Page 54

Torin

The Timberline always smells of stale tobacco, beer-soaked old wood, and the lingering aroma of something fried that never quite leaves.

It’s quieter this time of day. Late afternoon bleeding into evening. The kind of in between where the regulars haven’t fully settled in yet, but the place still sizzles with expectation.

Gus stands behind the bar, wiping down a glass that’s already clean. He does that a lot. Gives his hands something to do so he can keep watching everything else.

He nods when we walk in.

Briggs heads straight for our usual table without asking, boots heavy on the floorboards. Ashby’s already here, which isn’t surprising. He’s the kind of man who’d arrive early to his own funeral.

As always, he’s got his notebook out, its pages filled with that tight, controlled handwriting that’s trying to optimize the available space. He’s leaning over it, pen moving, attention locked in as if the rest of the room doesn’t exist.

I slide into the seat across from him. Briggs drops beside me, the bench creaking in protest.

Gus appears without being called, setting three beers down. He always knows what we want before we do.

“Evening, boys,” he says amiably.

“Gus,” Ashby replies without looking up.

Briggs nods.

I lift my bottle in acknowledgment.

Gus lingers half a second longer, eyes flicking between us. Reading the room. Always reading the room. Then he moves on.

Ashby finishes his line, taps the pen once against the page, and finally looks up. “There’s something going on.”

No lead in. No small talk. That’s Ashby when a mystery hooks him.

Briggs leans back slightly, one arm draped over the back of the bench. “There’s always something going on.”

“This is different.”

That gets my attention. I take a drink of the cold beer and wait for him to fill the silence.

He turns the notebook toward us. Names. Dates. Arrows connecting things that don’t look connected until you stare long enough.

I recognize one immediately.

Sterling.

My gut tightens in a way I don’t enjoy.

“Ben’s family,” Ashby says.

Briggs straightens. That’s all it takes. One name. Ben doesn’t leave the room once he’s been mentioned. He just shifts position, stands somewhere behind you, watches what you do next.

“What about them?” Briggs asks.

Ashby taps the page. “His sister’s back in town. She was at the café this morning. Lorna recognized her. Couple of others did too.”

Briggs frowns. “Didn’t know he had family around here anymore.”

“He didn’t talk about them much.”

No. He didn’t.