He took a tumbler of whiskey and a schooner of beer over to the old man, who was now the only customer in the place other than Jessica. Then Freeman wandered over to her booth.

“Getcha anything else?” he asked.

“Another Bud Light and a couple of minutes of your time.”

The man nodded. “Let me get rid of these.” He picked up the plate, silverware, and empty beer bottle and disappeared in the kitchen out back before reappearing a couple of minutes later with two more beers. He slid into the booth facing Jessica.

“Razor told me a pretty little blonde was in here last night asking for me. That would be you?” His voice was husky, like he’d smoked too many cigarettes.

“Razor?”

“My part-timer; he was working the late shift.”

Jessica thought of the skinny bartender and tried not to laugh. “Why is he called Razor?”

Freeman shrugged. “I never thought to ask.”

“I’m going to take a wild guess here and say it has nothing to do with his sharp wit or tough-guy image.”

Freeman shrugged again. “So what’s an attractive young lady like yourself wanting with an old man like me? You a cop?” He grinned and wiggled his eyebrows. “Am I under arrest? You gonna cuff me?”

Jessica ignored the flirty comments. “No. Do I look like a cop?”

“You don’t, but you’re in here asking me questions and being all serious.”

“The only question I’ve asked is about Razor’s nickname. At least I hope it’s a nickname and not his real name.”

“His real name’s Bruce. But you ain’t here to talk about Razor, right?”

“Right.”

“So who are you here to talk about?”

“Eleanor Lavelle.”

“I thought you said you weren’t a cop.”

“I’m not. I’m a private investigator.”

He eyed her up and down and nodded slowly. “I guess that’s pretty cool. What do you wanna know?”

“Why don’t you start by telling me how you first met Eleanor?”

“The first time I laid eyes on Eleanor Lavelle was the night she walked in here and asked me for a job. She was a stunner, all right. Cute little floral minidress and Doc Martens and all that red hair. Truth be told, I didn’t really need the staff, but I gave her a job anyways. Boy, was she something else.”

“When was this?”

Freeman whistled through nicotine-stained teeth and scrunched up his face like he was thinking really hard. “Now you’re asking. Late ’80s, maybe?”

“You remember what she was wearing the first time you met her, but you don’t remember what year it was?”