Chapter

14

For the rest of the evening, I caught up on distillery business, including crafting an ad for a distiller. We wouldn’t survive for long under my limited distilling knowledge. I wished I’d paid more attention to Jack’s teachings as a kid, but at that time, the distillery felt more like a fairy tale castle than a means of supporting our family of employees.

Exhausted after stirring the mash for an hour, I fell into bed around ten, hardly able to think. The bright morning sunshine, so intense it stung my eyes, brought a far darker realization.

I owed Grodie Brodie Gett an apology.

After he’d done me a favor by going to Boone’s, I’d all but accused him of murder. Not that he was incapable of it. The way he’d snatched the gun from Boone’s hands proved Brodie’s reflexes and speed were well in order.

It was too early to think about murder, and especially too early to think about the smug look on Brodie’s face as I did the unforgiveable—apologizing to a Gett.

I buried my head under the covers. I could use a few more hours of sleep. Particularly after Cousin Evan’s late-night phone call. Or calls. Since I didn’t answer the first couple, he started calling every five minutes. At ten after midnight I gave in, answering with, “What!”

Evan then spent the next five minutes screaming at the top of his lungs. It seemed word had gotten back to him about Brodie’s and my little visit to Boone Daniels. A visit Boone still wasn’t thrilled about. In spiteful revenge, Boone had called in Evan’s marker, to be paid by the end of today.

Evan’s hands were at stake.

As was Lucky Whiskey.

And it was all on me.

What would Jack do?

Stupid question. He’d paid Evan’s debt once. He’d do so again if it came to it.

But I wasn’t Jack. Evan had begged me for the money, but I’d stayed firm. He would never get another dollar to pay off gambling debts as long as I was around. Jack had done enough for him. Time for Evan to sink or swim, minus Jack’s water wings.

Suffice it to say, the conversation went from bad to worse after he realized I was serious. He even had the audacity to threaten to make my life hell. I had laughed, but without an ounce of humor. Not only was Jack in jail and my distiller dead, but I was stuck in a town I couldn’t wait to leave, filled with people who sat in constant judgment of my every move, largely due to a dumb, childish prank from ten years ago. How much could it get worse?

I regretted my question this morning.

For it was about to get worse, in the form of my needing to apologize to the one man I blamed for so much of the torment I’d faced growing up. The thought turned my stomach. But it had to be done. Getts might have money, but Luckys had character. We apologized where apologies were due.

Chastising myself for being a big baby, I peeked my head out from under the covers, listening to the house settle around me. When I was a child, right after my parents died, the creaks and groans of this old house would scare me. I’d call out, and every time Jack would come running.

I’d come to rely on his presence for my safety.

I still did.

Jack was my family.

Like it or not, this place was my home.

As were the people of Gett.

Much to my dismay, that included Brodie.

Except … one of those very same people was also a killer.

For in a town this size, a stranger would be noticed, no matter how hard he or she tried to conceal themselves. So that left 842 suspects. I’d left Jack and I out of the pool, as I was sure neither of us had done the deed unless I’d taken up sleep-killing.

Always a distant possibility, though I doubted Roger would’ve been my first victim.

Swinging the covers back, the cold rush of air sent goosebumps rising on my skin. Rubbing the chill away, I kicked my legs out, rising to my feet. A large purple bruise marred my shin where it had connected with Brodie’s dash during yesterday’s reckless drive along Moonshine Run. I ran my fingers down the welt, wincing slightly. Considering all we’d done twenty-four hours ago, a single bruise didn’t rate a second glance. I was lucky Boone hadn’t shot either of us instead of just Brodie’s Jeep. Though from the look of sorrow on Brodie’s face as he surveyed the damage had said otherwise. He’d run his hand over the marred paint when we left Boone’s trailer, muttering about luck and his precious baby. What was it with men and their vehicles? I valued my Prius, but it wasn’t an extension of who I was.

I dressed hurriedly, forgoing breakfast and my required intake of caffeine in hopes of catching Brodie before he left his house to do whatever it was a military vet did when he wasn’t helping to solve murders. I suspected leaping tall buildings in a single bound.

Or, from what I’d seen, getting day drunk at the Gett Bar & Grill while living off his family coffers. Such a waste.

I grabbed the keys and was out the door by eight. The humidity was low this early, leaving the air crisp and smelling of the approaching change of season and the swampy earth surrounding me. It had rained during the night. My boots sunk into the mud, making sucking sounds with my every step. Not paying all that much attention, which I blamed on my lack of caffeination, I unlocked my small car and slipped inside, seeing nothing amiss.

For ten or so seconds.

With a gasp, my hand ran down the windshield where a crack sat dead center. Had my tires kicked up a rock and I hadn’t noticed the chip? I was almost sure the windshield had been fine the last time I drove. The crack hardly seemed worthy of an insurance claim, but
I should get it filled before it spread. I added it to my to-do list. Which seemed to grow and grow.

Goosebumps rose along my skin. I started my engine, cracking on the heater to full blast. After ten years in mild California, my body couldn’t seem to acclimate to Florida’s wild swings between sticky heat and icy air-conditioning. I was constantly too hot or too cold. Eventually the car and my flesh warmed. About the same time as
I arrived at the small house on the outskirts of town I’d overheard someone in the gas station say Brodie was now living in.

The white siding of the cottage looked weather-beaten, with peeling paint and pits lining the asymmetrical structure. In an odd contrast, a single bunch of bright yellow flowers sat in a window box below a grime-coated window. I wondered who had planted them, and why? Surely not Brodie. He hardly looked like the daffodil type.

As I was about to exit my car, Brodie’s front door opened. A woman appeared. She adjusted her skirt and then leered at a shirtless Brodie, who stood behind her. He grinned back. Next thing I knew, Mary Broome launched herself into his arms.

I looked away, heat burning my cheeks.

My fingers gripped the steering wheel as I debated the wisdom of confronting the couple. He’d lied to me. Clearly. At the very least, he knew more than he was letting on.

At worst, he was a killer who set Jack up.

Anger propelled me out of the driver’s seat. Intent on ripping Brodie apart, I stormed up his front walkway. Halfway up, I noticed two things. First, Mary was gone, and second, Brodie stood there waiting for me, that familiar wicked smile on his lips. “Got something on your mind, Charms?”

“I … You …”

He held his front door open, motioning me inside, not an ounce of guilt on his face. “Why don’t you come inside where we can talk without the whole town knowing about it?”

Despite my better judgment, I pushed past him and into his small house. People these days paid big bucks for what they called Tiny Houses. The people of Gett mostly just called them home. Generations were raised in the same one- to two-room homes. The same homes that stood the test of hurricanes and time.

Much like the people of Gett.

I glanced around, surprised to see actual furniture rather than milk crate tables and lawn chairs surrounded by beer can pyramids. Okay, no one had actually told me Brodie was a bum now. Maybe I’d filled in those details myself. In fact, the interior of his house was quite beautiful. Oak furnishings with freshly painted tan walls. A bookcase, with more than just comic books, stood against the wall. I cataloged his reading choices. For the sake of the investigation. Not personal interest. I mean, if he had a guide to homicide just laying out …

No such luck. His bookcase was filled with military and whiskey distilling history, and a group of For Dummies books. I had one or two of those myself, not that I’d admit such a thing to the man standing too closely behind me.

“Like what you see?”

I jumped. “Yes. You furnish well.”

“Thanks,” he said, grabbing a t-shirt off the back of a brown couch. He pulled it over his head and down his muscular chest. “But I’m guessing you didn’t come all this way to talk interior decorating.”

“You’re sleeping with Mary,” I blurted, the image of Roger’s supposedly grieving girlfriend in Brodie’s arms only moments ago burned in my memory. How long had they been sneaking around? And why hadn’t I heard anyone gossiping about this fact? “That’s what you and Roger fought about.” I nodded as a theory formed.

“Not true.”

I snorted. “I saw Mary, here, with my own eyes.”

“So?”

“Reason number one for murder—a love triangle.” I had no clue if that was true, but it sounded good, and I didn’t have time to Google it on my iPhone.

He laughed. “Is that so?”

I dipped my head in the affirmative, using an actor’s trick as old as time: complete unwavering conviction. Sadly, it also worked for politicians and psychopaths. Not that one could much tell the difference between the two these days.

“Fine.” With a sigh he walked into his kitchen. I followed behind, the wonderful aroma of freshly brewed coffee filling my sense. Without asking he shoved a full cup of steaming coffee into my hands. “But you’re wrong,” he said.

“About?”

“Me and Mary.”

My eyebrow rose as I tilted my head. “I’m supposed to believe the two of you never …?”

He winced. “When you put it like that.”

“Roger knew?”

“I think so.” He sipped his own cup, looking thoughtful. Surprising since the Brodie I’d known didn’t have a thoughtful bone in his body. Calculating, yes. Cynical, for sure. But never thoughtful. “Or maybe not,” he said. “It happened long before they got together.”

My head tilted farther to the side, and I nearly spilled my coffee on his shiny hardwood floor. I righted the cup before he bemoaned his damaged flooring like he had his Jeep.

“Before I shipped out, Mary and I dated for a few months. Nothing serious.” He suddenly scowled, his eyes hard on mine. “Not that any of this is any of your business.”

I nodded, but asked anyway: “Was Mary the topic of conversation between you and Roger outside the Gett Bar & Grill the night he was killed?”

“No.”

“Would you tell me if she was?”

“Probably not,” he said with a grin. “Mary dated a real estate developer and a chef after me. Are they suspects now too?”

I pretended to consider this. “Was one of them the last person to see Roger alive?”

“I wasn’t the last person to see Roger.” He took another sip of coffee. Slowly. Until I wanted to scream. He smirked as if he knew just how I felt. “His killer was. Remember that, Charms.”

I threw up my hands. Coffee sloshed over the sides of the cup, splashing my still-cold hand. He reached out to take it. My stomach fluttered in what I told myself was fear.

“Relax,” he said, grabbing the towel on the stove handle behind me. “I’m not about to kill you in my own kitchen. Blood stains don’t come out of hardwood.”

“I’m glad you find this mess so amusing.” My hands went to my hips. “A man is dead and another might spend his final days in a cell for something he didn’t do.”

“Well, at least you got that much right.”

Before I murdered Brodie for his smartass remark, I walked to the front door, the very reason for my visit forgotten. “Thank you for the coffee,” I snarked.

He followed behind. “Anytime, Charms. Anytime.”

Damn him. I clenched my fist, swallowing my pride. After all, he had protected me from Boone, even going as far as to risk his own safety. That had to mean something, right? Maybe he wasn’t as bad a guy as I thought. I turned. “About yesterday, I’m sorry …”

He said nothing.

“Hey, I said I was sorry …” I glared when he didn’t respond again, just stared out the door. Then again, maybe he was the same insensitive jerk I’d known most of my life. “I think I’ll strip down to my panties and do a dance …” I said to gain his attention.

Still nothing.

I stuck out my tongue like a child.

Not a flicker of response.

Eventually, I’d had enough of his ignoring me. “Brodie!” I yelled loud enough that his neighbor’s dog, a pit bull named Romeo, started to howl.

Brodie’s eyes flew to mine. “What?”

“What is wrong with you?” I gave him a good frown. “I’m trying to apologize, which is a rarity in itself, all but unheard of when it comes to you, and you’re ignoring me.”

Rather than smile at my half joke, he pointed to my Prius, his features flat. “What happened to your windshield?”

“Nothing.” I stopped, confused by the change of subject. “It cracked.”

“How?”

“Forget my windshield.” I grabbed his arm. His skin felt warm and surprisingly soft. Much too easy to penetrate with a bullet. I couldn’t face getting Brodie killed if he wasn’t the killer. That was a big if, but even more, I couldn’t risk Jack’s life by trusting a Gett. “Listen, as much as I appreciate your help in investigating Roger’s murder—”

“It’s over,” he said.

I dropped his arm with relief. That was much easier than I thought it would be. He didn’t even bat an eyelash, which annoyed me more than I’d admit. “Yes, I think it’s best if I go it alone from here on out.”

He grabbed my shoulders, fingers digging in. I tried not to wince. “Are you crazy?” he said. “You’re done investigating. Do you hear me?” He shook me in case I didn’t get his point.

My teeth rattled, igniting my anger. I shoved away from him, my hands pushing at his oversized chest. When he didn’t move, even an inch, I gave up. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

“It’s time to end this,” he said quietly. Too quiet in my opinion.

It sounded like a threat.

I stared into his eyes. The same eyes I’d seen filled with mocking laughter only moments before now filled with violence. This man. This one. He could very well kill.

Had Roger met this Brodie?

I shivered at the thought.