But the three of them had a history . . . and the job they’d gotten him with the painting company after he came back from California was an easy gig that gave him time to do other things.

More important things.

And it didn’t hurt to hang out with these two on Friday nights once in a while. It was what most guys their age did. Even if he had to put up with the asinine high school nicknames they refused to leave in the past.

“Who’d have guessed Eve Reilly would end up looking like that.” Suds swigged his beer and shook his head. “All I remember from high school is her frizzy hair.”

“Nah—you’re thinking of her sister Grace.” Crip kept chowing down on the popcorn. “She was a year behind us. Eve was a year ahead of us. Isn’t that right, Buzz?”

“Yeah. I think.”

To tell the truth, he didn’t remember either sister all that well from high school. Best as he could recall, they were both A students who took all the advanced courses. They’d never shared a classroom with him—or any of his group. He’d seen them in the cafeteria or study hall once a week, max.

But he knew all about Eve now.

“So what do you think about that?” Crip waved salt-encrusted fingers toward the screen, where a photo of her was displayed in the bottom corner while the reporter talked to a cop in the center. “Why would someone pull a stunt like that over a stupid radio show?”

Because it wasn’t stupid.

It was dangerous.

“Yeah. I mean, if they catch that guy, he could go to prison.” Suds waved at the bartender and held up his empty mug. “He took a big chance.”

“Maybe he thought it was worth it.” Buzz sipped his beer, nursing the drink. No way did he want to risk getting a DUI. That could ruin a person’s life.

“I don’t see how pulling a prank like that would be worth it. What did it accomplish?” Crip scraped the last of the popcorn from the bowl.

“He may have left a message.” Buzz watched the screen as the camera zoomed in on Eve, sitting on a bench behind the yellow tape, talking to a tall guy in a jacket.

“What kind of message?” Crip stared at him.

“I don’t know. Could be someone doesn’t agree with her politics.”

Suds snorted. “I don’t agree with a lot of people’s politics. That doesn’t mean I go around putting bombs on their porch.”

“Fake bombs,” Crip said.

“Whatever.” Suds waved a hand. “It’s still dumb. People are entitled to their opinions. This is a free country with free speech. If someone doesn’t like what she says, they can get their own radio show.”