Towards the end of my shift I text Ellis to confirm plans for meeting up to talk to Henry, the bartender-now-owner of The Indigo Lounge. I’d spoken to him only one other time today to apologize for not being able to get out of the attic. And I thought I was the scaredy-cat, he’d said.

I expected, but am still displeased with, his hesitation.

Ellis: Idk, Mona. Peyton said we shouldn’t be doing this.

Me: Peyton doesn’t know as much as you think she does.

Ellis: I guess.

Me: Ellis, think about it. If she knew everything that we do, she’d understand.

Ellis: Then can’t we just tell her? What we found already?

We could. Selfishly of me, I don’t want to; she’s earned none of it.

Me: I don’t think that’s a good idea.

Ellis: Don’t you trust her?

Me: It’s not that.

Ellis: Mona, I’m sorry I just don’t think so. Everything is weird and on edge.

Ellis: You dont need me anyways! I don’t do much besides sit there and I get too nervous to talk!

Me: Ellis, that’s not true, you’re vital.

Ellis: I’m sorry I can’t. Just not right now.

Ellis: Sorry : (

I need to get him over his reservations at some point – but for now, I’ll do this one alone.

Once my shift lets out, I cycle five minutes down the road, past the butterfly house and a brewery, to Indigo. It’s dark when I enter, barely any natural light, and the light that does come in is through porthole windows. There’s all manner of sea paraphernalia hugging the wooden panelled walls – anchors, skulls and cross bones, black and white photos of ostensibly sea-faring men gathered around ships. There’s an assaulting stink of stale beer, grease, sugar gone bad. My tennis shoes keep sticking to the floor. Given it’s the first real weekend of the tourist season, it’s modestly full – the crowd is patchy but loud. There’s the dull thudding of dart against board, sizzle of taps, clatter of glass. I worry I’ve timed this poorly.

There’s a kid working the front, tall with downturned eyes and reddish, pockmarked skin, who I recognize as one of the Seasonals.

I say hello. ‘Do you know if Henry’s here?’

‘Yeah, he should be in the back – oh, aren’t you Mona?’

‘Sure.’

He grins wildly, shaking his head. ‘Holy shit. Is this part of the – investigation?’

I blink at him. ‘Might be.’

‘Aw, man,’ he says with a big cheesy grin. ‘Yeah, yeah, Henry? Yeah, I’ll get him for you.’

‘Thanks a lot.’

‘Take a seat. Oh – not at the bar, obviously.’