Looking around, you see Vince McKinnon behind the bar, stubbornly attacking an evil-looking stain on a glass. Nearby, his youngest daughter Cheryl is serving Mitch Blake some potato fritters. Evan Frame is brooding over a cup of coffee at a corner table.
Cheryl serves you with a vapid smile and you linger over the meal, wondering who you should question.
Half-an-hour later you pat a satisfied belly, push back your chair, and go over and talk to: