Free Canary by Nathan Aldyne

hurt on his face, he slipped off his stool. “I’ll see you later.” He retreated to the other end of the room.
    â€œHe was just trying to be understanding,” said Clarisse, piqued.
    â€œIn the past twenty-four hours I’ve been through the works,” Press said wearily. “The last thing I need now is to have banalities and gin breathed in my face by Corny McKimmon.”
    â€œYou know him?”
    â€œI met him through Jed. Jed was an altar boy when he grew up in Malden.”
    Clarisse couldn’t resist throwing a glance over her shoulder at the priest. “I’d better go away, as well,” she said, turning back to Press. “Otherwise, I’ll start offering condolences, too.”
    â€œCondolences accepted,” said Press shortly with a real attempt at graciousness. “I bring you a message from across the street. Daniel said he’d be over as soon as possible.”
    â€œYou were talking with the cops across the street?” Clarisse asked, surprised. “You live in District A; this is District D.”
    â€œAfter the boys in my district got done, they asked me if I’d come over here to talk with a couple of detectives who’ve been working on these necktie murders. When I got there, Daniel was waiting in one of the upstairs hallways.”
    â€œWhat did they want to know?” Two more customers came into Slate. They went to the bar, and one of them called down to get Clarisse’s attention. “In one second,” she called back with an engaging smile, and then immediately returned her attention to Press.
    â€œThey asked about Jed, of course, and they asked me a lot about this place.”
    â€œThis place? Slate, you mean?”
    Press watched her as he took a swallow of his beer. He put the bottle down, scratching at the label with his thumbnail. “They’re suspicious about this bar,” he said without looking up. “They called it ‘The Last-Date Dive.’”
    â€œWhat…?”
    â€œAccording to the detectives I talked with,” said Press, “the common factor in these killings is that the murder victims were in Slate before they were killed.”
    â€œThe police are saying Slate is a hangout for murderers?”
    â€œOne, anyway. They didn’t come right out and point fingers, but they implied things.”
    â€œRumor is a lot more destructive than outright accusation. A rumor like that getting around town could ruin our business.”
    â€œWell, then, maybe you ought to schedule your bankruptcy hearing, because the rumor’s already around town.”
    â€œBut it’s not true. It’s just coincidence that those people were in here before they were killed.”
    Press shrugged. “I’m only telling what I heard.”
    â€œWe’ll just have to start an anti-rumor campaign.”
    â€œRight,” said Press. “The way Nixon tried to start an anti-rumor that the president of the United States wasn’t a crook. It doesn’t work that way. People want to believe the worst.”
    â€œI guess you’re right, but I think it stinks. What else did the cops ask you?”
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    â€œLike: Why didn’t you find Jed’s body before the softball team showed up? And: Didn’t you think it was odd that Jed didn’t come out of his room all day while you were there?”
    â€œFirst of all, I didn’t get back to the apartment until six-thirty yesterday morning.” His tone was defensive. “I was dancing at the Loft all night, which—by the way—I can prove. When I finally got back to the apartment around six-thirty, I assumed Jed was still asleep. I went to bed myself and didn’t get up till about half an hour before the damn ball team barged in. I figured Jed had been up and about for hours and had come home to take his regular Saturday afternoon nap. He always rested up before he went out on