Brian didn’t give me a reason why I had to start by scoping out Tarah at the engagement party, but I had a feeling he didn’t know where else he could find her. I think he also wanted tabs kept on how she acted at the party, because he couldn’t be seen puppy dogging her all night.

What Brian didn’t know was that I wasn’t a very good private investigator and I fell into my usual bad habits as soon as I arrived to the engagement party in my Target formal wear which was at least a size too small and dotted with a medley of sauce, bourbon, and blood stains. I posted up at the little portable bar and ordered the most expensive kind of scotch they had on the rocks and checked into my “shift.”

My shift consisted mostly of sipping on my drink, trying to look inconspicuous, chatting up the bartender about the Patriots, and slinking away whenever another partygoer who looked like they might try to talk to me strolled up to the bar and ordered something lame like an Amstel Light or something that started with pinot.

I kept my eye on Tarah throughout the night and never seemed to figure out why Brian was so intent on having me professionally stalk her. She wasn’t unattractive in any way, but she wasn’t really attractive either. She seemed to be pretty socially withdrawn, talking to even fewer people than me and mostly just messed around with her smartphone while slugging down the white wine at an impressive rate. So, unless you had a thing for plain-ish drunk girls, I didn’t see the appeal.

I was three scotches deep when I saw Tarah make her way to the door of the place with an Irish goodbye. I finished the last of my fourth drink and followed her out into the dark parking lot.

I gave myself my standard five Mississippi count before I pulled out onto the road to start tailing Tarah. I would ease closer to her once we got out onto one of the long, dark highways she was going to have to take to get out of town. That is when my work would really begin.