Chapter

39

I honestly didn’t know what was worse. The fact Cindy Mae had picked up the check because I didn’t have enough to cover the bill or that the whole town now believed Brodie Gett had dumped me. And I played right into it.

Anger blinded me as I drove Jack’s pickup back to Lucky Whiskey.

Damn Brodie. He’d known just how his abrupt departure from the diner would look to the good citizens of Gett.

A bit of Gett revenge.

Just like the night of the water tower incident.

Well, I wasn’t about to do something stupid like that again. Instead I pulled Jack’s truck into the spot closest to the Lucky family home and went inside.

I opened the front door, surprised to see Rue Gett sitting on the couch next to Jack. The two of them jumped apart like teenagers caught kissing. Not that Jack or Rue would kiss. But something was going on between them. Neither met my gaze.

“Jack?” I asked, fear tickling the back of my throat. “What’s going on?”

“Mind your manners, girl,” he barked.

I cleared my throat. “Hello, Mrs. Gett. You’re looking well,” I said, when what I wanted to do was scream. Everywhere I turned there was another Gett. They were like the Florida house lizards, also known as adorable geckos, which were only adorable until you couldn’t get rid of them. Then they were simply called pests.

“Good to see you, Charlotte,” Rue said, her voice dragging me from my unflattering comparison. “I hear Brodie is helping you with a little problem.” She folded her hands in her lap like a proper southern lady. “I hope my boy is behaving himself.”

“The problem isn’t so little, but yes, your boy Brodie has been a constant inspiration.”

Jack motioned to the kitchen. “I made some canned beef and potatoes if you’re hungry.”

I knew he was trying to distract me from the reason for Rue’s visit. I decided, after looking at the two of them again, that I’d let him. Jack was a grown man. Lucky Whiskey was his to do with whatever he wanted. As much as selling to Rue Gett would destroy me, he had a right not to see his distillery mismanaged by his granddaughter to the point of bankruptcy. If Jack wanted to sell, so be it.

A tear slipped from my eye, rolling down my cheek. I turned away before either of them noticed. “Thanks,” I said. “But I think I’ll turn in. You’ll be all right?”

“It’s only seven o’clock,” he said, his voice full of concern. “Are you feeling all right, girl?”

“Yes,” I said. “Tomorrow’s just going to be a long day.” And then I turned around to see Rue’s pinched, wrinkled face. To see how she’d react to my next words. “I want to be sharp. Never know who might be gunning for us.” With those words, I headed up the stairs and into my childhood room. Faint whispers from below continued for hours.

I drifted off, listening to the almost musical sound of the destruction of Lucky Whiskey.

“Morning, Char,” Jack said from his spot at the kitchen table. The warm, welcoming scent of freshly brewed coffee filled my senses, lifting some of the fog from my brain. “Chicory,” he said, warning of the extra bold brew he’d drunk since I was a kid. Only in the south did you find the rich flavor of true chicory. Like the best whiskey, it came from the minerals in the water that fed the plant.

“Thanks,” I said, filling a cup. The heavenly taste washed away the final tendrils of haze from my mind. “How are you feeling this morning?” I asked, when what I wanted to know was the impact on our lives after Rue’s visit.

But Jack would tell me in his own time.

I needed to trust in that, in his love for me and Lucky Whiskey.

“Good.” He took a long sip of coffee, eyeing me over the rim of his cup. “Nice to sleep in my own bed.”

I understood completely. I, too, missed my queen-sized bed, which still sat in my studio apartment in L.A. “Will you be attending Roger’s service today?” I asked, taking another sip of coffee.

“Best I don’t.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“Half the town thinks I killed him.” He shook his head, both sad and proud that people thought a man his age could accomplish the feat.

More than half. I’d bet a bottle of our finest that Rue had made sure of it. “I’m sure—” I began.

“It’s okay, girl. Sweet Jayme is coming over to keep me company.” He shook his head. “She never did like Roger all that much. Especially the last six months. Something happened between them, but Jayme never would tell me what.”

I exhaled a long breath as my suspect list grew yet again, by two—Sweet Jayme and Billy James.

However, I strongly doubted Sweet Jayme would harm a hair on Roger’s head. Hell, she wouldn’t kill the huge flying cockroaches that infested Gett like tourists at Disney World. But what of Jayme’s boyfriend, Billy James? Had Roger done something so terrible to Sweet Jayme that Billy took his life?

My stomach clenched at the thought. Billy did have a temper. And he loved Jayme more than anything. The farther I went down the rabbit hole into Roger’s murder, the darker it seemed to get. I now suspected people I called friend of murder. It was almost too much.

Especially for the early morning hour.

“Better get a move on, Char,” Jack said, dragging me from my dire thoughts. “The service starts at ten. You don’t want to be late.”

Numbly, I nodded. I surely didn’t. For every cop show I’d ever seen promised one thing: the killer always went to the victim’s funeral. I couldn’t think of a better time or place to see all my suspects in one place. “Call if you need anything,” I said, leaning down to kiss his weathered forehead. His skin felt warm, but thin. Easily broken. “I love you, Granddad.”

“Right back at you,” he said, his voice gruff. “Whatever happens, girl. You remember that.”

His words rang ominously in my ears as I headed back upstairs to dress for my final goodbye to a man whose death had done what he’d sought out to do in life: ruin Lucky Whiskey and my family, for good.