Maysen Jar Box Set

by Devney Perry

  But it was Jamie’s. Something he’d bought as a teenager and driven until college when he’d bought a nicer car.

  “I still can’t believe Jamie didn’t take this to college.” Adam ran his hand along the yellow hood and smiled at me. “Remember how he said he’d never get a date to sit in here?”

  I smiled back. “Well, considering the passenger seat is missing most of the cushion, I would have agreed.”

  “No way.” Adam laughed. “You would have still dated him if he’d driven this old thing.”

  Jamie could have driven me around town on the handlebars of a bicycle for all I would have cared. “You’re probably right.”

  “Should we see if it still runs?”

  “Oh, it’ll run.” Kyle walked over to the driver’s side of the truck. “I came out here a couple nights ago and made sure.” He ran his hand along the open window, like he was saying good-bye.

  At my side, Debbie sniffled. “It will be strange not to come out here and see Jamie’s truck.”

  A wave of doubt hit me hard. Maybe I shouldn’t take the truck. Maybe I should say to hell with that one item on Jamie’s list and let it go. Maybe Kyle and Debbie needed this truck in their shop more than I needed to check a box.

  I was just about to relent when Adam slapped his hand on the hood. “Thanks for getting this finished up, Poppy. Jamie always wanted to have it done.”

  He had. Jamie had talked about fixing it up all the time. We’d just never had the space and he’d never had the time. But now, I could see it through.

  I had to see this through.

  So I swallowed the lump in my throat and gave Adam a small smile. “Midnight blue. He always wanted it to be midnight blue.”

  “And cream interior,” Kyle added as he opened the door.

  I nodded. “And cream interior.”

  The sound of Jamie’s truck filled the shop as Kyle started it up. As he drove it outside, we all followed behind as he steered it toward Cole’s trailer.

  “I guess I could have just come and gotten it myself,” I told Cole as we walked. “Sorry.”

  “No, it’s better this way. The last thing I want is for you to get stranded on the side of the road. The engine might run, but those tires won’t last another fifty miles.”

  I didn’t know if that was true, but it made me feel better.

  Cole jogged ahead, pulling out the ramps on the trailer so Kyle could ease the truck onto the flatbed. Then together, Cole, Kyle and Adam all chained it down.

  “Thanks, Debbie. It was nice to see you.”

  She nodded and forced a smile, then gave me a one-arm hug before turning and going back inside the house without a word.

  I stared at the house, wishing there was something I could do to get an invitation inside. I stared at the house, knowing there wasn’t. So I turned back to the guys, standing alone and waiting for them to finish.

  “Thank you,” I told Kyle as he and Adam came over.

  Kyle nodded and looked back to the truck. “Take care of it.”

  “I will.”

  Then without a handshake, a hug, or even a good-bye, he went inside with Debbie. The click of the door’s latch echoed for miles.

  “Bye, Poppy.” Adam waved at me, then Cole as he headed back to the shop. “Nice to meet you, Cole.”

  Cole nodded but Adam had already turned his back to us, done with that job and on to the next.

  I glanced at my watch before they blurred with tears. Twenty-nine minutes. I’d been dismissed after only twenty-nine minutes.

  Jamie’s family didn’t have to say it—I’d heard it loud and clear.

  Good-bye.

  Kyle and Debbie wouldn’t be back to Bozeman to visit my restaurant. They wouldn’t be inviting me back to this ranch to spend holidays like I’d done so many times before. They wouldn’t be a part of my life.

  Without a backward glance, I walked past Cole to his truck. “Let’s go.”

  “You got it.” He didn’t hesitate to get us the hell off the ranch, driving in silence until we reached the highway. “Are you okay?”

  “No.”

  I wanted Jamie to be alive so he could fix up his own truck. To do his own birthday list. I wanted him to be here so his parents weren’t so heartbroken.

  I wanted the ache in my chest to disappear. I wanted it to stop teasing me with reprieves, only to torture me with each return.

  I want to be happy.

  I couldn’t remember how it felt to be truly happy.

  “Give me your hand.” Cole placed his hand, palm up, on the console between us.

  I shook my head, knowing that if I touched him, I’d never keep the tears at bay.

  “Poppy, give me your hand.”

  “I can’t,” I choked out.

  “Poppy,” he whispered. “Give me your hand.”

  I didn’t have the strength to resist his gentle voice so I untucked my hand from between my knees and placed it on his. The second his long fingers closed over mine, the first tear fell. Then the second. Then the rest.

  I cried for the loss of a family. For the loss of Jamie’s parents as friends.

  I cried because Cole’s hand under mine made me feel better.

  Better and worse, all at the same time.

  Chapter Eleven

  46th Birthday: Get a tattoo

  COLE

  “Nothing.” I shut off the TV and tossed the remote on the table.

  I had a bitch of a headache from staring at a small screen all afternoon, watching the surveillance tape of Jamie Maysen’s murder for the tenth time today. Just like the nine times before, there was nothing to go on.

  As I pinched the bridge of my nose, I closed my eyes, hoping the thumping in my skull would go away.

  It had been two weeks since I’d taken Poppy to pick up that old Ford from her in-laws. Two weeks and I felt like all I’d done was sit in this goddamn conference room and watch security feeds. Every night, I went home feeling like my head was being split in two.

  And tonight wouldn’t be much different.

  I pressed the heels of my hands into my temples and started rubbing just as the door opened.

  Matt came in and took the chair at my side. “Anything?”

  “No.” I dropped my hands. “I’ve been studying the liquor store tape and running it against the parking lot footage we got from the grocery store. No one matching the killer’s description comes in or out within five hours of the murder.”

  “Mind if I watch the liquor store footage again?”

  “Go for it.”

  He swiped up the remote and rewound the video to the beginning, then pressed play. I was grateful there was no sound on the footage. Seeing what happened in that liquor store was gruesome enough without adding a soundtrack to the mix.

  The TV screen filled with a grainy video taken from a camera that had been located in an upper corner of the store. The cashier, Kennedy Hastings, was smiling and chatting with Jamie Maysen as he carried over his haul—gin, vodka and margarita mix. He set them down on the counter, then took out a wallet from his back pocket, saying something to Kennedy that made her laugh.

  She’d had a pretty smile. Kennedy’s curly brown hair had been cut short but it suited her round, dark face and petite frame. And she was fumbling a little, probably nervous because Poppy’s husband had been a good-looking guy.

  Jamie had worn his blond hair a little long, but it went with his laid-back vibe. He was a big guy too, likely as tall as me and with just as much bulk. He was wearing flip-flops and cargo shorts with his Western pearl-snap shirt. And on his left hand, a silver wedding band reflected in the screen.

  My insides twisted as the footage spun on. Tragic. That was the word I’d landed on to describe this video. Fucking tragic.

  On screen, Jamie handed over some cash to Kennedy just as the killer came into the liquor store. The killer was barely inside the door before he started waving his gun in the air. Jamie said something, you could make out the word don’t, a
nd then took one step forward. The moment he moved, the killer gripped the gun with both hands and shot Jamie in the head. Kennedy’s mouth was wide as she screamed before the killer turned the gun on her and shot her center mass.

  Then, with no hesitation, as if he hadn’t just taken two innocent lives, the killer reached across the counter and yanked out all of the cash from the open register drawer.

  He’d kept his back to the camera as he backed out of the store. The angle of the camera had never caught his face—just hints of his profile. All we could see was the plain charcoal hoodie and jeans he’d been wearing. When he pulled the cash out from the register, we could make out a sliver of his light-skinned nose and a small tuft of brown hair at his ear. Black sunglasses covered his eyes and black gloves his hands.

  With the register empty, he backed out of the store, leaving behind two dead bodies.

  Leaving behind a young daughter without a mother and a wife who’d had to bury her husband in a closed-casket funeral.

  Matt and I sat quietly, both staring at the screen as it played on. I’d seen a lot of fucked-up things as a cop, but this video was the worst. Maybe it was because I knew Poppy. Maybe it was because I knew what would happen hours later when I showed up on her porch. Maybe it was because the image of her heart breaking right before my eyes was one I’d never forget.

  Besides delivering the news to Poppy that her husband had been killed, watching this video over and over was the hardest thing I’d ever done as a police officer.

  Matt stopped the video and broke the silence in the room. “That is fucked up.”

  I nodded. “And for what? A couple hundred bucks from the register? Doesn’t seem worth it, does it?”

  Matt shook his head. “We’ve got to find this guy.”

  I dug my fingers back into my temples. “I’ve gone through all the tapes from the complex, all the footage we got from the grocery store and all the other shops. I can’t find a glimpse of this guy anywhere.”

  Matt sighed. “Which means we’re on to Plan B. Stoplight cameras.”

  “Yep.” I popped the p just like Poppy did. “Which means if you’re looking for me anytime before eight or after five, I’ll be in this room.”

  I had no fucking clue how long it would take me to start weeding through camera footage in my free time. A month? Maybe two?

  But for Poppy, I’d do anything. I’d sit in this damn room and leave work every night with a headache just for the chance to give her some closure.

  Because closure was the one thing she craved as much as love. She was desperate for someone to tell her it was okay to start living again. And since she sure as fuck wasn’t going to get it from Jamie’s parents, I’d do my best to give it to her myself.

  These last two weeks, she’d built a brick wall between us. When I’d go to the restaurant for dinner, she’d be too busy in the kitchen to sit with me for more than ten minutes. When I’d text to check in, she’d respond with short answers.

  Me: How was your day?

  Poppy: Just fine.

  Me: Do you care if I come by the restaurant for dinner?

  Poppy: Sure. That’s fine.

  Me: Are you doing okay?

  Poppy: I’m fine.

  Fine. Things were not fucking fine. But if she thought she could shut me out, Poppy Maysen had something to learn.

  I wasn’t going anywhere.

  I’d known going into this thing with her that the road would be rough. That she had more to overcome than I could possibly imagine. I had to give her time. So while waiting for her to realize that I was the new constant in her life, I’d been here, watching video footage.

  And fixing up that old truck.

  I’d forgotten how much I enjoyed tinkering on classic cars. How much fun I’d had as a kid working on old beaters with my dad. Besides my brief encounters with Poppy, that truck had given me something to look forward to at the end of each long day.

  I’d ended up taking it to my parents’ house because Dad had better tools and a bigger garage. He had been more than happy to part with the garage space, thrilled to jump into the project with me. Mom was happy because I’d been there almost every night for the past two weeks.

  Every night except when Poppy had been there for her ukulele lessons.

  Those nights, I’d given her some space.

  “You should get out of here.” Matt shut off the TV.

  “I think I will.” Leaving sounded like a damn good idea. I needed some time away from this room. Some time to think about the case. “See you Monday.”

  Matt nodded as we both stood and walked back to our desks in the bull pen. I didn’t waste a second grabbing my keys, sunglasses and wallet from my desk and getting the hell out of the station.

  The minute I pulled out of the parking lot, my headache started to ease. I debated going home, but when I passed a convenience store, I had a better idea. With a cold six-pack in the passenger seat, I drove to my parents’ house to spend the evening working on Jamie Maysen’s truck.

  It was still early—only four in the afternoon—when I got to Mom and Dad’s, which meant I had the garage to myself. Dad wasn’t home yet and Mom was teaching in her studio. So I let myself in, stripped off my gun and badge, then traded my Bozeman PD polo for a plain white T-shirt I’d stashed in the back of my truck. I popped the top off a beer and got to work, letting the clank of tools on metal drown out the silent gunshots from the murder video I’d watched too many times.

  Three hours later, I’d completely gutted the interior of the cab. The bench seat had been taken out, along with the floorboards. The steering wheel and door panels were gone. I’d even removed the radio, jockey box and driving gauges. The only thing staying was the black dashboard, which was in good shape but needed a thorough cleaning and conditioning.

  With the inside basically a shell, I started on the smaller items, using a screwdriver to take out the driver’s-side sun visor. I’d just loosened one screw when the visor fell open and a picture dropped to the floor.

  I set aside the screwdriver and wiped my hands on my jeans before lifting up the photo.

  It was a picture of Poppy and Jamie from college. Jamie had his arms around Poppy’s chest, his chin resting on her shoulder. They were both smiling at the camera as they stood in a crowded row at the MSU football stadium.

  Damn. She looked happy. So fucking happy.

  My heart beat hard as I studied Poppy’s face. She hadn’t changed much since college. Some of the youth she had in the picture was gone—and pain had erased some of her innocence—but she was just as beautiful now as she had been back then.

  Just as beautiful, but nowhere near as happy.

  I wanted to see that kind of raw joy on her face again. I wanted to be the man that put it there.

  Me. Not Jamie.

  “Hey.”

  My eyes swung to the garage door. So lost in my inspection of her picture, I hadn’t heard the woman herself walk inside. But there she was. My pretty Poppy. The sun limned her in an amber halo, and my heart did that weird double-beat thing before I found my voice. “Hi.”

  “Sorry if I startled you.” She walked toward the far wall where all of Dad’s tool benches were lined up.

  “It’s okay.” I rounded the hood of the truck to join her, holding out the photo. “Here. I just found this.”

  She took the photo and smiled. “Look how young we were. This seems like a lifetime ago.” With one finger, she touched Jamie’s face, then set the picture aside on a workbench.

  I waited, wondering when I’d run into the wall she’d constructed between us, but she surprised me by planting both palms on the top of the bench and hopping up to take a seat.

  Did this mean she was done shutting me out? Done avoiding me? Because that would turn my long, shitty week all the way around.

  “You know,” she said, “I think that picture was the last time I went to a Bobcat football game. I kind of want to see the expanded stadium. Would you go to a game with me this
fall?”

  “In a heartbeat.”

  That got me the smile I hadn’t seen for way too long.

  Damn, I’d missed her these last two weeks. That smile. Her laugh. Her crazy hand gestures. The distance she’d put between us was killing me.

  She pointed to the truck. “How’s progress going?”

  I turned and leaned against the bench, my hip next to her knee. “Good. I think I’ll be able to do all of the interior myself. I was able to order a new seat and all of the parts. I’ve got a guy coming to replace the windshield next week, and I’ve asked a buddy of Dad’s if he can help with the body stuff and paint.”

  “I’m sorry I can’t help. But you’re keeping track of how much I owe you, aren’t you?”

  “Sure.”

  Whatever the total ended up being, I was whacking it in half. There was no way she was going to pay for all of this truck, no matter what she said. Not when she was trying to run a new business, to support her employees and herself.

  “I think I’d better have you save receipts.”

  I chuckled. It never ceased to surprise me how well she could read my thoughts. “So what’s new? Everything going okay?”

  “I’m good.” She nodded. “I actually just finished a lesson with your mom and I saw your truck so I wanted to say hi.”

  My eyebrows came together. “I thought your lessons were on Tuesdays.”

  “They are, but I asked to switch this week. I took the whole afternoon off for an appointment.” She reached to the collar of her shirt. She wasn’t wearing her normal restaurant T-shirt today. Instead, she had on some sort of sports bra with a loose, short-sleeved sweatshirt on top. The collar had been cut so it draped across one of her shoulders, teasing me with a patch of flawless skin.

  As she yanked the collar wide, I tucked a hand in my pocket so I wouldn’t be tempted to see just how silky that skin was. My cock jerked against my zipper as she kept pulling that collar lower and lower, stretching it so her shoulder was completely bare.

  “See?” She angled her back to me and I leaned closer.