Free Murder on the Rocks by Allyson K. Abbott Page A

everywhere, I asked them to let me know when they were done. It
     was nearly four o’clock and I was on the verge of panicking when one of them finally
     told me they were done with the main bar level and had only the basement left to process.
     I thanked him for letting me know, grabbed a pile of rags and a bottle of spray cleaner,
     and went to work as fast as I could.
    The print dust seemed to be on every surface and half the time it smeared when I tried
     to wipe it off. Duncan heard me grumbling as I went and offered up an apology. “Sorry
     it’s such a mess but it’s a necessary evil.”
    “If you say so, but I imagine your crew will end up with hundreds of customer prints
     to wade through that will prove nothing more than that those people were in the bar.”
    “It might prove to be a wasted effort,” Duncan admitted. “But it’s what we do. Investigations
     like this involve a lot of grunt work.”
    As five o’clock drew closer my staff began showing up, and I gave Duncan a quick lowdown
     on what I knew of them. The first was Helmut, a slightly cranky, seventy-something
     German who had been cooking for my father for more than thirty years. His wife kept
     nagging him to retire and I secretly kept hoping she’d win that argument because it
     was time for Helmut to be gone. His ideas about food and cooking were as old as he
     was and his resistance to the changes I’d made in the menu over the past year or two
     made things difficult at times. But I was determined to update our menu both to make
     it simpler and to enhance the flavors of what we did have in order to compete with
     other bars and restaurants in the area. Helmut hated change and he resisted and grumbled
     about every single one I made. It was annoying and time consuming, but I didn’t have
     the heart to fire him. Cranky or not, uncooperative or not, he was like family to
     me, a crotchety old uncle who finally admitted that my BLT sandwich was one of the
     best things he’d ever tasted. Plus, he always showed up for work. He never stayed
     over; when the end of his shift came around he was outta there regardless of how busy
     we were. But while he was working he always gave it his all.
    I filled Duncan in on what I knew about Helmut and his wife and did a brief introduction.
     Helmut was my biggest challenge with this little ruse because he’d been around long
     enough to remember someone from my childhood, the story Duncan and I had agreed on.
     But if he found Duncan’s presence at all suspicious, he didn’t show it. He grunted
     a greeting that sounded like hello but might have been lacking the last letter, and
     glanced around the bar at the crime scene techs that were still there. “What a damn
     mess,” he grumbled with a frown and a shake of his grizzled head. Then he disappeared
     into the kitchen, dismissing us both. Small talk was definitely not one of Helmut’s
     stronger attributes.
    My night bartender, Billy Hughes, an attractive twenty-something African-American
     whose skin is the color of a Macktini, came in a few minutes after Helmut.
    “Billy has worked here for a year and a half,” I told Duncan in private before doing
     a formal introduction. “My father hired him to bartend in the evenings and he attends
     law school during the day. He’s quite a chick magnet and hence good for business.”
    “He was here the night your father was killed.”
    It wasn’t a question. “He was, but he left before it happened.”
    “Do you know if he had an alibi for the time of the shooting?” I was taken aback by
     the question and my expression must have shown that because he then added, “Look,
     I know you don’t want to think your friends or employees could be responsible for
     any of this, but we need to look into everyone no matter how far-fetched they may
     seem, if for no other reason than simply to rule them out.”
    “Billy had nothing to do with my father’s death. I’m certain of it.”
    “Did he have