The Rowdy Coyote Rumble (Jackrabbit Junction Humorous Mystery Book 4)

by Ann Charles

  “Or she was just paying the deputy back for being an asshole to her. How do you know it was Kate?”

  “I found a wadded up napkin on the floor from The Shaft with her lipstick on it.”

  “No shit.”

  “What if she’s in trouble and needs help?”

  “I don’t think that’s the case.”

  “How can you be so certain?”

  “Because she’s sitting back in Butch’s office waiting for me.”

  Relief washed over Ronnie. Katie was safe and sound. Then she remembered Grady’s comment while watching the video replay. “Is she wearing a black hooded sweatshirt?”

  “No.”

  “Did she say why she borrowed the pickup keys?”

  “I haven’t had a chance to ask yet. She showed up about ten minutes ago all big-eyed and skittish and told me she needed to talk to me alone. But we’re slammed so I haven’t had a chance to find out what’s up.”

  That didn’t sound good. What had Katie gotten herself into tonight? “Keep her there.” Ronnie saw Grady putting on his coat through the front window of the Sheriff’s office. “I’ll be back there in about twenty minutes.”

  “Then what?”

  “We’re going to find out what the hell is going on.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Kate paced Butch’s office, wringing her hands together as she tried to make sense of what she’d seen at The Rowdy Coyote Motel. It had to be a coincidence, didn’t it? Surely she couldn’t have been so naïve, so obtuse not to realize things weren’t as they’d seemed. Not after all this time, all the laughs shared. How could she be so stupid?

  She shivered, wishing she hadn’t ditched the black sweat jacket in the dumpster behind the grocery store on her way back to the safety of The Shaft. She moved over to Butch’s chair, dropping into it, needing to calm down and get a grip. His ultra-comfortable chair usually worked magic on her nerves between its butter soft texture and the whiffs of his cologne.

  After sitting there trying to clear her mind and focus on her breathing, she started fidgeting. Apparently the chair wasn’t going to cut it tonight. She leaned forward, her head below her knees, letting the blood rush to her head.

  When she sat back up and the spinning sensation stopped, an idea popped into her head. Of course!

  She hurried over to Butch’s built-in secretary desk, grabbed the key from its hiding spot, and unlocked the bottom drawer. Hanging folders filled it front to back. She fingered through them, looking for one in particular.

  There!

  She found it and pulled it out, flipping open the file, fingering through the sheets of paper. After almost dropping the file twice, she moved over to Butch’s desk, leaning over the open folder as she dug through the contents.

  There! She found it. Lifting up the application for employment, she scanned it, looking for a clue to explain what she’d discovered tonight.

  The sound of a voice made her look over her shoulder at the door. Someone was coming.

  Before she could do more than stare in panic at the folder lying wide open on the desk, the door swung open.

  Butch stared at her, his face showing his surprise.

  “Kate.” He hesitated on the threshold, the surprised expression quickly replaced by wary eyes. “To what do I owe the pleasure of your company tonight?”

  “Uhhhh,” she couldn’t seem to get her tongue to kick into gear. Her forehead grew warm as she floundered for firm footing on what suddenly felt like black ice.

  His gaze searched her face and then lowered to the file folder splayed out on his desk. Stepping inside the room, he closed the door and leaned back against it. “What are you doing in here, Kate?”

  “You’re here,” she managed to croak out.

  Of course he was “here” being that he was standing in the very room with her, but her brain was backfiring as it tried to get rolling in this new direction. She’d been expecting Claire, maybe Gary the bartender, possibly Arlene, but not Butch. He was supposed to be at home tonight taking care of the cars he’d bought at that last auction, she’d thought.

  “And so are you,” he walked toward her, keeping the desk between them. “Now that we’ve covered that neither of us is an apparition, why don’t you explain why you’re in here looking through the …” he glanced down, flipping the folder around so he could see the name on the tab: Personnel.

  “I was checking to see what phone number I’d listed on my application.”

  “You didn’t fill out an application, sweetheart.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “If you’ll remember, after you crashed into my pickup the second time, we came in here and you showed me how skilled you are at one-on-one communication and multitasking right over there on that couch. Then you pretty much hired yourself while I lay there trying to catch my breath.”

  Oh, yeah. Her body warmed at the memory of that day on his couch and many others since. Thank God the walls of his office couldn’t take paparazzi pictures.

  “Let’s try this again. Why were you looking in the personnel folder?”

  Short of making a break for the door, and she had no doubt he’d catch her on the way, she was stuck. “I was looking for Arlene’s application.”

  His brow wrinkled. “Why?”

  “I saw something tonight.”

  “In the bar?”

  “At The Rowdy Coyote Motel in Yuccaville.”

  His jaw tightened. “What were you doing at a seedy motel in Yuccaville on a Saturday night?”

  She stared at him, swinging back and forth like a metronome. Lie or truth. Lie or truth. Lie or truth.

  “I had some business to attend to there.” There, that was a truth.

  “With whom?”

  “A guy who came in here last week.”

  “Jesus, Kate.” His face blanched visibly. “What’s his name?”

  The Polar Bear? “I don’t remember, but he’s from Illinois.”

  “You don’t even know his name!?” Butch wheezed, as if she’d sucker punched him. “Why?”

  “Why what?”

  “Why him?”

  “Because he might be the one.”

  “He’s not ‘the one,’ Kate.” He rubbed his hand down over his face. “I am. You just need to give me a goddamned chance to show you.”

  What was he talking about? He wasn’t the one coming for Ronnie. She opened her mouth to ask what he meant and something clicked into place. The flash of pain behind his eyes, the tension pulling his shoulders inward, the wheeze of breath—she had a feeling they were not on the same page.

  “Butch, what exactly do you think I was doing at The Rowdy Coyote tonight?”

  He grimaced but didn’t answer.

  He didn’t need to. She gasped in outrage. Stalking around the desk, she punched him in shoulder. “Valentine Carter, what sort of a woman do you think I am?”

  “What am I supposed to think?” He rubbed where she’d punched. “Last night you said you’d use your chest to draw bigger tips.”

  “That’s not even in the same arena as using my naked body!” She punched him again, this time in the gut, making him Oof.

  “That’s for thinking I prostituted myself tonight, you big dope.”

  “Kate, I didn’t actually—”

  “For Christ’s sake, I’m carrying your child!”

  He caught her wrist, stopping her from delivering a third blow aimed at his chest. “Sweetheart, stop it before you hurt your hand.”

  “There are plenty of ways for me to make cash other than getting paid for letting some stranger use my body for pleasure.”

  “I didn’t say that you had—”

  “You insinuated it!”

  “No, I—” he growled in his throat. “Listen, I’m sorry. The notion crossed my mind before I could think it through. Jealousy is blurring things.”

  “There are a lot of legitimate opportunities out there,” she ranted, “that have nothing to do with selling sex.” She glared up at him. “How could yo
u think so lowly of me?”

  “I don’t think that low of you. I just know you have this drive to make as much money as possible before the baby is born and those hormones are making you do things you wouldn’t normally do and … and …” he scowled down at her, his eyes scouring her face. “Damn it, Kate! You don’t talk to me anymore. How am I supposed to know what’s going on in that head of yours?”

  “You could try asking before you go accusing me of having sex for money!” She bared her teeth at him. “Why can’t you get it through your thick skull that just because I’m not sleeping in your bed at the moment doesn’t mean I’m hopping into some killer’s?”

  His blue eyes narrowed. “What does that mean?”

  “It means I’m not a slut.”

  He shook his head. “Not that. What do you mean you’re not sleeping in my bed at the moment?”

  Had she let that slip out? Crap. “Well, for example, I’m not in your bed right now because we’re standing in your office.” She tried to dodge his question.

  “No, that’s not what you meant, Kate.” His nostrils flared. “Is this some game you’re playing with me? Some kind of twisted revenge for me telling you that I didn’t want kids back before I found out you were pregnant?”

  “A game?” She lowered her voice to keep the indignation that was clogging her throat from getting in the way. “You think that I’m toying with you, Valentine? You think that I’m working my ass off every day at two different jobs for fun? That I’m scraping for every single penny to amuse myself? That I’m spending each night crying alone in my grandfather’s R.V. for shits and giggles at your expense?”

  “I don’t think any of that.” He grasped her by the shoulders. “But you need to understand something.”

  Her chin lifted. “What?”

  “I. Want. This. Baby.” With each word, he pulled her closer, his gaze nailing home what he was saying.

  The fervor in his eyes along with the underlying force in his tone released a flood of affection for him that doused the flames fueling Kate’s anger. Her eyelids lowered to half mast, her body leaning into his, wanting his support, needing the tenderness he’d always shown her. The tension in his hands eased. His grip on her shoulders turned into caresses.

  Holy cheese balls, she’d missed him. Missed being cradled in his arms. Missed his quick smiles and easy laughter, his flirting glances and heart-zinging kisses. That Winnebago was so damned lonely as she lay there night after night, thinking about him, pretending he was there next to her.

  “I believe you, Butch,” she whispered and meant it. Her baby would have a loving father. The full realization that she wouldn’t have to raise their child on her own made her head float.

  His sigh of relief wafted over her face. “Kate, I want y—”

  “Katie!” Ronnie burst into the office, freezing at the sight of her and Butch. “Oh! I’m sorry. I didn’t realize that you were … that Butch was … Wait, are you two back together?”

  Claire raced into the room after Ronnie, her focus on shutting and locking the door behind her. “Okay, the coast is clear.” She turned around and her eyes widened. “Butch! I didn’t see you come in.”

  Butch looked down at Kate. “Do you three have family get-togethers in here often, or is this a special meeting called to discuss Kate’s trip to The Rowdy Coyote tonight?”

  Ronnie shot a worried frown from Kate to Claire. When she focused on Butch, she had her poker face in place. “What did Katie tell you?”

  He stepped back from Kate and rounded his desk, lowering himself into his chair. It creaked as he leaned back, his gaze assessing the three of them one at a time before returning to Ronnie. “Why do I feel like I’ve stepped into an old episode of Charlie’s Angels?” He aimed a smirk at Kate. “We just need you three to dress in polyester jumpsuits and then ‘Charlie’ will call to tell us who the bad guys are.”

  “I already know who the bad guys are, Mr. Bosley.” Well, only one of them for sure but possibly two after tonight.

  “He went by just ‘Bosley,’ Kate,” Claire, the television know-it-all, cut in. She pointed at Butch. “You need to corral Farrah Fawcett here. I’m tired of being the sole wrangler in this rodeo.”

  “I do not need to be corralled, damn it. I’m telling you, that guy is the Polar Bear.”

  “What makes you so sure?” Claire shot back.

  “I paid a visit to the Polar Bear’s motel room tonight.”

  Ronnie and Claire glared at her.

  “Oh, stop looking at me like that, both of you.”

  “Who’s this Polar Bear guy?” Butch asked. “And why is Kate stalking him and calling him a ‘killer’?”

  She’d called him a killer in front of Butch? Then she remembered her heated outburst. Damn, she needed to get better at controlling her tongue around him.

  “I’m not stalking him,” she told Butch. Okay, maybe just a little but with sort-of good intentions.

  “Katie, are you out of your mind?” Ronnie jammed her hands on her hips. “Do you realize how dangerous that is?”

  “Of course I do,” she snapped back. “I may be blonde, but I have a higher IQ than both of you.”

  “Jeez, Kate,” Claire said. “How many times do you have to go to jail this month to get it through your higher IQ brain to stay away from that motel? Deputy Dipshit’s drooling at the chance to throw one of us in that cell again.”

  Ronnie snorted. “Oh, little Miss Brainy made sure her ass was covered on that front, didn’t you?”

  Crap. Ronnie knew about Deputy Dipshit and the jail cell.

  “How do you …” she started and then remembered Butch was sitting behind his desk, listening to every word. Since he was good friends with the Sheriff, she didn’t want to spill the beans about locking up the deputy tonight. “Never mind.”

  “I can’t believe the size of your cojones lately,” Claire said to her. “Or maybe all of your screws have come loose at once.”

  Butch chuckled.

  Claire’s focus shifted to him. “What are you laughing at, Carter? This is partly your fault.”

  “He had nothing to do with what I did,” Kate defended.

  “That’s not entirely true,” he admitted.

  She whirled around. “What do you mean?”

  His grimace was back. “There’s something about Carter babies that you should know.”

  “What?”

  “They make women a little crazy.”

  “A little?” Claire scoffed, leaning against the door. “At this rate, she’ll be locked up in a sanitarium by the end of her second trimester.”

  “What do you mean crazy?” Kate pressed.

  “Our family has a history of perfectly normal women becoming a tad mentally unstable during pregnancy.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Yeah, I am. It’s more like they go completely nuts.” He reached across the desk and took her hand, squeezing it gently. “But don’t worry. It goes away after the baby is born.”

  “No way,” she said. That sounded like something she’d see on one of those crazy Mexican soap operas Manny liked to watch.

  He nodded, dead serious.

  “That’s over six months away!” Kate tugged her hand from his and then paced the room.

  “At least we know what we’re dealing with now when it comes to you,” Ronnie said, trying to cheer her up. “Maybe we can find ways to help you fight the urges to do something madcap when they hit.”

  “Like lock her in Ruby’s basement,” Claire suggested.

  “I’ll lock you in the men’s bathroom with Chester after feeding him a #10 sized can of chili con carne.”

  “That might not work,” Butch said, leaning forward, resting his elbows on the desk. When Kate and her sisters all looked at him, he added, “I mean the part about finding ways to deal with Kate’s temporary insanity when it hits.”

  “Why not?” Ronnie asked.

  “With my mom and sister-in-law, things got worse further alon
g.”

  Kate’s belly fluttered in apprehension. Or maybe it was early palpitations from the baby who was apparently engineering the crazy train flying off the rails inside her. “What do you mean ‘worse’?”

  He hesitated.

  “Valentine,” Kate circled his desk, standing over him with fists clenched. “What’s going to happen to me?”

  After a glance down at her hands, he looked up at her cringing. “Let’s just say I’m glad your sister is sleeping with the Sheriff.”

  * * *

  Sunday, November 11th

  “There ain’t no good in an evil hearted woman,” Chester told Claire the next morning as he fished wire through the rec room’s ceiling to her.

  With a whole week left until Gramps and Ruby returned, Claire had decided to take the time to install retrofit can lights in place of the fluorescents throughout the room. The constant buzzing noise coming from the bulbs was making her eye twitch. Then again the twitch could be the result of inhaling too much of Chester’s icy-fresh Aqua Velva cologne over the last week of working with him day after day.

  “I’m not evil.” She frowned down at Chester from her perch high on the ladder while her hand poked through the hole she’d cut out of the ceiling. “I’m just headstrong, ask Gramps. And you stole that line from Johnny Cash and Waylon Jennings.”

  “I don’t need to ask Ford. He’s going to come home and see the mess you’ve made in here and call you all kinds of names, including ‘headstrong.’ Can you feel the wire?”

  She felt for the cable. “No, not yet.” She glanced around the messy room. It was drywalled, mudded, and sanded smooth, ready for the first coat of primer. “It’ll be done by the time they get home.”

  She hoped so, anyway. Her plan was to present a finished room to Gramps and Ruby, dry paint, new flooring, and warm lighting. It would be her belated wedding gift to them. Although she wasn’t sure it qualified technically as a gift since she’d paid for part of the supplies with the credit card Gramps had left behind.