“Well, I did give her hell,” he admitted, not appearing the least bit sorry. “It really pissed her off that I could cut class all week and still manage to pass her tests in Senior English.” Another swallow. “Come to think of it, I was a shit.”

“We all were, but,” she admitted, the wine making her bold, “my mother did warn us, me and my sister, about you Bridges boys. She claimed you were trouble.”

“She was right. Probably best to avoid.” There was something heavy in his words and he looked away.

“You knew Arianna, right? She said she’d hung out with you a couple of times.”

A slight hesitation. “I’d met her. In a group. With my brother.”

“Mom would have grounded her for life if she’d found out.”

“We were that bad?”

“All boys were bad. You two?” She held up a hand and tilted it up and down. Maybe yes, maybe no. “Probably the worst of the lot.”

He laughed a bit, but it sounded hollow and the humor didn’t find his eyes.

“And it obviously didn’t work if Arianna met you way back when and I’m here now.” As soon as the words were out, she regretted them. What was she, a teen on a first date? Here she was, letting the worries and stress of the last couple of days melt away because an old high-school crush had invited her for a drink, probably to get information from her for a story he smelled. All this while Selma’s daughters were missing, their fate unknown, perhaps even now in the clutches of a deranged killer. Or worse, already dead.

The warm ambiance drained away.

“Again, don’t tell them about me,” he advised.

“No worries. Mom and Dad are gone,” she said. “She got cancer and he . . . even though he wasn’t all that old, just kind of wasted away and had a stroke.” She frowned at her glass. “I can’t help thinking the stress, you know, of losing a child, cost them years.”

He looked away for a moment, as if considering something, then said, “You know, since we’re talking about high school and all, I remember you.”

That surprised her. “I look a lot like Arianna. I mean, I looked like her back then.”

He shook his head. “Not identical.”

“No, but close.”

“I could tell the difference.”

“Could you?”

“Mmm.” Nodding, he added, “I always figured you’d marry a rich man and sip mint juleps on the back porch of a huge mansion that overlooked a pool or a lake or whatever.” Another swig. “Something like that.”

“But you didn’t even know me.”