re not still thinking about going over to that woman’s apartment, are you? Leave Dawson and his girlfriend alone.”

  “No,” she said. “I wasn’t. I was thinking about that man who came in today and the things he said.”

  “You sure you haven’t been to that bar?”

  Amanda glowered at him. “I told you I have not.” If Charley, who knew her every move, didn’t believe her, would Jake?

  Jake knew what had happened between her and Lenny. Even if Bert told the cops some embellished version, some version an angry, drunken Lenny might have told his buddies in the bar, Dawson was her witness to the actual event.

  But what if Bert insisted Amanda had been in the bar, had offered to do work for him in exchange for drugs?

  She had to find out what was going on with Bert.

  “I’m going to Bikes and Brews tonight,” she said.

  “I like bars. I’ll come with you. I speak the language and you don’t.”

  Amanda sucked in a deep breath. He was much better acquainted with sleazy bars than she was. It wasn’t a statement most people would be proud of. But tonight it could be a good trait.

  It was a sad day when she had to rely on Charley’s expertise.

  Sad described this day perfectly.

  She went back inside to get her jacket.

  And take down her hair. Bert had not seen her hair braided before today.

  She put on her jacket, released her hair and fluffed it out.

  “You forgetting something?” Charley asked.

  She patted her jacket pocket. “Credit cards, cash, ID. What else do I need?”

  “A man was killed in your parking lot, a man who hung out at Bikes and Brews, then another man said he met you there and offered you drugs.”

  “Yeah. That’s why I’m going.”

  “You know I’ll always be around to take care of you.” He shifted, didn’t meet her eyes. “But you might want to take a weapon just in case.”

  Major event. Charley had admitted he wouldn’t be able to protect her. “It’s a neighborhood bar. I don’t think that’s necessary.”

  “A killer could be sitting in that bar, drinking a beer, waiting for his next victim. Trust me, Amanda, I know more about this sort of thing than you do.”

  She couldn’t deny that. She went upstairs and retrieved the Smith & Wesson lying on her nightstand. “Let’s go.”

  With a gun in her pocket and her ex-husband’s ghost by her side, she was on her way to wring the truth from some drunks in a bar, possibly meet a killer.

  When this was all over with the murderer caught and Bert’s mistaken identification of her explained, she would tell Teresa about it. They would drink a margarita and laugh.

  That was the best-case scenario.

  She refused to consider other possible scenarios.

  Clouds darted across the pale moon creating eerie shadows as Amanda walked the short distance to Bikes and Brews. Up ahead the bar’s neon sign beamed a bright beacon—a red outline of a motorcycle with a yellow outline of a mug of beer above blue words, “Bikes and Brews.”

  “You should have brought an umbrella,” Charley said. “Looks like it might rain.”

  Amanda stopped, lifted her arms skyward and spread her hands. “Really? You’re worried about rain? I’m not worried, and I’m the only one who can get wet. The drops will pass right through you.” She looked him up and down. “You haven’t taken a shower in six months, have you?”

  “Well, no, I...I don’t have to. I don’t think I have to. I’m...”

  “A ghost?” Amanda finished for him. “Is that what you’re trying to say? A ghost who hasn’t bathed since he died?”

  “You got a mean streak, Amanda.”

  “I learned it from an expert.” She continued toward the neon sign.

  A few cars and bikes were scattered around the parking lot. Not a big crowd.

  She walked slowly past each cycle. “Any of these bikes look familiar? Something we’ve worked on in the shop?”

  “I don’t know. You work on a lot of different bikes.” Charley ran a hand over the sleek black tank of a Triumph Street Twin then settled onto the leather seat. “I miss riding.”

  Amanda didn’t want to think about going to prison and never riding a motorcycle again, never again knowing the freedom of soaring along on two wheels, feeling the bike respond to the slightest pressure.

  She was not going to feel sorry for Charley because he couldn’t ride anymore. He did not deserve her sympathy.

  “Come on. Let’s get this over with.”

  The small, squat building with peeling gray paint had a window on each side, but dark shades hid the interior from view.

  She approached the front door and yanked it open...fast, before she lost her nerve.

  The smells of stale beer and staler cigarette smoke rushed out and overwhelmed the cool, crisp autumn air.

  Charley drifted past her as if magnetically drawn into the tavern.

  Amanda followed, irrationally glad she wasn’t going into the place alone.

  She would never admit that to Charley.

  A few of the tables and booths were occupied while half a dozen people sat at the bar on the far side of the room.

  Amanda scanned the faces of the patrons as she foll
owed Charley to the bar. Nobody looked familiar, but the room was so dimly lit, she wouldn’t have recognized her own mother...either of them...if she’d walked past her.

  Charley moved to an empty stool at the bar. She took the one beside him. It was a little rickety, but she put her feet on the rail and felt relatively certain she wouldn’t fall off unless she had more than a couple of drinks. The bar itself was old, scarred and stained, but it appeared to be solid wood. Perhaps the place had seen better days, been a happening joint a few years ago. Many years ago.

  “Order us a beer,” Charley said.

  “I don’t like beer,” Amanda whispered.

  “Trust me, you don’t want to drink anything in here served in a glass,” he said.

  The bartender moved down to Amanda. He was big, bearded, and fierce-looking with tattoos on both arms. Probably acted as his own bouncer. “What can I get for you, young lady?”

  Should she take Charley’s advice and order a beer? If the wine glass wasn’t perfectly clean, the alcohol should kill the germs.

  But did she want to drink dead germs?

  The bartender leaned closer and frowned, eyebrows meeting over narrowed eyes. “Oh, Amanda. I almost didn’t recognize you. Want your usual?”

  A shaft of ice slid down Amanda’s spine.

  He knew her.

  “He knows you,” Charley said.

  Amanda licked her lips. “My...usual?”

  “Coming right up.” The bartender turned away, taking her question for confirmation.

  “You’ve been here before,” Charley accused. “The bartender even knows what you drink.”

  “No,” Amanda whispered. “I have not been here before. I know I haven’t.”

  The bartender set a can of beer in front of her.

  Even if she had been here, she was positive her usual would not be a beer.

  Amanda wrapped her hands around the cold can and twisted her lips into something she hoped resembled a smile. “You said you almost didn’t recognize me.”

  He shrugged. “You women change your makeup, you look like a different person.”

  “I’m not wearing any makeup.”

  He nodded. “That’s what it is. You usually have that red lipstick and those long eyelashes and...you know...all that stuff. But there’s no mistaking that hair even in this bad light.” His teeth flashed in the midst of his beard. He must be...smiling? “My first wife was a redhead. She was a spitfire.”

  The red hair. When people saw a wild head of red hair, they didn’t see anything else. She’d been mistaken before for someone who looked nothing like her except for the red hair. That explained it.

  Another woman with red hair.

  Another woman named Amanda.

  Dallas was a big city. There were probably dozens of Amandas with red hair in Dallas. Maybe hundreds.

  But how many of them did motorcycle repairs?

  How many of them owned a motorcycle repair shop down the street from this bar?

  Had she walked in her sleep and come in this place? Drunk beer? Struck a deal with Bert? Killed Lenny?

  “Hey, how you handling what happened to Lenny?” the bartender asked.

  Amanda forced herself to nod. She tightened her fingers around the can, grasping for the reality of the cold metal. “Okay.” Her voice came out like a squeaky mouse. She lifted the can to her lips and took a sip.

  Nope, not even while sleep-walking would she choose this beverage for her usual.

  “Yes,” she said. “I’m...handling it. Lenny was so...”

  The bartender smiled sympathetically. “Yeah, he was. First one’s on the house tonight. A toast to Lenny.” He turned and moved down the bar toward another customer.

  Amanda had lots more questions.

  She wanted to call him back. But she didn’t know his name.

  He knew her name. She should know his.

  She could not find that information anywhere in the deepest recesses of her brain.

  “This is really weird,” Charley said. “You can tell me the truth, Amanda. I’m your husband. We can tell each other anything. Have you been coming down here while you stuck me with Teresa? Bad enough you’re cheating on me with that damned detective. Were you cheating on both of us with that Lenny guy?”

  Amanda ducked her head. “Shut up,” she hissed through clenched teeth. Not a good idea to be seen talking to an empty barstool.

  Suddenly that barstool wasn’t empty. Another bearded man, this one wearing biking leathers, sat in Charley’s lap.

  Charley shot up through the man and glared at him indignantly.

  The man shivered then turned his attention to Amanda. “I thought that was you.”

  “Yes, it’s me.” Maybe.

  “Bad deal what happened to Lenny. You doing okay?”

  “Yes?” She was definitely not doing okay. “Lenny was...” What could she say to get more information but not sound like an idiot?

  “Yeah,” the man volunteered. “Lenny was a lot of things, not all of them good. But he didn’t deserve to die like that.”

  The bartender appeared in front of the man. “Hey, Hitch. The usual?”

  At least she had a name for the man sitting beside her. Too bad people didn’t wear nametags in bars.

  Hitch nodded. “Thanks.”

  The bartender with no name retrieved another beer and set it in front of Hitch.

  Hitch lifted his can toward Amanda. “Here’s to Lenny.”

  Amanda touched his can with hers. “To Lenny.” The man who couldn’t be bothered to pay the bill for having his bike repaired but evidently had money for beer. She lifted her can to her lips then set it down without drinking from it.

  “You sure you’re okay?” Hitch asked. “You sound different. Kind of hoarse. You been crying?”

  Amanda cleared her throat. Her body double must have a higher pitched voice than hers. “Allergies.” She waved a hand over her face. “That’s why I’m not wearing any makeup tonight. Like I usually do.” Would he be able to provide further information about her appearance in the bar and her makeup? “I look okay?”

  Hitch’s gaze scanned her from the top of her head to the bottom of her black leather jacket. “Yeah, sure. You look okay. Different. Kind of zipped up tight.” He spread his hands outward from his chest and smirked. “Guess all them unbuttoned shirts really was for Lenny’s benefit. He told us it was.”

  Amanda closed her eyes in a futile attempt to shut out that image.

  No. She would never be that intimate with Lenny. Not possible.

  Besides, unzipping her jacket and wearing her shirt unbuttoned wouldn’t reveal anything that would bring that kind of a smirk to Hitch’s face.

  She had never been in this place.

  “Guess you were the last one to see him,” Hitch said. “Alive, I mean.”

  Amanda’s eyes and mouth opened wide. “I...what?”

  “You and Lenny. I saw you leaving together when the bar shut down Sunday night.”

  She blinked then replayed the words in her head, certain she hadn’t heard them right.

  “You left the bar with Lenny?” Charley asked.

  “No!” Amanda protested. “I didn’t! That wasn’t me!”

  Hitch chuckled. “Yeah, sure, it was another red-headed woman named Amanda.”

  “It must have been!”

  “Don’t worry,” Hitch said. “I didn’t tell the cops anything.”

  “What do you mean, anything? I didn’t kill Lenny!”

  “Of course you didn’t.” Hitch smiled in a smarmy way that said he thought she was lying. “Sweet little thing like you, I bet you don’t even know how to shoot a gun.”

  The formerly-reassuring weight of her .38 in her pocket felt heavy.

  She had not been to this bar before.

  She had not left with Lenny.

  Were these people lying?

  Was she suffering from episodes of amnesia?

  Dissociative identity disorder? Did she have an alter ego
with cleavage who came to this bar and drank beer? Someone who made deals for drugs and left the bar with men? With Lenny?

  “Amanda?”

  Her stomach clenched. She recognized that voice.

  Jake.

  Chapter Eight

  Amanda turned around slowly.

  “You said you never come here,” Jake accused.

  Most of the time she was pleased to see him. This was not one of those times. Three men from this bar recognized her. She didn’t recognize them. One had offered her drugs. One had served her a beer. One had seen her leave the bar with the murdered man. She needed time to think about this, to figure out what was going on.

  “Jake,” she said. “Hi. What are you doing here?” Her voice was bright...phony.

  “Busted.” Charley laughed at her discomfort.

  “I went by your place to see you.” Jake took a seat on the barstool next to her, the one formerly occupied by Hitch who was suddenly nowhere to be seen. Cops had that effect on some people...people like Hitch.

  “And when I wasn’t at home, you came here?” She tried to sound angry rather than guilty. “Why would you come here?”

  “Actually, I followed you. When I drove up, you were standing on the sidewalk, talking to the sky and waving your arms around. I stopped and called your name, but you were completely immersed in your conversation with the elements.”

  Damn! He’d seen her talking to Charley. One more ridiculous occurrence she needed to explain. “It looked like rain. I don’t have an umbrella. I was talking to Mother Nature.”

  “You’re on the defensive,” Charley said. “Never do that. Take the offensive. You’ve been in here fifteen minutes. Ask him what took him so long to approach you. Has he been standing in the shadows, spying on you?”

  “I’ve been here fifteen minutes. What were you doing all that time? Standing in the shadows, spying on me?” Amanda cringed as she heard Charley’s words coming from her mouth.

  But he had a point.

  “No!” Jake protested.

  Charley peered into Jake’s eyes from three inches away. “He’s lying. He looks guilty.”

  He kind of did.

  Lying to each other was not a great relationship element.