by Kelly Lane
I wanted to warn her, but then, I knew she’d never listen to me. As I’d been once, she was just out of college. She knew it all . . .
I rolled my eyes.
I scanned the rest of the room. Except for my own seat next to Precious, all the seats at the bar were filled, as were all the tables. The place was mobbed.
Standing in the back of the room near the entrance, I was immersed in a crowd noisily chatting and drinking—giant mugs of beer, mostly—as they waited for seats that would probably never become available. Pressing through the drunken crowd, I worked my way along the back wall, headed toward the door, where a path cut through the roomful of tables straight to the bar.
A roar of cheers and applause erupted as the band strummed the first few notes of “Orange Blossom Special.” People jostled around, trying to get a better view of the tiny stage in the corner. A big elbow knocked me hard.
“Oh, uh, sorry,” said a tall, farmy guy in overalls.
His giant mug of beer toppled from his hand and sloshed all over me, before clattering to the floor. My white tee shirt and most of my black jeans were completely soaked through with beer. Moreover, the big galumph bumped me so hard that I lost my balance and smacked right into someone else.
Debi Dicer.
Crap.
I chastised myself for not noticing Debi’s signature bleached blonde inverted bob ahead of me in the mob of people. How could I have missed her? Twice in one day was too much Debi, for sure.
Too late now.
Made up to the nines, as usual, Debi’s bright pink lipstick and neon Lilly Pulitzer shift jarred against the tee shirts, jeans, and polyester suits in the dimly lit, grungy barroom. She smirked as she took in my beer-drenched shirt. Already it’d plastered itself to my skin.
That’s all I need . . . to look like a wet tee shirt contestant.
And worse still, with her smug, delighted look, Debi hung off the forearm of none other than Sheriff Buck Tanner himself. Apparently, they’d just arrived.
As a couple.
I tugged at my soggy shirt, trying to pull it away from my skin.
No use.
Debi nuzzled at Buck’s muscled arm and tittered.
“Heavenly day! Bucky, hon, look who the cat dragged into the Roadhouse tonight.”
Buck, wearing black jeans and a black tee that showed off his massive biceps, turned to look at me. I thought there was a familiar flicker in his eyes for a second, as he stood motionless, taking me in. All of me. Then deadpan. He had no discernable expression. He didn’t even crack a smile. Really, that wasn’t the Buck I knew at all. The Buck I knew would’ve made some off-color crack about my wet tee shirt.
Not this time.
I tugged at my shirt again.
“Oh my!” Debi laughed. “Looks like you’ve had another accident, sweetness. Your second today.”
Debi winked at me, with that sickly sweet—and totally insincere—expression she was so good at putting on as she ran her long, manicured fingers up and down Buck’s arm.
“Miss Eva,” Buck said finally. He gave me a polite smile and a curt nod. Nothing else.
That was a greeting? Seriously?
Buck’s eyes were expressionless. He wouldn’t even look me in the eye. Then I realized he was staring at my bruised arm. The one with the fingernail marks Debi’d left earlier during the parade. Now, of course, the same arm was covered with scratch marks, from Claudia.
“Sheriff,” I said breezily.
What kind of game are we playing? Surely, it’s a game . . .
I tried to be as offhand as Buck. Biting my lip, I gave up fighting my soaked shirt.
Already, he’d looked away and busied himself greeting other folks in the barroom. He was like a celebrity; folks were all-too-happy to schmooze it up with their sheriff. I was no more than a gnat that he’d thoughtlessly waved away.
Something is really off here.
I wondered, had Buck been playing me during the last murder investigation a few weeks earlier? I mean, he’d really planted one on and kissed me. Like . . . kissed me. The kind of kiss that made me feel all mushy inside. Also, he’d said things . . .
Remembering, I felt my cheeks flush hot.
And at the time of the kiss, I’d thought Buck had felt it, too. And, really, he’d started it. Could it all have been a game on his part?
Surely not.
Or maybe it had been real and now, he was just darned pissed at me for something? As if I didn’t know what.
Dex.
Could that be what this was about?
Buck’s coolness confused me. Moreover, as much as I tried to ignore it, I realized that despite trying not to care, my feelings were crushed.
Easy, Eva. This is why you have a man moratorium. You know nothing about men. Or relationships. Let it go . . .
“Surely, y’all are not alone. Where’s your date, sugar pie?” Debi pressed me.
She reached up and fingered Buck’s short-cropped brown hair and nuzzled him on the shoulder. Then she gave him a teeny bite on his neck.
Eghh.
He turned and gave her a peck on the cheek.
Omigosh! She bit his neck and he kissed her! Right there in the Roadhouse . . . He kissed skanky Debi Dicer! In front of everyone. Like a little puppy dog, eager to please his evil mistress.
“Well break my neck and leave me in heck,” I said.
It was an expression that I’d heard Precious use once. It seemed to fit the occasion.
“I’m sorry, sugar, I couldn’t hear you. Did y’all say something?”
Debi flashed me her sweetest, totally fake smile.
“No, I didn’t. Excuse me.”
I turned to get away. In all my living days, I’d never seen Buck behave like such a pantywaist. A scoundrel and a womanizer . . . yes. I’d seen that. Plenty of times. Yet, a dog on a woman’s leash . . . no way.
What the heck was going on? Had Buck changed so much in eighteen years? Was such a thing possible? Had I not seen it during the few months I’d been back home? Certainly, I’d known Buck and Debi were an “item.” Heaven forbid, Debi couldn’t rub my face in it enough. Every time she saw me, she blathered on about how “Bucky” was about to put a honking engagement ring on her finger. Not to mention, there’d been all the baby-making smack talk that I’d gotten from her and Buck’s mother, Tammy Fae.
Eghh.
Still, around me at least, Buck had always shrugged it off when I asked him about Debi.
“Don’t worry about Debi,” he’d said more than once. “She’s not important.”
I turned back to glance at Debi’s left ring finger.
Still no ring.
“Oh, wait!” chimed Debi brightly.
She placed a cold hand on my shoulder and made a pouty face as she leaned in closer to me. “Surely, a woman of your experience can find someone to escort tonight . . . After all, even a blind hog finds an acorn now and then!” She tittered. “But then, given your reputation with men and, of course, dead men, perhaps all the available bachelors have figured it’s not worth the risk sticking their toes into the Knox sister pond? Too bad. Of course, if I were you, I’d want to have someone by my side at all times. You know . . . just in case. Y’all wouldn’t want to have another accident, now, would you?”
She plucked a strand of hair out of her mouth and laughed.
Another threat?
Chatting merrily with some old farmer dude next to him, Buck seemed completely oblivious to what Debi was saying. Turning his back on me like that niggled me even more.
I’d had enough.
“Don’t pee on my leg, Debi,” I snapped back, “and tell me it’s raining. That old dog doesn’t hunt with me anymore.”
“Always with your panties in a twist,” laughed Debi. “Maybe if you could stop chasing after
my man, and find yourself your own man and get some . . . if you even remember how these days . . . you’d not be so surly all the time.” She laughed again.
“Which is it, Debi? Am I getting it on with your Bucky when he’s not at home at night with you, like you complained to me in town this afternoon? Or, am I so starved for some action that I need to get some with anyone . . . I wish you’d stick to one story. It can’t be both, you know.”
“Bless your heart.”
I was on a roll.
“And it seems to me that you’ve had enough men for all of us. At least that’s what all the men up at the bar say. Apparently, your skills are most appreciated. And I don’t mean your skills in real estate. Excuse me.”
I spun around to start working my way toward Precious and Pep at the bar. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Buck turn back to where I’d been standing with Debi. His eyes flashed to me, then back to Debi. Her mouth had dropped open. She actually looked a bit shocked.
Good. Score one for me.
Then I heard Debi let out an exaggerated giggle before she cooed extra-loudly to Buck, “She’s just like an old, broken down refrigerator . . . can’t keep nothin’!”
I never heard Buck say a word in my defense.
Damn him.
CHAPTER 23
Settled into the tight black leather bucket seat of the late-model Corvette Stingray, I stared blankly out the window as Precious sped down the dark country road. Beside me, her man-sized hands gripped the leather-wrapped steering wheel.
“I dunno why you insisted on leaving. Things were just gettin’ warmed up at the Roadhouse. I love the way the Crop Pickers play ‘Orange Blossom Special.’ That fellow with the nose ring plays a mean fiddle.”
“I’m sorry. It’s been a long day, Precious. I’m just tired. And if you haven’t noticed, I’m soaked with beer.”
Precious tightened her hands around the wheel. Looking at me sideways, she punched the accelerator pedal with her spiky purple Louboutin as she worked the stick shift in the center console. The car engine growled as we headed toward the village.
“You coulda borrowed a shirt from your sister. She offered.”
“I wasn’t in the mood to sit alongside a bunch of strangers with a sparkly skull and crossbones across my chest. Especially with the Boston crowd and Debi Dicer there.”
“I figured us leavin’ like someone shot us out of a cannon had somethin’ to do with her. I saw how she got you all bowed up when you were talking.”
“C’mon, Precious. My wanting to leave wasn’t just about Debi. I am covered in beer. Surely, you can’t blame me for wanting to go home and get into some dry clothes.”
“That tall bitch is slicker than snot on a brass doorknob. She’ll say anything just to fuzz you up. Don’t worry about it, Sunshine.”
“I’m not.”
“Yeah. Right.” Precious rolled her eyes. “You look fit to be tied. Still, just you consider this, Sunshine. Her Nastiness wouldn’t be so hell-bent on upsettin’ you if she didn’t know the sheriff on her arm had the hots for ya . . .”
“Stop. Please. He doesn’t have the hots for me. And I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Have it your way. But you know I’m right.”
“Not this time.”
Precious snorted and shook her head. “For a Seven Sisters college–educated smart cookie, you sure don’t have much man smarts. Like, none at all, I’d say.”
“You can say that again.” I turned to look out the window. “Welcome to my man moratorium.”
We cruised under old-style streetlamps in the village, passing one picture-perfect Victorian with gingerbread trim after another. Most of the display windows in the shop fronts were lit, the wares in the shops behind them blanketed in darkness. The second stories of many of the old buildings were apartments. Most were lit inside. I even caught a glimpse of a couple of TVs as we swooshed past in the street below.
With her big head tilted to keep from bumping it into the roof of the little convertible, Precious hummed as we soared under a canopy of moss-draped live oak trees just outside the village. Ahead, all we could see was the dark road illuminated by the headlights. It was pitch-dark everywhere else.
I slid down in my seat as Precious downshifted, crushing the accelerator pedal with her purple Louboutin. We blasted around a curve. The tires squealed.
“Yikes!” I muttered.
“Speakin’ of women who I ain’t got no use for, you gonna tell me what happened in the ladies’ room tonight with that uppity piece of work from Boston?”
“You mean Claudia? What makes you think something happened between me and Claudia?”
“I saw her come outta the ladies’ room looking like someone’d just jerked a knot in her tail. And you looked like your feathers had gotten pretty ruffled yourself, following her out. I figured you two were havin’ some sort of denouement.”
“Denouement?”
“Yeah. You know, like, you was resolving some sort of old business.”
“Ha! Hardly.”
“You gonna tell me what that was all about?”
“Nope.”
“Any reason why not?”
“No.”
“Have it your way, then.”
I gripped the door as Precious quickly accelerated. She drove the little car way faster down the narrow country road than I would—faster than most people would.
“Precious, maybe I should drive. After all, you did have a fuzzy navel and a couple of shots.”
“Make that two pierced fuzzy navels, and more than a couple of shots. And I’m just fine to drive, thank you very much. It takes a lot more than that to take Big Precious down. Besides, no one drives my little ‘Vette.’ She’s my baby.”
“Right.”
“When you were in the ladies’ room all that time, not having your denouement”—she raised her eyebrows—“I heard folks at the bar calling your place ‘Knox-Em-Dead Plantation.’ Pretty clever, huh?” Precious slapped the steering wheel with a hand and chuckled.
“Clever.” I rolled my eyes.
I gripped the car door as she downshifted and stomped harder on the accelerator pedal. We careened around another curve, rear tires skidding behind us.
“Hey, at least folks are talking about the place. That’s what you and your sisters want, right?”
“I don’t think the name ‘Knox-Em-Dead’ conveys the kind of image we had in mind, Precious.”
I thought again about Dex and sank deeper into my seat.
“Why are ya groaning, Sunshine?”
“I’m concerned about what you told me earlier in town. About Detective Gibbit wanting a warrant for our place. If he gets it, what do you suppose he thinks he’ll find?”
“Beats me, Sunshine. Anything to get himself a quickie conviction, I s’pose.”
About a mile outside the village, we passed a white farmhouse with painted gnomes on a scraggly lawn with rosebushes. Mister Moody’s place. Of course, it was late at night, and the old codger wasn’t outside rocking in his chair on the big porch. I waved as we blew by, anyway . . . Habit.
We passed a few stately Victorian homes, set well back from the road. The motor snarled as Precious careened around a giant curve. I gripped the seat to steady myself, sure we were about to go off the shoulderless road into a ditch.
Screaming past some wilderness, the car jerked one way and then another as we jettisoned down the curvy country route. Several miles outside the village, we passed Georgian- and Federal-style mansions, each set far back from the road, featuring white fences, wrought iron gates, cobblestone drives, and well-tended gardens with flowering magnolias and roses. The rose-lined drive that belonged to Daphne’s friend Bubbles Bolender was filled with cars. The Abundance elite must be having a party, I thought. Bubbles was president of the Abundance Garden Club and on the b
oard of numerous foundations and conservancies. That reminded me, Daphne was making me go to the garden club cleanup in the village to pick up sticks the next day. There’d be more Debi Dicer.
Ugh.
I stretched my legs out into the cramped space under the dashboard.
We blew by Carter’s Country Corner Store, the local convenience store, of sorts, and hangout for hunters and codgers. The place was just closing. Must be eleven o’clock, I thought.
Every now and again, there’d be a gate in front of a dirt drive that disappeared into the wilderness. Hunting lodge. Then before I could blink, it’d be gone. Then blurs of longleaf pine forests. Then we flashed by swaths of flat, sandy farmlands stretched out next to old, rambling farmhouses and barns. Precious slammed around a corner, nearly knocking my head into the car window. I hunkered down in the passenger seat.
I gripped my seat as Precious accelerated again.
Next time, I’m driving, I thought. That is, if we make it home and there is a next time . . .
We blasted down the twisty country road like a bat out of hell. I held tight to my seat and focused on the next upcoming curve in the road. At least it was a distraction from all my thoughts of murder, mayhem, and the group from Boston.
Why had they come here?
And what happened to Dex? Could I have somehow prevented his death? What if for once, Detective Gibbit was right and something nefarious had happened to Dex? Had there been a murderer at Knox Plantation? Again?
Suddenly, the little car shook. The ground shook. The world shook. Then, as if sucked into a vacuum, the car rocked violently to one side as Precious clung to the wheel and started hollering.
CHAPTER 24
“Holy . . . !” Precious shouted. A deafening ROAR drowned out the rest of her words.