Hot Summer Nights

by Jessica Clare

  She sucked in a breath, and then let out a squeal, doing a happy little bounce. “Oh my god. Does this mean you’re going to arrest me? Hang on! I have to make sure I have enough juice.”

  “More…juice?” His brows drew together.

  She turned to her camera and yanked it off the tripod, checking the settings. “Battery life. Looks like I’m good. This’ll totally work. I can get two weeks of footage instead of just one. Awesome.” She fiddled with the camera, not even looking over at him. “If I resist arrest, will it make things look more convincing?”

  “More convincing, ma’am? I didn’t say I was going to arrest you. I just want you to leave Mr. Tatum’s property.”

  She looked over at him, crestfallen. “You’re not going to arrest me?”

  “No.”

  She gave him a shrewd look. “Then I’m not going anywhere.”

  He sighed. Damn it. Of course he’d get stuck with a crazy woman. “Turn that camera off so we can have a real discussion.”

  “No. Absolutely not. I need the camera.”

  Now she’d gone from perplexing to downright annoying. Time to scare her a little. “We’re about to move straight into resisting arrest territory if you don’t start listening to me, ma’am.” A little white lie never hurt anyone. She wasn’t really resisting arrest—just not listening—but maybe the threat would make her pay attention.

  “Perfect,” she said, setting the camera back on the tripod. She glanced at it one last time, and then turned back toward him, her hands outstretched. “Cuff me, baby.”

  * * *

  Definitely crazy.

  To her vast disappointment and loud complaints, he’d turned off her camera and hadn’t cuffed her. He had, however, put her in the back of his vehicle and taken her down to the station to book her for defiant trespassing, since she wanted to be booked so damn bad. He’d have been just as happy sending her on her way. That was how things were done in a small town. You showed up, put a little fear into the trespassers, and sent them on their way.

  This crazy woman didn’t seem to figure that out, though. She wanted to be arrested. She’d been fascinated by the process, too, asking him all kinds of questions and if he could “play” the police siren for her.

  He’d refused.

  Now she was sitting in Bluebonnet’s lone jail cell (which was not in use all that often), waiting on someone to come and pick her up. Hank busied himself with completing one of the computerized “smart forms” required for any processed police case. Of course, “smart form” was a figure of speech, because the damn computer was acting up. Damn thing ran slower and slower every time he turned it on. He wasn’t much good with computers. Didn’t have time to fuss with them. No one at the station did.

  Hank examined the woman’s mug shot. She’d posed for it, vamping for the camera even as she held the plaque in front of her. When he’d finished snapping it, she’d asked to have it retaken so she could “pick the best one.”

  He’d declined.

  She’d been excited to be fingerprinted, too, and even more excited when he sat her in the jail cell.

  Strange woman.

  He’d noticed a logo on the back of her pink tank top—www.thelegendofjane.com. And of course, he couldn’t help but wonder about it. After wrestling with the slow office computer to get her picture and prints uploaded, he poured himself another cup of coffee, and then decided to check out the website. Immediately, his screen filled with a few flashing ads and a big, splashy logo screamed THE LEGEND OF JANE at him, followed by THE LEGEND OF JANE. A video immediately began to play.

  The Legend of Jane, it seemed, was a blog. A video blog. Made by his crazy woman. In the video, she was chatting to the camera. She wore the same glittery eye makeup and the same ridiculous outfit, her hair pulled in identical pigtails. It seemed to be some sort of costume for her.

  “This week, we’re in the woods of East Texas in search of the infamous Bigfoot! There’s a farm here where they claim to have seen Bigfoot multiple times on a regular basis, and they state that he swings by to steal their chicken eggs. How can we resist? I asked, and they’ve allowed the Legend of Jane to stop by and film. Let’s go say hello, shall we?”

  Bigfoot? What the heck? He paused the video and looked at the prior week. A haunting at an old Louisiana plantation. He flipped back a bit further. Jersey Devil hunting. Another date was her and a friend eating Pop Rocks and enormous quantities of soda and laughing hysterically.

  That did it. Jane was insane. And she wanted to tip cows just to get more fodder for her blog? Is that what she’d been up to? He shook his head and went back to booking the charges. And as he did, he glanced down at her driver’s license. Luanne Allard.

  It seemed his legendary “Jane” was more of a Luanne.

  * * *

  Right around dawn, before the day shift showed up, Emily Allard-Smith arrived at the police station, dressed in sweats and with her dark blonde hair pulled into a ponytail. She wore no makeup, which was surprising to Hank, given that she was normally dolled up.

  He knew Emily, of course. The entire town did. She’d bought the old Peppermint House and was trying to set it up as a bed-and-breakfast. And she was convinced the place was haunted. She’d called the cops multiple times for every rattle that the old place made. The other cops were convinced that nice Emily Allard-Smith was just scared to live alone in that big house.

  But Hank was starting to wonder if the ghost thing was just her crazy sister at work.

  She grimaced at him, seemingly embarrassed to be at the station. “Hi, Hank. I heard you have my sister here?”

  He stared at her thoughtfully. “I don’t know if you noticed, Emily, but your sister’s a loon.”

  “Be nice. She’s not crazy.”

  “You sure about that?”

  Emily sighed and placed a container of breakfast muffins on the counter. That was another reason that everyone at the station kept showing up at the Peppermint House. Emily was a damn fine cook, and generous. “I brought you some blueberry muffins. Was Luanne much of a chore?”

  “Did you girls grow up in the city?”

  Emily nodded, perplexed. “Why?”

  “Your sister thinks cow tipping’s real.”

  “Oh no.” Emily clenched a hand. “She didn’t.”

  “She did.”

  “It’s that stupid blog. She’s convinced it’ll—” She stopped abruptly, then shook her head. “Never mind. I’m here to bail her out.”

  “No bail, ma’am. Just a citation.” At Emily’s surprise, he shrugged. “She wanted to spend the night in jail. I obliged her and left her in the holding cell.”

  And here Emily said her sister wasn’t crazy. Love was blind, because that Luanne gal was nuttier than a pecan pie.

  * * *

  Luanne drummed her fingers on the cold metal bench she sat on.

  All right. So jail? Not that much fun. Not that she’d expected it to be fun. But it would have been worth the trip if she’d gotten some decent footage for her blog. She could have turned a jail visit into a really fun series of videos and milked it for weeks.

  Unfortunately, Officer Hotness had confiscated her camera and hadn’t wanted to play along. Spoilsport.

  She supposed she couldn’t fault the man. She was trespassing. She had been saying crazy things. But put the camera on her, and she thought of nothing but the footage.

  Heck, she knew cow tippings weren’t real. The thing was, her audience didn’t know that she was well aware of it, and so it made good, easy footage for her blog. And that was the trick. As long as she kept entertaining them with her wacky stunts, they’d keep coming to her website. And traffic to her website meant money in her pocket.

  A key rattled in the door, and Luanne jumped to her feet. Officer Hotness was the first one through the door, his tall, broad form so big that he practically had to stoop to enter the cell.

  She noticed things like height on a man. Luanne figured that at six foot tall in flats, it nar
rowed the dating pool down for her quite a bit. When someone came along that was just the right height, her ovaries tended to perk up and pay attention.

  And those ovaries screamed at her every time Officer Hotness came through the door.

  He wasn’t the most good-looking man she’d ever seen. His features were a little too blunt and unsmiling to make him handsome. But he was incredibly tall and had big shoulders, and had an ass that wouldn’t quit in that uniform.

  Hotness, indeed.

  Officer Hotness gave her a disapproving look as he entered the cell, and he was quickly followed by her sister, Emily. Luanne smiled brightly, ignoring her sister’s chagrined expression. “Hey, Em! Glad you could bail me out.”

  “No bail,” Officer Hotness said, and handed her a paper. “A ticket. Be mindful of other people’s property in the future, Ms. Allard. I don’t want to see you in here again.”

  “Yes, Officer,” she said in a sweet voice. “Can I have my camera back?” Maybe if she was nice to him, he’d let Emily film some action shots of Luanne leaving the jail cell. She could supplement what footage she had with a few well-staged clips.

  “You can have it back once you leave.”

  Luanne sighed. So much for that.

  Five minutes later, they had left the police station and were heading back to Emily’s house. Luanne clutched the ticket in one hand, her camera in the other. “My car’s still on the side of the road, Em.”

  “I gave Officer Sharp your spare key. He’s going to pick it up and drop it off for you later today. I’m guessing he doesn’t want you hanging around Mr. Tatum’s farm again.”

  “Gee, Officer Sharp sure is trustworthy,” Luanne said sarcastically. “Like a big golden retriever. I can’t believe you trusted him with my keys.”

  “That’s how things are done around here,” Emily said with a small shrug of her shoulders. She put on her blinker and turned into the driveway of the house. “Small towns are a little weird, I know.”

  More than a little weird, if you asked Luanne. But no one did.

  She stared up at the red and white monstrosity of a house that her sister had purchased. The Peppermint House, as it was known about town, was an eight-bedroom Victorian. It was the first house built in Bluebonnet, and had the distinction of also being the biggest eyesore in town. At some point, some fool had thought it would be “cute” to paint the house bright candy red and the trim and shutters white. It looked like a big ugly candy cane.

  But Emily loved the damn place. And she was determined to run a bed-and-breakfast, even though she’d never actually run a bed-and-breakfast. She’d also never renovated a Victorian home, either, and she was doing that as a solo project as well. Luanne normally stayed out of Emily’s business because she was pretty sure Emily didn’t want to be second-guessed on her new career path. And Luanne could respect that.

  They slid out of the car once it was parked, and Luanne glanced up at the lacy curtains fluttering in an upstairs window. “You really ought to let me do a feature about this place on my blog, Em. Haunted hotels are really big right now. I’ll fake some noises on camera to make it seem legit. You’ll be crawling with customers in no time.”

  “No, Luanne,” Emily said firmly, heading to the front door. “I don’t want to be on your blog. I want normal customers, not ghostbusters. Plus, I’m still renovating.”

  She pushed open the front door and stepped inside. Not locked. That was another thing that wigged Luanne out about small towns. No one locked their doors.

  “Why not?” Luanne dropped her camera on the foyer table and headed into the kitchen to grab a drink. She was thirsty. Officer Hotness hadn’t offered her a drink while she’d been in jail, which was a shame. It was almost as if he hadn’t liked her. “You need the money.”

  “I don’t need the money yet,” Emily said. “And your blog attracts weirdos. This is a small town. I like the small-town vibe. No one wants any kooky stuff.” Her sister gave her a prim look. “Except you.”

  “Kooky stuff pays the bills, Em,” Luanne said, swiping a bottle of Dr Pepper from the fridge and moving to a barstool. “Last month’s ad revenue was double what I normally make. My traffic’s gone through the roof. You got any of those muffins left over?”

  Emily bustled past Luanne, pulled a plastic baggie of muffins out of the fridge, and set it before Luanne. “Yeah, and the stalkers went through the roof, too. That’s why you moved here, right? Because someone followed you home once?”

  Luanne shrugged and pulled a muffin out of the bag, peeling the paper from it with great interest and avoiding her sister’s direct gaze. “The Legend of Jane is popular with men.”

  “It’s because you’re dressed like a nut while you do these stunts.” Emily complained. “You should get a real job, Luanne.”

  “No one will hire an investment broker with an expired license and bad credit, Em. You know that.” She bit into the muffin. “Jane’s all I’ve got right now. In another month, I’ll have the last credit card paid off. I can’t fix my credit, but I figure if I get enough money in the bank, it won’t matter. Then I can see about setting up a business. A real one. But for now, the Legend of Jane rides on.”

  Emily sighed and shook her head, then grabbed a muffin for herself. “I just worry that you’re going to get in over your head, Luanne.”

  “Pfft,” she said. “I’ve got it all under control. It’s not like I’ll get sent to jail…Oh, wait,” she teased.

  Emily threw a muffin at Luanne. “You’re horrible.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Luanne trailed a finger along a shelf in the hardware store, yawning to herself as she thought. This small mom-and-pop place wouldn’t carry what she needed for her next stunt, seeing as how they didn’t have lumber. But since she was already here, she might as well check out the rest of the store. She lifted her finger and shuddered at the dust coating the tip. Clearly cleaning supplies were not high on the hardware store’s list.

  She needed props for this weekend’s stunt. Even though she had her cow tipping episode (however botched) and the subsequent arrest on tape, she liked to have a few episodes filmed ahead of time.

  Plus, she was working a lot because she was bored. Since she’d just moved to Bluebonnet, she didn’t know anyone other than Emily, really. And all her friends were currently at their day jobs and couldn’t text or chat on the phone. So to pass the time, she was prepping for her next stunt. This upcoming one would be crop circles. She’d driven past a long, flat field while heading down to Bluebonnet, and it had given her the idea. Apparently you could make crop circles by using rope and boards and pushing the grass down in circles. Luanne had watched some videos and she figured she could make a reasonable attempt at it. And hey, if she failed, that made just as good an episode as the successful ones.

  With a length of rope tucked under her arm and two spools of duct tape over her wrist (one never knew when one would need more duct tape), Luanne headed for the checkout counter. She paused, waiting as the ancient man behind the cashier’s desk slowly rang up the items for the man in front of her. When they paused to discuss whether the right size nuts were being purchased, Luanne stifled her laugh and glanced out the windows to the street.

  Downtown Bluebonnet was kind of cute, she had to admit to herself. There was a homey, quaint feel to things and the shops that lined the street were cheerful, even if they weren’t much to her city-girl eyes. Her gaze drifted over to the Mexican restaurant—the only one in town, mind you—the coffee shop, the beauty salon, and an antiques store that looked more like an overfed yard sale. There was a cute little gazebo in the center of town, and on the other side of Main Street were a few more small shops. Two streets down, and she could walk back to the Peppermint House, which made Main Street rather convenient for her. But since the hardware store didn’t carry lumber, she’d have to borrow Emily’s car and head into the city, since her car was still with the police.

  Speaking of the police…her eyes narrowed with dislike in the
direction of the city hall-slash-utilities-slash-library-slash-police building. That darned cop was probably in there, telling stories about how he’d kinda-sorta arrested “Jane” from the Legend of Jane website. She hoped she never saw his ass again. Then she paused. His ass was actually pretty hot. She wouldn’t mind seeing it again. She hoped she just never had to talk to the owner again. But not being able to stare at an ass that hot would seem like a waste of a perfectly good ass.

  The customer in front of her finally finished, and Luanne set her rope and duct tape on the counter with a smile. “Morning.”

  The old man gave her a toothless grin. “Morning to you. Did you find what you were looking for?”

  Why, what a grand opening. Luanne grinned at him and fished a printout from her purse. “Not really, but I wanted to ask you two things.”

  His brows wrinkled together. “I’ll help if I can.”

  He seemed like a sweet old man. She smiled and unfolded the printout, showing it to him. “Have you seen one of these around town?”

  The old man stared at the printout and then frowned at her. “That’s an ugly dog.”

  “It’s a chupacabra,” she told him, and moved ahead with her lie. “I talked with a farmer the other day who said he saw one off of the highway. You ever seen one?”

  “Chupa-whattah?”

  “Chupacabra,” she repeated, and patted his hand. “You can keep that printout. I’ll pay two hundred dollars to interview an eyewitness that’s seen one.”

  His eyes widened. “Mind if I post this by the register?”

  “That would be lovely,” she said sweetly. When he finished hanging it, she beamed at him. “I was looking for wood planks this morning. About five feet long. Two inches thick. And a drill.”

  “This here’s the hardware store.”

  “Yes, I know. Some hardware stores carry wood. You don’t?”

  He scratched his chin, thinking. “Lemme go to the back and check.” He began to shuffle out from behind the counter.

  He moved at a snail’s pace, and the morning was half gone already. “It’s okay. I can go somewhere else.”