I glanced at the list of wines by the glass, bypassing hard liquor in favor of something more familiar. I ordered a glass of Chardonnay and then caught sight of a man, sitting at the bar, whose gaze seemed to be fixed on me. I turned to see if he was staring at someone else, but I seemed to be it. Once the waitress went off to fetch my wine, he eased off the bar stool and headed in my direction. He was tall, with a lean, rangy body, and long arms. His face was narrow, as lined and weathered as a contour map. Broken capillaries in his cheeks made him appear flushed, and exposure to the outdoors had mottled his skin to a nutty brown. His hair, once dark, was now a salt-and-pepper mix.

When he reached the table, he held out his hand. “Jake Ottweiler, Tannie’s father. You must be her friend.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Kinsey. How are you?”

“Welcome to the Blue Moon, which most of us refer to as ‘The Moon.’ I saw you when you came in.”

“So did everyone else. You must not get a lot of walk-in trade.”

“More than you’d think. Folks from Santa Teresa drive up on a regular basis.” His eyes were a piercing blue against the sunburned darkness of his face. Tannie had told me he’d farmed the land for years, but his part-ownership in the Blue Moon had apparently introduced an element of gentility. He’d traded in his work boots and overalls for slacks and a nicely cut navy sport coat over a soft white shirt.

When the waitress reappeared and set down my glass of white wine, he murmured, “I’ll take care of that” with scarcely a glance at her. It was clear they’d dealt with each other for so long the need for conversation was reduced to a minimum.

I said, “Will you join me?”

“Briefly. At least until Tannie gets here. I’m sure you girls have lots to talk about.” He pulled out a chair and ordered a drink with the lift of one hand. When the waitress had moved off again, he leaned back in his chair and studied me. “You don’t look like my idea of a private eye.”

“These days, we come in all shapes and sizes.”

“How’s it going?”

“An investigation like this requires the patience of a saint.”

“Seems like a fool’s errand, if you want to know the truth.”

“No doubt,” I said. “Can I ask you a few questions as long as I have you here?”

“Be my guest. I don’t know that I can help, but I’ll tell you what I can.”

“How well did you know Violet?”

“Well enough, I guess. I used to see her in here two and three times a week. She was a troubled soul, but not a bad person by any means.”