“We’ve got Ennis on our side.”
Sunny sighed. “Oh Lord.”
* * * *
The cabin had probably come into existence as a safe haven for moonshiners. Built of pieces of wood left over from other projects, it was held together by spit and a prayer. Nothing had been done in the intervening years to improve it. Some of the cracks were now so wide they could be considered windows and roof was only a courtesy title. It was a miracle the whole thing didn’t collapse out of pure weariness.
Those disadvantages were offset by its isolation, the fact that people had mostly forgotten about it, and the large stock of liquor and beer, some of it even legal.
The problem was, Darryl had met sweet little KiKi on his way up the mountain. She was already half drunk and looking for a good old time and he’d been just the man to oblige her. Sweet little KiKi drank like a fish and fucked like a bunny. He couldn’t keep up with her in either department.
He awoke with a desperate need for more whiskey and a blood alcohol level still wildly elevated way beyond legal. The musty smell of the ragged blanket that covered him, the stench of old urine and vomit released from the mattress with every shift of his body hit his abused stomach hard. Saliva pooled in his mouth; he gagged and had to swallow hard to keep down what was determined to come up. He rubbed his lips with a shaking hand.
He’d always thought himself a hard man, tough and unfeeling. It hadn’t bothered him one bit, killing two human beings. But he kept seeing that bassard’s face exploding in front of him and he hadn’t realized until he’d reached the cabin that he had bits and pieces of Jose Aguilar, along with a goodly portion of his blood, spattered over his jeans and shirt. KiKi had been more than happy to help him out of them. He didn’t need clothes for what he planned to do with her.
He did need the drink, to push that ruined face from his mind. He was sick and tired of looking at it, but even when he drank himself into a stupor, too drunk for even one more fuck despite KiKi’s pleading, the bassard was giving him nightmares. If he could have shot the son of a bitch again he would have, out of sheer frustration.
Groaning, he turned to his side and fumbled on the floor. The tinkle of glass against glass was the cleanest thing in that place, but every bottle he pulled up to peer at through bleary eyes, was empty. It was a collection that had taken years to accumulate.
“Sumbitch,” he cursed, and lay back exhausted.
He lay frowning at a large, ominous bulge in the ceiling for several minutes before his brain finally managed to formulate an idea.
“Ge’ ’nother bottle,” he ordered, pushing at the blanket covered lump beside him. The lump didn’t stir. Mildly curious, he laid a hand on the inert form. Maybe the bitch wasn’t breathing, which might make for complications. He found himself with a handful of ass; he gave it a vicious squeeze.
KiKi responded with a sodden snort then lapsed back into unconsciousness.
“Sumbitch,” he muttered. Bitch was good for one thing only. Slowly he swung his feet off the bed, wincing as an empty rolled under his bare foot. “Have t’do everthin’ myself…where the hell’s the booze?”
Staggering to his feet, he lost his balance almost immediately. He fell heavily to his knees, shattering an empty bottle beneath his weight. The sharp pain cleared his mind momentarily, as did the bright blood oozing between the fingers he wrapped around the knee.
“Damn, damn, damn,” he whimpered, rocking his body until the pain began to ease. Gingerly he began to crawl toward the whisky cupboard, knocking empties out of his way, stopping once to drain a small amount of beer inadvertently left in a can. It wasn’t beer he wanted though, it wasn’t what his body was craving. He thought he might cry when he finally reached the cupboard.
His scream of rage when he found it empty would have wakened anyone less drunk than KiKi. She never stirred. He sat on the floor and felt sorry for himself. He’d have to do it himself. He always had to do everything himself because the rest of those peckerheads had shit for brains. It was ten miles to his mama’s, and why wasn’t the damn cabin stocked as it should be? Who the hell had fucked up? His mama’d rake him over the coals for his condition.
Moaning a bit as his knees started burning, he crawled over to his jeans. They smelled even worse than the cabin. The bastard was rotting, he snickered to himself. Hope the fucker rots in hell. He pulled them on anyway, and his boots after them. His denim shirt was draped over a nearby chair; he managed to lean enough to grab it and pull it to him without falling over.
The clunk it made as it hit the floor gave him pause. What the fuck? He gathered it up and felt a heaviness in one pocket. His fumbling fingers finally managed to pull out the bloodied, gold cigarette case, and along with it, a lone tooth. He stared at them, frowning, trying to remember…and when he did, he cursed again.
Now he had two errands to run, damn it. The booze was the most important, but he’d leave his little gift at that bassard’s door. Shrugging into the shirt, he tucked the tooth back into the pocket with the vague idea of having it mounted on a chain and wearing it. The case he clutched in his hand.
Somehow he managed to get to his feet and stagger out the door to his truck.
He’d often boasted he could drive these mountain roads blindfolded, and perhaps he could, but not when staggering, fall on his face drunk was added to the equation. He knocked down one road sign, scraped the passenger door on a tree some idiot had let grow too close to the road and almost sailed off into space at Dead Man’s Curve. But he made it into the cove, coming in the back way and pulled up directly in front of Cas’s cottage. Grinning madly, he grabbed the case which he’d tossed on the seat beside him and almost fell out of the truck.
It’d be a cold day in hell before they could outsmart him, by God! He’d leave this right here, in front of the door, like it’d fallen out of a pocket and they’d find it and it’d be another nail in that bassard’s coffin. Fucking asshole had no business fucking around with good southern women what were meant for good southern men. Fucker ought to go back to where he come from, wherever the hell that was. Fucker.
The transmission protested as he swung the truck back around and took off. Don’t strip the gears, don’t strip the gears. God, it felt good to be so powerful! He started laughing wildly as he imagined the look on the asshole’s face when they confronted him with his daddy’s very own case. He couldn’t seem to stop and the truck began to swerve erratically.
Chapter 26
Ennis had almost gotten clear of the office, but he’d lingered too long trying to pry information out of the EPD as to when their investigators might be coming. He wanted to be sure he was available and since it was his jail, he fully intended to be present during Cas’s questioning. Luckily he’d spotted Brenda before he’d gotten completely out of the building and telling his staff he wasn’t there, he’d ducked behind his concealing screen just as she opened the door.
He trusted Marge to protect him. She’d damn well better.
It was an open secret that Brenda had set her cap for him. Who’d have thought? Even if he did favor Charlie Rich, he knew he was no great catch. Too damn old and too set in his ways.
The whole town knew and he was sick and tired of the jokes. What neither he nor anyone else could figure out was why Brenda had zeroed in on him. But so it was, and working at the diner, Brenda made good use of the old adage ‘the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach’. He was beginning to feel hunted and was seriously considering confiding in his sister, Ida. He’d back Ida against anybody.
He settled back in his chair, wincing as it squeaked, and prepared to wait Brenda out.
“Quite the order y’all got here,” Brenda quipped, pushing the door shut with a hip. “Ya’ll having a party?”
“Just the usual felons.” Marge smiled. Jonas adjusted his gun belt and snickered. “Jonas here’s on duty and me, well, I thought I’d stop over awhile and keep Cas company, just ’til Sunny gets here.”
“Brought
Ennis some cheesecake.” Brenda set two huge bags on the scarred counter and started pulling drink cans from various pockets. “Where is he?”
“Oh, he’s around somewheres,” Marge said vaguely. “You know how it is.”
“Well, Johnny’s a sure nuff felon, so he gets the special of the day. But Jimbo found a pair of pretty T bones for our lovebirds. Hope they’re cooked to their satisfaction.” Brenda started pulling covered take out boxes from the bags, lining them up on the counter. “You gonna make Cas eat by himself?”
“No, I’m not gonna make Cas eat by himself. He’ll be eating with Sunny when she gets here. They might like some privacy, you know.”
“How private can a jail be?” Brenda asked. “You never know, they might be liking the company.”
The phone at Marge’s elbow shrilled before she could answer, making her jump.
“Coosa County Sheriff’s Department, how may I help you?”
Silence as she listened.
“Oh hell, Sunny, are you serious? Damn. No, no, you gotta do what you gotta do. Yes, I’ll tell him. Who? Duncan? Okay, I’ll keep an eye out but he best be here soon. I’m for home soon as the food’s gone.” She laughed. “You’re missing a great T bone, Brenda says. Okay. Okay, and I’m sorry, hun.”
“What is it?” Brenda asked, but Marge ignored her and called down the hall. “Cas! Front and center!”
“Shit!” Ennis muttered.
“Shit’s about to hit the fan,” Marge said loudly. “Sure do wish Ennis was here, he’d quiet everything down. ”
Ennis dropped his head into his hands and vowed to do better. He heard Cas saunter down the hall and into the main room.
“Ennis won’t like me wandering around, I made him a promise,” Cas said. “Sunny’s not here yet?”
“Well, look at you,” Marge said. “Don’t you look handsome. Sunny did good by you.”
“She did real good,” Cas replied. “Shirt fits perfectly. What’s all this about shit hitting the fan?
“That there is one fine looking man,” Brenda muttered to no one in particular.
“Well, that’s just it, Cas. She just called. There’s a problem at the inn.”
“What problem?”
Cas’s tense voice prompted Ennis to put an eye to the crack where his screen folded. He saw Cas give the front door a quick glance. Don’t fuck it up now, son. Suck it up .
“Nothing real bad, I mean it’s not on fire or anything like that,” Marge said quickly. “I promise Cas, she’s okay and so is the inn.”
“Here buddy, take a load off,” Jonas said, not without sympathy. One booted foot pushed a chair toward Cas. He ignored it and concentrated on Marge.
“What happened?” he asked.
“Busted pipe. Sunny said the plumber told her he was on his way, so she’s got to wait for him. This time she says he’s gonna do it right. She said to tell you the water’s turned off and she’ll see you tomorrow and she won’t forget the candles.”
“She shouldn’t have to fool with shit like that,” Cas muttered, running a hand through his hair.
“You do what you gotta do and she’s been doing it for awhile,” Marge said. “She’s never had anyone to lean on, not ’til now. Oh, Reese supports her, but his job is feeding folks good food and that takes all his time. I can’t say what I think, Cas, wouldn’t be professional, but what I can say is, lots of folks in this town think Sunny’s fallen her feet, meeting you. And they don’t believe for one minute you’re guilty. They’re more inclined to think us law enforcers are slap crazy Still, we gotta go by the book and I hope you don’t blame us for that.”
“Now darlin’, don’t you let a little thing like a broke pipe upset you,” Brenda said, going into waitress mode. “Man’s gotta eat, keep up his strength.”
Ennis heard her flip up the counter top. Her shadow moved across his screen as she made her way over to the desk. He hunched down in his chair and tried to breathe quiet.
It was sort of interesting, trying to figure out what was going on by sound alone. The rustle of papers meant Brenda was plowing a clean spot on Jonas’s desk. The thunk of something hitting the trash can was probably that old, half eaten donut that had been sitting there for days. Brenda would have a look of disgust on her face; Jonas would be grinning at her, not giving a damn. Jonas had been a pig ever since he’d known him and no one was going to change him now. Brenda would give it a good try though, which was why Ennis himself took pains to stay out of her way. There was nothing he wanted changed. He had Ida. She kept him fed and his clothes washed and that was all he wanted from a woman.
Delicious smells began to waft behind his screen. Dinner must be served.
“Here you go, Marge, a nice salad, just like you asked. And Jonas, fried catfish. Jimbo tried a new hush puppy recipe, be sure you tell me what you think.
“Sit yourself down and get your insides around this here steak, Cas. Jimbo made it special, just his way of showing he’s behind you one hundred percent. You don’t want to disappoint Jimbo, now do you? It ain’t just anybody he’d waste a steak on, you know. Reese ain’t got nothing on Jimbo when it comes to steaks.”
Ennis’s stomach rumbled. Saliva filled his mouth. Damn, but he hated that Brenda.
* * * *
Cas took a deep breath, and settled himself in the chair. He was disappointed he wouldn’t be seeing Sunny, but the women were right. There wasn’t a thing he could do about it, other than break out of jail, and wouldn’t that be a slap at the very people who were being so kind to him? As much as he wanted to lift some of the burden of the inn from Sunny’s shoulders, she had been getting along just fine before he came and he had no doubt she would handle–and more than handle–that plumber. It did go against all his instincts but he’d just have to suck it up.
Quiet descended as everyone addressed their meal. Brenda hitched herself up on the counter and sat with her legs swinging, watching with satisfaction as the food disappeared.
“You ever have any more trouble outta old Wayland?” she asked Cas. “He been laying sorta low lately.”
Cas shook his head. “Nope,” he answered when he’d swallowed. “Tell Jimbo this steak is great, just the way I like it.”
“Sure will.” Brenda smiled, snapping her gum. “Well, it just ain’t like Wayland, that’s all I got to say. Him and that Darryl, they can be mean sumbitches and they usually hit back when they’re thinking they’ve been done wrong by. Ain’t that so, Jonas?”
Jonas nodded, his mouth full.
“We’ve had them in here more ’n once,” Marge commented. “Together and alone. I’m surprised they’ve never ended up in the Big House, but they usually just get their hands slapped for drunkenness. I heard tell though, Cas, that Darryl went a bit farther with you. If you were wanting to file a complaint…”
Cas shook his head. “No. Probably should have at the time, but I thought then that people–well, Ennis–wouldn’t believe my side of it. But nothing’s come of it, so just leave it be.”
“He ain’t got no business pulling a gun on anybody,” Brenda said, disgruntled. “What’s he think this is, the wild, wild West? Stacy banned him from her place, you know. I hear him and Wayland been using that old cabin up the mountain, what’s left of it.”
She twisted around as the front door opened. “Well hey, Martha, Jon. You out slumming tonight?” She snickered as she threw a laughing look around at the rest of them.
“Lord, it smells good in here,” Martha exclaimed. “Oh y’all are eating. That’s good. We just come to check on Cas. Heard tell they won’t let anyone near the cottage, so we found some old stuff of Jon’s, thought you might could use it, Cas.”
Cas was speechless and could only nod his thanks. His eyes met Jon’s; the steadiness in them, the smiling approval, almost overset him. He had gone from being a pauper to becoming the richest man in the world.
“Well now, this is turning into quite the party,” Brenda said with delight. Even as the words left her mouth, t
he door opened again and Bea McGregor walked in, carefully holding a vase of irises in her hands.
“Thought Cas’s cell might need brightening up,” she said, before she realized the room was full. “Good heavens, what’s going on?”
“We’re having a shivaree,” Brenda grinned. “Come on in and set a spell, Bea. We’re gonna save Cas’s ass, between us all.”
“I believe that’s my job.”
A tall, well built man had followed Bea in and stood grinning at them. He’d taken off his suit jacket and loosened his tie, but it was plain to see he was a fancy dresser, from his polished shoes to his well pressed shirt. His blondish hair stood a little on end. He ran his fingers through it, leaving behind little spikes that slowly began to droop. His blue eyes were alert and missed little.
“Duncan,” Brenda squealed. “Look at you, would ya? Sunny call you?”
“Uncle Paul called me, but yes, Sunny had called him.” He greeted everyone by name as he made his way through the crowd. Cas rose slowly as he approached, frowning in an effort to place the name.
“Duncan Miller.” The stranger smiled, holding out his hand. “My uncle, Paul Duncan, is Sunny’s lawyer. Myself, I’m in criminal law and he asked me to be his partner in this. I’d do a lot for Sunny. We grew up together.”
Cas shook the outstretched hand firmly. “Glad to meet you, Mr. Miller. Sunny’s one step ahead of us all.”
“She always was one step ahead of me. Call me Duncan, no need to be formal. Thought I’d stick around until Eufala’s through with you. We’ll have to talk, but it can wait ’til later.”
He settled himself in a wooden chair, tilting it back until only two legs were on the floor. Cas held his breath, but Duncan remained balanced perfectly. “Now then, don’t let me interrupt, y’all just carry on.”
“This calls for more drinks,” Brenda said, looking delighted. She did so love a gabfest. “I’ll just run over to the diner and get us some. Be right back.”
She jumped down off the counter and disappeared out the door.
Song of Life Page 19