by Tegan Maher
Snatching the towel midair before it could make contact, I replied, "I'm just full of surprises. Gotta keep you on your toes."
"Oh, you've got that down pat," he said. "I can say a lot of things about you, but never that you're boring."
Sticking my tongue out, I said, "You better be nice. Your bike isn't here, which means all we have is mine. If you're mean, I'll make you ride on back while I drive."
He barked a laugh and grabbed the towel back, winding it up again. "That'll be the day," he said, snapping it one more time at my backside as I bolted out of the kitchen.
I knew when to pick my battles, and fighting a man twice my size holding a thin damp dishtowel wasn't a hill I was ready to die on.
Hunter and Matt warmed up the bikes and did the safety checks while Anna Mae and I changed clothes.
I was the first one to make it out, and they were standing shoulder to shoulder speaking in low voices when I came up behind them. Because of the sound of the bikes, they hadn't heard me, but I couldn't hear them, either.
"Whatch'all talkin' about?" I asked, and they both jumped. Hunter looked busted, but Matt's expression was blank.
Matt just smiled and said, "Stuff."
I opened my mouth to push it, but Anna Mae came bounding down the steps from Matt's apartment, swinging her jacket around her shoulders.
Hunter appeared relieved and I made it a point to ask later. He grabbed his helmet out of his truck
We decided to swing by Hunter's and pick up his bike since it was on the way, then take the back roads behind his house down to the part of the lake where the tournament was going on. There were all kinds of vendors, and I was curious to see who was ahead going into the second day. I was pulling for Jim Nichols, since the poor guy's fishin' kept being interrupted by dead bodies.
It was a beautiful day to be out, and the inside of a helmet is a great place to think. My thoughts turned toward Melanie and Jameson Schrader. Something about the couple was bugging me. I was a good judge of character, but I also tended to look for the good and give a little too much leeway sometimes. I just didn't see her as evil.
Then the dead girl. What was up there? Somebody as young and pretty and obviously social as she was had to have somebody—friends, family, boyfriend—missing her. I thought to the ring. MC & DL, and something occurred to me.
I tapped the Bluetooth on the side of my helmet that was linked to Hunter's. We rarely used them because we both enjoyed the ride. I didn't want to forget the thought though.
"Knock, knock," I said. "Sorry to bust in."
"No problem, beautiful. What's up?"
"I was thinking. The necklace had MC & DL. If she's related to the Lanes, maybe that's what the L stands for, and you could do a search for a D. Lane. Especially if we can link it to an MC, we may have something."
"That's a plan," he said. "Great thinking."
I clicked off my speaker and enjoyed the rest of the ride.
When we swung into the county boat launch parking lot, I was shocked at just how packed it was. There was always a good turnout, but if it was like this at the beach, it was no wonder Mari Jo and Clara hadn't wanted to go.
One of the best things about a motorcycle is that the world is your parking spot as long as you're respectful of other people and smart enough not to park your bike where it's gonna get knocked over or hit. There were two old ski boats on trailers that had been there for as long as I could remember. The trailer tires were flat, it had been so long. We pulled between them and had instant, front-row parking.
We pulled off our helmets and put them on the bikes, then made our way toward the action.
There was an old boathouse that served as office right at the edge of the ramp, and there was a scoreboard in place of the weatherized corkboard that usually hung there. There were forty teams listed, which was flabbergasting. I smiled when I saw Jim was in second place. My gaze slid a little farther down and found Fred Sykes and Boone Steed in fifth. I was surprised by how small the margin was, though.
I grinned when I saw a beer booth and elbowed Anna Mae. They'd made the tournaments dry several years ago when a drunk local drove his boat right into the dock on live TV when the Channel 5 news lady was promoting it as a great way to instill good values. Beer cans had flown everywhere, and they were the last ones permitted at a tournament. Until now, apparently.
Glancing at Hunter, I said, "Did you have anything to do with that?"
"Oh, no, not me," he said. "I've been around here long enough now to know that if I wanna maintain any kind of image for the town, it's best if some events are dry. Blame the city council on that, I guess."
Anna Mae gasped. "City council, my bloomers! Looky who's runnin' it."
I took a closer look and laughed. It was Jerry Lee Akins himself—the man responsible for the ban to begin with.
"You gotta be kiddin' me!" I said. Upon closer inspection, the booth was made of plywood and the beer signs looked like something that came out of his garage.
Hunter held up a finger and looked down at me, then at Anna Mae. "Ask yourself two questions before either of you take away my plausible deniability. First, is anybody going to lose an eye or any other important body part or get injured in any way? And second, are any kids or little old ladies gonna be scarred for life? If the answer to both of those questions is no, then let's go check out what the vendors are selling."
I glanced at Anna Mae, who shrugged. Jerry Lee was good people. He'd been in the middle of a split with his wife back when all that happened; he didn't usually get ignorant like that. If I had to guess, he was doing penance for his part in getting beer banned to begin with.
"Nah," she said, turning away from the cart. "It's all good. Look at the seashell art!"
We walked around for a while, and I was surprised at how many different booths there were. It was almost like a mini craft or art fair.
Hunter's phone rang as we were walking back to the bikes, and he frowned. "Unknown number, but it's local," he said, swiping to answer. He stuffed his finger in his ear and walked a little farther from the crowd.
The call only lasted a few minutes, but when he came back, he looked happy.
"Everything's okay then?" Anna Mae said.
"Everything's peachy," Hunter said, and I thought I caught a look pass between him and Matt. The lightbulb suddenly went off—Hunter was helping him do something for Anna Mae's birthday. I felt much better, especially considering I hadn't been able to offer a single suggestion.
Now I just had to get him to let me in on the secret.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
HUNTER STILL HADN'T gotten in touch with the Lanes, even though church should have been out no matter where they went. Since they lived way out, he hated to waste a trip.
He'd called a guy he'd met while he was working with the Atlanta PD during the Hank debacle and asked him to check quietly into the judge thing but hadn't heard anything back.
In other words, we were in a holding pattern until something gave, so we decided to skip the junk food vendors and go to Bobbie Sue's for lunch. Between the AC and the smell of smoked meat, the place was heaven. Since we were late for lunch but early for dinner, there were only a few other tables taken.
We made our way to our favorite booth, and Sarah came over, carrying our drinks before we'd even asked for them. The advantages of being family. I scooched over, and she heaved a huge sigh of relief as she sat down beside me.
"So has it been horrible?" I asked, talking about the tournament.
"You know, it hasn't," she replied, "at least until today. Some nasty old crab came in, ate all of her lunch, then complained about a bone in the last bite of her pulled-pork sandwich. She raised so much hell, Louise comped her meal just to shut her up and get her out."
I ran my tongue over my teeth. "You gotta be kidding me."
"Nope," she said. "She was awful. And the place was packed. The only good thing that came out of it was I got some great pity tips after she left. Good thing,
considering she didn't leave squat, even though she ate for free."
"I know exactly how you feel. She pulled the same thing at Brew yesterday morning."
I told her what Emory said to her, and she giggled. "That is one awesome little old man."
Anna Mae's eyes were snapping blue fire. "You mean she's goin' around makin' up somethin' to fuss about just to get her meals for free?"
Sarah nodded. "You'll have that sometimes. Comes with the territory, but it sure does burn my brisket when it does. They count on the managers to fall back on the whole the customer's always right thing, and it usually works."
"What's she look like?" Hunter asked. "Jaywalking's a serious offense around here."
The idea of the old hag getting stopped and arrested on the sidewalk was hilarious.
"Picture a spoiled, entitled old maid with a stick up her butt, and you'll get a pretty clear image of her," Sarah said. "Oh, and don't forget the bright, pinkish-orange lipstick."
Anna Mae shuddered, her fashion sense offended. "Why do they insist on wearing that? Literally nobody looks good in it. The color should be abolished."
Louise joined us, and Anna Mae scooted over to make room for her.
"It feels so good to sit down," she said, stretching her legs out and flexing her ankles. "Are we still getting together tomorrow?"
"Plannin' on it," I said. I'd told the girls about it when I was planning girls' night, and had even called and invited Harry and Stella, an older couple that one of our rescue horses, Ranger, had adopted when he'd gone on walkabout while we were at the barbecue competition.
"You told Bobbie Sue and your folks, right?" I asked.
She nodded, and I turned to Sarah. "Is Gary gonna be able to make it?"
"Yeah. Sean's great company, but I think he'd like to hang out with some guys with a little more maturity and life experience," she said, smiling.
I bumped Hunter with my elbow. "I can promise more life experience, but maturity may be asking a bit much."
He squeezed my knee under the table in the ticklish spot and I jumped, pushing his hand away.
"Keep it up, young lady," he said. "I'll finger-paint your bike the next time."
Laughing, I gave in. "Peace, then. I take it back—you're plenty mature," I said.
He and Matt had worked together when I first got my bike to have it painted a great shade of electric blue with a herd of running horses painted smoke-style in the tank and side fairings.
We ordered lunch, and I was just sopping up the last of my baked-bean juice with my garlic toast when Hunter's phone rang. He put down the rib he was holding and licked the barbecue sauce off his fingers before flipping his phone over.
"It's the Lanes," he said, scooping his phone up to accept the call. After a few uh-huhs and yes sirs and a bunch of nodding, he said, "Okay, then. I'll see you in an hour or so."
He hung up and picked back up on his ribs where he'd left off. We gave him plenty of time to volunteer information, but when he just kept rippin' meat off the bone, I elbowed him, then wiggled my finger, and all his ribs were stuck to his plate. He tried to pick one up, but it wouldn't budge.
"Well?" I said when he shot me a dirty look. "Inquiring minds wanna know."
"Oh, is that why you all went quiet?" he asked, his tone innocent.
"Cut the crap, Boy Sheriff. Is she related to them or not?" I demanded. Anna Mae was staring at him outright, but even Matt had to put in some real effort to pretend he wasn't just as curious.
"They think so," he said. "They're gonna come by the office in an hour to look at the pictures. But, and I quote, only because they're gonna be in town."
Anna Mae raised a brow. "Well ain't that just neighborly of 'em." Leaning forward, she prodded, "Go on. Who is it?"
"They think it's their niece, Melissa," he answered, opening a wet-nap. "She came to live with them a couple months ago when her parents were killed in a plane crash. They thought she ran away."
"They thought she ran away? How old is she, and why didn't they report it?"
He lifted a shoulder and let out a soul-deep breath. "She just turned nineteen, so they weren't legally responsible for her."
"Well then," Anna Mae said, outraged. "That makes it perfectly all right for them to just not worry at all about her."
Matt put his arm around her pulled her into his side. "Some people just aren't right, honey," he said. "And these people sound like the sort."
I rolled her name around, and then it clicked. "Did they refer to her as Missy at all?"
Hunter shook his head. "Nope. He seemed the uptight type, though, so a nickname would have surprised me. He didn't sound the least bit emotional. If anything, he sounded disgusted."
"That's so sad," Anna Mae said, her eyes downcast. She was about as empathetic as she could be without being an actual empath, and sometimes I wondered if she didn't cross that line just a little bit. "Everybody should be missed by somebody when they're gone."
She was right about that, and I thanked the stars for the millionth time that even though I'd lost my parents, I had a family who loved me as hard as they could to make up for it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
SINCE EROL WAS ON MY approved list of babysitters, I decided to drop in and check on him and Norman. They were on their own on Sundays, and I thought maybe he'd want the channel changed or something.
Since Coralee worked on Saturdays, she always popped over a couple times during the day to change the channels for Erol and make sure Norman had water and some extra crackers. As much as she protested, she loved that little rodent as much as the rest of us did.
"Hey," Erol said, glancing up from a Lifetime movie when I popped through the door to the back room. "It's Sunday. What are you doing here? I didn't expect to see you until at least ten o'clock tomorrow morning."
"Glad to see you too, buddy," I said, wrinkling my nose at him and smiling at Norman, who was sitting on the couch beside Erol. "We just came from Bobbie Sue's, and the Lane family is going to stop in at the sheriff's office and look at the pictures. They said it may be their niece, Melissa." I gave him the rundown of the conversation we had in the diner.
He gave it some thought. "Melissa—Missy—Misty. I can see where that would fit."
"Maybe," I said, brushing aside that part of it. "I'm a little weirded out by them, though, from what Hunter told me. He said they didn't even seem to care and are only stopping by because they're gonna be in town anyway."
"Sweetie, if I've learned one thing, it's that there are people out there who are just horrible, judgmental, and mean to the bone. If you don't fit into a nice little cubby they deem acceptable, then you have no value. Also, there's a big difference between good folks with religion—any religion—and bad folks usin' religion as an excuse to be narrow-minded and hateful."
"I guess," I said, shrugging. "I just wanted to pop in and make sure y'all were good. You need me to change the channel or anything?"
He huffed out a breath. "I wish you woulda held off an hour. This is almost off, then there a new food truck show on I wanna watch."
"I'm sure Hunter'll stop on his way out and switch it for you. There's gotta be some way to program that TV to switch when you want it to," I said, rubbing my chin. "I'll check for an app."
His translucent gray eyes lit up. "Really? That would be just ... just ..."
He got a little misty, and I smiled, then felt a little sad at how such a little thing would make him so happy. I put it at the top of my to-do list. "I don't know if I can, but I'll research."
"Oh," he said, practically vibrating, "I wish I could hug you!"
Smiling, I stepped through to the front, and grabbed Norm's crackers, put a few on the couch beside him. "Have you been here all day, or have you been worrying Erol again?"
I'd given up the pretense and just accepted that he knew what I was saying to him.
He nodded, then shook his head.
"That's clear as mud," I told him.
Erol huffed. "We
ll, when you ask him two yes-or-no questions in a row, that's what you get."
Of course it was. "So, yes, you've been here all day, and no, you haven't been worrying Erol?" He nodded and mousy-smiled at me. My life was so weird.
A knock sounded at the front door, which I'd locked behind me. I took the couple steps to the Dutch door and saw a plain, middle-aged woman in a flowered Sunday school dress peering through the window with one hand cupped against the glass.
I glanced at Erol, who shrugged. "Never seen her before in my life," he said, then turned back to his movie.
I pulled both halves of the dutch door closed behind me, then unlocked the door, a smile on my face. If I was there, I may as well make some money.
"Ms. Flynn?" she said, glancing behind her.
"Hi," I said. "Please, call me Noelle." I stood back, and she scurried in, waiting until I closed the door to begin speaking.
"Ms. Flynn—Noelle—I'm Charity Lane."
"Oh! Mrs. Lane. It's a pleasure to meet you. I thought you were meeting with the sheriff—"
"My husband is," she said, then chewed on her lip, glancing nervously at the door. She started to move that way. "I shouldn't be here."
I laid my hand on her arm. "Charity, do you know something about the girl we found?"
She stopped, and her jaw flexed. A single tear ran down her face. "Her name was Melissa. Missy. She was my sister's girl. The only family I had left aside from my three kids."
I couldn't help but notice she didn't include her husband.
"May I get you a bottle of water or a Coke?"
She gave a small smile and wiped the corner of her eye. "Water would be great, thank you. My husband doesn't approve of sugared drinks. They're not natural." She furrowed her brow and glanced over her shoulder toward the outside again. "Actually, I'll take a Coke, but I can't dillydally."
She got extra points in my book for that one.
I stepped into the kitchen and pulled out two bottles, then handed her one.