by Lucy Score
He snagged a coiled string of lights out of a plastic tote marked Christmas Shit. “Sugar cookies. My mom’s recipe.”
My heart did that funny little tumble thing. If I hadn’t loved him for my whole life before, that’s all it would have taken.
“Sugar cookies? You’re baking? From scratch?” Bowls and beaters were stacked neatly in the sink, evidence of the fact that my secret boyfriend was the best secret boyfriend in the history of secret boyfriends. And it was his mama’s recipe.
“Can’t decorate for Christmas and not have cookies. Eight minutes,” he said, dropping a kiss on my mouth and flashing that lopsided smile. “When they’re done, you can put the next trays in.”
I eyed up the four trays of cookies waiting for the oven. “What’s in it for me?” I asked.
“We’ll decorate your front porch and you can have as many cookies as you want.”
Sold. Someone bang the gavel because I was definitely hanging on to this man.
He gave me another kiss, one that involved a promise of things to come after my shift tonight, and then I admired the view as he headed out the front door. Those sweatpants should be illegal. Hmm. Maybe I could arrest him for public sexiness?
I ducked back to my side and grabbed my laptop. I’d set up shop closer to the oven so I could taste the product for quality control purposes.
I could hear the guys talking from the front porch, calling to someone. Nosiness was in my nature so I peered through the side light on the front door. Well, well, it was that nice-looking brunette from Jonah’s boot camp, looking cute as can be in a navy wool coat.
Shelby Something.
Hmm.
I was nosy and suspicious by nature. The fact that she’d made it a point to introduce herself after the class and just happened to be walking by on a cold as frozen over hell day made my nose twitch.
I went back over to my side and grabbed my phone.
When it came to Bootleg, I had my pick of gossipmongers. I picked Millie Waggle and fired off a text.
Me: Hey, Millie. You run into that Shelby yet? New in town. Staying for the holidays.
Approximately twenty seconds later, I had chapter and verse on Ms. Shelby Thompson who was currently in residence in the B&B part of the Bootleg Springs Spa. Apparently she was considering moving into a rental. She wore size seven shoes. And was often seen jogging in the early mornings like a crazy person. She preferred tea over coffee and “seemed genuinely interested in everyone and everything.”
My spidey senses were tingling. I did a nifty little search for Ms. Shelby Thompson, and when those results were too generic, I logged into the station’s database.
Well, well, well. Hello, Shelby Thompson, 28, of Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Her record was squeaky clean. Not a parking ticket or traffic violation in the last five years. With the added information of her middle initial and hometown, I redid my regular search and found what I was looking for.
Little Miss Nice as Pie had graduated with a degree in journalism from West Virginia University. Oh, and lookie here. She was currently a freelance writer with credits in several newspapers, magazines, and blogs.
I thought of Jonah’s dopey “she’s so pretty” expression and felt a tiny bit bad that I was going to have to crush his crush. The oven timer zzz-ed to life. Both our kitchens could use a makeover, I thought, pulling the first two trays of hearts and trees out of the ancient oven and setting them on the scrap of table with cooling racks.
Imagine the space if we took the wall down and had one big kitchen.
The sizzling of my own flesh brought me back. I’d caught Bowie’s forever fever, I thought, sucking my abused thumb into my mouth. It was contagious. If it weren’t for my work situation, it would be real tempting to daydream a little about the future.
But what was the point with Connelly breathing down my neck and causing a ruckus? I needed a plan where that man was concerned. A way to change his mind about me.
Because the fact was, until the Callie Kendall case heated up or cooled off I didn’t have a future to plan. I popped the next two trays into the oven, reset the timer, and sat back down at my laptop, trying to ignore the sugary scents of awesome.
With Connelly still on my mind, I typed his name into the search engine.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” I breathed.
54
Bowie
I eased into Scarlett’s driveway and cursed when I didn’t see a delivery vehicle there. She’d invited me for dinner tonight to “strategize,” and I hoped to God that meant she wasn’t cooking. My sister was a lot of things. A passable cook who probably wouldn’t give her guests food poisoning was not one of them.
I let myself in the front door of the cabin and ran right into a clothing rack full of suits that was blocking the hallway. “Scarlett?”
Something smelled unpleasant in here. Like burnt meat and bad eggs. Why didn’t I offer to pick something up?
“Back here, Bow,” she called from the kitchen.
The house was doll-sized with one bedroom, a bath barely bigger than the tub, and a living-dining-kitchen space that was roughly the size of my living room. With its scrap of lake frontage and tree-filled yard, it suited Scarlett down to the ground. At least it had until Devlin the Clothes Horse moved in. There was a shoe rack on top of the coffee table that had been shoved up against the wall to make room for a folding table buckling under the weight of two laptops and a mess of paperwork.
“How do you like our home office?” Scarlett chirped.
She and Devlin were decked out in aprons and hot pads, trying to scrape something that looked like it could have been a meatloaf out of a pan.
“It’s real homey,” I lied, noting the books stacked up on the floor. Kitten Jedediah was unraveling a very nice-looking cashmere sweater stored in one of the half-dozen laundry baskets piled together blocking the patio doors.
Devlin looked up from the burnt gray meat. “They broke ground yesterday. Another six months and we’ll have some space to spread out,” he said cheerfully.
I scratched the back of my head. Every flat surface was buried under things that should have had a rightful place. I guessed that’s what you got when you took two independent lives and smashed them together in six hundred square feet. Now, Cassidy and I had an entire house to work with. We could take out walls and have plenty of room for rambling.
“Knock knock,” Cassidy called from the front door.
“What are you up to?” I hissed at my sister.
“This is between me and your secret girlfriend who still hasn’t told me y’all are together,” Scarlett said wickedly. “In the kitchen, Cass,” she sang.
Cassidy came around the corner, narrowly avoiding a stack of law books, and stopped short when she saw me. She was in uniform, and her hair was pulled back in that slick bun.
“Isn’t this nice?” Scarlett asked sweetly. “I would have invited the others, but we’re plum out of room.”
“Cassidy, I have that thing in my car you wanted to borrow—” I began. But my sister cut me off.
“Bowie, do you mind gettin’ the deviled eggs out of the refrigerator?” she asked. There was an edge to her tone. She was warning me off. Family first.
I needed to get Cassidy alone and tell her she was walking into a Scarlett Bodine trap.
“I’m sure Devlin can handle the eggs,” I said.
“Get the damn eggs, Bowie,” Scarlett barked. “And don’t even think about getting between me and your secret pal over there,” she added so only I could hear when I wriggled my way between her and Devlin to get to the refrigerator.
I opened the door and gagged at the smell of sulfur. Devlin ducked behind it with me and pulled his sweater over his nose. “What’s going on?” he asked, his voice muffled by cashmere.
“I think Scarlett’s tryin’ to teach Cassidy a lesson about keeping secrets.”
“Well, that should be fun. Don’t eat the meatloaf. She dropped it on the floor and the cat ran throug
h it,” he whispered back.
“Good to know.”
“So, Cassidy, what’s new with you? What’s happening in your world these days?” Scarlett asked.
I straightened up and waved my hands like an air traffic controller behind Scarlett’s back.
Scarlett must have felt the breeze because her head whipped around.
Innocently, I held up the tray of deviled eggs that were more orange than yellow at arm’s length so the smell wouldn’t contaminate me.
I could tell by Cassidy’s wrinkled nose that the smell was wafting in her direction.
“Why, thank you, Bowie,” Scarlett said, sweeter than a tall glass of sweet tea in August. Shit was about to go down.
She linked her arm through mine. “I’m so happy y’all are friends again. Isn’t it great to be friends? Bless your heart.”
“She knows,” I mouthed to Cassidy.
Cassidy rolled her eyes. She was no dummy.
“Bowie told you,” she said, cutting to the chase.
Nice as pie Scarlett disappeared and was replaced with violently angry Scarlett. “You’re damn right he told me, which is what you should have done. We are family, Cassidy Ann Tucker. I have been planning your wedding to Bowie since the second grade. And you think it’s okay to strike up a relationship and not tell me? Are you touched in the head?”
“Oh, I can trust you, can I?” Cassidy demanded, rounding on me.
“Don’t you dare get mad at him for telling me something you should have,” Scarlett shrilled.
Cassidy gave me a look that telegraphed the fact that we were going to have a discussion later. But she had louder, meaner fish to fry first.
“Now, Scarlett,” she began in her calmest deputy voice.
“Don’t you ‘now Scarlett’ me! What else have you been hiding from me? Did you win that big lottery six months ago that no one has claimed yet? Is your real name even Cassidy?”
“We should maybe step outside,” Devlin said.
Jedediah sprinted over and launched himself at the bookcase, scrabbling to the top shelf so he could knock a photo of Scarlett, June, and Cassidy over. I wondered if it was coincidence or if Scarlett had trained him.
“I think I need to stay inside in case things get ugly,” I told Devlin.
“I can handle myself just fine.” Cassidy glared at me.
“That right there is your stupid problem, you stupid jerk,” Scarlett said, pointing an accusatory finger in Cassidy’s direction. “I can do everything myself,” she mimicked.
“I can do everything myself,” Cassidy argued.
“Well, you don’t have to, you idiot! What’s with all the secrets? I cut you some slack over the DNA tests. But you’re dating my brother and didn’t think to tell me? This is your second strike, Tucker.”
Devlin raised his hands peacemaker-style. “Maybe we should all sit down and discuss—”
“Get out!” Scarlett and Cassidy commanded.
“Yes, ma’ams,” I said, running like hell for the patio doors.
Devlin was hot on my heels.
I left the glass door open a crack so we could eavesdrop safely and then sat down on a cushioned lounger that must have belonged to Devlin’s past life.
He was pulling out his cell phone.
“You can’t call the cops. One of them’s already here,” I joked.
“I’m calling for pizza.”
55
Cassidy
“I can’t believe Bowie told you,” I groused. I wanted to pace but there was no freaking room in Scarlett’s stuffed house.
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me! We’re family!” Scarlett hollered. She was on the other side of the armchair and two laundry baskets full of Devlin’s gym clothes.
“You don’t know the whole story. And you’re not exactly known for keeping your mouth shut!”
Her green eyes narrowed, and I knew I was entering the Danger Zone.
“You think I don’t know Connelly’s basically tied you to a desk and is holding your employment hostage? And do you really think Bowie came a runnin’ telling tales about you? Why I’m so mad at you right now, Cassidy Ann, I could spit!”
“Bowie told you something I asked him not to.” Christ. Did this mean he’d spilled the beans about the photos of Callie Kendall, too? My head was starting to hurt and only part of it was the smell from those fluorescent orange deviled eggs.
“Now you listen here, Deputy Assface,” Scarlett said, climbing over the armchair and scaling the coffee table. “Gibson guessed that you two had hooked up and Bowie did that twitchin’ thing he does when he’s lying so we all knew.”
“All? All who?” My voice was an octave higher than usual.
“The whole damn family. Since Black Friday. I gave you two dang weeks to tell me the truth! My best friend and my brother and you don’t think I deserve to know?”
I flinched. “It’s not that you didn’t deserve to know. It’s just…complicated.”
“I don’t fucking care if its astrophysics! This keeping shit to yourself has got to stop.” She was close enough to drill a finger into my nameplate on my uniform. “Get this straight, deputy, handling shit is one thing, but shutting people out on purpose is another thing.”
I set my jaw. “Look. I’m sorry. I didn’t know how serious this was gonna get and I didn’t want you to get excited if we burned out and there was nothing to get excited over. Plus, Connelly doesn’t want me to have anything to do with y’all. If he knew that Bowie and I are dating, he’d have my badge.”
“Dev! Find out if that’s a possibility,” Scarlett screeched at the patio doors. “I know what you’re doing. Bowie hurt you way back when and you made it your mission in life to never rely on anyone again. That’s some shit for you two to work out. But I have never once in my entire life let you down.”
I couldn’t say the same thing to her. Not honestly.
“There are reasons. My job—”
“Your daddy’s been doin’ his job an awful long time without shutting people out and alienating them,” she shot back.
That took the wind out of my sails a bit.
“Look,” Scarlett said, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m not saying you should be breaking laws for us. I’m saying use your discretion to not be some asshole’s puppet. That Connelly sat on those DNA results until they’d make the biggest impact and then he pulled together a dog and pony show and brought the press down on us like locusts. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if he were the one who leaked the results.”
She must have seen the look on my face because Scarlett gave me a shove. “I knew it! And you didn’t tell me? What the hell is your problem?”
I looked out through the glass and noted that Bowie and Devlin were staring out into the dark, pretending they couldn’t hear us.
“My problem is he thinks I’m only here because my daddy gave me a job.”
“Fuck. That. Why are you trying to prove yourself to a man who is obviously a ginormous fucking moron?”
“Because maybe he’s right!” I shouted back.
Scarlett rolled her eyes. “Now you’re being an idiot.”
“What if he’s right? What if I don’t belong on the force? What if the only reason I got this job was because my daddy gave it to me?”
“You’re letting him get in your head. You’re letting some asshole stranger come in and tell you how to live your life. You’re letting him wreck your job and turn your friends into enemies. Worst of all, you’re letting him come between you and the guy you’ve loved since pre-school.”
I flopped back on the couch, suddenly too tired to fight. Besides, Scarlett didn’t like to hit people when they were sad.
“You keepin’ secrets is you choosing Connelly over us when he’s done nothing to deserve your loyalty. Stop treating us like the enemy and start treating him like one.”
I was so tired of all the secrets. They were piling up left and right like firewood. Sooner or later it would all catch fire
.
“Fine. I think Connelly’s so tied up in this personal vendetta that he’s ignoring important pieces of the investigation,” I told her. “Mrs. Kendall turned in photos of Callie’s self-inflicted injuries and far as I can tell, he hasn’t even had a conversation with her or the judge about them.”
To her credit, Scarlett didn’t immediately jump all over me with questions.
“And for the record, Bowie knows about the pictures but only because the Kendalls brought them up in front of him. And if word leaks about them, Connelly’s gonna know it came from me and that would be the final nail in my professional coffin.”
Scarlett’s wheels were turning. She was a fixer, a burn-it-downer. I couldn’t tell which way she was leaning at this point.
“I’ve been seeing your brother since right before Thanksgiving. He agreed to a six-week trial to see if there’s something real between us.”
“And is there?” Scarlett asked expectantly.
“Of course there is,” I looked to the glass door, wondering if he could hear me. “I love him. Always have. Worse yet, I’m in love with him. But we keep rubbing up against my job. I’ve wanted this forever, Scar. I’ve wanted to be a cop in Bootleg and I’ve always wanted to be Bowie Bodine’s girl. Why can’t I have both?”
“Listen up, Cass. You listen up good. Just because twenty-three-year-old Bowie hurt you, doesn’t make him a bad guy. And just because this Connelly fella is the law, doesn’t automatically make him a good guy.”
She paced toward me and back around the debris of her newly combined life. “You’ve gone and let both of them influence how you feel about yourself. That’s your damn problem. You keep letting other people’s opinions about you influence your own. And it’s none of your damn business what other people think of you. Your job is to go out there and be the best damn Cassidy Tucker you can be. Not livin’ up or down to someone else’s take on you.”
I blinked. Several times. “Is that what I’m doing?”