Chapter

43

I spent a good portion of the rest of the afternoon playing cards with Jack. Oddly enough, we played Gin, while sipping whiskey, in the quiet of the day. Jack asked me about the funeral. I gave him the basic rundown, leaving out Mary’s screeching and Brodie’s fight with Boone.

As far as Jack needed to know, all was quiet and good in Gett.

“Char,” Jack said after he won four hands in a row. “Do me a favor.”

“Anything.”

“Don’t quit acting in favor of playing cards for a living.” Tears rose in my eyes, and Jack backpedaled. “Oh, girl, I was teasing. I didn’t mean …”

I held up my hand. “Please don’t sell Lucky. Not yet.” As soon as the words left my mouth, I tried to shovel them back in. “I didn’t mean that. I’m sorry. You have every right to do whatever you want with your distillery.”

“Our,” he said.

“Excuse me?”

“It’s our distillery, girl.” His hand brushed mine. It felt warm and safe. “Where’d you get a fool idea like that?”

Fool idea? Did that mean Jack wasn’t going to sell? I asked him as much.

“Hell no,” he said. “Rue Gett isn’t getting my distillery. Not ever.”

“Oh.”

“If I’m convicted of this ridiculousness, then you’ll take over full-time.” He ignored my protest. “I had the Killer draw up the papers. If you want—”

I suddenly stood. “That’s not happening, Jack.”

“Girl—”

“No,” I said. “I won’t let you spend the rest of your days in prison.”

He grinned. “Planning to bake me a cake with a saw inside? Though, if you’re baking it, it might be too tough for the saw to cut through. Best have Jayme bake it.”

“Funny.”

“I thought so.” He staggered to his feet, holding his arms wide. I stepped into them, comforting as nothing else was. “You have to promise me, girl.”

“What?”

“You won’t do anything stupid.”

“Me?”

He snorted. “No climbing water towers for me, Char. I mean it.”

“Yes, sir,” I lied. Not that I planned to paint the town red, or any other color for that matter. My idea was simpler. Tonight I’d gather enough evidence to prove the Getts’ guilt, and Danny would have no choice but to let Jack remain free. Even if it killed me.

Which it might if Brodie caught me hanging around his dear grandma, asking questions about Roger’s murder.

I remembered the hard glint in his eyes when he’d dragged me from the diner.

Brodie Gett could and would kill.

I just hoped it didn’t come to that.

This time.

For investigating/dinner, I selected a black blouse and leggings. I finished the outfit off with my lace-up boots and a string of pearls, easily tucked into a pocket if need be. Friends back in L.A. called this outfit cat burglar wear. Good, considering it might take a few of those nine lives to survive dinner at the Gett estate. I doubted Rue would outright poison me, though. Too easy to trace back to her.

On the other hand, I knew firsthand how she could and would manipulate people into doing her bidding. I’d have to keep one eye on her and my other on my back. Which sounded hard enough, then add in her grandson and I didn’t have enough eyes.

My only hope was Brodie would forgo dinner tonight. Maybe he would spend his evening consoling Mary. A pale Mary in his strong arms flashed through my mind. I blinked the image away.

After I finished dressing I curled my hair and put on a fresh layer of lipstick and eyeliner. Not for Brodie’s benefit, if he wasn’t otherwise occupied, I assured myself.

Butterflies danced in my stomach. Rue wanted something from me. Why else would she invite me to dinner? We had only one thing in common—whiskey. Was she going to make me an offer I couldn’t refuse? I smiled, picturing Rue as the Godfather, her thin cheeks puffed out with cotton.

What would I say if she made an offer on Lucky?

I’d like to think I’d laugh in her face. But I had to think of Jack. Of his twilight years. Would he be better off with or without Lucky? I didn’t know the answer, though I knew for sure he’d do whatever he could to save it. Even at the cost of his life.

Or freedom.

Taking one last look in the mirror, I turned off the light and headed down the steps toward the front door. Jack had fallen asleep in his chair right after I fed him a fine dinner of skinless chicken breast and a salad, topped off with half a glass of Lucky’s finest. I slipped out the door without a sound. Last thing I needed was Jack asking twenty questions.

My motto: What Granddad didn’t know, wouldn’t hurt me.

Since the Gett estate sat less than three miles from the Lucky property, I decided to walk. For one thing, Jack wouldn’t bother to open my room door to check on me if the truck was still there. For another, Jack’s pickup growled much like its owner had earlier when I served him his healthy dinner. It would surely draw notice, and I wanted to do some snooping. If I was lucky, Brodie’s Jeep would be on the property and I could finally read the RFID chip on the decal. I had the reader in my bag.

Thirty seconds in the dark, and I’d have a killer.

I swallowed hard as the night sounds filled the air. The road I walked along was dark, the only light that of the moon above. Thankfully, it was full and hung low in the sky. I could see maybe ten feet in front of me. Just enough to stop before stepping on a copperhead or worse. It felt good to stretch my sore muscles out and I settled into a satisfyingly brisk pace.

The sound of something exiting the brackish waters next to the road gave me pause. It was something very large. With very sharp teeth, I imagined. I swatted at a mosquito buzzing my head and again longed for the bright lights of Hollywood as I resumed my walk.

I arrived at the Gett estate a little before eight. Just enough time to check for Brodie’s Jeep.

As a kid I remembered Brodie’s daddy working on a car while Brodie and Danny stood fascinated. I wasn’t as excited, probably because Rue had forced Brodie to invite me to his tenth birthday party, and I was the only girl there. Brodie had called me a boy, waving to my blue jeans and t-shirt. I’d cried and kicked him in the shin, but he hadn’t cared. He stuck out his tongue and then vanished into a group of older boys. Like most of my memories of childhood, Brodie’s teasing and occasional cruelty stood forefront in my mind.

But tonight’s memory also served a purpose.

I knew just where to find Brodie’s Jeep.

Behind the house, at the back of the property, sat a wooden structure long enough to house an army. Carefully I made my way to the garage. The side door was open. I slipped inside, cautious not to make any noise. Inside sat a row of five cars lined up perfectly.

Sadly, Brodie’s Jeep wasn’t one of them. I let out a sigh. It turned into a gasp when I noticed the other vehicles. Parked side by side was a work truck, a smaller compact car, Rue’s 1968 Camaro (bright blue in color), and, best of all, a plain-looking Ford Taurus.

My excitement peaked. Was this the proof I needed? I ran to the Taurus. On the driver’s side windshield, a small RFID chipped decal stood out, just like on the video. No need for the RFID reader now. I’d found the killer’s car.

In Rue’s very garage!

But what to do with this information?

I glanced through the high garage door windows at the Gett home, blazing with lights. Should I confront Rue? As stupid as it sounded, a part of me wanted to let her know her plan didn’t and wouldn’t work. My excitement gave way to something darker. I pictured Rue in prison garb, her wrinkles deeper, her hair mussed. Then I imagined the same for her accomplice, Brodie. From hero to felon.

Justice would be served.

For Roger.

For Jack.

Before I left the garage, I snapped a few photos of the vehicle in question on my iPhone. Just in case it disappeared. Danny must’ve recognized it from the video and tried to hide it in the garage. Not a bad plan. I would’ve dumped it somewhere in the Glades, where no one in their right mind would look. Maybe that was his plan. Let the heat die down, and then get rid of all evidence.

Did that include me?

Was that why someone—likely Brodie, given the damage to his Jeep’s fender—had pushed me off the road? Was I yet another loose end?

Anger tingled in my chest. How dare they not only murder Roger, but arrange for Jack to take the fall? I vowed to ask Rue that very question. I stormed out of the garage, around the house, and to the front door, pressing the doorbell with force.

A man in his fifties answered. “Good evening, Miss Lucky,” he said.

I flipped through my mental rolodex for his name, though I wanted to call him Jeeves. “Mr. Marshall, good to see you,” I said after a moment. For as long as I could remember, he’d worked for the Getts. During one of Lucky’s more prosperous times, Jack had tried to snatch Marshall from Rue’s clutches. Marshall had politely but firmly declined. He was definitely team Gett.

I’d be smart to remember that.

“Ms. Gett is in the library if you’d like to join her for a whiskey before your meal.”

Only the whiskey sounded good. Though it surely would be a Gett brand. “Sure.” I moved passed him and into the grand house. And I do mean grand. The double staircases were straight out of Gone with the Wind. The place always made me feel small in size if not bank account. Rue had lived here since she married into the Gett clan over sixty years ago.

From all accounts, her marriage had been a happy one, until the eldest Gett had up and died thirty years ago. Now Rue lived alone, in a mostly empty house overlooking Gett Whiskey. Had she not been a murderous villain right out of 101 Dalmatians, I might’ve felt sorry for her.

But she’d messed with Jack for the last time.