Free Blood Relations by Rett MacPherson Page B

along with some of the snow that had started to fall. I waved to the owner, Hiram Gernsheim, who was standing behind the bar and laughing it up with a couple of regulars. He waved back, looking a little surprised, because this was not my normal hangout.
    We sat down in a booth, and before our coats were even off, Hiram was standing at our table. “Hey, Torie. What brings you in from the cold?”
    I pointed to Collette. “You remember Collette,” I said.
    He looked at her a moment and then recognition hit. “Lordy, I haven’t seen you since you was right out of school. Whatcha been up to, girl?”
    â€œJust working,” she said. “Seems like that’s all I ever do.”
    â€œI hear that,” he said. “Can I get you ladies something to drink?”
    â€œI’ll have a Bud Light,” she said.
    â€œJeez, Collette, I figured you’d have found a different beer by now,” I said.
    â€œWhat’s wrong with Bud Light?” she asked.
    â€œIt’s just so … Yuppie. And it gives you the farts,” I added.
    Hiram laughed and wiped his hands on his bar rag.
    â€œI’ll have … an amber bock,” I said. “Schlafleys.”
    â€œSure thing,” he said, and walked away.
    â€œI can’t believe you grew up in a German—that’s German —town and you drink Bud Light,” I said.
    â€œWell, you didn’t have fresh garlic,” she snapped.
    â€œTrue,” I said. “I guess we’re even.”
    We were halfway through our beers, talking and catching up on things, when I noticed Collette was no longer listening to me. Her eyes had wandered toward the door, which I couldn’t see because my back was to it. She made eye contact with me a few times and she’d say “Uh-huh” every now and then, but she was obviously deeply studying something or somebody other than me.
    â€œAnd then,” I said, “the baboons came down and ate all the ice cream that the aliens had left.”
    â€œDon’t you hate when that happens?” she said.
    â€œColette,” I said, giggling. “Yoo-hoo. Earth to Collette.”
    She snapped to then and blushed all the way down her neck. “Okay, I’m sorry,” she said. “But that guy has a seriously cute butt.”
    I turned around in my seat to see who was the owner of the seriously cute butt. It was Jacob Lahrs. He was laughing and drinking. It looked as if he was celebrating something with his assistant, Jeremiah Ketchum, and his student, Danny Jones. Funny, I hadn’t noticed Jacob Lahrs’s seriously cute butt when I met him the other day. Maybe it was the angle at which Collette was sitting. Or maybe it was because I was married—one sort of conditions oneself not to look at the dessert one can’t have.
    â€œThat’s Jacob Lahrs,” I said to her, smiling.
    â€œJacob Lahrs … the professor?” she asked, eyes twinkling.
    â€œYup. You want that interview?”
    â€œOh, do I ever,” Collette said, grinning widely.
    â€œCome on,” I said, and motioned her over. We got out of the booth and walked over to the three men standing at the end of the bar. “Professor Lahrs!” I called.
    He turned around and smiled when he saw me. He was wearing a black turtleneck and had pushed the sleeves up to his elbows. “Mrs. O’Shea,” he said. “Never expected to see you in here.”
    â€œYeah, well … My friend comes down from the city and I get all wild. Go figure. This is my friend Collette,” I said.
    â€œNice to meet you,” he said.
    She purred back some response, and I just knew I was about to watch the master at work. Collette loves men. Lots of men.
    â€œCall me Jacob,” he said. “What brings you here, Mrs. O’Shea?”
    â€œWe just came out for a beer. Collette is a reporter,” I told him. “And she was hoping to get an