“Just a few at night, huh? So easy.” His brow furrows. “Me and addictive things don’t mix well.” Is that another glimpse into Roy’s life? A dark sliver of his past? It clicks. “Is that why you don’t drink, either? I noticed you didn’t drink your beer at the Ale House.” He held it, he stared at it, but he never took a single sip. “First a spy, now a detective,” Roy grumbles, then purses his lips, as if deciding whether he wants to explain himself. “Haven’t had a drink since I came up here, thirty-three years ago.”
