Page 88 of Too Close To Home

“Hey. What can I get you?” The barman leaned across the counter, having to raise his voice above the music.

It didn’t take long for Harrison to place him. The same young man he’d met here, the morning of Emily’s disappearance. Brodie. Or, as Andy Mitchell had so generously described him, the fairy.

Harrison ignored the memory of the slur along with the ghost talking to him from beyond the grave and glanced to the row of taps. “What’s your local ale?”

Brodie tapped one of the handles. “We’ve got Black Fell Bitter. Brewed just outside town.”

Harrison nodded. “Pint of that, then.”

Brodie pulled the tap and amber ale rushed into the glass, a creamy head settling at the rim before he slid it across the bar. “Cheers.”

Harrison paid with his phone, then turned back to the stage, hovering the pint to his lips. The beat thundered through the room, fast and relentless, the crowd clapping along as Deacon belted the last line into the microphone. Then the song crashed to a finish, the pub erupting into cheers, and Harrison watched the three of them on stage exchange quick, breathless glances.

Jake pushed the damp curls back from his face before reaching for the pint beside his drum kit. Deacon grabbed his own from beside the mic stand, and the bassist also had one handed to him from the front row, and they all drank while the crowd shouted over the gap between songs.

Harrison was staring.

He knew he was.

But apparently, knowing wasn’t enough to make him stop.

Fortunately, every other pair of eyes in the pub was fixed on the stage too. Harrison could look as long as he liked, and nobody would have any reason to notice exactly where his attention kept settling.

“You’re that detective, right?”

Harrison dragged his gaze away.

Brodie wiped down the bar in front of him, taking advantage of the lull between songs to speak.

“Yeah.” Harrison tore his attention away from the stage, though he was certain Brodie had caught him watching, so he lifted the glass to take a drink and focused on that instead.

It was good. Malty. Needed.

Brodie nodded at the stage. “You here because of him?”

Harrison blinked. “Sorry, what?”

“Jake’s appeal?” Brodie tilted his head as Deacon stepped back up to the microphone.

“Alright, listen up for a minute.” The frontman raised a hand to quiet the room. The chatter faded. “Big thanks to all of you for coming out tonight. We weren’t meant to be playing, as pretty sure half the town’s supposed to be in Manchester watching Neon Arcade.”

A few whistles and cheers broke out from the crowd.

At the back of the stage, Jake dropped his gaze, hair falling forward as if he suddenly found the drum kit very interesting.

Harrison felt that small twist in his chest again.

Deacon’s expression sobered. “But the real reason we asked to play tonight is the hope of jogging some memories.” The pub quieted. “You’ve all probably heard already that Emily Fisher, one of the bar staff here at the Kings Arms, went missing Wednesday night.” A ripple of murmurs spread across the room. Deacon gestured towards the tables. “There should be flyers on your tables with her photo and the number for the local police. If you saw owt that night, owt at all, please call it in. Even if it seems small. You never know what might matter.”

Harrison glanced around the room.

People were picking up the flyers. Studying the photograph.

Behind the drum kit, Jake lifted his head, and Deacon turned towards him, reaching across the kit to cup his chin. Harrison couldn’t hear what he said over the noise of the room, but the intent was clear enough. It was a quiet moment of grounding before the music started again. Deacon held Jake steady. Jake nodded once. Firm. And Deacon tapped his cheek in a brief gesture of reassurance before turning back to the microphone.

While he adjusted the strap of his guitar and nudged a pedal with his foot among the tangle of cables, Jake looked out across the crowd, drifting his gaze over the room. Then it landed on Harrison. And the sudden recognition sent an unexpected jolt through Harrison’s chest. He swallowed it down and offered a small nod back.

Jake stared, as if surprised to see him there. As if…