The potato stew was tasty, served in big porcelain bowls flecked with caraway seeds. I was using my last piece of buttered rye bread to sop up the remaining traces of gravy when I saw Reba glance over my left shoulder toward the front of the restaurant, her eyes widening. "Oh my goodness! Look who's here."

I leaned left, peering around the edge of the booth so I could follow her gaze. The front door had opened and a guy had come in. "You know him?"

"That's Beck," she said as though that explained everything. She pushed herself out of the booth. "I'll be right back."

Chapter 7

Chapter 7

I waited a decent interval and then peered at the two of them standing near the door. The guy was tall, lean, and rangy in jeans and a supple black suede jacket. He had his hands in his jacket pockets and his collar turned up, which didn't look as thuglike as it sounds. His hair was a tawny mix of blond and brown, and his half-smile created a deep crease on either side of his mouth. Beside him, Reba was diminutive, a full head shorter than he, which forced him to lean toward her attentively as the two of them talked. I went back to cleaning my bowl – food, in this instance, taking precedence over idle speculation.

A moment later they appeared and Reba gestured at him. "Alan Beckwith. I used to work for him. This is Kinsey Millhone."

He held his hand out, his wrist thin, his fingers long and slim. "Nice to meet you. I'm Beck to most."

I put him in his thirties – fine lines on his face, but no pouches anywhere. "Nice meeting you, too," I said, shaking hands with him. "Are you joining us?"

"If you don't mind. I don't want to butt in."

"We're just chatting," I said. "Have a seat."

On their side of the booth, Reba slid in first, scooting over to make room for him. He sat down, half-slouching, his long legs outstretched. He was clean shaven, but I could see the shadow of a beard. His eyes were the dark, rich brown of Hershey's Kisses. I picked up the scent of cologne, something spicy and light. I'd seen him before... not here, but somewhere in town, though I couldn't imagine why our paths would have crossed.

He tapped on the back of Reba's hand. "So. How've you been?"

"Fine. It feels great to be home."

I tuned them out, watching as the two exchanged pleasantries. For people who'd once worked together, both seemed ill at ease, but that might have been because he'd turned her over to the cops, a move that would put a damper on most relationships.

"You look good," he said.

"Thanks. I could use a decent haircut. I did this myself. What about you? What have you been up to?"