Blazing Summer (Darling Investigations Book 2)

by Denise Grover Swank

  “Summer . . .”

  “Sometimes a person just needs to get shit-faced, right, Brandy?” I asked her as she slid Bill’s beer across the counter.

  She grinned. “That’s right, girlfriend.”

  “Bring me another.”

  Brandy gave me a look, then headed to the other end of the bar.

  “I think we can convince Bruce to talk to us.”

  I shook my head. “Stupid Lindy says I can’t investigate or I might hurt Dixie. I need to think this through.”

  “But if you clear Dixie’s name, you won’t have to worry about any of this.”

  I looked into Bill’s face. “I was soooo stupid.” How could I believe that I could get my family back and Luke back and finally, finally be surrounded by love? My mother had taught me years ago—by words and deeds—that we came into this world alone, and no one stuck with us until the end. How could I forget that?

  Sympathy filled his eyes. “When were you stupid?”

  Tears stung my eyes again, and I shook my head. “Nope. I’m not gonna be that loser that gets drunk in a bar and cries.”

  He picked up his glass and took a sip, turning to look over the room. “Luke’s worried about you. Why won’t you take his calls?”

  “He called you?”

  “Like I said, he’s worried.”

  “We’ll put that blame on stupid Lindy too.”

  “Summer . . .”

  “I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Okay.” He checked his phone and put his glass on the bar. “I have to check in with the guys. I’ll be right back.”

  “Okay . . .”

  Brandy came back with a basket of fries and a burger and set it in front of me.

  “I didn’t order that.”

  “I know, but the rules are I can’t serve you once you get too drunk, and I like havin’ you around. If you eat that, I’ll serve you more whiskey.”

  That seemed fair.

  She set a glass of ice water next to it. “Drink this too.”

  I eyed it suspiciously. “Who’s touched it?”

  “Just me. And . . . smart girl.” She winked. “I knew I liked you.”

  Bill returned a few minutes later, looking guilty as hell.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “I told the guys I found you drunk and feeling sorry for yourself and told them to go home.”

  I scowled. “I already told all y’all to go home.”

  He picked up one of my fries. “Well, we’d hoped you’d come to your senses.”

  My phone buzzed in my purse, and I pulled it out. A pang shot through my chest when I saw Luke’s name.

  “You’re really not being fair to him,” Bill said.

  I turned off the ringer. “He deserves better than me.”

  “You need to let him be the judge of that.”

  “Hmm . . .”

  As soon as I finished half the food, I flagged Brandy down. “I’m ready for another drink.”

  She gave the basket the once-over and then nodded, taking my empty glass and getting me a new one.

  Bill still sipped his beer while looking around the room. “We’re already here. We could ask around about Springfield.”

  I took a generous gulp, then shook my head. “Lindy says it’s witness tampering.” Could I meet people on the sly? How was I going to get around this?

  He leaned closer. “Think about how nonsensical that sounds, Summer. How are you tampering with witnesses if you and Dixie supposedly did it?”

  I had to admit he had a point, but I wasn’t sure if it really made sense, or if the alcohol in my bloodstream just thought so. “I don’t want to think about it tonight.”

  Bill finished his beer and set the glass down on the bar. “I bet Dixie doesn’t want to think about it either . . . while she’s sitting in the county jail.”

  Dammit. I was pretty sure he was right about that too.

  “I brought something for you.” He took the pendant out of his pocket and put it in my palm. “All charged up. If Springfield shows, call me.” He moved his face closer to mine. “I mean it. Call. Me. Do not try to engage him while you’re still drunk, and definitely don’t do it alone. But if he shows up, it wouldn’t hurt to film who he’s hanging out with. We can follow up tomorrow.”

  “I don’t deserve you either, Bill.”

  He sighed, then shook his head. “Now you’re really drunk, and I think you should go home. Let me take you. Or I’ll call Teddy.”

  “No. No Teddy. I can’t go home and face him right now.”

  “Then Luke.”

  I shook my head.

  “He’s crazy about you, Summer. Don’t give him up because some jealous lawyer with lots of bad advice thinks you should.” He grinned. “Come on. You’re made of stronger stuff than that.”

  “Not tonight I’m not.”

  He gave me a sad smile. “Yeah, you are. You’re just overwhelmed and scared, but remember that you’re not facing this alone. You’ve got a lot of people to help.”

  I blinked to clear my eyes. “Thanks, Bill.”

  “Hey, that’s what friends are for. I’ll call and check on you later.” He paused. “Don’t screen my calls.”

  I grinned. “Okay.”

  He left, and I stared at the pendant in my hand. I knew he’d given it to me to make me remember my purpose. I unclasped the chain and hung it around my neck.

  “Your friend left,” Brandy said, picking up his empty bottle. She motioned to my drink. “Want another?”

  “I’ll take another water. Do you really not have bottled water?”

  “Sure don’t.”

  “Well, you should,” I said, still feeling drunk. I needed to get myself together in case Rick Springfield showed up. “How many women do you think have been roofied in here?”

  “Women have been roofied here?” I heard a man ask in alarm from the other end of the bar.

  He made his way toward me, and I gasped. “It’s you.”

  Nash Jackson was standing right in front of me.

  “What were you saying about women getting roofied?”

  “I was saying this bar needs to have bottled water so women can try to sober up and not worry about getting drugged.”

  His mouth pursed, and he looked like he was considering it. “You have a valid point.”

  I licked my finger, then stuck it in the air and brought it down like I was marking my point, but I misjudged the distance and slid my slobbery finger down his forehead.

  “Oops,” I said. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

  His jaw clenched, and it was obvious he didn’t appreciate the spit bath. He grabbed a cocktail napkin and swiped at his forehead.

  “You big baby,” I mocked.

  “Back to the bottled water. Do you know someone who was roofied?” The expression on his face was weird, like he was missing a puzzle piece and thought I had it.

  “What are you doin’ here?” I asked.

  “Summer, do you know someone who was drugged?” He sounded more insistent.

  “Hey, you know my name.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Everyone knows your name.”

  “Not everyone,” I said, lifting my chin. “Brandy doesn’t know my name.”

  “Brandy definitely knows your name, and she’s hopin’ you’ll leave her a big tip.”

  A lump formed in my throat. I was used to everyone in LA trying to use me, but I’d thought Sweet Briar would be different. Turned out what I’d said to Trent was more accurate than I wanted to admit. As stupid as it was, for some weird reason I’d thought Brandy actually liked me. My stupid tears were back. Dammit. Why did I always forget that I wasn’t a giggly drunk? I was the emotional, I-love-everybody kind of drunk, as already evidenced here tonight. But my chin trembled anyway.

  “What did you say to her?” Brandy demanded, shoving Nash out of the way. “What did he say to you, girlfriend?”

  “He said you know who I am.”

  “Well, of
course I know who you are,” she said. “Everyone does, but you were here intent on getting hammered. You didn’t need me gushing over your résumé. You need someone to take care of you.”

  “Nash said you were only doin’ it because you wanted a big tip.”

  “He what?” She shot a glare at him before turning back to me. “Don’t pay any attention to him. He’s our new owner, and he doesn’t know jack shit about anyone. He’s from Atlanta, which apparently means he’s suspicious of everyone and everything.”

  Nash shook his head in disgust.

  “The new owner? What happened to Rudy?”

  Nash gave me a dry look. “He got tired of dealing with emotional drunk women.” His gaze drifted to the door, and his scowl deepened. “Brandy, sober her up, then we’ll send her on her way. Call her a cab if necessary.” He moved purposely around the bar and into the main room.

  I stared at Brandy in disbelief. “He’s kickin’ me out?”

  “I can’t believe he thinks we have cabs here.” She shook her head back and forth. “I have yet to figure that man out, but it’s only been a few days, so I hope he gets his shit together or I might be lookin’ for a new job.”

  I glanced over my shoulder and saw that Nash had intercepted a customer who’d just walked in through the front door. He was leading him to a table close to the bar.

  I couldn’t believe my luck—both good and bad.

  Rick Springfield had just shown up, but I was too drunk to do anything about it.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  I reached up and ran my thumb along the back of the pendant, flipping the switch to start recording. Should I call Bill back? I suspected Rick had murdered April Jean. If and when I dealt with him, I needed to be on top of my game. Which meant I had no business talking to him now. Maybe I’d just keep an eye on him.

  Rick didn’t seem to like the table Nash had picked out for him, but he finally sat down, and Nash sat with him.

  Was Nash suspect number two? Had he been interested in my statement about women getting roofied because he was part of it?

  I needed to sit here and play it cool because I was definitely too drunk to drive, which meant I was stuck. The thought of no avenue of escape made me nervous. I picked up my phone and called Luke.

  “Summer. Goddammit,” he snapped when he answered. “Where are you?”

  To my dismay, I started to cry. Why couldn’t I be a fun drunk?

  His voice softened immediately. “Summer, what’s wrong? Where are you?”

  I sniffed. “The Jackhammer.”

  “What are you doin’ there? Is Bill with you?”

  “I’m gettin’ drunk. And I sent him home.”

  “You’re there alone?”

  “No,” I said, wiping a stray tear. “Brandy’s here.”

  “Brandy who?” Then, as though putting it together, he said, “Brandy the bartender? Tell her I want to talk to Rudy.”

  “He’s not here,” I said as more tears flowed. “Nash said he retired.” Why was I crying? I’d met the guy once.

  “Nash? Nash Jackson is there?”

  “He bought the place.”

  He released a few curse words. “Do you know anyone there besides Brandy?”

  “No,” I said, starting to cry. “I don’t have any friends.”

  “Summer, what happened?” he asked. “Why are you upset?” Probably to help move the conversation along, he added, “Besides the no-friends situation?”

  “The sheriff’s gonna arrest me as an accomplice.”

  “What? No. I know your imagination is running wild, but I can—”

  “Even stupid Lindy thinks so.”

  “Wait. What? When did she say that, and why?”

  “Probably because we spent the afternoon at the sheriff’s department, and Deputy Dickhead looked at me like I was the next contestant in a dogfight.”

  “Your appointment was at the sheriff’s department? Did they arrest you?”

  “No. They asked me to come to the station.”

  “Why didn’t you call me, Summer?” The disappointment in his voice made my heart hurt.

  But it was a very good question. Why hadn’t I called him? Maybe because I was so used to doing everything on my own. Maybe I was too scared to rely on him. Everyone I’d loved had left me at some point. “I don’t know,” I said, breaking down.

  “It’s okay,” he said, his voice soft and understanding. “We’ll talk about that part later.”

  “Maybe we shouldn’t,” I said, sniffling. “Maybe we should just . . .” Break up? My tears started flowing even more.

  “Darlin’, I’m on my way to get you. Just sit tight.”

  “Maybe you should just leave me here,” I said. “Stupid Lindy thinks I should break up with you.” Where the hell was my filter? Oh, yeah. Whiskey.

  “She said that?” he asked in shock.

  “She says you’re too good for me. That I’m gonna ruin you.” I grabbed the half-empty whiskey glass and took a generous drink. “She’s probably right. You should run away from me as fast as you can.”

  “I’m not havin’ this conversation on the phone while you’re drunk,” he said, his voice rough. “Just stay there.”

  My phone beeped, and I pulled it away from my ear to show my battery was at 3 percent, but I also saw a group text from Garrett to me and Teddy.

  “Luke, I’ve got to go. My phone’s about to die, but I just got a text saying April Jean’s drawings weren’t in her trailer when it burned down. Do you think the person who set it on fire took them?”

  “That helps narrow the suspects . . . and rules out Dixie. Why would she want the drawings? But forget about the case, and worry about protecting yourself. What’s Nash up to?”

  “He’s sitting at a table with Rick Springfield.”

  “What the hell, Summer?” he shouted in my ear. “Rick Springfield’s there? Maybe lead with that next time.”

  “You’re mad at me again.”

  I heard him take a deep breath. “Summer, I’m worried about you. He’s dangerous, and you’re sitting at the bar alone and drunk. Dammit.” He paused. “I’d call the sheriff’s department, but if you’re on their radar, I don’t want to call any more attention to you. If you’re in imminent danger, though, I’ll take the chance.”

  “I’m fine. Perfectly fine. Now just break up with me and be done with it. Then you won’t have to worry anymore.”

  “Summer,” he said, his voice calmer, “I’m sorry. Just listen to me, okay? Does he know you’re there?”

  “Who? Nash and I had a conversation about roofies.”

  “You accused Nash of drugging Dixie?”

  “No. I told him if he’s the owner now that he needs to have bottled water so women can’t get dosed while they’re trying to sober up.”

  “What about Springfield?”

  “I didn’t accuse him of anything either,” I said, getting huffy.

  “No,” Luke said, getting exasperated. “Does he know you’re there?”

  “Oh . . . I don’t think so. Nash saw him walk in and headed him off before he got to the bar.”

  “You need to get out of there. Now.”

  “But I can’t drive.”

  “Just go sit in your truck. I’ll find you there and take you home.”

  “Fine.”

  “Summer? Just remember—” he said. And then there was nothing.

  I held out my phone and looked at the screen. Dead as a doorstop.

  I took another drink of my water, then waved Brandy over. “I need to close out my tab.”

  She glanced around. “Why? You got someone pickin’ you up?”

  I was alert enough to figure out that telling her I was going to wait in my truck would look weird enough to draw attention. “Yeah, my boyfriend, so I want to be ready.”

  She walked over to the register, pulled up a receipt, and handed it to me. “Since the cat’s out of the bag that I know who you are, I just want you to know how sorry I am about Dixie.”


  A lump formed in my throat. Why’d I have to throw a pity party and get shit-faced? I could be finding useful information to save Dixie, Lindy’s warning or not. Instead, I was feeling sorry for myself. Again.

  “Thanks,” I said as I pulled some cash out of my purse and handed it to her.

  She shook her head. “It’s such a shame. I thought she’d got her crap together, so color me surprised when I saw her car goin’ ninety to nothin’ yesterday afternoon while I was on my way to work.”

  I blinked. Trying to get a clear head. “You saw Dixie’s car?”

  “Yep.”

  “When did you come to work?”

  Putting her hand on her hip, she sucked in a deep breath. “I had to come in early yesterday, so it was probably about three.”

  I sat up straighter. “You’re sure it was Dixie’s car?”

  “Yeah, she’s got that beat-up clunker, and I saw her long blonde hair, although she was goin’ too fast for me to see her face. I noticed because she doesn’t usually drive like that. She’s been so careful since she came back . . .” Then she flashed me a sad grin. “Except with men. She’s run around with plenty of them.”

  Her timeline made no sense. Dixie had been at the office with Bill and then me until I sent her to Connor’s at three thirty. “You’re sure about seeing Dixie? It couldn’t have been after three thirty?”

  “Yeah, because I was a few minutes late to work at three. I suppose it might not have been Dixie, but what other blonde woman would be drivin’ her car?”

  Who indeed? The only other blonde I could think of at the moment was April Jean, and that made absolutely no sense. Why would she be driving Dixie’s car to set up her own murder?

  What if she hadn’t known her partner was about to murder her?

  But one thing was clear—Dixie had about twenty people to support her alibi. She’d been watching Margo pitch her fit around three.

  Brandy handed me my change. “Thanks.” I stood and leaned closer as I left a generous tip. “Would you be willing to tell that to the sheriff?”

  “Yeah, but I don’t want to get her into any more trouble. She’s a good kid. Maybe she got so high she thought April Jean was a monster or something, because I can’t see her hurtin’ anyone purposefully, you know?”

  “You won’t get her in more trouble,” I said, trying to hide my excitement. “That would help her more than you know.” I centered myself to keep from wobbling, then took a practice step.