Chapter

42

Feeling like I needed a shower after the day’s events, I drove home, my mind wandering to the last few hours. I winced thinking of how close Brodie must’ve come to death. Not today—he had the upper hand during the fight—but while combating terror a world away. The bullet scar wasn’t that old. It was still angry and red, standing out on his chest. Why hadn’t he told me? Had the wound ended his military career? Was that why he sat, day after day, on a barstool?

Was he in physical or emotional pain?

I blew out a long breath. I didn’t need to start feeling sorry for Grodie Brodie. He’d made my life hell growing up, and still tried to do so. Whatever partnership we’d shared over the last week was all a lie. He’d spied on me, on my investigation, in order to protect his grandmother. Noble, if it wasn’t also a felony to aid and abet a killer.

I pulled into our driveway, taking a moment to soak in the beauty of the quiet distillery as the sun shone down on it. I would miss it. Miss making something real. Something tangible.

But this wasn’t where I belonged. I had a life in another world. Jack would find his way after he sold to Rue. We’d see each other at holidays.

It would all be all right.

I swiped angrily at the tears running down my cheeks.

Blowing my nose on a wad of napkins I found on the truck’s floor, I checked my makeup in the mirror. Jack’s eyesight wasn’t what it used to be, lucky for me. He wouldn’t notice I’d cried. And if he did, I’d blame it on Roger’s funeral. Though Jack was far from stupid. He wouldn’t buy it.

Better to avoid him until the redness left my face.

I sat in the truck, enjoying the sound of water running along the creek. Half an hour later, with one last glance in the rearview mirror, I opened the door and jumped from the truck. My boots left heel marks in the wet, humid dirt as I walked to the house.

Luck was on my side as Jack snored loudly in his chair. Sweet Jayme used a duster on the table next to him. I gave her a wave.

“He’s taking his afternoon nap.” She grinned down at him. “As you know, it would take a hurricane to wake him. Want some coffee?” Her hand motioned to the kitchen.

What I wanted was a fifth of whiskey, but I settled for a coffee. We moved to the sparkling clean kitchen. A rush of gratefulness filled me. Jack and I were lucky to have Jayme on our side. She was far more than just a nurse, but one of the family. Who also saved Jack from my lackluster cleaning abilities and much too often his preference for canned foods. Jayme’s family had always worked for the Luckys in some capacity. Her parents had actually met at the Lucky annual picnic, when there still was a picnic. The last one happened the very day my parents died. As a favor, they’d stopped off to buy ice for the party. Five miles later, they were dead.

Jayme poured each of us a cup of coffee, dragging me from my dark thoughts. She added two sugars to hers, and some cream. I opted for black. “How was the funeral?” she asked, taking a sip of her drink and then adding another sugar packet.

I shrugged, filling her in on the basics, including Mary’s reaction to my presence and Brodie’s fisticuffs with Boone. Once I finished she shook her head. “Wonder what set Brodie off?” she asked. “He’s usually so even tempered.”

I would’ve laughed at her assessment of the youngest Gett, but I didn’t want to hurt her feelings. “Boone threatened Mary, I guess,” I said, replaying Boone’s disrespectful statements prior to the fight. Considering Brodie’s protectiveness of Roger’s former girlfriend, it made sense. Brodie was an alpha male all the way. He would kill or be killed—I winced, picturing his scar again—for someone he cared about, or maybe even loved.

The thought of Brodie in love with Mary left me cold.

Best not to examine why too closely.

“What was all that with Mary about?” Jayme frowned into her cup. She swirled it back and forth. A drop of coffee leapt over the side, landing on the table. Jayme wiped it up with her sleeve. “She knows better than to think Jack would kill anyone, let alone that weasel.”

A frown as unsure as hers grew on my lips. “If you don’t mind me asking …” I hesitated. “What happened between you and Roger?”

Abruptly she rose, heading for the sink and the few dishes in it. She started to run the water. I didn’t think she’d answer my question, but she finally turned the water off, focusing her attention on me. “I really shouldn’t …” she began.

“Nothing you say goes any farther,” I said. “Please, for Jack’s sake.”

“I don’t want to talk ill of the dead or nothing.” She let out a long sigh. “Thing is, I caught Roger one night, let’s just say, with his pants down.”

I pulled back, shocked. “Roger cheated on Mary?”

“No, no. Not that.” A blush stained her cheeks. “I was taking care of Jack one night. He wouldn’t stop pestering me for a bottle of last year’s small batch. I gave in and headed for the rackhouse for Jack’s special stash. But I found something far more hard to swallow.”

I chuckled. Jayme didn’t drink anything stronger than white wine. She never understood the complexity and beauty of a single blend. “What was Roger doing?” I asked.

“I can’t say.”

“Why not?” I stood too. “What if I swear on a stack of Bibles that I wouldn’t tell anyone?”

She laughed. “I can’t say, because I only saw Roger inside Jack’s office. I don’t know what he was doing, but I knew it wasn’t good.”

“Oh,” I said, disappointed. I’d hoped for some obscure motive for his death, all tied up in a nice ribbon. Nothing had gone my way since I’d found Roger’s corpse. It was almost enough to make me wish I’d picked a different cask and we were all just busy speculating where the heck Roger had run off to.

“When I opened the door, Roger popped his head up from the desk, like he’d been searching for something inside.” Her forehead wrinkled. “He yelled a foul word and told at me to leave, and I did. The next day, he acted like nothing had happened. But I knew better.”

“But you didn’t tell Jack.”

“It wasn’t my place.”

If she had, would Jack have caught on to Roger’s theft? Another question came to me, one completely unrelated, but forefront in my head. “After Brodie fought with Boone, he took off his shirt.”

“Lucky you,” Jayme said with a quick grin. “That boy is fine.”

I tried not to nod, but my baser self refused to listen. “I noticed a scar on his chest.” I pointed to where it had been on my own torso. As I touched my body, I flinched, unable to imagine the pain such a wound would cause. “Do you know what happened to him?”

“Rumor has it, two days before the end of his deployment, a sniper shot a whole bunch of soldiers. Brodie happened to be one of them.” She fingered the cup in her hands. “But the boy didn’t let a bullet stop him. He pulled two of his platoon to safety.”

“How terrible.”

Her hand clutched the cup tighter. “Rue got a call in the middle of the night. The doctors weren’t sure he’d live.”

“How awful.”

“He’s home now. He can heal.” She hesitated for the barest of seconds. “Like you.”

“What? I’m fine.”

She patted my hand. “You surely will be, Charlotte. Surely will be.”