“You should wait for him to call.” Gran crossed her arms. “In my day, a lady didn’t pursue a gentleman.”
“But this is the twenty-first century,” I teased.
“I like living in the past.” Gran smiled. “It’s cheaper back there.”
Chuckling, I escaped from the kitchen and went into my bedroom to get dressed. Since there was a good chance I’d be seeing both Jake and Noah today, I put on my best, most slimming jeans and an aquamarine Devereaux’s Dime Store polo, which brought out the color of my eyes. Feeling a little foolish, I brushed on some bronzer and a few swipes of mascara, but I drew the line at curling or flat ironing my hair, so I gathered it into its usual ponytail.
As I headed into town, I noticed that the wind was really strong and there were no birds in any of the trees. The air seemed to crackle with electricity, and I wondered if we were in for a thunderstorm.
A few minutes later, I crossed into the city limits and cruised the four blocks to my store. On my way, I passed the Greek Revival building that housed the bank, the unadorned cinder-block newspaper office, Little’s Tea Room in its Queen Anne–style house, and the movie theater with its limestone facade and Art Deco entrance.
Although Shadow Bend looked like a postcard of an idyllic Midwest small town, I had learned with the past couple of murder cases that it had a dark underbelly. It didn’t show itself on the surface, but I had become adept at sniffing out the community’s secrets.
The influx of new residents who had moved to the area to raise their families in a more wholesome atmosphere than most city neighborhoods could offer had brought some of the crime they’d been trying to escape.
Not that the newcomers were the only ones whose pasts created problems. Native Shadow Benders intent on maintaining the way of life in which they had grown up wanted their world to remain a safe and orderly place—even if it meant getting rid of someone who threatened that security. Country folks, even more than urban dwellers, understood the concept of survival of the fittest.
I’d worked in the city for many years, but I’d always lived in Shadow Bend. I endeavored to see both sides’ point of view and to make my store a spot where everyone could feel comfortable. Unlike Brewfully Yours, which catered to the commuters, or the feed store, whose sign out front—GUNS, COLD BEER, BAIT—said it all, my goal was to offer a neutral zone where the two groups could find some common ground. I hoped this new murder wouldn’t be a setback.
I was proud that Blood, Sweat, and Shears, the sewing club that met on Wednesday evenings at the dime store, had nearly an equal number of townies and move-in members. And I was particularly pleased that the kids who hung around the new teen lounge in my store’s second floor had accepted my declaration that if I saw any evidence of cliques, discrimination, or bullying, everyone would be kicked out. It was too hard to determine who was guilty and who was innocent, since often the ones who were caught weren’t the ones who’d started the problem.
Maintaining this progress meant that in addition to clearing my parents’ names, I needed to find out who’d killed Jett before fingers started pointing and the town split in two once again.
Despite my aversion to being rescued, Jake’s offer to help was a godsend. He knew how to manipulate the legal system and get the information we needed to move forward on the investigation. Without him, Poppy, Boone, and I could only gather rumors and pump people for gossip. That might be fine if Jett were a local, but with him being from out of town, pickings would be mighty slim.
Soon after I opened the store for the day, my fears were confirmed. I overheard a group of women chattering about the murder. It was a stroke of luck that the ladies didn’t seem to realize Jett was my stepfather. I sure didn’t want to have to field a lot of “you have my sympathy” comments, but it was a shame the rumors were already flying.
“I had an interesting phone call this morning,” a middle-aged woman dressed in Levi’s and cowboy boots said, rocking on her heels.
The crowd around her chirped excitedly, offering guesses as to what had been said.
When they finally quieted, she continued. “You know that Irene Johnson cleans for several of the Country Club Cougars, right?”
Boone had coined that nickname for the ladies who hung out at the country club on the prowl for husbands, and it had caught on.
“Of course we do, Emma,” a young mother wearing shorts and flip-flops said. “They brag about it anytime they can. It’s always ‘my housekeeper’ this and ‘my nanny’ that. Sure wish I could afford some help.”
“Anyway,” Emma continued, “Irene and I are in Knittie Gritties together. She called to tell me she’d found some yarn I’ve been looking for and that she’d bring it to the next meeting. Then, when we were chatting, Irene mentioned that she heard one of the cougars on the phone complaining about the library reopening.”
“Why in God’s name would she object to that?” Ms. Flip-flop demanded.
Not wanting to miss a word, I edged closer to the group. To disguise my interest in their conversation, I pretended to straighten a display of autumn-themed coffee mugs.
“Well, Angie, the cougar claimed that after the initial funding ended, local taxes would need to go up to support the library, and since they had the biggest houses, theirs would increase the most.” Emma crossed her arms. “The woman also claimed that libraries were dinosaurs and people could just download whatever stuff they wanted to read and look up info on the Internet.”
“Sure.” Angie glared. “If you’re rich and can afford to buy all the new books.”
“Not to mention that around here our Internet service is limited, and if we go over a certain amount, we have to pay extra,” one of the others chimed in.
“Exactly.” Emma’s voice reeked with spite. “Not that any of those country club people have a clue that the rest of us struggle to pay our bills.”
It took all of my self-control not to groan. Damn! It hadn’t taken long for sides to be drawn. I didn’t stamp my foot at the stupidity, but I may have tapped my toe a couple of times.
“I bet one of those rich snobs killed that poor Mr. Benedict,” Angie said. “To stop him from helping us regular folks.”
“Can I find something for you ladies?” I stepped up to the group. It was time to break this up before they formed a lynch mob.
“I need to order a gift basket for my niece’s baby shower.” Emma moved over to the register. “I want something special. It’s her first.”
After I took the basket order and rang up everyone else’s purchases, the women headed for the exit. As they walked out the door, Angie was describing the strange lights she’d seen in the sky last night.
I was still mulling over how quickly the townies and newcomers had become divided when Taryn Wenzel arrived. He worked four mornings a week for me as a part of his high school vocational program. I wouldn’t say that my newest clerk was short, but he would have to look up to a Hobbit.
I was uncertain as to why he was in the voc-ed program, since he’d made it clear he’d be attending the University of Central Missouri’s software engineering program when he graduated. Maybe he planned on owning his own company and wanted practical experience in running a small business.
He watched me refilling the book rack for a minute, then asked, “Are you okay, Dev?” Taryn tilted his head, and his wire-rimmed glasses slipped down his nose.
“I’m fine.”
“Then why are you putting the new Stephen King book where the romances go?” Taryn was a keen observer and a voracious reader.
“Well, horror and romance have a lot in common. Neither is too realistic and both can keep you up at night.” My feeble attempt to distract Taryn with witty repartee didn’t work. The boy had no sense of humor. Or at least, none that I’d been able to find.
“True.” Taryn narrowed his eyes. “I hadn’t thought about it like that, but yo
u’re right. Maybe I’ll use that premise for my next English paper.”
“Probably not a good idea.” Hell! I couldn’t let the poor guy do that. I doubted his teacher would buy the idea, and he’d end up with a failing grade because of me.
My day didn’t improve when the phone rang at eleven thirty. It was Noah, and he said, “I am so sorry about your stepfather, Dev. And I wish I could be there for you, but we have an emergency.”
“Oh.” I cringed. What had happened now? Was his mother acting up again?
“One of the patients in my waiting room just went into labor.” He paused to give someone on his end several lengthy directions, then said, “I need to accompany her to the hospital.”
“I understand.” How could I be upset with a doctor saving a life?
“Sorry. Elexus has her hands full at the clinic. The patient is two months early and a high-risk pregnancy.” He paused again. I heard a commotion, and then he said quickly, “I’ve got to go. The ambulance is here. I’ll call you when I get back to town.”
He hung up before I could answer, which was just as well. There was nothing to say. He had his obligations and I had mine. Several of which were awaiting my attention. So instead of an intimate lunch with Noah, I dealt with unreliable vendors, disgruntled customers, and a three-year-old shoplifter who grabbed a candy bar and shoved it into his mouth before his mother could stop him.
The frustrations continued to mount, and I was close to locking myself in the bathroom and screaming when my father arrived at three fifty-five. He took one look at my scowling face and wrapped me in a hug.
I enjoyed the novel sensation of having my dad around to comfort me again, then eased out of his embrace and, as casually as I could, said, “I missed seeing you at breakfast. Did you sleep in?”
On Wednesdays, when the store was open in the evening to accommodate one of my craft groups, instead of his usual morning shift, my father came in from four to eight.
“No.” He raised a brow, indicating that I wasn’t fooling him. “I had an appointment with my parole officer over in Kansas City at nine, so I had to leave early in case traffic was heavy.”
“Did you make it in time?”
“Yep.” Kern smiled. “And afterward, I treated myself to a nice lunch and a matinee of the latest Bruce Willis Die Hard movie.” As I opened my mouth, he added, “It wasn’t as much fun alone, but it was still nice.”
I hid my relief that Dad hadn’t been with Yvette, but the twinkle in Dad’s eyes said that he knew what I’d been thinking. He pecked me on the cheek and headed toward the storeroom to put his things away before starting to work.
As I watched him walk away, I went over to the soda fountain and poured myself a cup of coffee. I had just settled on a stool when the sleigh bells over the entrance jingled. I twisted my seat toward the sound and my heart sped up. Six feet four of hot man strode through the door. And this time Jake was alone.
CHAPTER 13
Jake threw his leg over the stool next to mine, and I said, “I’m surprised to see you here. I thought you were going to call.” Trying to ignore the electricity zipping between us, I asked, “What’s up?”
“After I introduced the health aide to Meg and got him squared away, I hightailed it away from the ranch so fast that my pickup left skid marks in the gravel.” Jake’s smile was both devastating and contagious. “I was hoping we could talk to some folks about your stepfather’s murder.”
“How did Meg take the change in nursing staff?” I sipped my coffee and watched Jake’s reaction from behind my cup.
“She was screaming fit to be tied, but the aide said that was normal and he’d handle it. I sure hope the poor fellow has earplugs.” A dimple at the corner of Jake’s lips appeared. “Tony and Ulysses decided this was a good evening to go eat barbecue in Sparkville and catch the latest action movie.”
“Smart men.” I traced the rim of my cup with my index finger.
“Yep. That they are.” Jake leaned back, propping his elbows on the counter. “So what do you say we do some investigating, then grab a bite to eat at the new Mexican place out near the highway?”
“I wish I could, but this is my late night at the store,” I reminded him.
“Can’t your father cover for you?” Jake coaxed. “I’m hoping to get some info from the dispatcher about what the police have on the case.”
“I’m sure Miss Perky Boobs will tell you a lot more without me there.” I bared my teeth in a fake smile. The woman had practically gotten on her knees in front of Jake the last time we were at the PD together.
“I thought you could talk to your friend Chief Kincaid while I charmed Bambi.”
Bambi wasn’t her real name, but Jake had explained that it was a tag the marshals use for a woman whose IQ is less than her bra size.
“The chief is only my pal when I have something to trade,” I retorted, then remembered the gossip I’d caught that morning and murmured, “I wonder if Chief Kincaid heard the rumor going around that Jett was killed to stop the library from opening.”
“Why would anyone want to do that?” Jake’s dark brows drew together.
I gave Jake the short version of Emma and Angie’s conversation.
“Who was it that this housekeeper overheard complaining about the library?’
“The women talking never mentioned a name.” I grinned and elbowed Jake. “Guess you’ll have to go out to the club and poke around.”
His normally tanned cheeks paled. The last time Jake had tried to get information from the country club ladies, the cougars had nearly made him the main course on their hot-guy menu.
“Back to tonight’s agenda.” Jake’s chiseled face relaxed into a sexy smile. “Now that you do have something to trade with the chief, how about going with me to the PD and using it to find out what he knows?”
“I’m not sure Dad is ready to handle Blood, Sweat, and Shears by himself.” I bit my lip. “That group might eat him alive.”
“If Kern survived prison”—Jake twirled the brim of his cowboy hat on his finger—“he can manage a ladies’ sewing circle.”
With Winnie Todd as the club’s president, I wasn’t so sure. Still, it was probably worth the risk to get to the bottom of Jett’s murder. Just because the chief hadn’t questioned my father yet didn’t mean he wasn’t building his case before he pounced.
When I’d spoken to Yvette earlier in the afternoon, she’d informed me that there was a police car sitting in front of her condo, watching her. I’d advised her to stay home and hibernate. She’d giggled at my suggestion and informed me that she had nothing to hide. It had taken all my self-control not to laugh in her face.
“There’s one other person I should talk to ASAP.” Jake broke into my thoughts. “And I know you’ll want to be along for that conversation.”
“Who?” I didn’t like the tiny grin playing around Jake’s lips.
“Nadine Underwood.” Jake grabbed the cup from my hand and chugged the rest of my coffee. “Tony overheard her and one of her CDM friends saying that your stepfather needed to stop poking his nose in places it didn’t belong or he’d be sorry. I’d sure like to know what places those are and why Nadine was so bent out of shape about it.”
“I would, too.” My father’s voice startled me. I hadn’t noticed him come out of the back room. “That woman is always up to something.”
Jake and I both swiveled our stools to look at him. He stood by the register, frowning, with his hands shoved in his pockets.
“You go with Jake,” Dad ordered in a tone I wasn’t used to hearing. “I’ll handle the sewing ladies and close the store for you.”
“But—” I protested.
“Devereaux Sinclair,” Dad interrupted, crossing his arms and staring at me, “surely you have enough faith in me to let me sell refreshments without your supervision?”
Giving in
, I didn’t quite meet his eyes when I said, “Of course I do.” My father had played the trust card, and after how I’d behaved when he was wrongly convicted and sent to prison, there was no way I could do anything but agree to his wishes.
“Good. I promise to straighten up afterward.” Dad nodded to himself, then said, “Since you won’t let me see her or call her, check on your mother while you’re at it.”
“Okay.” I smiled at Dad, then turned to Jake and frowned. “But I’m not going to blindside Noah by popping in on Nadine without warning him.”
“Look at it this way.” Jake lowered his voice. “If it’s his mother getting into trouble versus your father returning to prison, who wins?”
“Dad.” I sighed. “But I’m still sending Noah a text. I’m sure he won’t interfere, and he deserves to know what’s happening.”
“Maybe.” Jake shrugged. “But Underwood has a history of caving in to his mother.”
“Not lately,” I argued. Jake didn’t have to remind me about Noah’s past betrayals. It wasn’t something I was likely to forget. Raising a brow, I lasered a sharp look in Jake’s direction. “But we all have obligations that interfere with our personal lives.”
“Some of us have seen what’s really important and made the necessary adjustments.” Jake’s gaze burned me like a branding iron.
Unwilling to allow him to distract me, I stood and said, “We’re wasting time. Chief Kincaid usually heads home for dinner by five and it’s four forty, so if we want to talk to him, we need to get going. Let me grab my purse and I’ll meet you out front.”
The Shadow Bend PD was located between the hardware store and the dry cleaner. Jake and I made the short walk across the square in silence. I had no idea what was going through his mind, but I was thinking about my aversion to entering the police station.
The building’s square cinder-block structure, recently installed front window bars, and overall crushing atmosphere reminded me of where my dad had been incarcerated.
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