I grabbed my now-lukewarm bowl of grits and dumped it on his head.
He stared at me in shock while the grits dripped down his face. “I take it that’s a no.”
“That’s a hell no. A no-fucking-way no.” I gave him a shove. “Get the hell away from me.”
“Summer.”
Willy Hawkins walked into the restaurant, and surprise covered his face when he realized his boss was wearing a bowl on his head.
The whole reason I was back in Sweet Briar was because of my bad behavior in a restaurant, and here I was again. Maybe I needed to start eating in more often.
“Officer Hawkins,” I called out to him, “can I file a complaint with you about someone in your department?”
I gave Luke another shove, but he still refused to budge. He took the bowl off his head and put it on the table, but grits clung to his hair and dripped down onto his shoulders. “Summer, wait. That came out all wrong.”
“You’re only saying that now because you didn’t get the reaction you were hopin’ for.” I glanced up at Willy. “Officer Hawkins, this man is harassing me.”
“Summer.”
Willy looked torn but said, “Chief, the lady wants you to move out of her booth.”
“Summer,” Luke pleaded.
Willy’s expression looked so conflicted I almost felt sorry for involving him, but he gave Luke a stern reprimand. “Chief.”
Luke started to slide out of the seat, but he stopped and said, “Summer, I don’t want you leavin’ like this.”
“You had your chance.”
He stood next to the table. “Are you talkin’ to anyone else tonight?”
I scooted across the seat, thankful he hadn’t dripped grits onto the vinyl. “Where I go and what I do is none of your business.”
“You’re in danger.”
“Then you should have thought of that before you insulted me with your proposition.”
“Summer, I swear to you. I didn’t mean it as an insult.”
I leaned closer and looked up at him. “You said we’re basically the same people, so let me ask you this: Would the Summer you knew before have settled for a fling?”
His face fell. “No.”
“Well, there you go, you moron.”
I glanced past him and saw Maybelline standing in the doorway to the kitchen, watching us in disbelief. “Maybelline, Chief Montgomery has graciously offered to pay for my dinner.”
“You hardly ate any of it,” she protested.
I gave Luke a hard glare. “I suddenly lost my appetite.”
I half expected him to protest when I walked out. Instead, I heard him grunt and looked back to see Maybelline pull back her hand from slapping him on the back of the head.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Dixie and I met Bill in front of Tommy Kilpatrick’s house a few minutes after seven. Tommy was under the impression we were coming over to bring his photo to him and film his reaction to it. He was eager for his fifteen minutes of fame.
Little did he know, he already had it.
When we knocked on the front door, Tommy yelled out, “Come on in!”
We found him in his worn La-Z-Boy recliner watching a baseball game on TV.
“Hey, Tommy,” I said. Bill was already filming the scene from the doorway. “I brought you that photo for your sister. In fact”—I glanced back at Dixie, and her lips twitched with a grin as she gave me an encouraging nod—“I brought one for you too.”
“No shit!” he said, reaching for it. “That’s a damn good photo. I’m looking pretty buff.”
I cringed but said, “You definitely are!”
In the photo we’d selected, I was flung over his shoulder with my butt looking as wide as an 18-wheeler due to the angle, but he was wearing a goofy grin. Whatever it took.
I still doubted I would get him to sell me anything on camera, but Bill said he thought he could work around it. Our ploy was to play up the photo first.
“I signed the one for your sister,” I said, plopping down on the sofa next to him without an invitation, “but I waited to see if you wanted anything special on yours.”
Dixie sat down beside me while Bill kept filming.
“Oh,” Tommy said, looking up. “How about ‘To Tommy: You’re a muscleman rock star. Love, Summer’? Then you can add those Xs and O things.”
Dixie leaned into my ear. “He’s starting to remind me of your stalker.”
I shot her a grimace. No kidding. But I uncapped the black marker in my hand and signed the message he’d requested. When I handed it over to him, I said, “Hey, you got any beers, Tommy?”
He gave me a hesitant look. “Yeah. In the fridge.”
“Mind if I get one?”
“Sure,” he said, his eyes widening, surprised that we were staying. “Your friend can have one too.”
I stood and glanced at Dixie, but she shook head. “Nothing for me.”
I left the room and went into the kitchen, which was separated from the living room by a three-foot opening. I started opening cabinet doors, looking for any drugs that might be tucked away, prepared to use the excuse that I’d decided to get Dixie a glass of water. I found a shelf full of pill bottles, but most seemed benign enough—over-the-counter pain relievers, antacids, a box of Band-Aids, and a nearly empty pill bottle for Tylenol with codeine. No OxyContin and no Xanax. Either Christina had sent me on a wild-goose chase, or Tommy kept the good stuff somewhere else. I opened the refrigerator and called out, “Tommy, you want one?”
“Yeah, sure!” was his excited response.
I grabbed two cans of Pabst Blue Ribbon (God help my taste buds), filled a glass with water, then picked up all three drinks and headed back to the living room. I handed Dixie her water first—she gave me a weird look since she hadn’t asked for it—then gave Tommy one of the beers.
Tommy pointed to Bill. “I’m glad you’re getting this on tape because no one’s gonna believe Summer Butler just got me a beer.”
I plastered a cheesy grin on my face. “I bet.”
We drank our beers while he watched the Braves play the Pirates in near silence. Talk about a fun date. Still, I couldn’t just jump into the next part. I had to butter him up first, although this seemed like a questionable way of buttering anyone up.
“Say, Tommy,” I finally said out of desperation, “what do y’all do for fun here nowadays?”
“Christina texted and said you were gonna drop by to get some Oxy.”
I sat in stunned silence for a few seconds. I’d sat through fifteen minutes of utter boredom for no reason—all I’d had to do was ask.
“Do you have any?”
“Yeah. Those muscle relaxers Dr. Livingston gave me ain’t enough to cut the pain, so I got some to help out. She said you might want some Xanax too. I’ve only got one of those.”
And here was my shot.
“Really? I was hopin’ you’d have more. This show has me on edge. My prescription’s out, and I’m out of my other recreational pharmaceuticals. Do you think you could hook me up with your source, so I could get it directly from him?”
“I don’t know,” he said with a grimace. “I used to get it from Ed Reynolds, and I’m not sure if you’ve heard, but he’s . . .” He made a slashing motion across his throat, complete with a weird sound effect.
“So what do you do now?” Dixie asked.
“I got a text from the new supplier this morning. He said to text him if I needed anything.”
If I could ID Tommy’s new supplier, then I might have a chance of cracking this whole thing wide-open.
“Do you think you could give me his number?” I asked. “Do you have his name?”
“No name. Just a number.” He pulled out his phone, tinkered with it for a few seconds, and then rattled off a number. I entered it and read it back to him to make sure I’d gotten it right. I really didn’t want to come back.
My phone rang, and I saw Luke’s name on the screen. I hit “Ignore” and looked back up
at him. “You know, Tommy, that was a call from our next appointment. Maybe we can come back some other time and hang out.”
“Don’t you want the pills?”
“It sounds like you need them more than I do. I’ll try to get some from your new supplier.”
“Okay,” he said, his gaze firmly fixed on the TV.
I gave him a small wave. “Thanks for the beer. And the number.”
“Yeah,” he said with a grin.
Dixie, Bill, and I all walked out onto street, and once we were clear of the house, Dixie said, “I can’t believe he just gave you that number. And on camera.”
Bill shrugged. “People forget and say all kinds of things you don’t think they’ll say.”
Dixie turned to me. “Do you think the number is a setup?”
I thought for a moment. “I doubt Tommy’s capable of much deception. He seems like a typical stoner, don’t you think? Kind of absentminded but chill.”
“I guess.”
I pulled out my phone even though my hands were shaking with nerves. “I think I’ll send a request for ten Xanax and ask how much.”
Bill and Dixie both stared at me.
“What? Too much? Too little?”
Bill shook his head. “This is getting dangerous, Summer.”
“We knew that going in.”
“Maybe we should reconsider.”
“No.” I shook my head. “I need this show to succeed, and if we can solve this case, the show’s guaranteed to be a success with all the video we’ve got.” Not to mention that I had to prove Teddy wasn’t part of this—and I desperately needed to give Lauren a reason not to pull out Dixie’s arrest.
“But, Summer . . .” Dixie’s voice trailed off as I quickly typed out a text.
I need ten Xanax, and I hear you’re the new source. Can we work out a deal?
I hit “Send” before I could change my mind. “Too late to protest now.”
We spent the next full minute staring at my phone. All of us jumped when it started to ring,
“Oh, God,” Dixie said, stumbling back into the trunk of Bill’s car.
I looked at the screen and felt slightly relieved. “It’s Teddy.”
I answered, walking toward the front of the truck to put some distance between Dixie and me. “What’s goin’ on, Teddy?” I asked in a direct voice. “What are you mixed up in?”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m not stupid, and I’m starting to piece things together.”
“Again, what are you talking about?”
“Luke wants to see you. He says you’re a person of interest in Ed Reynolds’s murder.”
“He told you that?”
“He says they found the murder weapon, and your fingerprints are all over it.”
“They have my gun.”
“What? How did they get it? Does it have anything to do with the break-in?”
He didn’t answer.
“Teddy!”
“Do you think I killed Ed Reynolds?” he asked in a low voice.
“No! But I’m waiting to hear your explanation.”
“So you think it’s a possibility?”
“No. I think you’re being framed, but I want to know what’s goin’ on.” It was the only explanation that made sense to me, and having recently been framed myself, I knew how easy it could be to make someone look guilty.
He didn’t respond.
“Teddy!”
“I can’t tell you, Summy. Not yet.”
“When?”
“A few days. And please, for the love of all that’s holy, I need you to stay away from Luke.”
“Why? I’m not gonna tell him anything. But maybe you should talk to him.”
“No. God, no. I don’t trust him, and he’s using you to try to get to me. Please, make me feel better and promise you’ll stay away from him.”
“You’re scaring me, Teddy. Who’s framing you?”
“I’m not sure yet, but I’m soon to find out.” I heard several voices behind him, but the sound was too muffled for me to make out any words. “I’ve got to go. I won’t be home until late. Lock all the doors, and tell Dixie to make sure her gun is loaded.”
Then he hung up.
I was surprised that Dixie was still standing by Bill’s car, wearing a serious expression.
My phone buzzed with a text from the number I’d texted.
Call and leave a message.
My face must have betrayed how I felt.
“What?” Dixie asked. I showed her and Bill the message—and then called the number before they could stop me. Bill had pulled out his camera again and was filming before I got the computer-generated voice-mail message.
“Hi,” I said, thankful my voice wasn’t as shaky as my hand. “I’m calling about the transaction I texted about.” It didn’t seem smart to leave a voice mail asking for Xanax. “I’ve run out of my personal stash, so I’ll pay extra if I can get it tonight.” Then, unsure of what else to say, I added, “Thanks.”
After I hung up, I glanced at Dixie and Bill. Dixie had an I-can’t-believe-you-did-that expression. Bill looked grim as he lowered the camera.
“I don’t think you should do this, Summer,” Dixie said, wringing her hands. “He’s bound to know who you are and that you’re filming a show. The last thing these people will want is publicity. Three men are dead. I don’t want you to be next.”
Bill didn’t say anything, but the fear in his eyes confirmed he felt the same way.
“Too late now,” I said, more flippantly than I felt. “It’s already done.” But I wasn’t feeling so brave either, so I added, “He might not even call or text me back.” I felt like a traitor for hoping that was the case.
We stood around for ten more minutes waiting for a response, and when I hadn’t heard anything, I finally called it. “We’ll try to come up with another lead tomorrow. Maybe we can figure out where Otto used to hide out for days at a time. Gretchen mentioned he used to go fishing at a creek. I can call her and find out where he went.”
“Good idea,” Bill said with a big yawn. “I need to dump all the video anyway. See you girls tomorrow.”
Dixie and I headed back to the farm, and we caught an earful from Meemaw for failing to inform her we’d be late.
“I just washed all the table linens for spring cleaning,” Meemaw said with frown. “So you girls can iron them all.” She pointed to an overflowing basket of white tablecloths and napkins.
Dixie gritted her teeth and gave me a look that suggested she really wanted to tell Meemaw no, but we both realized this was our punishment. Better to just get it over with while we watched TV.
We were halfway through the basket—me ironing and Dixie folding—when my phone rang.
I started and dropped my iron on the ironing board. Crap. I was completely unprepared to chat with a drug dealer/possible murderer, but my heart sped up when I saw Luke’s name on the screen. After how he’d behaved, I absolutely should not be this excited to talk with him.
I answered. “Did you get all those grits washed out of your hair, Luke?”
The worried expression on Dixie’s face turned to a grin. She was going to want that story later. Of course, it was probably all over that Facebook page.
“Turns out grits are a pretty good conditioner,” he said with a smile in his voice. “I know it’s late, but can I come out to the farm to talk to you?”
My traitorous heart skipped a beat. “I guess it depends on why you’re plannin’ on comin’.”
“I don’t like how we left things. I didn’t express my real intentions well.”
I knew I should tell him no, but my heart ached just from talking to him. Still, I couldn’t forget that he was trying to pin a murder on my cousin. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Please.”
“Okay.” God, I was so weak.
“I’ll be there in about ten minutes.” He hung up quickly, as if he knew I was already questioning my d
ecision.
“I have ten minutes before Luke’s gonna show up to talk to me, so we need to get as much ironing done as possible.”
Dixie just gave me a knowing grin. About five minutes later, my phone dinged with a text. I expected it to be Luke, but it was from my mystery number.
Be at the Jackhammer in fifteen minutes. Come alone.
Oh, shit. This was happening.
“Dixie.” I held out the phone to her. “How long will it take to get out there?”
“Fifteen minutes.”
“Crap.” I picked up my purse. “I’ve gotta go.”
“Not without me,” she protested.
“The text says come alone. I’m not risking you, or the chance to find out what’s goin’ on.”
“What about Bill?”
“No. I’ll use my phone.” I headed out the front door toward the truck.
“But Luke’s coming to the farm!”
Dammit. “Tell him I decided I didn’t want to see him.” I hopped in the truck, wasting no time driving out to the county road. Thankfully, I didn’t pass Luke. He definitely would have followed. I glanced at the time on my phone—9:55 p.m.
I’d never been to the Jackhammer before, but I wasn’t surprised to see the parking lot full of pickup trucks and older cars. I was really going to stick out here in my dress—Meemaw hadn’t let me change before saddling Dixie and me with our endless chore. Maybe that was for the best. There’d be more witnesses paying attention to me if the mystery texter tried anything.
I pulled up my recording app and turned it on. I had no idea what was going to happen, but I wanted to have some sort of record of it. If things went south, I’d ditch my phone and hopefully someone would find it.
I walked in, surprised and pleased to see how many women were here. The banner declaring it LADIES NIGHT $1 DRAFTS explained it. I walked straight up to the bar, found an empty stool, and took my perch so I could scan the room. I had no idea whom I was looking for, but it didn’t hurt to check. There was no one sinister-looking here, just a bunch of hardworking people letting off steam.
“What can I get you?” the bartender asked.
I flashed him a smile. “A draft beer, of course.”
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