A Dreadful Meow-ment (MEOW FOR MURDER Book 2)

in Craig Walker’s chest last night. The guy could be a killer.”
Three, two, one…
She smirks. “Hanging out at a bar like this, I bet he kills in the bedroom, too.”
“How did I know that was coming?”
Tilly and I navigate our way through the stumbling, far too noisy, crowd and thankfully land a set of stools on either side of Oliver.
The bartender comes over, tall, spiked hair, a nose ring, two earrings that stretch his earlobes wide enough to stick a dime through them, and winks my way.
“What’s it gonna be, sweet stuff?”
I think on it a moment. “Tonic water with a twist of lime.”
Tilly lifts a finger. “Whiskey neat, make it a double shot.”
He takes off and I shoot her a look before accidentally on purpose bumping my shoulder to the silver-haired fox next to me, nearly causing him to spill his drink.
“Whoa.” He gives a quick chuckle as he lands his bottle to the bar. His hair looks less silver and more chrome in this dull lighting and his features look more defined than I remember, giving him that cheesy soap opera appeal. He’s still wearing his construction duds, a dirty white T-shirt and ripped-up jeans that are so dusted and crusted they look as if they could walk off on their own.
“Hey?” My voice rises to unearthly octaves, but only because I need to battle it out with the Bon Jovi song screaming overhead. “Aren’t you that guy?”
Okay, so I could have gone in a different direction, taken my time, but I’m not getting a good feeling about this place. In fact, the longer we stay, the more it feels as if we’re about to meet up with a pickpocket or a predator. My trashy bar radar is generally pretty accurate, too.
Oliver’s brows do a little waggle as he leans hard my way. “I can be any guy you want me to be, pretty lady.”
Tilly gasps. “Hey, hey”—she presses a hand against his chest, effectively pushing him away from me—“save some of that silver charm for me, big boy.”
The bartender drops off our drinks and I quickly pull a switcheroo. I figured Tilly would order hard liquor, so I opted for the designated driver delight, and seeing she’s the designated driver, the delight is all hers.
She shoots me the stink eye. “As I was saying, big boy,” she licks her lips seductively, “spread some of the attention around, would ya? You’ve got an awfully lonely little dove sitting to your right.”
I avert my eyes. “I’m on his right.”
“On your other right,” Tilly corrects without missing a beat.
“What’s your name, pretty girl?” Oliver doesn’t miss a chance to land himself a lonely bird.
“Tilly Teasdale. And you would be? Let me guess, you look like you own the place.”
He gives a husky laugh at the thought. “A friend of mine happens to own it. I’m Oliver Kincaid—of Kincaid Construction.”
Tilly’s mouth rounds out. “As in you’re the owner of that construction outfit?”
Why do I feel like a third wheel in the middle of someone else’s meet-cute? And how exactly am I supposed to segue us into the middle of a homicide investigation while the two of them are busy shooting arrows through their hearts?
“That would be me.” He ticks his head. “I had a silent partner. He passed away yesterday. Gunned down at our fifteen year high school reunion.”
Bingo!
“You don’t say?” I garner his attention once again. “Out in Maple Grove? I was there. Hey? I think I recognize you. I’m Shep Wexler’s fiancée.”
There.
If that doesn’t get us up to speed, nothing will.
The laugh lines around his eyes quickly smooth out and he motions to the bartender for another beer.
“That’s right.” He gives a solemn wink my way. “Good old Shep always did land himself the cutie of the bunch.”
“What does that make me?” Tilly squawks.
His cheek flickers her way. “Oh, darlin’, you play your cards right and you’ll be my private preserve.”
I’m pretty sure he meant reserve, but seeing that he’s got a head full of premature gray maybe he did mean preserve.
He nods her way. “I only accept the finest of the crop and you’re lookin’ mighty ripe for the pickin’.”
Tilly indulges in a husky laugh, although I’m not too sure he just doled out a compliment more than he did prove a point. Tilly’s been ripe for the picking since the moment I met her.
“I’m sorry about your friend,” I say. “Did I hear you say Craig was a partner in your business?”
He nods as he accepts the new bottle sliding his way.
“Silent partner, but Craig Walker didn’t know the meaning of the word silent.” He gives a wistful tick of the head.
“Oh? So he liked to have a say in things? Like how you delegated funds? Shep is that way.” I roll my eyes. “Always trying to squeeze a nickel until it screams.”
Oliver glances to my chest. “It sounds to me, Shep is busy squeezing the wrong things. At least with you around.”
I belt out a warm laugh.
A vagrant thought drifts through my mind of Shep and me caught in a compromising position as he does his best to put the squeeze on me in all the right places. Too bad that couldn’t be a vision. Although, I’m not entirely opposed to trying to make it come true nonetheless.
Speaking of visions, I distinctly saw Oliver here last night in my mind’s eye. A female was telling him that he didn’t get to tell her what to do, and Oliver replied something to the effect that they should both keep their mouths shut because he didn’t want to go down for this.
Hey? That must mean this woman and he are in cahoots. He’s working at Kadie’s place. Maybe it was her? Come to think of it, the woman in the vision had dark hair graying at the roots. It was her.
“So how’s the project coming?” I ask, trying to sound nonchalant. “The one at Kadie Beaumont’s place?”
He inches his head back with a look of dismay. “It’s Kadie