Knockoff Rembrandt - Chapter 5 Jake Burbank Mystery Thriller

CHAPTER FIVE

“Then, I had to go to the store because every time I think I’ve got something, I remember I lost it in the fire,” he told Amanda the next day when she opened her bar.

“I’d like to see it.”

“Tomorrow,” he invited her. “Come take the tour.”

“You should charge for tickets.”

He sipped his bourbon and hated the fact that he liked being her more than he did at home.

Or at trailer, since that was his home now.

At home was a nice little metal sphere where all he thought about was coming to this bar and sitting on this stool and hanging out with this bartender.

“How much do you have to do?” she asked, talking about the historic home.

“All of it.”

“That’s a lot of work.”

“I’ve got a lot of time.”

“And money?” she raised an eyebrow.

“Not as much of that as I could use,” he shrugged. “But isn’t that the case with everybody.”

“I could use more,” she told him.

He lifted his glass.

“Let me help.”

“You haven’t had anyone come in here and pay your tab in awhile,” she said as she poured him another one.

Jake dug around in his pockets and pulled out a crumpled twenty dollar bill from one and a neatly folded ten from the other.

He lay them both on the scarred bar top.

“That should take care of some of it.”

“Some,” she agreed and slid the bills into the til she kept behind the counter.

“More coming.”

She shook her head.

“Anyone else, I wouldn’t believe.”

He nodded and sipped and let her get to cleaning the rest of the bar.

She mopped the floors and wiped the tables and dusted all of the shelves and knick knacks.

Each neon beer sign got a swipe and dusting before she clicked them on.

She moved with a grace and efficiency from experience, no extra expenditure of energy as she touched every part of the bar in the first hour she was open.

Then the regulars began to filter in.

Her spot a block off Main Street and two blocks from the courthouse meant a good sized lunch crowd who came in for cheap hamburgers and ice cold beer.

She slapped meat on a grill on the other side of the back wall, and if she was too much busier, she would need help.

Amanda wasn’t the type to ask, so Jake pitched in, as needed, grabbing beer bottles for the regulars, bussing a few tables when they left if she was filling orders.

It was a good system for a small space, and she seemed to like it, the lunchtime rush that wasn’t too busy, then the long stretch of afternoon where she could just listen to music and clean and visit.

There was a lot of cleaning that had to happen in that little joint.

“What you know, Lawyer Man?”

Deonte slid onto the stool next to Jake.

“You ever been in the attic of that house?”

The black man shook his head and set his cowboy hat on the bar by his elbow.

“Ain’t ever been in the house. Just been by it.”

“It’s been blocked off for years,” said Jake. “I don’t know how long. Maybe before we were born.”

“You find some pirate treasure up there, remember we ain’t had no pirates round here for a long time.”

“Ever?” Amanda called out.

“River pirates,” Jake said. “Back when the river ran behind the courthouse.”

“If you find a treasure, you can pay me first.”

Deonte snuck a hand into his pocket and peeled off a couple of crisp one hundred dollar bills.

“This take care of the man for awhile?”

Jake tried to wave him off.

“Nah,” Deonte accepted a bottle of beer from Amanda as she traded it for the bills. “It’s like a retainer or some shit like that. You do me a favor, you dig.”

Jake nodded.

“You find out why they wanted Unc up in Little Rock for me.”

“You saw the notes Maggie had.”

Deonte nodded.

“I saw ‘em, but I didn’t see ‘em, see ‘em, you get me?”

Jake shook his head.

“Her notes said why, all legal and perfectly good for the record and all that, but it got me to thinking while I was rolling last night.”

“I know where you’re going,” Jake hunched over his drink. “I’ve been thinking too.”

“Figured you might. Big brain like yours gets to thinking on the legal side of things, gets to thinking on the logical side of things, might figure things don’t add up to what they supposed to.”

“I’m wondering who shot the neighbor.”

“I’m asking.”

“Was that were you were rolling last night?”

“Among other places.”

“And?” Jake nodded.

“Soon as somebody tells me something, you’ll know it.”

“Til then?”

“I’ll keep asking, you keep looking and we might turn something up.”

He held up the bottle and Jake tipped it in agreement.