Jess’s profession by choice was the lead of a band called Dog Park. His profession according to his W-2s varied wildly, but his current job as a bouncer at a “gentlemen’s club” on the West Side Highway had established his longest employment streak since he tore ticket stubs at the Wichita Mall movie theater in high school. Jess had been the one to make the sudden move to New York City fifteen years before. Ellie might have spent the rest of her life in Kansas if it weren’t for her brother—or at least their mother’s certainty that his rebellious ways would catch up to him in a big, tempting city without a bunch of cops looking out for the boy they’d known since he was in diapers. Two years later, with Steve’s encouragement, Ellie made the move too, realizing that the best way to help her mother was to leave town and keep an eye on her brother.

She made a point of waving away the smoke wafting in her direction, but simultaneously allowed herself a deep breath. Damn, she still missed it. Jess ground out the butt against the bottom of his boot and dropped it in the garbage can at the curb as she pulled open the door to Plug Uglies.

Leo, the bar manager, flashed a broad smile as he wiped down the counter. “My favorite siblings.”

A customer Ellie didn’t recognize complained that the title belonged to him and his brother, Jack.

“Take a look at these two, Benny. Two freaking beautiful specimens. Sorry, but no contest.”

Jess ordered a beer Ellie had never heard of. Leo held up a bottle of Johnnie Walker Black to confirm Ellie’s order, and then poured her two fingers over two ice cubes.

In theory, a known cop hangout would be the last establishment where Jess might want to be a regular, but it was around the corner from Ellie’s precinct. And since Jess had taken over the lease on Ellie’s old apartment, it was now only a ten-minute walk from his place. And with $4 happy hour drinks, it was one of the few spots where Jess could occasionally pick up a tab. But like all of New York City, even an old Irish-style tavern had changed over time. Leo still winced whenever a customer ordered a frosé from the giant blender he referred to disdainfully as the Pink Slushee Machine.

She took a first sip of her drink.

“I expected you to down the whole thing in one gulp,” Jess said.

“Trust me, I want to.”

“You went poking around, didn’t you?” She held his gaze, confirming his suspicion. He shook his head. “Els, the case is solved. William Summer’s the serial-killing creepazoid. And our dad, as much as we didn’t want to believe it, went bonkers and called it quits. That’s it. End of story.”