Page 140 of What We Bury

I drink my club soda and order an eye-wateringly expensive brunch.

Good thing Odin’s paying.

The companion gets up to use the bathroom. Hudson takes out his phone and starts scrolling. He’s alone at the table for the first time since they sat down.

The clubhouse door opens and Tyler Kavanagh walks in. He’s in pressed khakis and a tucked polo, the same prickish uniform as every other man in the room. He fits in.

He scans the bar. He sees Hudson and strolls over.

Well, that’s interesting.

Davis’s best friend, the guy who’s made it clear he thinks Sage has something to do with his buddy disappearing, just walked into a private country club and made a beeline for a man we’re planning to murder for being a serial predator. Two known assholes greeting each other like they have business together.

Could be nothing. Money has small circles. Pinecrest membership is invitation-only. It’s possible Tyler’s family is connected here and the two of them know each other socially.

But my gut is doing what it always does when two pieces I didn’t know connected suddenly connect.Click.

He doesn’t sit. Hudson looks up, smiles—wide, genial, the smile of a man who likes being asked for things—and gestures at the empty chair. Tyler doesn’t sit there. He pulls out a different chair, sitting at an angle. Like he’s only briefly staying.

I can’t hear them.

Knox shifts beside me. He’s pretending to read the wine list now. His back is to Tyler but his face is angled toward the mirror behind the bottles, which means he can see the entire table and their faces.

“What’s the read?” I ask, knowing he can read lips.

“Kavanagh’s asking for a favor. Hudson’s humoring him.”

“Money?”

Knox shakes his head. “Information. I caught the word ‘find.’ Then ‘her.’”

“Her?” My stomach drops.

Knox nods, eyes still on the mirror. “Can’t tell if he means Sage. But.”

But.

“Has he mentioned Brock?”

Knox shakes his head. “Maybe. It’s hard to read through a mirror.”

We don’t say it out loud, but if “her” is about Sage, it’s more than we can afford.

The companion comes back from the bathroom, and Tyler stands up, shakes Hudson’s hand, clapping him on the shoulder. It’s the universal gesture of we’ll talk later. He starts walking back across the bar toward the front entrance. He doesn’t see me. Doesn’t see Knox. But he doesn’t leave immediately either. He stops at a high-top near the window, setting his drink down to pull out his phone.

He’s three-quarters turned away from us, thumbs working, eyes on the screen.

That’s when Milo loops back through.

He’s done with the chef and heading for the front entrance when he sees us at the bar.

“Quick question,” he says, sliding up between me and Knox like we’re old acquaintances. “Is there a tip jar at this bar, or isthat gauche? Never clear on the etiquette where the membership fee could buy a house.”

“Milo,” I warn, my voice low.

“What?”

I tilt my chin. He follows my gaze. Tyler at the high-top, three-quarters turned away, thumbs working.