downing a burger at Olaf’s Microbrewery and Gastro Pub, he ordered a beer, and while he waited he thought about last night’s meeting. Again.
Elke had uncovered a portion of the journals suggesting there might be buried treasure somewhere in the vicinity of Heartlandia, and until she could get through all of the entries, while carrying a full teaching load at the college, they wouldn’t know where to look.
First pirates. Now buried treasure. What next? Was this for real or had they been set up for some kind of reality gotcha show?
“Thanks,” he said to the short and wide Olaf, turning in his empty burger plate in exchange for that brew. The historic old warehouse by the docks had been transformed into a down-to-earth bar, no frills, just a wide-open place guys like Gunnar could go to let off steam, have a decent meal and be themselves. A workingman’s bar, it had mismatched tables and chairs, open rafters with silver air-vent tubing, good speakers that played solid rock music, an assortment of flashing neon signs, posters of beer and burgers, and a few sassy photos of women. Nothing lewd, Olaf’s wife wouldn’t allow that, but definitely provocative shots of ladies, that and work-boot ads galore.
Olaf kept a huge chalkboard he’d snagged from a school auction and filled it with all of his latest microbrews. Tonight Gunnar was sticking with dark beer, the darker, toastier and mellower the malt, the better. He glanced around at the pool tables, card tables and dartboards there for everyone’s entertainment, when they weren’t drinking and talking sports or cars, that is. Very few women ventured into the place. The ones who did usually had one thing on their minds. Most times Gunnar avoided them and other times, well, he didn’t.
Not anymore, though. That was all behind him since he planned to change his bachelor reputation.
He picked up the Dark Roast Special, first on the list on Olaf’s blackboard, and headed back to the dart game where he was currently ruling the day. But not before hearing a lady’s voice carry over the loud music and louder guy conversations in the bar. Somehow that high-toned voice managed to transcend all of the noise and stand out.
“Word has it there’re some secret meetings going on at city hall,” she said. “You know anything about that?”
“Do I look like a politician?” Jarl Madsen, Clayton County’s Maritime Museum manager and fellow member on the hush-hush committee, said to the woman, doing a great job of playing dumb.
Gunnar cocked his head and took a peek to see who was being so nosey. Well, what do you know, if it wasn’t Lilly the jaywalker with the sexy shoes, elbows up to the bar chatting up Jarl. He looked her over. She knew how to dress down, too, wearing tight black, low cut jeans and a black patterned girly top with sparkles and blingy doodads embedded in the material. In that getup she blended right in.
Right.
At least she’d traded her sexy heels for ankle boots, killer boots, too, he had to admit, and from this angle her backside fit the bar stool to perfection. Yeah, he knew it wasn’t polite to stare, so after a few moments, and he’d memorized the view, he looked away. He glanced around the room. Only a handful of other ladies in pairs were in attendance, and this one appeared to be flying solo.
Gutsy.
Or dumb.
But dumb didn’t come to mind when he thought about Lilly Matsuda. She seemed sharp and intelligent, and if he trusted his gut, her being here meant she was on task, not here for a simple night out. The task seemed to be related to the committee meetings.
If he were a nosey guy himself, it would be really easy to wander over to Jarl and insinuate himself into the conversation. But that could be considered horning in on another guy’s territory, even though in his opinion Jarl and Lilly were completely mismatched. His honorable side won out over the curious cop dude within, mainly because he was off duty and loving it. So back to darts he went, ready to win the high score of the night, trying to forget about outlander Lilly at the bar.
A few minutes later he put his heart and soul into the second game with his latest victim, Jake Bager, a paramedic who was seriously low on bull’s-eyes. All three of Jake’s darts had made it into the inner circle, but were an inch or more away from the center.
On his next turn, solely concentrating on the game, Gunnar stepped up and threw one, two and three darts dead into the center of the board, the last one so close it nearly knocked the second one out.
Jake groaned. A person behind him clapped.
“Bravo,” she said.
Gunnar turned to find Lilly with the fashion-model hair smiling, applauding his efforts.
“Well, if it isn’t little miss jaywalker.” Damn, she filled out those jeans in a slim-hipped petite kind of way he rarely saw. He knew that shouldn’t be the first thing he noticed, but as sure as Mother Nature made little green apples, he had. Her mostly bare arms showed the results of gym workouts, not overly done, just nice and tight, and her nearly makeup-less face was as pretty as an ink-wash painting. He knew because he happened to like that Japanese art technique and had several posters in his home to prove it.
“Thanks,” he said, thanking her more for looking nice than for her paying him a compliment. “And what are you doing here?”
She gave a coy smile, even though nothing about her personality that afternoon hinted at coy, lifted her shoulders and dug her hands into her back pockets. He had to admit the move put her perky chest on much better display. He knew he shouldn’t focus on that, either, and tried not to notice for too long, but he was a guy and those dang blingy things on the shirt caught the light just right. He lingered a beat longer than he’d meant to, which seemed to be a pattern where Lilly was concerned.
If she’d noticed, she didn’t let on. Or seem to mind. That was more like the lady he’d met yesterday afternoon.
“Since you went the touristy route when I asked for the bars where locals hang out,” she said, “I had to find out where the action really was from Cliff over at Lincoln’s Place.”
He nodded. Solid fact-checking. She knew how to gather her information. He hoped she was a travel writer and not the new journalist, since that might complicate his resolution to quit playing the field. “You play?” He offered her the three darts he held.
She left her hands in her back pockets. “Not much. I’m better at pool.”
He nodded. “Okay, well, if you’ll excuse me, then,” he said, deciding to stay put and let Lilly explore the joint on her own, “I’ve got to teach my man here, Jake, another lesson on darts.”
Ten minutes later, Lilly was back at the bar chatting up Kirby, the local pet controller and town grump. Her nonstop questions, and choice of conversation partners, both well past middle age, made it obvious she wasn’t here to get picked up. Which, surprisingly, relieved Gunnar.
“And what makes you outsiders think you can just walk into our bar like you belong here?” hairy-eared Kirby said, his voice loud and territorial, carrying all the way to the dartboards.
“The bar sign said Open, nothing about members only.” She didn’t sound the least bit fazed. Yeah, that was more like the lady he’d met yesterday than little miss coy snooping around a few minutes ago.
Even though she seemed to have things under control, Gunnar knew Kirby’s sour attitude mixed with a few beers could sometimes take a turn for ugly and, never really off duty, he hightailed it over to them to keep the peace.
“Kirby, my friend, have a bad day?”
The man with iron-colored hair, in bad need of a barber, grumbled to his beer. “I liked it better when we only let locals in here.”
Olaf noticed the scene and was quick to deliver a new beer to Lilly. “This one’s on the house, miss. I hope you’ll come here often.” He smiled at Lilly first, then passed a dark look toward Kirby, who didn’t even notice. Or, it seemed, care.
Lilly nodded graciously. “Thank you.” She glanced at Gunnar, an appreciative glint in