The Southern Comfort Series Box Set

by Clark O'Neill, Lisa

  Well, now that he mentioned it… “Not really.”

  “Good.” He shook his head. Then his expression turned thoughtful. “This is odd, though. The thing with the shoeprints, I mean.”

  “Why were you hanging around Joe Palmer’s apartment?”

  Anthony frowned. “Kathleen hired me.”

  “For what?”

  “None of your business.” But he sighed. “Look, I know how this sounds, but I really do care about her. That thing with the doll in her trunk? That scared her. And worse, it hurt her. I don’t want to see her hurt.”

  “So you’re investigating it yourself?”

  His skepticism must have been apparent. “Sort of like you’re doing,” Corelli said. “Because you care about your brother.”

  “Point taken. Although a sibling and an ex-girlfriend are two entirely different things.”

  Corelli waved that away. “Caring is caring.” He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “Now, the question is: what do these two seemingly disparate events – the breakin at your brother’s house and the trespassing at Kathleen’s – have in common?”

  “Maybe Joe Palmer is harassing Justin to get to Kathleen. Sort of a, you messed with my lover, I’ll mess with yours thing.”

  Anthony frowned. “But you said the shower curtain was shredded? And that Justin’s ex put it there, and that was the catalyst, I guess you’d call it, for their breakup?”

  “Yeah, and that doesn’t make sense if Palmer is the trespasser. We thought it was Mandy – Justin’s ex – but then the shoe prints don’t make sense. Way too big. And, uh, just so you know, Justin’s ex… she’s dead.”

  “Dead?”

  “Yeah. Overdose, I think. Looks like she might have committed suicide. Kathleen is investigating, but she can’t tell Justin what’s going on, considering he’s the woman’s ex, and there’s been a lot of conflict between them – Justin and Mandy, that is – the past couple of weeks.”

  “That’s… unfortunate.”

  “Justin’s pretty torn up.”

  “Well, your brother’s a good guy. I mean that,” Corelli said when James narrowed his eyes. “If I didn’t think he was a good guy, we’d be back to the smear on the pavement again. The conflict,” Corelli asked. “Just standard nasty breakup stuff?”

  Again, James hesitated. But once more, reminded himself that this was all a matter of police record.

  “It’s a little worse than that.” He told him about the thing with the coffee, the random little gifts, the sugar in the gas tank. “The police have been questioning her, and she didn’t take that too kindly.”

  Corelli’s whistle was low. “Wow. Well, I can understand your concern.”

  He drummed his fingers again. “There seems to be a whirlwind of sorts swirling around Kathleen and your brother. And how the hell does the waitress fit in,” he murmured.

  “What?”

  “Sorry.” He looked at James. “Thinking to myself.”

  “What waitress?”

  The other man straightened, then started the car. “Tell me where you’re parked and I’ll drop you off.”

  “What waitress?”

  Anthony flicked a glance his way. “Look kid, I really do appreciate your concern, but –”

  “I’m not a kid. I’m twenty-five.” Almost.

  “Yeah, well, I’m thirty-five, so talk to me in ten years. I’m also a professional, so how about leaving the investigating to me?”

  “Maybe because I don’t trust you?”

  Corelli laughed. “Even after all of that talk about our childhoods and our feelings? At least you’re not stupid. Reckless,” he concluded. “But not stupid.”

  James yanked on the reins to stop his temper from rearing. “Look, I may not be a professional, but like you said, I’m not stupid. Also, unlike you, my ego isn’t involved. Say what you will, but I know, however okay you are mentally with my brother making time with your ex-girlfriend, there’s a part of you that would like to see him fall flat on his face. Because no man – I don’t care how secure or how enlightened or whatever he is – no man likes the idea of coming in second. So, maybe you haven’t been actively sabotaging Justin and harassing Kathleen for your own nefarious purposes, but that doesn’t mean I trust you to look into this with an unbiased eye. There’s some serious shit going down here – I haven’t even told you all of it – and too many different people with too many different jurisdictions are investigating, but they’re not talking to each other, so that’s like trying to work out a puzzle when all of the pieces are in different rooms, and you’re not allowed to put them together. That’s fucking stupid, so I’m going to do what I can to figure this out myself, before something else happens to my brother.”

  Corelli was silent for a solid minute, the sound of the tires swishing over damp pavement the only accompaniment to James’ heavy breathing.

  And okay, maybe he hadn’t completely reined in his temper.

  Corelli finally glanced his way. “What else?”

  “That’s not enough?”

  “I mean what else haven’t you told me? You said there was more.”

  James looked out the window. Then he turned to face Corelli. “If I tell you, I want you to let me help. To keep me in the loop.”

  “Look.” The other man’s tone was patient, and scraped along James’ nerves. “You raise a valid point about jurisdiction, which is one of the main drawbacks to traditional law enforcement, because it can impede investigation. However, being private now, I’m not quite as … restricted. And I understand your desire to help. But –”

  “Whatever you’re going to say, you can save it. I’m doing this, with or without you.”

  “Without me, you would be sitting in a cell right now, charged with breaking and entering.”

  “I know a good lawyer.”

  Corelli shook his head, exasperation apparent. “How about I make you a deal. You tell me everything you know. I’ll try to get all the puzzle pieces into one room, and if I find out anything pertinent, I’ll make sure to pass it along. And.” He shot James a hard look. “You do not attempt to commit any more felonies.”

  “How about misdemeanors?”

  When the older man scowled, James grinned. “Okay. My truck’s parked over there,” he said, pointing to the next street.

  “Do we have a deal?”

  James considered. “Deal,” he agreed.

  For now.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  JUSTIN tossed his mail on the kitchen table. He’d been neglecting the mailbox for a couple of days, so the pile was fairly sizeable.

  Deciding to deal with it later, he started to head toward the refrigerator for a drink, then detoured back to the alarm panel by the door. If he’d gone to the trouble of having the thing installed he might as well use it. James knew the code, so he wouldn’t set it off whenever he came in.

  Justin frowned. He wondered what his brother was up to. James was twenty-five, and his own man, but Justin still found himself worrying occasionally. Especially since the youngest Wellington currently had a lot of free time on his hands. Historically, James and free time were not a good combination.

  Not that James hadn’t matured. He had. And he’d absolutely been a big help around the house, Justin admitted, eyeing the new kitchen counter.

  But his baby brother had a knack for getting himself into scrapes. True, he generally emerged none the worse for wear, but it was hell on the nerves of those who loved him. It was amazing that neither of his parents had turned stone gray – or suffered a breakdown – after raising James to adulthood. Not that his other brothers had been angels, but James sometimes lacked… caution.

  Reaching into his coat pocket, Justin pulled out the blue crotchless underwear as Exhibit A. God only knew where James had obtained them. Or why he’d felt the need to store them in Justin’s pocket.

  Of course, Justin was forced to admit that he’d been less than discreet himself quite recently while borrowing James’ tru
ck. He should probably feel badly about that, but he just couldn’t seem to find it in him. Remembering the look on Kathleen’s face as she’d climaxed, and then when she’d followed it up by telling him she loved him? Justin grinned.

  Totally worth it.

  Tossing the underwear onto a chair – no way did he want them on the table – he’d leave them for James to dispose of.

  Or maybe add to his collection, although Justin didn’t particularly want to think about that.

  Deciding that he wanted coffee instead of something cold, Justin measured out enough beans for a half a pot. While that was brewing, he looked around, spotted the mountain of mail. Sighing, he walked to the table. Might as well get it over with.

  Bill. Bill. A letter from the attorney he’d consulted regarding the harassment claim Mandy had filed against him. His stomach sank. Her death – likely by suicide – would not only undermine the claim, but possibly was grounds for it to be dismissed altogether. He supposed he should feel better about that than he did.

  He didn’t. After that initial sliver of relief, he only felt sad and sick that things had come to this. He was predisposed to save lives, not contribute in any way to the loss of one.

  Not his fault, logic reminded him.

  But still, he couldn’t help but feel sorry.

  The coffee pot gurgled, and Justin filled a cup, splashed in creamer. He’d just taken his first sip when the back door opened.

  “Hey.” James punched in the code to stop the high pitched warning, reset the alarm. Justin eyed him over the rim of his mug.

  “Any particular reason you’re dressed like a cat burglar?”

  “Black makes my hips look slim.”

  Glancing at the hips in question – slim, with or without the black – Justin shook his head. “I don’t even want to know.”

  “Probably not. Is that fresh coffee I smell?”

  Knowing when a topic was closed, Justin returned to the table, sat. “Just made it. Help yourself.”

  James poured himself a cup, loaded it with sugar before joining him. Then he stared at the seat of the chair he pulled out. “I thought Kathleen was incommunicado.”

  “She is.”

  “Well then,” James said. “Maybe I won’t be the last son standing after all.”

  Justin looked up from the letter he’d been reading. “Oh.” He saw where James was looking. “Yeah. I found those in my coat pocket today. If you’re going to keep souvenirs, maybe you can store them in your own clothing.”

  “Not my souvenir,” James said. “I’ve never seen them before.”

  Justin sat the letter on the table. “I’m not going to give you a hard time about it.”

  “That’s nice, but it doesn’t change the fact that I didn’t put them in your pocket. Sadly, I haven’t had any close encounters with female lingerie recently. Nor did I borrow your coat.”

  Justin frowned at the underwear. “That’s weird.” His brow furrowed. “I wonder how they got there.”

  “Under other circumstances, I’d be punching your arm, making innuendos and ribald suggestions, but given recent events, I fail to find this amusing.”

  Justin looked up. James’ jaw was set, his face like granite. “You think this is connected?” He studied the underwear again. Then his own jaw set. Mandy was dead, but her cohorts were alive. And he wouldn’t put it past them to attempt to set him up for something. Perhaps the panties were meant to be proof that he, what, sexually harassed nurses?

  “Maybe they’re trying to keep the harassment claim alive.”

  “What?”

  “Mandy’s friends,” he explained. “Let’s just say that I am not their favorite person at the moment.”

  James went to a cabinet, pulled out a plastic Ziploc bag.

  “What are you doing?”

  “Preserving the evidence,” James told him as he dropped the panties in and zipped them up.

  Justin rubbed at the headache that was starting behind his eyes. “This is getting ridiculous.”

  “Open your mail,” James said. “I’ll deal with this.”

  Justin watched his brother disappear down the hall, shook his head to clear it. He wasn’t sure what James thought he was going to do, but the truth was that he was worn too thin to worry about it just now. His attorney believed that the evidence was on his side, so whatever Mandy’s friends were up to, they were just going to make themselves look worse.

  He hoped. And though he really didn’t want to start an all-out war, he’d defend himself by whatever means necessary, if he had to. He’d worked too hard for too long to build his professional reputation, and he’d be damned if he let a couple of very petty women with an axe to grind ruin it.

  Sipping his coffee – to which he now considered adding a shot of whiskey – Justin pulled another envelope toward him. He opened it, found a small silver rectangle inside. When he flipped it over, the printed words said: A gift for you.

  He stared at it in confusion.

  Pulling the discarded envelope back toward him, he checked the return address. No name, just a local post office box number. It wasn’t one he recognized.

  The stamp bore a fat pink heart.

  “Late for Christmas, early for Valentine’s Day, and definitely not my birthday,” he muttered. Normally, he’d put something like this in his mental well, that’s random file before tossing the envelope and its contents in the circular one, but given the way things had been going lately, he laid them both on the table.

  Where he eyed them like particularly unpleasant bugs.

  “What now?” James said as he walked back into the kitchen and noticed Justin’s expression.

  Justin nodded toward the silver rectangle. “What do you make of this?”

  James leaned over his shoulder to get a better look. “Where’s the gift?”

  “No idea.” Justin flipped through the rest of the mail, coming up empty. “Nothing here.” Then, recalling the ornament that had been left on the porch, he walked through the living room, checked out the windows. “Nothing out front, either.”

  James frowned from his position in the doorway, then went back into the kitchen and opened the same cabinet.

  “More evidence collection, Sherlock?”

  “Poke fun all you want. I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

  Justin watched the little piece of cardboard and the envelope disappear into the plastic bag. Whatever the “gift” might be, he had a strong suspicion he wasn’t going to like it.

  “Yeah,” he finally said, sighing. “Me, too.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  SHELLEY Kinson pulled the ponytail holder from her hair, shaking her curls free as she strode toward her car. She’d worked a double shift today, and her feet wept with every squeak of her sneakers. At least the boss had let her leave a little early. And she’d scored a front row parking space when she’d arrived that morning, so thank God for small favors. Murphy’s was so packed tonight that the lot looked like a demolition derby. And when she reached her car, she was furious to find an SUV blocking her in.

  Hands on hips, she stared at it, wondering what kind of fool parked behind someone and then went about their business. And she didn’t have time to be tracking said fool down. Natasha was finally out of the hospital, and Shelley planned for them to have a little talk. Their living arrangement had grown a little… strained recently, and it was time to clear the air.

  And if they couldn’t clear the air, well then, it might also be time for them to make other arrangements.

  But first she needed to get out of the stupid parking lot.

  “Sorry, sorry,” a deep voice called out from behind her. “I ran in for two seconds, I swear.” He held up a bag from the pharmacy next door. “Thought I could get in and out before anybody noticed.”

  He smiled as he came closer, a really great smile in his lean, dark face, and Shelley’s irritation lessened just a little. He looked familiar, but she couldn’t place him.

  “No proble
m. I just got out of work a few minutes ago.”

  “Murphy’s?” he said, nodding toward her T-shirt. “Good food.”

  So he was a customer, then. That’s probably where she’d seen him. “Must be,” she agreed, “considering half of Charleston is in there right now eating.”

  “Which is why I couldn’t find a spot,” he agreed. “It’s crazy. You’d think they were giving stuff away.”

  He was cute, seriously cute, but Shelley didn’t have a lot of time for chitchat. “If you wouldn’t mind…?”

  “Oh, sorry.” That smile flashed again. “You’d probably like for me to move my car. I’ll just…” he trailed off, looked at her front bumper. She’d backed into the spot – the easier to pull out in case the parking lot was crowded – so the front of her car faced his truck.

  “Hey, looks like you had a little accident.”

  “Oh, that?” She blew out a breath, annoyed at the memory. “Yeah. Someone backed into me.”

  “That sucks,” he said. “Were you injured?”

  She looked at him sideways. “What are you, a lawyer or something?”

  “Me?” He chuckled, a low, appealing sound. “Hell no.”

  “I wasn’t even in the car,” she told him. “Just came out from work one night and found it like this.”

  He studied the bumper, frowning. “That’s the worst,” he finally said. “If the person who clips you is honest and leaves you a note, no problem, because their insurance covers it. But if it’s a hit and run, then it’s a do you or don’t you thing. Because you’ve got to consider the deductible, and is it really worth it to file a claim and have your premium go up?” He shook his head. “Did it happen in this lot?” he speculated. “Probably somebody drunk off their ass, didn’t even realize they hit something.”

  Despite herself, Shelley found herself laughing. “Has anybody ever told you that you talk a lot?”

  “Yeah.” That smile again. “Sorry. I’m Anthony, by the way.” He tucked the pharmacy bag under his arm, stuck out his hand.