by Tegan Maher
Evie laughed. “No, believe it or not, we met at my mama’s church. He was there painting the building.”
I glanced back toward where the group was still gathered around Jackson’s tent. The ambulance was leaving, and people were starting to disburse. “And it was love at first sight?”
“Hardly,” she said with a dismissive wave. “He dumped a gallon of paint on me. Well, almost on me. I saw it in time and jumped out of the way. He ruined a perfectly good pair of Louboutins though, and offered to pay for them.” She shook her head. “At least until I told him what they cost. He backpedaled pretty quick, but to be fair, they cost more than he made in a week.”
“So how did you go from that to him stealing your truck?”
“It’s complicated. I ran into him again at a truck pull not long after because a friend of mine was competing. He apologized again for the shoes and bought me a hot dog. One thing led to another, and I agreed to go out with him. Long story short, I wanted to get into this sport. I gave him the money, and he picked the truck up at an auction with one of his buddies, and we built it. Stupid me, I didn’t give much thought to the fact that the truck was in his name. It’s not like we were gettin’ it street legal or anything.”
Evie shrugged and glanced back toward the crowd. I tried to pick up her thoughts again but got nothing. That happened just as often as not, which was why Addy argued that I needed to practice. I didn’t need to read her mind to recognize the satisfaction on her face, though. She turned back to me.
“He dumped me after I dumped a crap ton of money into beefing it up. Since it was in his name, I didn’t have a leg to stand on. It wasn’t like we were married.”
“Wow,” I said. “I’d have wanted to kill him myself if he’d done that to me.”
Understanding crossed her face as she realized what I was doing, quickly replaced by a combination of disgust and irritation. “Noelle, you said your name was? Noelle Flynn?”
I nodded, and she turned to Stuart. “Don’t say another word. She thinks I killed him and is tryin’ to trip me up. She’s dating the sheriff.”
I lifted a shoulder. “I am dating the sheriff, but if you didn’t kill him, what are you worried about?”
Disbelief lit her eyes. “Are you kidding right now? You just stood here for five minutes pretending to be nice to me just to see if I’d slip up and hang myself.” She stepped around me and headed back toward the truck area. “You’da liked Jackson. He ran a better con than you do, though.”
She pivoted on the toe of a boot that cost more than what most people made in a week and stomped off, shooting one last set of lasers at me over her shoulder as she did. I tried to ignore the guilt coursing through me, but she was right, at least a little.
Still, I didn’t owe her and her Louboutins anything, and if she was the killer, then she deserved to go to jail. I was just irritated that, as usual, my mind magic had pooped out on me the one time I’d actually needed it.
Camille would give me a big ole dose of I told you so, but, well, she had.
I turned back toward the crowd, irritated at myself. My resistance to learning to manage this particular skill because it was annoying was starting to feel like a cop-out. I’d been given a gift and I’d locked it away.
It was time to admit Camille and Addy were right and actually get back to training.
Even with my limited control, the gift had been a little useful, anyway. I’d learned there was an ex with an ax to grind, and that was always a good place to start.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Rather than the camping adventure we’d planned for the weekend, Hunter now had a murder to investigate. The officials decided to postpone the races since every person there was a murder suspect and would have to be questioned. While Hunter was questioning the last of the onlookers, I headed to the campsite to tear down our tent and pack everything into his truck. We didn’t know how long he’d be, so I didn’t want to make him pack it all up in the middle of the night if it came to that. Since I’d hauled the horse trailer up with my truck, we’d brought his and mine. Skeeter stopped by and helped me load the motorcycles onto the trailer, and I frowned a little because we’d had so much fun planned. We hadn’t even ridden the bikes yet.
“That sure is a nice bike he and Matt built,” Skeet said, admiring the orange CBR sportbike they’d spent the last six months painstakingly building in their free time. It was a thing of beauty, and he and Matt had looked forward to debuting it at the drag strip there at the Country Club for the last month. They’d even drawn straws to see who’d get to take it down the track first.
I sighed as I gave the tie-downs a final tug. I’d have felt like crap if it fell over on the way home before she’d even had her maiden run. “I know. It sucks that they didn’t get to try her out.”
“There’s always Friday night at the Keyhole track,” he offered. “I know that wasn’t the plan, but it’s not bad out there. It’ll still be fun.”
“Oh, I know,” I said, lifting the ramp up with his help. “They’re not too particular about where they run. I think it’s more that we were all looking forward to having this weekend to just relax and have fun. Shoot, Anna Mae and Matt didn’t even make it up here because Matt had to work a little late to finish a project. I just called and told them what happened, so at least I caught them before they left.”
“So, Anna Mae and Matt are really gettin’ close, aren’t they?” he asked, checking to make sure the bikes were both in gear, not that they were gonna roll anyway, as tight as we had them tied down.
“They are,” I replied, then studied him. “Why?”
He lifted a shoulder, then took his grubby Earnhardt hat off, ran the back of his hand across his forehead, then slapped the hat back on. “No reason, ’ceptin’ I’m glad to see her happy. All those years she was with Hank, I had to chew my tongue bloody to keep from givin’ him the what-for whenever they’d come into the shop. Anna Mae’s a good girl and deserves better than gettin’ treated like a stray dog. Plus, it’s nice to see there’s still a chance for us that aren’t spring chickens no more.”
I tilted my head. “You got your eye on somebody, Skeet?”
His face pinked under his whiskers. “Maybe I do, at that. I don’t know if she sees past my value as a wrench turner, though.”
So Skeet had his cap set on somebody. That was a good thing. I’d said for a long time that whatever woman managed to land him was gettin’ a whale, but he spent so much time running his shop that he never took time to date.
“And who might this mystery woman be?” I asked, waggling my brows at him.
“That ain’t none of your nevermind, missy,” he said, scowling. “Sides, like I said, I’m pretty sure she don’t look at me like that. And I just think she’s interestin’. It’s not like I’m head over heels or nothin’,” His face went an awesome shame of crimson, so the only thing I had to wonder about was whether he was trying to convince me or himself.
I grinned. “Methinks you doth protest too much, there, buddy. C’mon. Who is it? I need a name so I can decide if she’s worthy of you.” Skeet and I had been friends for most of my life. We’d gone to school together, but he’d been a little ahead of me. Underneath the greasy fingernails and five-o’clock shadow was a man with a heart of gold, a mind like a steel trap, and the protective instincts of a mama bear.
“I promise, when I make up my mind, you’ll be the first to know, Miss Busybody,” he said, smiling. “But until that time, I’m keepin’ it under my cap.”
“Fine, spoilsport,” I said, slamming the tailgate and checking the lights on the trailer.
I would have sworn he breathed a sigh of relief, but since it was dark, I couldn’t tell for sure.
“Are you takin’ the horses home tonight, too?” he asked, and I nodded.
“Just Missy,” I replied. “There are some races tomorrow, but I don’t want to be here by myself since Hunter’s obviously going to be working. I’m glad now that Kristen hauled Bones up he
re in her own trailer. We were gonna come together, and I’d have felt bad asking her to leave. She’s here with friends, and they’re camping.”
“You need any help loadin’ up?”
I shook my head. “Nah. She’s a pro and walks right in.” I couldn’t resist one more little tease. “You outta come out to the farm next weekend. We’ll cook out. You can bring the mystery girl. It’ll be a good way to introduce her to everybody.”
His face lit with amusement. “I’ll consider it. I’m sure she’ll fit right in.” He slapped the side of the truck as I climbed in. “Be safe, and I’ll catch you later.”
“You, too, Skeet,” I said as I buckled up and pulled out of the campsite. I didn’t know who this mystery woman was, but she was out of her mind if she didn’t see what a catch she had on the line.
I couldn’t believe how many people were still milling about as I pulled Hunter’s truck up next to The Green Machine and shut it off. Hunter and his deputies were still talking to folks, and I examined expressions and body language. You could learn a lot from that if you took the time to do it. Some folks—the ones on the periphery—were obviously looky-loos. They were doing their best to maintain appropriately solemn expressions, but there was almost a carnival feeling in the air. A few looked sad or lost, and I wondered again if they genuinely mourned him or were worried their gravy train was currently skewered like a Sunday pig.
Finally, there were a few who looked impatient. Those were the ones standing closest to Hunter and his team, and I guessed they were witnesses waiting to be questioned. I’d have bet my bank account they regretted speaking up about being close to the tent when the murder happened.
The races had come to a screeching halt as soon as news of the murder had made the rounds, so Hunter had put the kibosh on anybody leaving until he’d had a chance to talk to them. Needless to say, there weren’t many smiling faces.
I waited patiently while he finished talking to an older guy in a greasy John Deere hat.
“Sure thing, Sheriff. If I hear anything else, I’ll give you a call. But I don’t think you’re gonna find your murderer among any of the competitors. We talk a lot of smack, but in the end, this is just a hobby for most of us. Well, most of us here. It gets competitive if you move up the ladder a little, but these little shindigs are just for fun. Hell, I’m headin’ over to have a beer with Randy—that’s the guy that beat me today—and his wife. They’re good people.”
His gaze landed on me and he gave me a nod. “I believe this fine young lady would like to have a word with you, so if there’s nothin’ else ...”
Hunter held out his hand, and the older man took it. “No, that’s all for now, Lenny. You have my card.”
Lenny gave me a cursory smile as he passed me, and I turned to watch him go. “Have you learned anything at all that will help?”
Hunter shook his head. “Nothing we didn’t already know. Jackson fancied himself a ladies’ man, but from what I can tell, most ladies didn’t agree. He drank, and he liked to spend money, and most people thought he was a cheat, but I haven’t spoken to a soul who cared enough about him to kill him.”
“What about Carl and Ernie? The two brothers he argued with about their sister?”
“They’re at the top of my list, but it doesn’t feel right. They said they were on the backside of the track looking for deep spots, but there’s no way to corroborate that since there aren’t any bleachers there. But still, like I said, I don’t think they did it.” He took off his hat and ran his fingers through his dark hair, something he did when he was stressed.
I wished right then that I knew who the killer was so I could give him or her a sound beating for stealing our weekend. The thought was followed by a sliver of guilt since Jackson’s day had been a lot worse than mine had. It didn’t last long, though because I figured Jackson probably earned his end one way or another.
“Why not?” I asked. “They were definitely displeased with him, and it wouldn’t be the first time somebody got themselves dead because they messed with the wrong little sister.”
“Yeah,” he said, sighing. “I know that, but I still have a lot of people to talk to. It’s too early in the investigation for me to pin my focus on what I think is a long shot. Compared to others, their motive is too flimsy.” He gave me a lopsided grin. “I figure if those boys killed every man who looked at their little sister sideways, there’d be a path of bodies a mile wide.”
I tilted my head. It wasn’t that he rushed to throw innocent people in jail, but in the past, Carl and Earl would be bugs under his microscope by now. “What gives that you’re not willing to throw the net on them?”
He pinched his lips together and his brow furrowed, and I thought I caught a flash of pity in his eyes. “Their dad’s sick. He’s got cancer, and from what Skeet said, he’s not long for this world. He also said those boys are the sole providers for that house, and they take that seriously. Besides, like you said, those boys were pissed. Had Jackson been beaten to death, I may take a closer look, but stabbed once?” He shook his head. “Those boys were way too mad to leave it at that.”
What he said made sense, and I felt a mixture of relief and frustration. I didn’t want one of them to be the killer, but I wanted somebody to be so we could wrap it up. I held out his keys. “Here you go. Everything’s loaded and tied down tight. I parked it right beside Sarah’s tent so you wouldn’t have to trek back for it in the middle of the night. I’m gonna go load Missy up and head to the farm.”
He bent down and gave me a quick kiss and studied me for a minute, his sea-green eyes giving nothing away for once. “You’re not gonna run off and chase down some tidbit you learned on your own, are you?”
I shook my head. “Nope. The only tidbit I’m chasin’ down is a hot bath and a glass of wine or three. I haven’t heard anything at all, except nobody liked the dude. I did run into Evie, Jackson’s ex.” I gave him the rundown of the conversation I’d had with her and Stuart, and he nodded.
“I’ve heard that from a few people. Apparently, he really took her to the cleaners when they broke up. I feel bad for her. She and Stuart alibied each other, but they’re not off the list yet.” He shook his head. “And unfortunately, neither is Sarah. Nobody saw her at the stables, and she says she didn’t see anybody.”
Once again, I was kicking myself for not following her, but I had to remind myself that hindsight is twenty-twenty. At least there were plenty of other suspects. Now just to figure out which one of them actually did it before Ron and his little Junebug’s theory made it to the top of folks’ lists.
CHAPTER EIGHT
By the time I got Missy loaded and made the forty-minute trip back to the farm, I was beat. I didn’t bother unloading anything other than my horse before I trudged to the house. Hunter had called when I was almost home to make sure I’d made it and to let me know he’d see me in the morning because he was as whipped as I was.
He still had his own house even though he’d been spending most of his time at the farm since Shelby’d left for school. I had the horses to take care of, and Max, our talking donkey, got cranky if he didn’t have somebody to insult and boss around. Moving in together seemed to be the natural direction for things to head, but I was hesitant to ask him to go all-in. He was the only serious relationship I’d ever been in, so I wasn’t sure what the rules were for that sort of thing, not that I’m much for rules, anyway.
I figured it would happen when it was supposed to, but lately it was starting to feel like the elephant in the room whenever I went anywhere. Keyhole residents weren’t exactly shy with their opinions, even if they didn’t always choose to share them to your face. Lately, I’d caught several of the more ... matriarchal women in the community casting curious and semi-judgey glances at my ring finger.
Fortunately, I didn’t care what most people thought about me, and nobody close to me wanted me to do anything before I was ready, so I took it all with a grain of salt and the standard Flynn motto of “let ’em
talk.”
I knew the conversation was coming, but there never really seemed to be a good time. We were both so busy that when we did find a few minutes alone to enjoy each other’s company in the evenings or on the weekends, I just wanted to relax and hang out.
Max woke up when I turned the barn lights on and ambled out of the spare stall where he slept sometimes. He shook to free his gray coat of the little bits of sawdust, then yawned, showing me his big donkey teeth. “What are you doing home?” he asked, squinting as his eyes adjusted.
“Oh, you know, someone was just murdered at the Country Club. No big deal.” I led Missy to her stall and pulled her halter off. He wasn’t typically interested in the goings-on around town, but he made an exception when it came to bloodshed.
“Oh yeah?” he asked, stretching. “Who got offed? Did they deserve it? If so, I don’t know why you two are going to bother hunting down whoever did it. In my time, we’d just drag the body far enough away from the street that they wouldn’t stink the place up, and buy the other guy an ale.”
I raised a brow. Max had been a noble in the sixteenth century, so his view of things tended to be a little more eye-for-an-eye even though he’d lived through all the centuries since then. He wasn’t exactly the sensitive, empathetic sort and didn’t care much for the outside world, unless, of course, it directly affected him.
“He was one of the mud-bogging competitors. He wasn’t well-liked, and a lot of people believe he was cheating, but I don’t know that he deserved to be killed for it,” I replied, cringing a little when I remembered my initial selfish reaction to the murder. Still, I had to be the rational grownup. “And Sarah’s one of the suspects. She’d been talking smack about him right before he was killed, and she went off by herself to walk off the steam.”
“Oh,” he said as if that changed everything. Sarah was one of his favorite people, I suspected because she always bought him a bottle of good scotch for Christmas and his birthday. Also, though he’d never admit it, he loved the attention Sarah’s son lavished on him when they came to visit.