Two to Worry About

Chapter 4

The place was called Abner"s Distillery. It was a specialty bar, featuring just about every known brand of beer from around the world. Along with a large selection of wines rarely found anywhere else in the city. It was unique, to say the least. A bar not much wider than a single-width mobile home and almost seventy feet deep. Shoved in between an expensive boutique store on one side and a shoe store on the other in the city"s newest mall.

Abner"s Distillery.Down the entire length of one wall were small tables that would seat no more than three people per table. On the other side was a large mahogany and brass bar lined with tall barstools. The decor of the place was neon lights and brass. Polished brass everywhere. Behind the bar was the longest one-piece mirror Turner had ever seen. Lining the countertops in front of the mirror were all the brands of booze the bar sold.

It was new. It was clean. It was expensive. The clientele who frequented the establishment were high-end professionals. Doctors, lawyers, business executives. The young and the rich. When Turner stepped through the mahogany and brass double doors he noticed the place had a large crowd tonight. Mostly young. Mostly business execs. Mostly clustered together in tight little groups pushed up against the wall and having a good time.

Spying a table at the far end of the narrow establishment, he glanced at the smiling young girl behind the bar, held up two fingers and mouthed silently Warsteiners and pointed to the empty table in the back. She smiled pleasantly, nodded, and bent down to open up one of the coolers. Pulling a chair out, he sat down just as his cell phone started buzzing inside his sport coat. Setting back in the chair he pulled the phone out and glanced to see who was calling. And smiled.

WarsteinersDebra Patterson. The blonde, spectacled, blue-eyed newspaper reporter, maybe one of the best reporters in the state, and sometimes girlfriend. Maybe fifteen years younger than him. A tomboy who was, when she decided to play the feminine role, a stunningly beautiful woman to drape across an arm to go dancing with at some expensive city function or museum opening. Otherwise, Debra covered the city"s crime scene with her gritty writing and excellent instincts. In fact, that"s how the two met. Frank and him working a particularly difficult homicide case and Debra inserting herself into the investigation at the most inopportune time.

They were on again/off again lovers. There was no question the two were attracted to the other. Their age difference didn"t bother either of them. But their respective occupations did. Turner knew how hard it was to be a police officer and keeping a marriage alive and meaningful, as well as healthy, between the two. He tried it once before, a long time ago. It didn"t work. That experience left scars behind. Scars which bothered him even today, so many years later.

For Debra, the idea of becoming a wife, and possibly giving up her reporting career, terrified her. Being a professional woman who was completely independent was what she cherished the most.

Or that"s what she told him one night. But, knowing the human heart, and being an old cop who dealt with vagaries of humanity on a daily basis, Turner suspected there was more to Debra"s reluctance to commit. The human heart was a mystery few people understood. Secrets multiplied and fumed in deep and dark corners and were rarely exposed to the light of inquiry. Everybody nursed secrets far removed from prying eyes. It was natural. The most human of human experiences. Nobody truly opened up to anyone completely. Not husbands to wives. Not parishioners to priests. Not mothers to daughters. Everyone kept a secret or two locked away in their hearts for one reason or another.

Everyone.