Chapter

9

My brow wrinkled as I stared at Brodie Gett’s muscular form, wondering what plan he was cooking up now. Did he honestly just offer to help a Lucky? My suspicion grew tenfold. Never trust a Gett bearing whiskey, Jack always said.

That lesson I’d learned the hard way. One day Brodie had offered to walk me home from school, through the heart of the Glades. I’d foolishly accepted, trusting him right up until he left me alone except for the monster alligators. We were eight years old.

I could still hear his laughter as he sprinted away. The memory caused my hands to sweat. Was this the same sort of thing? Would I find myself alone, battling my own fears, while Brodie stood to the side and laughed? With a shallow breath, I asked, “Why?”

“What?”

“Why would you want to help me?”

“For one thing, I’m your prime suspect.” He stopped as if waiting for me to deny it. Like I would. If he hadn’t outright killed Roger, I bet he knew who had. He shot me a frown when I remained silent. I stifled my smile at his disgruntled look. “Proving it wasn’t me sounds like enough of a reason,” he said, his tone even.

“And why would I, being a sane person, agree to this?”

A cutting laugh burst from his lips. “Let’s forego the obvious debate of your mental status for the moment.” His hand went to his chin, rubbing it as if thinking hard. “Instead,” he said, “let’s focus on the bigger issue. Like it or not, people in this town trust me.” That damn time-honored smirk returned. “Hell, I’d go as far as saying they love me.” He gestured my way. “Current company apparently excluded.”

“Is that so?”

He went on as if I hadn’t said a word. “You, on the other hand, painted their beloved water tower, embarrassing the entire town.” He emphasized the word entire. He hadn’t needed to. I understood exactly where he was coming from. On my visit to the Gett Bar & Grill, Willow Jones had ignored my questions about Roger right up until Brodie nodded his okay.

I was an outsider, though I’d lived here most of my life.

The town didn’t trust outsiders.

Damn, a Gett actually made sense for once.

Better to keep your enemies close, right? Knowing I was about to agree to a deal with the devil, I nodded slowly. “Fine. You can help me. But if you so much as make one funny move …”

“You’ll what, Charms?” He laughed, loud and long, too much so to be genuine. The jerk. “Act me to death?”

My ego rose nicely to his bait. “Hey, I’m a damn good actress.”

He snapped his fingers. “Right. I was totally convinced of your herpes outbreak.” I opened my mouth to let him have it, but before one f-word slipped out, he waved his hand at me. “Okay, sorry,” he said. “You are an amazing actor. Shakespearean in quality if not quantity.” He paused, as if awaiting my approval. I nodded, slightly mollified. “Now we can get on with solving Roger’s murder,” he said. “Where to start …”

I smiled without a bit of humor. “Let’s start by you telling me what happened after your argument with Roger.”

He sucked in a deep breath, and for a moment, I suspected he wouldn’t answer. My eyes widened when he did. “Roger was drunk. We argued, and he stumbled off toward here. I never saw him after that.” He stopped, his eyes hard on mine, as if willing me to believe him. To trust him. Like I was eight again.

“I swear to it, Charms,” he whispered.

I chose, for the moment, to buy his tale. “So how did he get from the Gett, alive, and end up dead in the Lucky Whiskey rackhouse?”

Brodie shook his head; his razor-sharp hair barely moved. The desire to run my hand over it took me off guard. “We need more information,” he said.

My mouth lifted to a one-sided grin as he’d walked neatly into my trap. The one person who would never give me anything, let alone information on an ongoing investigation, just might cough it up for Brodie. “Funny you should say that.”

“Why?” he asked quietly.

“I know just who to ask.”

His brow rose. “Is that so?”

“Your dear brother,” I said with glee, “the sheriff.”

His snort grated on my ears, but not nearly as much as his next words. “You want me to ask Danny about an ongoing investigation? One that he arrested a suspect in? Are you crazy?”

Tired of that question, I said, “You did want to help.”

He closed his eyes. “You’re going to owe me.”

If it got Jack out of jail, I’d willingly sell my soul. “Name your price.”

He shot me that familiar wicked smile. “We’ll discuss my terms later.”

As the sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden glow over the Glades, I followed Brodie’s black Jeep CJ-7 in my Prius. We headed across town, the Jeep’s small, close together headlights illuminating the way we both knew by heart.

Thankfully Brodie decided on taking the main, paved drag and not the more reckless four-wheel drive path that cut through the swamp, and only, in the end, cut the trip down by thirty or so seconds. The path most in the county knew as Moonshine Run had played a major role in breaking many interstate and federal liquor laws during the long Prohibition period. Lucky Whiskey had contributed to breaking said statutes as well, surreptitiously cooking up batches of whiskey for the outlaws to sell until Prohibition ended. The swamplands kept secrets better than Pastor Reeves, Gett’s lone holy man.

As a child, my friends and I would play cops and bootleggers. I, of course, was always a cop. One who more often than not ended up face down in the dirt. Jack would take one look at my muddy face and clothes, and shake his head.

But he never stopped our games.

I smiled at the memory.

Before we left the Lucky family property, Brodie had texted his brother, asking him to meet up at the Gett Diner, but not a mention as to why. Danny had asked, but Brodie didn’t respond. We both knew Danny would not agree if he had an inkling as to what Brodie wanted. What I wanted, really.

We arrived at the diner a few minutes later. I stepped out of my car, surprised by the fresh coat of light blue paint haphazardly splattered on the exterior walls of the single-story building. A neon sign in the window blinked the word OPEN in bright pink, at odd contrast to the newly blue facade.

But it was what was below the sign that shocked me most.

A large piece of cardboard boasted of the Best meatloaf in the county in handwritten black lettering. One look at the congealed greasy gravy on a nearby plate as Brodie and I entered, and I decided against risking it.

Cindy Mae, the once perky high school prom queen now pregnant with a fifth child, sat us at a table toward the back. She set down a glass of tap water in front of Brodie. “You’re looking good, sugar,” she said. Her blank gaze passed over me as if I was nothing more than Brodie’s latest conquest rather than a living, breathing, and thirsty woman. “Remember that time we—” she said with a giggle.

“Good to see you, Cindy Mae. How’s Colin?” Brodie asked after the father of three out of four of her children. The fifth was to be determined according to local gossip. “And the kids?”

She patted her round belly. “Afraid this one’s gonna fall out every time I bend over.”

He laughed but the humor didn’t reach his eyes. They stayed the same icy color. I wondered if he ever felt real emotion underneath his good ole boy façade. Serial killers didn’t. Was that what Grodie Brodie was? Had years of relentless female admiration as well as no teenaged acne warped him so? I smiled at the thought. If only …

“You want something stronger to drink?” she asked, waving to his water glass. Bits of something floated on the surface of the glass.

Maybe I would forgo a water as well.

She leaned down as far as her large belly would allow. “We got some Gett in the back.”

In the back was code around Gett for We ain’t paying the county for our God-given right to sell liquor.

The side of his mouth lifted, yet he only said, “To keep the peace, I’ll have a beer.”

Her eyes flickered over my body. “And you, hon?”

“Iced tea, please.”

“We only got sweet tea. None of those fancy California teas with fruit,” she sneered.

I’d wondered if she’d recognized me. Apparently so. And she didn’t look happy about it either. Not that we knew each other well during school. I was a bookish nerd while she dated the captain of the football team—the very man sitting across from me—until they broke up when he left to play for the University of Miami. “Sweet tea is fine.” I gave her a warm smile. “Thank you.”

She nodded, her gaze a little less hostile, but still wary, like my California ways might include stealing tarnished silverware. “Do you need a minute before you order?”

“Please,” Brodie said.

Again, she nodded, this time heading off to fill our drink order. I glanced around the diner. I hadn’t been there in years. Not since Jack brought me here for graduation. The very same night Gett became the town of Getting Lucky.

“What’s good here?” I asked, peeling the sticky, yellowed menu from the table.

“Nothing.” He finished his tap water in one drink, setting the glass down. “But the pork chop probably won’t kill you.”

“Better than the salad?”

“If you like your meal sans bacterial contingent.” He grinned. “In Afghanistan, I ate wild goat for three meals a day. Given the choice between yet another steaming goat dish and a Cobb, I’d eat three billys, and their gruff.”

I studied his face over the top of my menu. This was the first time he’d mentioned his time away. I wondered how long he’d been deployed, but decided against asking. The more I knew about Brodie personally, the harder it would be to be objective. And I needed to be as objective as possible. One wrong move and Jack would spend the rest of his days in prison garb. For this reason, I settled on a safer topic. “What did you do over there?”

He shrugged. “Advised. Mostly.”

“Un huh.” I tilted my head. “Are you done with the Army or will you be doing another tour?”

He reached his hand forward, fingers extended like they hoped mine would meet them. They didn’t. His tenderness was nothing more than a ploy to distract me. One that might’ve worked on a good portion of the population. Both male and female.

Nevertheless I’d learned long ago that charm was the actor’s best friend. If you charmed the audience, you could forget a line or two with no problem. If you failed to charm them, the reviewers would have your head.

On a pointed pen pike.

I winced, thinking of my first Hollywood review, for a reimagining of Cinderella. It hadn’t gone well. I’d played the ugly stepsister for three whole nights until the musical closed. Thanks in part to what Jack declared my rotgut vocals. The reviewer had crueler words. Suffice it to say, the only singing I did nowadays was in the shower.

Humanity deserved as much.

“Why don’t we talk about you?” His voice, like a good single malt, swirled around me.

“How about we talk about what you’re doing with my prime suspect’s granddaughter?” Danny Gett, his cheerless eyes burning, stood over his brother’s shoulder, the glower on his face as dark as the food coloring added to the cheapest of bourbon.

Brodie turned. Unlike his brother, his face was devoid of emotion. Had Brodie mastered this skill during his work in Afghanistan? He gestured to his older brother to join us with a simple wave. “Why don’t you take a seat?”

With an angry grunt, Danny did, pushing me to the far inside of the booth. He faced Brodie, his eyes vowing revenge. His younger brother didn’t seem to care though. That alone apparently made Danny madder. “I told you to stay away from her and out of this,” he barked.

Brodie dipped his head. “You did.”

“So what the hell, Brodie?”

I chimed in. “Her has a name.”

Both men turned their glares on me, equal in intensity and looks. Had I not been annoyed by each brother, for a variety of reasons, I might’ve appreciated the strong, handsome Gett genetics. One thing the Getts didn’t lack was attractiveness.

Just morals. And in Danny’s case, brains.

“She does.” A long pause. “Unlucky,” they growled in unison.

I exaggerated an eye roll. “Funny. But I didn’t come here for the comedy or the best meatloaf in the county.” I pointed at Danny, stabbing my finger at the innocent air in front of him. “You arrested Jack.”

“I did.”

“I want to know why. I deserve to know why. What evidence do you have against him?”

The elder Gett laughed. Not that his mirth held an ounce of real humor. “You expect me to tell you?” he snorted. “The time in the Holly-weird sun must’ve rotted your brain.”

“I don’t expect you to tell me anything.” I made sure I had his attention before I added, “But I have no doubt that you’ll tell your brother.”

The laughter fell off his face. “Brodie, do you see what’s happening here? It’s high school all over again, with Charlotte leading you by your johnson. Wake up before she gets you in real trouble like”—a blush ran up Danny’s cheeks—“the last time.”

“What?” I asked with a loud, unladylike snort. “You think I led Brodie around? He taunted me, for years. I was the one who got in real trouble because of him. He was always daring me to do stupid stunts.” I looked at Brodie, at the gleam in his eyes, and the truth hit me like a cut-rate whiskey, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. “Stunts just like this.”

“Take it easy, Charms,” Brodie said.

I threw down my napkin. “I’m so dumb to have fallen for it again. You have no desire to help me. You’re just playing some game, like always.”

“Now hold on—” he said.

I waved him off, rising hastily. In my desire to leave I knocked Danny out of the booth. The good sheriff fell on the floor. The other patrons tried to cover their laughs, but soon the entire diner was filled with humor at the sheriff’s expense. Danny’s face grew redder and I knew he wouldn’t be of help anytime soon.

Not that I needed him or his brother.

But Jack did.

Crap.

I sat back down. Danny was now on his feet, his stance rigid. Anger radiated off him in waves, all directed at little ole me. I shot him my most apologetic smile. The same smile I’d used in the STD commercial on my fake boyfriend, also a herpes sufferer thanks to my character’s poor choices.

Unlike in the commercial, Danny didn’t give me a forgiving kiss. Instead he continued to glower. One thing Getts hated, besides coming in second best to Lucky whiskey, was looking like a fool. I wouldn’t be surprised if he pulled his gun and shot me dead.

“Danny,” Brodie whispered, his gaze darting around. “Sit down before you cause more of a scene.”

Face still flaming, Danny thankfully listened to his brother, this time opting for Brodie’s side of the booth. A good choice, all in all. Cindy Mae reluctantly came back to take our order, for everyone in town knew the famed Gett temper. Their bark was just as bad as their bite. A bite that sometimes destroyed livelihoods if not lives. “What can I get ya?” she asked quietly.

“I’m good,” he bit out.

“It’s on me,” I said as a way of apology.

He turned his heated glare my way. “In that case, hell no.”

“Danny …” Brodie warned.

Danny’s face loosened some, and he qualified his statement. “I can’t accept Charlotte’s”—he paused—“gracious offer if I decide to share information about Roger’s case.”

I drew back, surprised. But before I could, very likely, stick my foot in my mouth, Brodie spoke up. “What makes you think Jack killed Roger? You know Jack.” A smile touched his lips. “He’s all bluster, no real bite unless you mess with his kin.” Brodie’s eyes met mine, and a shiver caused by more than the overly air-conditioned diner ran through me.

“Exactly,” Danny said, leaning back in the booth with a smug smile. A smile I wanted to smack off his face. I refrained. But just barely. Had it grown an inch wider, who knows what I might’ve done.

“Exactly what?” I growled with more than enough bite. “You think Jack killed Roger because Roger was some kind of threat to me?”

Danny’s lips curved into a frown, but he shook his head.

“Not to you,” Brodie said what his brother obviously wouldn’t.

I tilted my head, confused. “Then who?”

“Evan.”