Chapter

30

I didn’t quite follow Brodie’s command. Instead, I took a moment to personally thank every one of the people from both distilleries. Some of the workers from Gett I recognized, as they’d worked for Lucky at a time or two. I shook hands with each and asked if I could aid them in any way. Most looked at me with sympathy, and sometimes downright horror.

I must look worse than I thought.

The bruises all over my body had started to ache again. After I thanked everyone, I headed for the house to down half a bottle of Advil. The doctor had prescribed painkillers, but I needed to stay alert so I opted for the Advil and a thermos of coffee. It almost did the trick.

Once fortified with enough caffeine to fuel an army, I headed back outside to help however I could. Which turned out to be very little. Every time I tried to do something, one of the workers jumped in and took over.

Like I was cursed or something.

The or something turned out to be Brodie Gett.

It soon became apparent Brodie had ordered the workers to keep me as far away from the heavy lifting as possible. They wouldn’t even let me wipe down the copper stills used in the final distilling process, a job a tall two-year-old could do. Feeling much like a petulant one,
I stuck my tongue out at his broad back.

As much as his high-handedness bothered me, I did appreciate the gesture, especially when the Advil wore off a few hours later.

My goodwill toward Brodie Gett vanished much sooner.

Since no one would let me do anything, I journeyed toward the house. Might as well get some paperwork done if nothing else. My stroll brought me in the path of Brodie’s Jeep.

Headlights, and then my car flipping end over end flashed through my mind.

As I passed his Jeep, I quickly surveyed it. I stumbled, nearly falling. I grabbed onto the Jeep, my heart slamming in my chest. Brodie’s right fender was dented and a streak of white paint, the very same color as my Prius, stood out on his dark undercoat.

Running a hand over the whiteness, I frowned as it flecked away. Had Brodie truly tried to kill me? Until this moment, I’d only toyed with the idea he was capable of murder. But now …

“What’s that look?” Brodie suddenly appeared at my side, shooting me a grin. “You look like a drunk at last call.”

I tried to smile, but it came off more as a grimace. “I was just thinking about Jack, and how much it means for the town to come together to help us,” I lied.

“Right.”

Unable to control myself, I recklessly waved to his Jeep. “Looks like I wasn’t the only one who had an accident last night.”

His eyes narrowed and his lips thinned. “Are you accusing me of something?”

“Not at all.” I touched my nose to make sure it hadn’t grown after that lie. It hadn’t. But it did hurt to touch.

The frown didn’t leave his face, but rather intensified until the heat of it threatened to start another fire. “Do you think I’m a coward? That I’d stoop so low as to run you off the road because you … annoy me?”

His statement hurt more than I cared to admit. I wasn’t the annoying one in our relationship. He was, dang it. “Did you?” I asked in a clear voice, at odds with the queasy feeling bubbling in my stomach.

“I take it I need yet another alibi. Fine.” He threw up his hands. “First of all, the damage to my Jeep happened six hours before you landed upside-down in the ditch. Second, though it’s not any of your business, I was with … someone last night, when your accident happened.” He hesitated. “If it comes down to it, they can vouch for me.”

I’d have bet the distillery that someone was of the female persuasion. “Does someone have a name?”

“Why? Are you jealous?”

“No,” I snapped. Maybe too fast. Was I jealous? I didn’t think so. Brodie, while extremely good-looking, wasn’t my type and I sure as heck wasn’t his. So who was? Who would alibi him?

I had my money on Mary. Since Roger’s death, the two of them had gotten chummy, apparently resuming their former relationship. Was that more motive for Roger’s demise? Had Mary killed him to get with Brodie? I smiled at the thought.

But no. That didn’t fit. Why commit murder when you could just break up? This brought up another question. What about Brodie? Had he wanted what Roger had? Was his desire for Mary enough to kill for?

“It doesn’t matter,” Brodie was saying. “I didn’t run you off the road. But someone did, or so Danny said you believed.”

“I was there when it happened. So I think I’d know.” I gave a pointed look to his Jeep. “Someone in a dark-colored Jeep hit the back of my driver’s side, causing my car to spin out. They did it on purpose.”
I frowned when he failed to look convinced. “You don’t believe me.”

He shrugged. “People drive like idiots. I’m sure the driver was nothing more than some drunk who misjudged the amount of room he had to pass you.”

I considered this. At the time the other car had seemed so deliberate. Could Brodie be right? Could the accident have been nothing more than that? The fear that had filled me since the night before lifted a bit. My muscles, once bunched tight, relaxed. I took a long, deep breath. Maybe Brodie was right. It was an accident. No one wanted me dead. Especially not one of the Getts.

Then I saw it. As clear as day.

An inch-long sticker on Brodie’s windshield.

The very same sticker as the one on the car in the video of Roger’s last moments.