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Almost all of the goat relocaters looked our direction
at once, their patched-on names disappearing as they faced us. Their faces were decidedly not friendly and welcoming, but suspicious and maybe a little mean.

“Hang close by me, Clare. We'll be okay, but I'm not afraid to shoot if I have to.”

“You got it.”

O
ur initial hesitation—well,
my
initial hesitation; Jodie was secure with her solid, confident footsteps and loaded gun in her back waistband—proved to be a hasty and poor first evaluation.

The group was called Angels for Animals. They were all motorcycle riders in the strictest stereotypical sense of the word. Most of them were at least a little rough around the edges, many had tattoos, and some had cigarettes hanging from their lips. None of the cigarettes were lit, and though I wasn't sure why, I didn't think I needed to ask. As we moved toward them, Jodie briefly told me that many of them had arrest records, although the policy to join the group noted that no violent criminals were allowed to be a part of AFA.

The first person to approach us was a big guy with an eagle tattoo covering his entire right forearm. His long
gray hair and beard must have prematurely taken on that color, because the rest of him looked to be in the buff thirtysomething range.

“Help you?” he said. He wasn't unfriendly, but he didn't smile right away.

“Yeah, we're looking for someone who might know someone else,” Jodie said.

“I see,” the man said with raised gray eyebrows and a knowing half smile. He twisted his top half a little and pointed to the name on the back of his denim vest and then faced forward as he held out his hand. “I'm Mutt.”

“I'm Jodie, and this is Clare.”

He shook our hands and looked us both in the eyes so hard I thought I should feel a burn.

“Walk with me. We'll see what we can figure out before we get others involved. I'll be watching the fringe area though. You two reek of cop. Well, you do.” He nodded at Jodie. “If anyone here has done something wrong that they haven't paid the price for yet, they might try to run. Keep your eyes open and check your six every now and then.”

“I thought this wasn't a violent group,” Jodie said.

“That's what's in our mission statement, but we have enough members who've had enough run-ins with the law that we think it's prudent to be careful,” Mutt said.

Jodie nodded but didn't seem concerned. She did have her gun after all. I'd definitely stick close by her just in case.

We stepped away from the bulk of the group, most of which went back to their duties. From our lower valley bowl vantage point I could see that some goats were in what looked like a temporary pen of sorts. The dozen or so
animals seemed content, not panicked because of the walls around them. Next to the pen were some large containers, and I watched as a goat was loaded into one container and then slowly lifted up and onto the flatbed truck. My animal-loving side wondered and worried about the whole operation, but Jodie had assured me that the goats weren't being harmed and that they would end up happier with fewer predators where they were going. I wondered if she was just appeasing me.

“What's up?” Mutt asked.

“There's been a murder in town, over in Star City,” Jodie said.

“That's never a good thing,” Mutt said, though he didn't sound defensive.

“No, never. Some strange circumstances have brought me out here to ask your group about the victim. He was dressed all in leather. Frankly, he looked like lots of people here look. I'm wondering if anyone might know him.” Jodie pulled a picture out of her back pocket and showed it to Mutt. The picture was of leather man in my back walkway.

Mutt took the picture and inspected it closely. A moment later he shook his head. “I don't think I know him. He's dressed like we dress. And though most people here have their name on their back, not all of them do. He could have blended in, but. . . well, I hate to stereotype my own group, but he actually looks a little more clean-cut than the rest of us. Look at that haircut. It looks styled and coifed.” Mutt smiled then, right at Jodie.

She smiled back. Oddly, and probably inappropriately, the whole thing made me smile too.

“We're all a bit scruffy. We like it that way,” Mutt added. He stopped smiling so brightly, but I'd witnessed his and Jodie's momentary eye lock. Mutt was a big guy, tall with muscled shoulders that had tattooed arms attached to them. He was not Jodie's type, but Jodie's return smile made me wonder if that could possibly change. That's the thing with a long friendship; lifetimes can be read in one simple smile.

“What do you do for a living, Mutt?” I asked unabashedly.

“Oh, I'm a computer programmer down in Salt Lake City. I do contract work, always moving from one company to the next.”

“Computer programming? That's a pretty good living, huh?” I said.

Both Mutt and Jodie looked at me.

“Yes, ma'am,” Mutt said. “And I make enough money to be able to take some time off and do good works.” He winked at me.

Jodie rolled her eyes my direction. “Anyway,” she said. “I think I'd like to walk around and talk to some others too, if you don't mind.”

Jodie didn't care if he minded or not, but I understood she was easing her way into the group and she knew Mutt could grease the wheels.

“Don't mind a bit. If anyone is uncooperative, just give me the high sign. I'll straighten them out right away.”

“Thanks.”

“One more question before you leave, Mutt,” I said. “I'm just curious. Are you married? In a serious relationship?”

“Clare, you are an embarrassment to our gender,” Jodie said.

“I am not married, nor am I in a serious relationship. I have a four-year-old daughter and I get along with her mother very well, but we just couldn't stay married to each other. Just in case you need to know.” Mutt smiled again and then walked back toward the group.

“Clare. Really?” Jodie said.

“There was a spark between you two. We're way beyond being coy if there's a spark,” I said, thinking about Seth and how I wished I'd asked him more questions about himself or at least had Jodie there to embarrass me like I'd embarrassed her.

“A spark does not always a flame make.”

I laughed. “That's poetic of you, but still, there was a spark. I think you should ask him out.”

“Come on. Let's go
ask
some questions to other people. Stick by me. We're in because Mutt approves of us, but we still need to be on our toes. If there is a murderer in our midst, they will try to avoid us or run. We don't want to put anyone, ourselves included, in a position to be harmed.”

We met Ingrid first. She wasn't as friendly as Mutt, but then she didn't seem to be attracted to either Jodie or myself, so she probably saw no need for an extra dose of polite. She had long brown hair and green eyes. She didn't recognize the victim.

After many more conversations with many more bikers, no one said that the murder victim looked familiar in any way.

“That doesn't mean they're telling the truth, or that they
aren't in denial,” Jodie said in a side conversation to me. “People don't want to recognize murder victims because they fear that someone may suspect they had something to do with the crime, even if they're completely innocent. What I've been looking for is a quick reaction. If someone was close to the victim, it would be difficult to hide their emotions. I haven't seen any of that, so I think that if anyone we've talked to did know him, they only knew him as one of the group, not as someone they were close to.”

We spent a lot of time talking to bikers and watching the goats being loaded up for transport. Everyone was very gentle and patient with the animals. I ended up taking a couple of cards from different members of the group. I had no idea why I'd need an Angels for Animals group in the future, but one never knew.

I found a pen in my pocket and started writing down names from the patches I saw on the backs of the cards. Jodie hadn't ordered anyone to talk to us and she had done nothing to make sure we spoke to every single person there, but I wasn't good at remembering names. It was almost a reflex for me to want to write them down.

As we were leaving three hours later, Mutt hurried to catch up to us. I stepped away from his and Jodie's conversation and slid into the Bronco. They weren't discussing the murder; the smiles on their faces made that clear.

“He asked you out, didn't he?” I said when she got into the truck.

“None of your business.”

“He did. He's sweet.”

“I'll let you know.” She smiled at me.

“Yay,” I said. I could tell she didn't want to talk about it any further, and though that might not always stop me, I changed the subject. “Mirabelle bought her typewriter back in the day. Where might she have purchased it from?”

Jodie thought a long moment as she steered the Bronco toward the switchback road and then said, “O'Malley's.”

“No, they own the bar on Main Street.”

“The family has been in Star City for a long time. They've owned lots of businesses. They used to own a popular appliance store in town. This was before both our times, but I've heard a little of the history. The bar's only been around since the nineteen seventies.”

“O'Malley's, huh? I don't remember knowing about their previous business ventures. Haven't a couple of the O'Malley boys been in prison?”

“Auto theft and check fraud.” Jodie knew her arrest records.

There was no way to connect the modern day O'Malley criminals to their ancestors who might have sold Mirabelle her typewriter, but I was still curious about the history.

“You want to go to dinner with me at O'Malley's tonight?” I said.

“I would love to, but I'm on duty in a couple hours. Night shift tonight. Real duty. None of this plainclothes undercover stuff,” she said.

“Yeah, we're kind of badass, aren't we?” I said.

“I am. You, not so much.”

“Hey.”

“Okay, okay, you can be badass too if you want.”

“Oh, I want. I definitely want.”

T
he trip back to town took about fifteen minutes. We made some more small talk and got caught up on each other's family member's heath statuses on the way. When we pulled up in front of The Rescued Word, Seth, the geologist, was peering in the front windows. He'd changed clothes and brushed his still-too-unruly hair. He wore a nice but casual collared short-sleeved shirt, jeans, and funky green tennis shoes.

“Who's that?” Jodie said.

“A customer. I refurbished
Tom Sawyer
for him.”

“He's adorable,” Jodie said with eyebrows raised my direction. “Shall I come with you and ask if he's married and if he has a good job?”

“He's a new geologist in town and I don't think he's married.”

“Ah, I see. Do you suppose he's looking for you or Chester?” Jodie honked the horn, causing Seth to jump and turn toward us.

Jodie smiled and waved. Seth waved hesitantly, until Jodie pointed at me in the passenger seat. Then Seth smiled and waved back confidently.

“It's a wonder anyone has ever wanted to date either of us,” I said without moving my lips from a smile.

“That's true. You might want to go see if he has another book hidden in his pocket or something. I'll talk to you later.”

“Thanks for letting me play cop today.”

“Don't tell Creighton about any of this,” she said seriously as she sent another glance to Seth.

I hopped out of the truck and Jodie pulled away from the curb, revving the engine much more than I thought was necessary.

“Hi,” I said as I walked toward Seth. “Everything okay with the book?”

“Great. It looks really fabulous,” Seth said. He looked around uncomfortably. I had the sense that he felt exposed out in the open.

“Oh, good. Glad to hear it. You want to come in? We closed for the day, but my grandfather owns the place. He trusts me with my own set of keys.”

Seth smiled. “Well, I was just coming by to see if you wanted to go to dinner. Tonight would be great, but if that's short notice, maybe some other night.” He looked relieved to get the words out.

“Thanks for the invitation,” I said. The day had gotten
away from me and I wasn't exactly sure what time it was. I didn't want to look at my phone but a quick glance at the shadows along Bygone made me think it must be almost six. What had I said to Jodie—there was no longer any need to be coy? I knew that the best thing was to play at least a little hard to get, but I just didn't want to. “Sounds great. I accept.”

“Oh, good. Any chance you'd like to recommend a place? I haven't been in town long enough to know what's good and what isn't. Pick something expensive. I'd like to impress you.”

I laughed. “You like garlic burgers?”

“I do, especially if both my date and I eat them.”

“There's a place just around the corner. It's a bar/restaurant called O'Malley's. They have the best garlic burgers.”

“Perfect, although it doesn't sound expensive, which means we will probably have to go on two dates. This one and an expensive one very soon.”

I liked his smile and his style. It was obvious that he was a little nervous, but he was trying to combat that with humor. He certainly wasn't shy.

“Okay,” I said. It had been a long time since someone of the opposite sex had been nervous around me. He was much more put together than he had been earlier, though I didn't think he'd been wearing glasses when he came in to pick up the book. He wore them now. They were black framed like mine, but the frames were even thicker and maybe a little nerdier. They looked great on him though and made him look both smart and extra interested in what I was saying.

“I'm ready any time you are, but I understand if you need a minute or two. I'll wait out here.”

“Let me run inside for just a second. My grandfather lives upstairs; I can use his sink to wash my hands. I've been hanging out with a bunch of goats.”

Seth blinked and his eyebrows rose.

“And, I mean that literally. I'll tell you all about it. If you want to head on over to O'Malley's and get us a table, I can just meet you there.”

“Oh, my mother would not approve. I'm afraid I'll have to wait close by and escort you. Since we're walking, I'm sure I'll get a call this evening about not opening car doors for you—she can sense that kind of stuff.”

“Even when we don't need a car to get there?”

“She's good.”

“Come on in. You can wait inside.”

I unlocked the front door and pushed it open. Normally, Baskerville would be up in the apartment with Chester if he were home. At the moment, the cat was high on the east shelves again taking in the rays coming from the sun setting through the western windows. I assumed that meant Chester wasn't home. Once again, I wondered where he was.

The cat looked down and acted as if he was just going to grace us with a nod of acknowledgment before going back to the blissful sun soak. But he noticed Seth and must have realized that this was a human he hadn't had the chance to judge yet. Perhaps Baskerville was savvy enough to understand that I was going on a date with the man in the bright shoes and glasses, and the cat wanted to inspect him and offer him a chance at approval.

Baskerville jumped down, from the top shelf to a middle shelf. He sauntered down the top of that shelf, keeping his eyes on Seth, and then stopped when he came to the end. He sat and looked at Seth disapprovingly before sniffing once quickly in my direction.

“That's our cat, Baskerville.”

“He's a beauty,” Seth said. “I get the sense that he'd rather I didn't pet him. What do you think?”

I shrugged. “Give it a try.”

Seth laughed. “I'm game.”

He stepped toward the shelves. Baskerville watched him and leaned away only a small bit as Seth's hand came forward and landed on the back of the cat's head. For a minute, I thought Baskerville might screech and run away or bite Seth—he's more prone to harmless, playful bites than real ones, but he was unpredictable enough for a moment of worry. Surprisingly, he sat still and then leaned into the sure hand.

“That's impressive,” I said.

Seth smiled at me and then looked at the cat. “Good work. I'll pay you later.”

Baskerville might have liked the head massage, but evidently he wasn't in the mood for conversation. He sniffed again, turned, and jumped back up to the top shelf.

“I'll be out in a sec,” I said to Seth as I took off toward the back of the building.

The workshop was quiet and dimly lit, with only the light coming in from the high windows. Everything seemed to be in place. The back door was securely closed and locked—I checked it yet again. I climbed the old staircase
that at one time led to the mining company's managers' offices. Chester had told me that all the people who did the hard work had desks on the first floor, but the managers had offices upstairs where they mostly hid from anxious prospectors who thought they'd make a fortune in Star City. Some had, but most hadn't, and those who hadn't were sometimes so unhappy with the outcome of their mining adventures that they came into the offices angry and with a good shot or two of booze boosting their courage. Lots of people resented the success that was had by the Star City Silver Mining Company, and lots of mining failures thought the Star City company owed something to those who hadn't succeeded. After all, the prospectors had worked hard; maybe the mining company should share the wealth. The managers let the office workers, most of them women, deal with the issues. Men were less likely to pick fights with women, though it had happened a time or two.

The stairs were made of old, worn oak, and the railing and banister were wrought iron. No one ever cleaned the thin crevices in the designs, so the banister was always a little dusty. I noticed it today more than normal and thought I might have come up with a job for Marion.

Once I reached the top of the stairs, I knocked and announced myself. “Chester!”

His apartment was one big room, except for the walled-in bathroom. The inside walls had been torn down when Chester moved in. A support beam had been added along the ceiling to keep it from collapsing, but Chester had insisted on keeping the old gold-specked (not real gold) linoleum floor and the roll-out windows that had
been part of the original building. He'd also kept the tiled walls, which were different from anything I'd ever seen. The tiles were mostly white marble, except for a row of diamond shaped ones that ran around the middle of the entire space and were flecked with the various types of precious metals and minerals found in the mines around Utah. There was some silver, of course, and, among other things, gold (real gold flecks) and zinc.

A kitchen of sorts lined one wall—a small oven, small fridge, small microwave, and a round table with only two chairs. A living room area was in the middle—a comfortable couch and a reading chair with a lamp over the back and stacks of books about to tumble over on each side. Chester always had lots of stacks of books about to tumble. A bedroom took up the other end. The bed had been made hastily and without much concern whether someone would see that the old quilt wasn't straight. The furniture wasn't worn so much as just kind of old. It was definitely from a different time, but comfortable-looking and suited to someone who didn't much care whether or not his bed was well made.

“Chester!” I said as I approached the bathroom.

He wasn't in there either.

I hurried in and washed my hands and scared myself when I looked in the mirror. My hair needed a brush, and my face needed a full shower and makeover. There wasn't time for much more than using Chester's brush to do a little something with my unruly curls.

There was one good thing about accepting a last-minute invitation for a date: There wasn't time to worry about what
you were going to wear or look like. You just had to go with whatever was already in place.

I made my way back downstairs, slowing my rushed pace at the middle door. Seth was still trying to work his magic on Baskerville.

He stood next to the shelves with his hands in his pockets as he looked up at the cat on the top shelf. He was saying something that I couldn't hear. Baskerville had the tips of his paws over the edge of the shelf and his chin rested on the paws. The cat looked amused or bored or perhaps curious; it was hard to tell.

“Hi,” Seth said when he saw me approach. “I'm trying.”

I looked up. “He hasn't turned his back to you or hissed yet, has he?”

“No.”

“Then there's a chance.”

We stood there a minute, just smiling at each other. Finally, Baskerville had enough and he meowed disapprovingly.

“Shall we?” Seth said.

“Sounds good.”

I locked the door and we set out for the short trip to O'Malley's. On our way, we passed something that was rare to Bygone Alley—a new business was moving in. The spot next to The Rescued Word had for years been home to a beekeeper and his honey company. He'd sold all kinds of beekeeping equipment and freshly harvested honey. The owner of the store, Earnest Battleboro, had passed away a few months earlier, and new businesses had been vying to
stake a claim on the place since the moment the landlord announced it was available.

Ultimately, a chocolate store would be taking the space, but not just any chocolate store, one that did things the old-fashioned way, apparently. I didn't know what that meant yet, but I looked forward to trying out their products as soon as they were open. So did Chester.

We also passed a fiber store, full of everything that had anything to do with knitting or crocheting or whatever one did with yarn or the fibers it came from. I'd never been interested in such things, but I sure liked the owner, Kristina Leamens.

“You've been here all your life, then?” Seth said as I gave him a brief rundown on the stores and history of Bygone Alley.

“I have, and I've worked with Chester almost forever too. I enjoy what I do. I feel like I've never really had to work, ever.”

“I get that. I've never worked for family or for myself, but I love what I do. It makes all the difference, I'm sure,” Seth said.

“I know a geologist is all about rocks, but what does that mean exactly?” I said.

“Lots of things, but you're right, we're all about that stuff. We're a strange group, more prone to caves than the outside world.” He stopped and looked up at the small hand-painted sign above the door that said “O'Malley's.” “Looks like we're here. I'll tell you more during dinner.” Seth pulled the door open.

We were greeted by the noise of a boisterous crowd. I'd had an O'Malley's garlic burger a time or two, but it had been a while. I'd forgotten what a rowdy place the bar was. The three well-placed televisions were always on sports channels, and cheering and booing were encouraged.

As the joviality wafted through the door with the scents of beer and garlic, I wondered if we should go someplace else, but Seth was sending an interested glance inside. And I really wanted to talk to Oren O'Malley. I led us forward.