by Kym Roberts
“Can I buy you a drink?” he asked.
“I’m fine.” I polished off my amaretto sour in one big gulp, hoping that it would help me deal with the man sitting next to me. But I also knew another drink would be the last thing I needed with Cade that close.
Cade raised his hand to Joe, who was bartending a few feet away. “Bring Princess another round, Joe. I’ll take a wild ale.”
“You don’t listen very well, Mayor,” I said.
“I can tell when you’re not telling me the truth, Princess.”
I decided not to argue, but was determined to sip the next drink casually and not let it get to me.
“I hear you’re a little rusty with a canoe.”
“Excuse me? I am just fine with the paddle in my hands.”
He raised his eyebrow and the corner of his mouth quirked. “The paddle…or an alligator?”
For a moment, I was transported back in time. Back when we didn’t have a care in the world and Cade felt comfortable teasing me about anything and everything. But then he’d grown up his senior year of high school and began to think about the future. Or as he put it, five minutes ahead. That’s when my antics started to bother him. When getting brought to the police station for climbing up on the water tower and doing a cheer for my boyfriend wasn’t funny anymore, Cade became a stick in the mud, and I was labeled a “wild child.”
“Who are you and where is Cade Calloway?” I asked.
“Princess, I’ve been in front of you the whole time.” His eyes held the promise of tomorrow.
“You’ve avoided me like I had leprosy.”
“Who ran out on our dinner the other night and tonight?”
“My cousin’s car broke down!”
“And I offered to go with you…”
“I needed someone to let Princess in. I couldn’t risk her being hurt again.”
“Princess has been quite capable of taking care of herself for many years.”
“She’d been shot, and she’s an armadillo,” I argued. “There’s a reason why they call them Texas speedbumps.”
The crowd cheered, and we both looked up to see what we’d missed in the game. It was another change in our relationship. The game had always come first, for him…and me. But tonight, it seemed like secondary noise.
Cade leaned over and said something I never expected. “Want to get out of here?”
I shot a look at my dad which made Cade laugh. “Your daddy likes my influence.”
“My daddy doesn’t like you that much. He wouldn’t approve.”
Cade moved a little closer. His breath tickled my ear. “Why, Princess? Are you telling me you’re a good girl?”
“I’m saying I’m not a booty call at eight thirty on a Monday night.”
My dad’s eyebrows raised but he didn’t say a word.
Cade frowned. “That’s not what I was proposing.”
“You weren’t?”
“No, I was talking about a walk along the river so we could hear each other better.”
“Oh.”
My dad coughed. I think he was laughing at me.
“I can’t leave my dad,” I whispered to Cade over the din of noise carrying through the bar.
“I wasn’t suggesting that you do that. I was asking if you’d like to take a walk and then I’d bring you back here safe and sound.”
“Oh.” I sounded like a rocket scientist.
My dad got up from his stool and walked behind us, put an arm around each one of our shoulders and said, “It doesn’t have to be that hard. I’m heading home, you two have a good time.” He kissed me on the cheek and shook Cade’s hand. “Treat her right and make sure she gets home safe.”
Then Daddy walked out of the bar, and Cade and I were left alone…in a crowd of people. It seemed like the whole bar noticed we were together. Maybe I was just paranoid—aware that right now things were changing. Was I ready for this? It was what I’d wanted for the past eight months…but was I ready?
“Ready, Princess?” Cade asked.
While I’d been stewing, Cade had gotten up from his seat and was waiting for me to do the same. When I followed, he grabbed my hand and we walked out of the bar like a couple. Comfortable with each other, but uncomfortable together. Or maybe it was just me. Maybe I was the one who was no longer sure. We stepped out into the cool winter breeze and I pulled my jacket up around my neck.
“Are you warm enough?”
“Yeah, I’ll warm up as we walk.”
“I can think of other ways that will heat you up faster.”
That teasing tone that did things to my insides was back in his voice. It was intimate and familiar, ready to explore the known and the unknown between us.
We walked through the parking lot toward the back patio of the Tool Shed Tavern and had just reached the edge of the pavement when a scream pierced through the night.
I’m not sure who reacted first, me or Cade. We both took off at a run to the opposite side of the Shed, but Cade grabbed me before I could round the corner.
“Stay here.”
There are a few places I accept a macho attitude: on the football field and in my bedroom. When I hear what sounds like a friend scream, however, look out. I yanked my arm loose and took off toward the back of the bar and around the split-rail fence of the outdoor patio and to the other side of a privacy fence. Cade and I reached Sugar at the same time.
She had on her short shorts and her uniform T-shirt that exposed most of her chest. Yet despite her lack of clothing, Sugar was oblivious to the bite in the wind. A trash bag sat on the ground next to her as she stared at the man in front of her leaning against the dumpster. He was scary, but posed no threat to Sugar’s safety. If the color of his skin and the dried blood on his forehead were any indication, I suspected he would be visiting the ME’s office.
With his back against the dumpster, the man’s mouth hung open as if he’d fallen asleep…snoring. It wasn’t that uncommon to find someone who’d lived it up on one of the big football nights at the Shed, passed out in their car or on the patio. It happened from time to time.
Except this guy wasn’t breathing and the oar lying next to him was a further indication that the man didn’t just slip and hit his head—it was covered with blood. The scariest part of it all was the circular image spray-painted on the side of the dumpster next to the body.
My breath caught. This could not be happening. To anyone else, that circle wouldn’t be a big deal, nor would the phone lying on the victim’s lap.
But I could read the clues as easily as I’d read them in the book by Lucy Barton.
“Sugar.” I tried not to scare her, but she jumped anyway. Her eyes rounded as if she couldn’t close them if she tried. She stepped toward me, and I took her in my arms, hugging her tight. “It’s okay. We’re here.”
“It’s Eduardo. Eduardo Rodriguez.”
I assumed she was talking about the dead man I didn’t recognize. “Who’s Eduardo?”
Sugar sniffed and I knew she was starting to come out of the shock of seeing a dead body. I’d been there, done that, and here I was doing it again. Somehow, I didn’t think I’d ever get used to it. Maybe I was more adept at dealing with it than Sugar, but I still wasn’t comfortable with murder. Who would be?
“Eduardo is Dean’s new mechanic. He just started this week.”
Cade went to check the man’s pulse. I could have told him it was a moot point, but it seemed like it was something he had to do. Something that would make the whole scene real for him. A noise from the side of the building caught my attention. I didn’t think it would be the killer. I figured he was long gone, having left his ominous sign behind. But when a shadow moved in the darkness, my pulse took off like a greased pig in an arena full of five-year-olds looking for a corkscrew tail to pull. The barely visible silhouette of the
man standing there watching the scene was undeniably familiar.
At least for me.
I knew him well. He was the brother I’d never had. I watched as he slunk back into the shadows.
Cade sighed heavily and stated the obvious—
“He’s dead.”
—and my cousin disappeared.
Chapter Sixteen
“Pick. Up. The. Phone.”
Jamal’s voicemail beeped. “End of message. If you’d like to review your message press one. If you’d like to send another message, press two…”
I hung up before I splintered the screen on my phone into a beautiful kaleidoscope of color. I caught Mateo watching me. I flashed a weak smile in his direction, but he eyed me suspiciously while talking to a detective and Cade on the other side of the split-rail fencing that enclosed the patio.
The body was on the opposite side of the grassy knoll, surrounded by crime scene tape and covered with a yellow plastic blanket. A uniformed deputy stood on the other side of the privacy fence. I couldn’t see her, but I knew Sugar was there, blocked from my current view by the privacy fence that separated the patio from the second parking lot and the trash dumpster. Sugar, wrapped in a long blanket provided by one of the cops, was recounting every little detail of her trip to the dumpster to Detective Youngblood. Since I’d first met the good detective while wearing a paper jail suit some months back, I’d gotten to know his wife and five kids fairly well. His oldest, Julie Ann, was a handful at eight but attended our kid’s book art classes regularly and took to the origami style of folding book pages with ease. Detective Youngblood’s youngest girl wasn’t quite a year old and could probably be considered a saint. The three boys in the middle, however, had been nicknamed by my dad—Larry, Curly, and Moe. It fit rather well.
Detective Youngblood stifled a yawn as he wrote down Sugar’s statement. She explained that she’d used the back door instead of the side door because she’d planned on taking her break on the patio after she’d gotten rid of the trash. She’d never made it to the trash bin and dropped the bag of trash that was still sitting on the ground in front of the body.
I listened intently, especially to the part where she recounted my arrival with Cade, while I fought the urge to barf. If she had also seen Jamal, no one would believe my cousin was innocent. My anxiety lessened when Sugar finished. Luckily for my cousin, Sugar never said a word about hearing or seeing Jamal on the side of the building.
My relief was short-lived, however, when I realized I’d also have to recount my version of the events to Detective Youngblood. Could I give a statement without mentioning Jamal’s presence? Or was I obligated to point the finger in his direction? I had no reason to believe he committed the murder, but I also knew the police had no reason to believe he didn’t commit the heinous crime.
Daddy and Dean walked out the back door of the bar, both anxiously looking around. No one had been allowed access to the patio since I’d called Mateo and he’d told us to keep everyone on the inside in, and everyone on the outside out. A close game on TV had made it easy until the police arrived and took over. Then everyone wanted to know what was going on in Hazel Rock.
Dean spotted Sugar with Detective Youngblood and immediately headed toward his girlfriend. I made my way over to my dad.
“Are you all right, Princess?”
“Yeah, I’m okay, Daddy.” He gave me a hug, and I whispered in his ear, “But I’ve got a problem.” His shoulders stiffened in my embrace as I continued. “I can’t tell you here, but I can’t talk to the police.”
Daddy pulled back and looked me in the eyes. “You know I’ll always have your back, no matter what. But you’re gonna have to talk to Mateo.”
I knew it was true. Despite our differences in my teen years, I knew Daddy only wanted what was best for me. He’d proven it time and time again since I’d returned. He’d do anything he could to help me. He just couldn’t stop the world from circling around me.
“I can’t talk to him…yet.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” he said.
I nodded, not sure what he was going to say, but filled with relief. I needed to get out of there before I was backed into a corner I didn’t want to be in. Dad’s support eased the tension that had been building in my neck since we’d heard Sugar scream. I turned around and hugged my coat tight against the winter breeze that was turning more than just chilly. I’d had enough standing in the cold; I didn’t want to do it anymore. I needed to talk to my cousin.
Mateo looked up from across lawn and watched my daddy approach. They shook hands, but there was nothing happy about the greeting; it was all solemn business. I saw Mateo glance in my direction and then Cade’s head turned as well. I watched the entire exchange; it went so easy. I’d thought the sheriff would say a quick and definite, “No,” but he was nodding his head and agreeing to whatever my dad was telling him, and my daddy turned and headed back toward me.
Then he wrapped his arm around my shoulder and said, “Let’s go, Princess. You can talk to Mateo later.”
I leaned into him and whispered, “Thanks, Daddy,” as we walked back inside the bar.
“This doesn’t mean you won’t have to explain everything to me. When we get to your apartment, I expect you to spill it.” Joe and Leila stood guard just inside the back door of the Shed. Leila looked worried and Joe’s bigger-than-Texas grin was nowhere in sight. His arms were crossed over his chest and he eyed the occupants of his bar, as if he might discern who could have killed one of his customers. With Joe’s size, no one was going to try and mosey on back to see what was going on behind the bar. Yet word had traveled fast.
Leila reached out and squeezed my arm. “Are you okay, Princess?”
“I’m fine, thank you.” I looked at my two friends, guilt overcoming me. A man had died on their property and I knew exactly how bad this would be for their business…all because a man had been killed while he’d been playing the Book Seekers app—a promotion I was running at the Barn. “I…I’m sorry.”
Leila gave me a quick hug. “Don’t be silly, girlfriend. You didn’t hurt that poor man.”
I kept my mouth shut, and Daddy and I walked through the bar; the crowd was somber despite the close game on television. We walked in silence past the police cars, pausing only a moment when the ME’s van pulled into the parking lot. It seemed to be a frequent visitor in Hazel Rock lately—a sign of more trouble than our town needed.
Our trip home was made in silence; a very different journey from what I had expected to make with Cade less than an hour ago. In the alley leading to my apartment outside the Barn, my mom’s sign swayed in the breeze, making a soothing noise that wasn’t quite a song, but was comforting nonetheless.
Once we were inside my apartment, I called out to my cousin. “Jamal!”
Princess peeked her head out of Jamal’s bedroom and then turned around and disappeared.
“Was he there?” my dad asked.
I didn’t answer his question, but he knew my answer would have been, “Yes.” Instead, I told him what I could. “I need to talk to him, Daddy.”
“I think we both need to talk to him.” He looked at me pointedly and said, “I think Violet should be here as well.”
“No. I don’t want Mom involved.” Jamal stepped out of the darkened bedroom, stooping down as he stepped through the doorway. He looked drained, as if he’d had a major workout—outside in the mud.
“What happened?” I asked.
A haunted expression passed over his face. “Did you tell them?”
“That I saw you at the Shed hiding in the shadows like a murder suspect? No. But I’m going to have to make a statement tomorrow and I can’t lie for you.”
Jamal nodded and headed for the kitchen, chunks of mud falling off his shoes on the way. “Anyone want a glass of tea?”
“Jamal…”
“
I need some caffeine to get through this, and your tea is the strongest thing in the house.”
Dad moved into action. He took the pitcher of tea from Jamal’s shaking hand and pointed at my cousin’s shoes. “Take those off before you trash the apartment.”
Jamal looked down at his feet like they were foreign objects not attached to his body. His reactions were beginning to scare me.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…” His voice trailed off as he took three steps and was at my front door. He took off his brand new blue leather Chukka boots that cost more than all my shoes combined. Jamal, however, seemed completely oblivious to how much damage he’d done to his expensive footwear.
He sat down at my small kitchen table, and I joined him as his head dropped in his hands.
“I’ve messed everything up,” he mumbled to the table. “It’s all my fault.”
My dad and I exchanged looks. There was a flicker of doubt in his eyes, but I knew better.
I put my hand on Jamal’s shoulder and he flinched. “What happened, Jamal?”
When he looked up, there were tears in his eyes. “I took the money.”
“What money?”
“Before I came here, I got an anonymous donation. I needed help getting the app started so I developed a Fund Me campaign and asked for donations. Most of the money came from people I know online. Gamers who were excited to help me out. They didn’t give much. If I got a hundred-dollar donation, I was thrilled. Beyond happy—but I was still a long way from meeting my goal of five hundred thousand.”
I nearly choked on the sip of sweet tea I’d taken as I sat down across from my cousin. “Five hundred thousand dollars? It costs that much to start an app?”
“Snapchat started off with four hundred and eighty-five thousand. If I wanted this to work, I needed to be in that ballpark. I have a team of five people working with me on this app. I needed to pay them something so we could make the Book Seekers real.”
I had no idea. Here I’d thought my cousin had been creating the app by himself, and the whole time he had a team working on it and they’d collected a lot of money.