It quickly became apparent that the bag was not going to be easily retrieved. The fire department had parked a truck smack in the middle of the tight alley, and several fire fighters were trying to get to the roof. There was no way to get around them unnoticed. I only hoped the bag didn’t get drenched.
Since the bag was a lost cause for now, I headed for the diner, passing several people hurrying toward the square.
“What’s goin’ on?” a woman asked, looking more excited than a person had any right to be considering the chaos unfolding in the center of town.
I considered not answering, not wanting to draw any attention to myself, but if I ignored her, I’d only make myself more conspicuous. “It’s crazy. Gunshots and fires . . .” I said. “I’m headin’ home.”
“I hope we’re not too late.” A rapturous smile spread across the woman’s face. It was clear this was the most exciting thing to ever happen to her.
Most of the people I passed were headed to the square, but I scanned their clothing, keeping an eye out for Sam Teagen and his friend.
The Greasy Spoon was known for being open late and for offering a menu that lived up to its name. According to town lore, it had originally opened up to serve the patrons of a bar that used to be next door. The greasy food was catered to customers who needed to sober up. But the bar had been closed for years, and the Greasy Spoon’s patronage had dwindled to practically nothing. So it was no surprise there was only one other customer in the place when I walked in—an elderly man who was sitting at the counter with a cup of coffee, watching a TV mounted in the corner.
I slid into a booth at the back, choosing the side that faced the door. I was rubbing my hands for warmth when the waitress walked over. Middle-aged and slightly overweight, she looked like a stereotypical waitress from a TV sitcom, right down to her blue dress and white apron.
“Coffee to start, miss?”
I didn’t have a single dollar on me, but Skeeter had said he was meeting me here. If he didn’t show, I’d have bigger problems than an unpaid food bill. “Yeah, and do you serve breakfast this late?”
She put her hand on her hip and grinned. “We sure do.”
“Then I’ll take a stack of pancakes, bacon, and scrambled eggs.”
The waitress chuckled and wandered toward the kitchen. “I’ll get your coffee right out.”
Way to not stand out.
I was nibbling a piece of bacon, having already made a good start on my pancakes, when the door jingled. My gaze flicked up to see Skeeter walk in, his dark gaze already fixed on me. He slid into the seat across from me and grinned as he took in my heaping plate.
“I love a woman who loves to eat.” He turned up the empty coffee cup at his place setting and poured a cup of coffee from the carafe the waitress had left.
“Turns out running for your life makes you hungry.” I sliced through the stack of three pancakes and took a big bite, then put down my fork and picked up my coffee, cradling the cup in my hands. “I learned a few things after our call.”
He lifted his eyebrows. “Oh, really?” Shooting me a challenging stare, he picked up my fork, stabbed a section of my pancakes, and took a bite.
I laughed, then took a sip of my coffee. “Help yourself. You might as well get a bite since you’re paying for it.”
He chuckled as he set down the fork, then reached for a piece of bacon.
I slapped his hand away. “Get your own bacon. That’s mine.”
“So much for sharing.” He lifted his hand, and the waitress came running, not that I was surprised. Skeeter looked less scary tonight, but he was still Skeeter. “I’ll take what she’s having.” He motioned to my plate. “But with fried eggs and double the bacon.”
“I’ll have it right out.”
Skeeter turned his attention back to me. “What happened after our call?”
“You tell me,” I said. “Ten seconds after you hung up, there was an explosion.”
He glanced around the room, quickly dismissing the old man. “Merv’s car blew up.”
“But how . . . ?”
“I took care of it.”
I had a hard time picturing Skeeter doing his own dirty work. But I decided against asking for more details. I probably didn’t want to know. “How’s Merv?”
His good mood vanished. “He’s been better.”
“He’s okay?”
He lifted his shoulder in a half-shrug, but I saw through his nonchalance. He was worried. “He got away and someone’s lookin’ after him.”
Which meant he wasn’t in a hospital. “Shouldn’t you be with him?”
He stole a piece of my bacon and took a bite, his eyes lifting to mine in a challenge. “Do I look like a damn nurse to you?”
“No, but—”
“Merv doesn’t want me there holdin’ his hand. He wants me to catch the bastards who shot him.” He dropped the bacon back on my plate, his mood even darker. “Tell me what you know.”
“Teagen’s friend’s name is Marshal. They were both hired by a woman, but they ultimately answer to J.R. They kept saying she wouldn’t be happy, but they sounded a heck of a lot more scared when they talked about Simmons.”
“They damn well should be scared. J.R. Simmons does not suffer fools gladly.”
“Marshal told Teagen that he should have killed me like he was supposed to, but Teagen said his job was just to snatch me and then go kill Mason.”
Skeeter’s scowl deepened and he nodded.
“The files in that shack were the same ones I saw in Kate’s apartment. I think this proves she’s been working for her father all along.”
The waitress walked up and set a plate of food in front of Skeeter. “Here ya go, sugar.”
Skeeter waited until she was out of sight before reaching for the syrup. “Kate never seemed interested in the family business before. She was a rebel, always challenging her father, but she was always a schemer. It could be that she realized working for Daddy was too lucrative to pass up.”
I thought about it for a second. “What I don’t understand is why she wanted me to get back with Joe if she was just gonna have me killed.”
“It would make a lot of sense if she holds a grudge against him.” He leaned forward. “Think about it. J.R. waited until I had everything I’d been working toward before he struck out at me. Maybe Kate Simmons was trying to do the same thing with Joe.”
“But I wouldn’t go back to him. So why go through with it?”
“She must have decided it would have to be enough. Why else have the video of your death sent to Deveraux while he was in Joe’s office? And Kate was there to watch, don’t forget.”
I sat back in my seat, feeling lightheaded. “Oh, my word. How can someone be so cold?”
“They say the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” he said as he poured syrup over his pancakes.
The bitterness in his voice told me there was a story there. I decided to worm it out of him. “Scooter’s your brother. He’s friends with Bruce Wayne.”
He looked up at me in surprise. “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Seems to me that you know a whole lot more about me than I know about you.”
He turned his attention back to his plate. “And that’s how it’s supposed to be.”
“Not if we’re partners.”
He sawed through his fried egg. “You turned that down.”
“We may not be partners in your business, but we’re partners in this mess.”
He shook his head. “Not by a long shot.”
He reached for his cup of coffee, but I snatched it before he could get to it.
“Skeeter, how can you say that?” I searched his eyes, trying not to let my temper get the best of me. “We’re in this together. Do you consider me your underling?”
He remained silent, but his clenched jaw told me I was getting to him.
“Look, I know you’re used to barkin’ orders at people, but I’m sick to death of takin’ order
s, and you damn well know it. Now we’re either partners in this, or I’m taking what I know and going home.” I pointed my finger in his face. “And I’ll send Jed and whoever else you assign to watch over me away.”
The veins in his temples throbbed, but I held my ground, refusing to be the first to cave in our staring contest.
Five seconds later, he dropped his gaze and attacked his pancakes.
We stayed like that for a good minute or two, Skeeter eating like he was getting paid to do it while I crunched on the last of my bacon and cradled his coffee in my hand.
I studied him as he ignored me—except I realized that wasn’t quite true. He was fully aware of what I was doing, just like he was aware of the waitress, the short order cook, and the man at the counter. He was even aware of the door, despite the fact that his back was to it. He’d suggested this place because there was a mirror on the wall behind me, giving him a view of the entire room.
Skeeter Malcolm was no fool.
But his personal life was also as well-guarded as Fort Knox. Jed seemed to be the only one who had access, and that was only granted because they shared a past. No, Skeeter wasn’t ignoring me—he was fortifying his walls.
But then he surprised the bejiggers out of me. “Scooter’s my younger brother. Not by much though.” He kept his gaze on his plate. “Growing up, people always thought we were twins. They said I got all the brains and the brawn, and Scooter got the leftovers.”
“Why would people say something so cruel?”
His gaze lifted to mine. “Why would your mother lock you in a closet?” He paused. “I learned very early on that it’s human nature to be cruel. To attack the weak. I studied people. How they worked. Why they did what they did. And after I faced my father’s bootstrap more times than I could count, I decided I’d never be under anyone’s heel again.”
“That’s why you went to work for J.R. You saw it as your ticket out.”
“I was tired of being dirt poor. I was known around here as one of the dirty Malcolm boys. I never stood a chance at being anything more. Unless I made it happen myself. So I left and never planned on coming back.”
“Until J.R. made you.”
He nodded. “Turns out I was still under someone’s heel after all.” He released a short laugh. “But I realized that everyone’s under someone’s heel. It’s just a matter of how tolerable it is.”
He didn’t appear to be under anyone’s heel at the moment, but I didn’t want to ask anything that would get him to shut down again. “Did Scooter resent people being mean to him?”
He chuckled. “Have you ever met Scooter?”
“No.”
A smile spread across his face. “Scooter’s special. Not a mean bone in his body.” He took a breath. “He wasn’t born quite right. The cord was wrapped around his neck, and our mother said he came out looking like a ripe blueberry. That’s why she named him Blue.”
I blinked. “Wait. His name isn’t Scooter?”
“It’s his nickname.”
My mouth dropped open. “So what’s your given name?”
His smile dropped, and he studied me for a moment. “James.”
“I had no idea . . .”
He laughed as he reached across the table and grabbed his coffee cup from my hands. “You think I was born with this name?”
The way he spat out the statement told me he hated it. “How’d you get saddled with Skeeter?”
He took a sip of his coffee. “My daddy was a mean ol’ cuss. He beat my momma. He beat Scooter and me. I tried my best to spare my momma and Scooter from it, but one night . . .” His face darkened, and he looked down at the table. “He was drunk and he’d lost a shit ton of money on the horses, so he came home and took it out on us.”
My chest tightened, and part of me wanted to show him sympathy, but I knew he didn’t want it. He’d stop his story if I said anything or so much as touched him.
“He could hardly stand upright, but he was still beating the shit out of my mother with that damned bootstrap.” His face tensed. “I grabbed his arm to stop him, but he was still strong enough to shake me off. He looked down at me, his eyes full of hate, and said, ‘Boy, you ain’t near strong enough to stop me. Yer nothing but a blood-suckin’ skeeter the way you feed off me.’ Then a fire lit his eyes, and he turned to Scooter and said, ‘And you ain’t got a lick of sense in your head. Yer as dumb as a damn scooter.’” He put down his cup. “Well, Scooter would have given his soul to get our father’s attention. He took that stupid nickname to heart, telling everyone in creation that his name was now Scooter and I was Skeeter and they were all supposed to call us that from now on.”
“How old were you?”
“Eight.”
I couldn’t imagine an eight-year-old having to defend his mother. But by the time I was eight, I’d been pretty beaten down by my mother. Violet, who wasn’t much older, had stepped forward to defend me. “Why didn’t you put a stop to it?”
He released a bitter laugh. “Oh, I could’ve if I’d wanted to. I didn’t take shit from anybody, even back then. But I kept it.”
“Why?”
His eyes glittered with dark emotion. “As a reminder.”
“A reminder of what?”
“Of my failure.” He refilled his cup, then set the empty carafe on the table and flagged down the waitress, who’d had the sense to keep her distance. “We need more coffee.”
“Of course, Mr. Malcolm.”
I flashed Skeeter a look, surprised the waitress knew him by name, but then all the pieces clicked together. We were having a private conversation in a public place—a public place that remained open despite the fact it was infamous for having hardly any customers. “You own this place, don’t you?”
He shrugged and gave me a grin. “I own a lot of places.” His grin spread. “You’d be surprised. I make far more money from my legitimate businesses than my illegal ones.”
Obviously this place was one of his less profitable enterprises. “So why do it?”
He turned his grin on the waitress when she came over with a fresh carafe of coffee. “Sandra, this is Rose.”
“Nice to meet you, Miss Rose.”
“Oh, just Rose,” I said with a smile.
“It’s nice to see James with a lady friend,” she said, beaming at him. “He’s so focused on his business he says he doesn’t have time for a girlfriend.”
My eyes widened, but she walked away before I could explain we were just friends. “She knows your given name,” I observed.
He shrugged. “She knew me growing up.”
“So why did she call you Mr. Malcolm before?”
He grimaced. “She insists.” He took a sip of coffee. “Before we started this stroll down memory lane, we were debating the possibility of Kate Simmons being behind your kidnapping. Did you hear anything else to corroborate it?”
“Yeah,” I said, trying to switch gears. It was hard to associate the man I saw in this place with Skeeter Malcolm, crime boss. But it made sense that he wouldn’t want any of this to get out for fear of tarnishing his reputation. Which meant he trusted me. I wanted to thank him for that, but Skeeter didn’t respond to pretty words. He responded to action.
He lifted an eyebrow, waiting for me to continue.
“They said the woman who hired them also put up my bail money. And she’s not happy she doesn’t have it back yet.”
“That was poor planning on her part . . . or maybe not. If you were dead, the charges would be dropped. She could get her money back nice and quiet.”
“She must really hate Joe to bail me out with a million dollars just to have me killed.”
“It’s all sport for the Simmons family, although I confess that Joe seems to have been skipped over by the scheming gene. But his sister sure wasn’t. Looks like she’s all grown up and playing in the big leagues.” He looked into my eyes. “The question is what do you want to do about it?”
“What are you suggesting?”
&nb
sp; “Rose, the woman tried to have you killed in a horrific way. You think we’re just going to let her get away with it?”
“We don’t know that for certain,” I protested. “Someone ran me off the road before she even got back into town.”
He snorted. “You think she just started tuning in when she showed up in town?” He shook his head. “Hell, if it’s revenge she wants, I guarantee you she’s been watching her brother since she left, or at least had someone doing it for her.”
“She had photos of me from last summer. Outside the courthouse with Joe and Mason. I figured she was photographing Mason because all the files on her table were about him.”
His eyelid ticked. “Which burned up in the fire.”
“Not necessarily. I stuffed most of them into a duffel bag.”
“Where is it?”
I cocked my head and gave him a devious grin. “Are we partners in this or not?”
His eyes lit up. “You’re really goin’ to hold me to that? You know I’m never partners with anyone—they either outrank me or they’re under me.”
For the first time since I’d learned how he felt about me, I heard a hint of innuendo.
“I refuse to be under you, so it’s either we’re equals or I outrank you.” My grin turned more innocent. “Your choice.”
He burst out laughing, then shook his head. “I have never met anyone quite like you, Rose Gardner.”
“I’m one of a kind. Now take it or leave it.” I held out my hand to shake on it.
His eyebrows lifted, and he grabbed my hand and held on. “Oh, I’m definitely taking.”
Chapter 11
I pulled my hand from his. “We need to lay some grounds rules.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, I’ve never been good with the rules,” he said with a wink.
“Well, there’s no time like the present to learn.”
“You can’t teach an old dog new tricks.”
I sighed in exasperation. “Are we gonna speak in idioms all night, or are we gonna figure this out?”
Thirty-Six and a Half Motives: Rose Gardner Mystery #9 (Rose Gardner Mystery Series) Page 10