Holly hesitated, letting him open the door. Once inside, Nathan gave the place a quick scan. So did Holly. She scanned from left to right, while Nathan went right to left. Their surveillance met in the middle, and they smiled, knowing they had both been doing the same thing. A linear bar stood to their left with cocktail tables on the right. A small elevated stage on the far wall hosted the two musicians. Because the room was small and intimate enough for natural sound, the musicians weren’t using a PA system. To Nathan’s surprise, they had the place to themselves. The bartender nodded and they grabbed the first table on the right. Nathan pulled Holly’s chair for her, and she thanked him.

“You don’t mind being this close to the door with your back facing it?” she asked.

“I prefer it.”

She looked puzzled.

“If trouble comes in, I’m already behind it. Besides, you’ve got a small throwaway under your jeans in an ankle holster. Right side.”

She rolled her eyes. “It’s not a throwaway. It’s a Glock thirty-nine.”

“Correction, it’s a small cannon. I’ll bet it fits your hand well. Forty-five GAP, single, double action. Six shots?”

“Seven, including one in the pipe. You know your guns.”

“A hobby. I noticed the bulge.”

“Is that all?”

“I… tell you what. If a bad guy comes in, I’ll duck. You shoot.”

“It’s a deal. You haven’t asked about the Bridgestones’ cousins.”

“From the way you looked in the lobby, I didn’t want to press.”

“I guess I’ve finally reached that burnout you talked about. I was standing in my kitchen and started to cry for no reason.”

“No reason? This isn’t something small. On the drive up to the cabin, I was talking about a dropped dish or a burned steak.” He wished he hadn’t said burned steak. “Sorry, bad choice of words.”

“How could they do that, burn him alive like that?”

“I don’t know, Holly. I honestly don’t.”

The bartender approached them, a short, balding man with a bushy mustache, bow tie, and friendly smile. He placed a bowl of miniature pretzels on the table. “Can I get you folks something to drink?”

“What type of wine do you have by the glass tonight?” Holly asked.

“Tobin James cabernet sauvignon, vintage 2003.”

“Is that a local winery?”

He issued a more-or-less gesture with his hand. “Paso Robles.”

“That’s perfect, thank you.”

“You, sir?”

“O’Doul’s, please.”

“You don’t drink alcohol?” she asked.

“I’ve been recovering for a long time.”

“Good for you. Are you okay with me having some wine?”

“Not a problem.”