Chapter

27

On my way to find the VCR tapes in Jack’s closet, I passed the Gett Bar & Grill. A lone vehicle grabbed my attention. Brodie’s Jeep sat parked next to the front door. Like it had so many times before.

I considered stopping to ask him about Roger’s burner cell phone and its calls to Gett Whiskey.

But the thought of dealing with yet another man who believed he could boss me around or use his size to intimidate me kept my car on its current path. I could always catch him at Roger’s memorial in a few days.

It was better this way. Less chance of me taking my frustration with his brother out on an intoxicated Brodie. Who knew how’d he react? The Gett name, at best, was on the line. And I knew how protective they were of it.

Even as I thought it, I knew it was nothing more than an excuse. I wasn’t ready to deal with Brodie just yet. We hadn’t spoken since the day I caught him with Mary. I wouldn’t say I missed him, but it was nice to have a sounding board for my crazier theories. One of which featured most of his family.

I reached the Lucky family home a few minutes later. I parked the Prius close to the house in case someone, namely my cousin, decided to break one of my other windows in the few moments I was inside.

As I unlocked the front door, I inhaled the scent of whiskey and wood with a hint of yesterday’s fire. Thankfully, leaving the windows open today had helped clear the stench.

Taking a minute, I considered all the hiding spaces a box of VCR tapes could be. I searched each closet on the main level, not finding a single tape.

Chewing on my bottom lip, I debated heading upstairs to Jack’s room. I hadn’t stepped foot inside since I’d returned home, but there wasn’t really anywhere else to look.

As I opened the door uneasiness flickered through my body. This was Jack’s sanctuary. His inner domain. Always had been. Forever would be.

As a child I’d avoided Jack’s personal space, knowing it was the only place where he could be alone. Truly alone. He hadn’t asked to become a parent again in his fifties, a time when other men bought fancy cars and went on fabulous vacations. Instead, Jack had stayed here, at Lucky Whiskey, raising a girl he most often didn’t know what to do with.

His room smelled of him. Of good whiskey and Granddad.

Taking a deep breath, I headed inside. The room looked like most bedrooms—a bed, a nightstand, and a dresser that occupied the right side. On the left sat a half-empty bookcase and the closet. A single picture of my grandmother on their wedding day sat on the table by the bed. I wondered if Jack still missed her. Or had her memory faded like my parents’ had slowly vanished from my mind?

Shaking off the melancholy, I opened the closet door. Luck was on my side—a dusty box sat on the top shelf, neatly labeled in Jack’s scrawl with the word KEEP.

I wasn’t sure what that meant. Did he plan on keeping the box or the contents? Did this box contain his most prized possessions? An odd thought considering Jack wasn’t the sentimental type.

Or was he?

When I’d returned home, I was surprised to see Jack using a clay mug I’d decorated in third grade for his nightly dram of whiskey. It was lopsided and florescent pink with World’s Best Granddad etched into the side. The mug was beyond ugly.

From the wear and tear, Jack apparently drank from it every night.

I pulled the box down, astonished to see a carefully wrapped stack of yellowing letters inside. Definitely keepsakes. There were also two VHS tapes. I bit my lip, debating whether to read the letters. Maybe they were from my parents? Or my Grandma Jennie, who died before I was born? My fingers itched to pull at the edge of the frayed ribbon holding the cluster together.

I set the box down, grabbed the tapes, and walked away.

I didn’t even make it to the door.

Spinning around, I ran back to the box and yanked off the ribbon. I opened the first letter addressed in a woman’s flowing handwriting to My beloved. My eyes scanned the content, stopping before things got hot.

In my hands I held the original booty call.

My face burned at the realization.

I tied the letters back in place, shoving them deep inside the box. As I did so, my hand brushed a stack of newspapers at the bottom. I pulled the first one up. It was dated the day after my parents died on a lone highway. According to the newspaper, their car had flipped three times, eventually landing in a ditch. Both were pronounced dead at the scene. Alcohol was not a factor. An eyewitness claimed to see a dark vehicle leaving the scene of the accident. Police weren’t able to identify the vehicle.

For a long time after the loss, Jack obsessed about finding the car. The sheriff at the time, Glenn Hay, offered little in the way of comfort or evidence. If he hadn’t needed to take care of me, I suspected Jack would’ve spent the rest of his life searching for the person responsible for his son’s death.

Tears spilled down my cheeks at the unfairness of it all. I angrily swiped them away.

My mom had been a year younger than I was right now.

I carefully placed the newspapers back inside.

One last item caught my eye. It was a Valentine’s Day card with a big red heart on the cover. My fingers caressed the edges as the years faded away. Kindergarten. My first valentine. A young boy with bright eyes and a wicked smile—before I knew just what a wicked smile could do to a woman’s knees.

Grodie Brodie Gett.

He’d handed me this card in the small coat room at the back of our classroom. He’d also tried to kiss me. I’d punched him square in the nose. Blood spurted from his nostrils and tears formed in his eyes. It was at that moment that I’d gained my first nemesis as well.

Why had Jack saved this card?

With a frown, I traced the frayed, yellowing edges before placing the valentine back in the box. I picked up the VCR tapes and slowly made my way out of the room.

I glanced back once and then firmly shut the door.

Ten minutes later, fortified by Red Vines and Diet Coke but no whiskey as of yet, I put my Prius into gear and headed for the Fill ’Er Up. My mind wandered to the tape Danny had confiscated. Something bothered me, but I couldn’t place it. I frowned as detail after detail flickered through my head. Still not a one gave me a clue as to who was driving the car.

I passed by the Gett Bar & Grill again, not surprised at all by the sight of the black Jeep front and center of the parking lot. However, it was a shock to see Boone Daniels’s truck in the parking lot next to Brodie’s Jeep. As far as I knew, Boone was 86ed from both bars in town.

He was a true troublemaker. I gave a thankful shiver to be in the relative safety of my car and at least a hundred yards away as I drove past.

I kept both my hands at ten and two on the steering wheel as I pulled out onto the pitch-black county road. I hated driving at night. Mostly because I hated driving with my overly large eyeglasses. Thankfully my eyesight hadn’t reached the point where I needed to wear glasses all the time, but the plastic frames felt heavy on my face.

Add in the splintered view out the windshield, the creepy atmosphere of fog in my headlights, and the assorted night sounds of life in the Glades, and by the time I reached the halfway point, my grip was so tight on the wheel my fingers ached. Consciously, I relaxed each finger, one at a time as I blew out a breath, laughing at my own ridiculousness. I’d learned to drive on darker, more twisted roads than this. Roads even the most daring of drivers refused to travel.

Living in L.A. had softened me, just like Brodie had accused.

I thought of Brodie, of how he’d tried his best to distract me. Was it because of his or his grandmother’s guilt? Or was there something else? Something I was missing?

From what seemed like out of the very Glades themselves, bright headlights appeared in my rearview mirror. Blinding headlights, so intense I had to avert my gaze. Perspiration dampened my palms as my fingers once again tightened against the padded wheel. The headlights grew more concentrated as they drew closer to my back bumper.

“Go around me, jerk.” I held the wheel steady, slowing.

The lights were less than a car length from me now. I flipped my rearview mirror up to keep the high beams out of my eyes. At the same time, I tried to make out the outline of the vehicle. It wasn’t simply a car. That much was for sure. The beams hit too high. They were close together too.

Like a Jeep.

Was that Brodie behind me? My heartbeat decreased to near-
normal. What did he want? Was he trying to annoy me? Torture me like he had when we were younger? A cruel joke played by an equally mean spirit? I slowed down even more. If it was Brodie, he’d either flip around me or flick his headlight for me to stop.

Unless he was drunk.

A real possibility, considering his Jeep sat in the parking lot of the bar all day long. Would Willow be reckless enough to allow him to drive? Considering my parents’ deaths on a road very much like this, due to some likely drunk driver, the very idea sent my blood boiling.

My anger lasted for a few seconds more, replaced once again
by fear.

The vehicle behind me sped up, whipping over the double yellow line and into the lane next to me. My heart leapt into my throat. This was bad. Really bad. What if Boone was the driver and he was looking for revenge? His truck stood about the same height as Brodie’s Jeep. The headlight even looked similar in shape.

I stepped on the brake, holding my breath as I slowed to thirty miles an hour. Rather than pass me, the dark vehicle slowed as well, staying in my blind spot. My back grew slick with sweat and I clung to the wheel.

Metal crashed against metal. The screech drew a scream from my own throat. I held onto the wheel as it wobbled in my hands. The Prius jerked to the right as the other vehicle slammed into my side for a second time. My smaller car was no match for the bigger vehicle, crumpling under the impact. Another cry tore from my lungs as the Prius hit the shoulder. Gravel flew up and weeds battered the side of the car.

My poor little car couldn’t take the onslaught any longer. One more hit sent it flying off the edge and into the darkness. The already cracked windshield shattered as the vehicle flipped. I wasn’t sure how many times I rolled. It felt like forever, and yet, it happened in an instant.

My life wasn’t what flashed in front of my eyes though. Just the headlights of the other vehicle.

The Prius eventually landed upside down in the ditch. My seatbelt had locked during the crash, leaving me flailing in the air. Blood briefly obscured my vision as it welled from a cut on my upper lip. I couldn’t tell if it was from the glass or from biting myself. I wiped my hand over my eyes, hoping to sweep away the shards. In a panic, I pulled at the belt, grabbing for the button that no longer seemed in place. Finally, my shaking fingers found the latch. My body immediately fell and my head hit the wheel as I crashed into the steering column.

Hard.

The oxygen whooshed from my lungs. I must’ve blacked out, for when I woke, I lay in a foot of icy ditch water filling the car. The stench brought tears to my eyes, much more than my injuries did. All and all, I’d survived the crash with only minor damage. No broken bones or extreme internal injuries as far as I could tell. Everything worked as it should.

And then I moved. Each action produced a fresh wave of pain shrieking through my brain. Icy wetness seeped into my bones and I started to shiver. Violently. Mostly from shock, I guessed. Not that my brain could make such a connection. Pain and terror had taken control.

Especially when the crunch of boots against broken glass sounded from the darkness. Someone was outside. The bright, close pair of headlights of the other vehicle backlit a pair of the black work boots worn by a third of the men and a few women in the county. The boots stepped closer.

I held my breath, willing the shivering to stop. It didn’t, but at least it gave me focus.

Had my would-be killer come back to finish the job?

Glass crunched under his or her feet.

Was I going to die? Right here, on the highway like my parents had?

Poor Jack. Not only would he lose his only grandchild, but he’d spend the rest of his days in prison for a crime he didn’t commit. Anger alone gave me strength. I wouldn’t let Jack down. Not this time. I struggled to see up and through the missing windshield for the person’s face. “Who’s there?” I croaked.

The crunch of glass under boot stopped.

Suddenly the ditch water surged up.

In front of my eyes, a beast at least eight feet in length darted from the trench toward the land. The boot steps began again, but this time faster, and in the other direction. The vehicle started and then drove off, headlights swinging around, then red taillights disappearing into the mist.

Tears ran unabated down my face, mixing with blood. I let out a hysterical laugh, filled with relief.

Until two beady eyes appeared in front of me.

In my imagination they glowed angry red in color.

I blinked a few times to clear the vision. The alligator drew closer. But I failed to see just how close, for, thankfully, unconsciousness took me away.