Chapter

49

The next morning I slowly stepped out of bed. From my window I spotted a glass repair truck in the yard. The closest repair shop was in Immokalee. Not only that, but I hadn’t called them, or anyone, yet. But I bet Brodie had. Damn him. Why did he have to control everything?

I showered and dressed, adding a swipe of lip gloss to my tingling lips. Not that I was primping for Brodie. Or any man. My lips were dry. That was all. I checked my hair in the mirror, knowing it was a lost cause. Curls sprung at odd angles no matter how much product I used. Nanette had cleaned up my split ends and brightened my color, but she’d done nothing to create an actual style.

I pulled it back with a clip. This would have to do.

With a sigh I headed down the stairs. When I reached the bottom I was shocked to see—or rather, not see—Brodie Gett. Granddad sat in his recliner, his shotgun resting at his side while two men in Immokalee Glass Repair shirts measured the opening where our window used to be. I hoped the repair shop had a payment plan, for my last check of Lucky funds suggested we wouldn’t be able to afford a new window along with tomorrow’s mash delivery.

Hopeless mixed with anger, turning my voice shrill. “Where’s Brodie?”

Jack jumped in his chair. “You scared me, girl.” He held a hand to his heart. “You know you’re not supposed to sneak up on a man with a heart condition.”

“You’re hilarious,” I said, kissing the top of his head. “Did you eat breakfast?”

He waved to the next room. “Sweet Jayme’s in the kitchen. She made oatmeal thick enough to use as plaster.”

“I heard that,” Jayme said, poking her head from the kitchen. Her dark hair was pulled on top of her head and covered with a brilliant red scarf. “Do you want some coffee?” she asked me.

Jack answered. “Hell yes.”

“Decaf for you,” she said. “Extra caffeinated for Charlotte.”

I smiled my thanks. “Did Brodie leave?” I asked as casually as the blush on my cheeks would allow. Thankfully Jack failed to notice.

“Yeah.” He grunted. “That boy … He just won’t listen to reason. Takes after his pigheaded grandmother. I told him to leave the repair shop to me, but would he listen?”

Something shiny under the couch caught my eye.

“Are you paying me any attention, girl?”

“Yeah, I heard you.” I picked the object up, surprised. “Brodie left his cell.”

“Better call up to Gett, tell him it’s here,” Jack said, and then promptly focused on the television.

Discussion over, I guessed.

I headed for the kitchen and the promise of coffee, Brodie’s phone in my hand. Jayme had just finished pouring me a cup. Steam rose off the top. I blew on it and drank deeply. My body warmed as the caffeine hit my bloodstream.

“So what happened last night, Charlotte?” Jayme asked.

My cheeks burned. “Nothing. Why, did someone say different?”

Her eyebrow rose and she laughed. “I meant with someone shooting at you, but I guess that’s not the most intriguing part.”

My blush burned so hot I thought my cheeks might set fire. “Leave it alone, Jayme. I’ve had a rough enough night.”

“I bet you did.”

“Everyone’s a comedian today.” I set the cup down on the table. My tone grew serious. “Brodie thinks Boone tried to kill me.”

The humor vanished from her face, replaced with concern. “Oh, honey. I’m so glad you’re all right. When I think …”

I swallowed passed the lump in my throat. “I know. What I can’t understand is why.”

“Why Brodie thinks so?”

“No, I get that. Boone and I have history. Add in Evan owing him a stack of money, and my refusal to pay his debt …” I ran my finger over the lip of the cup. “But why would Boone want to kill me in the first place? I can see trying to run me off the road, that’s a crime of opportunity, but waiting in the dark to shoot me? That isn’t like him.”

“Isn’t it?” She frowned. “That man is a menace. A coward too.”

I couldn’t argue that. But he also didn’t strike me as real patient.

“Drink your coffee and I’ll fry you up an egg.”

“Jack said you made oatmeal.”

She laughed. “I wouldn’t force you to eat it. The doctor suggested I use skim milk and steel cut oats, cuz it’s heart healthy. Can’t see how that’s healthy though. The stuff is actually stuck to the pot.”

“Yummy,” I said with a chuckle. “Poor Jack. I’m not sure how much more healthy he can take.”

It was her turn to giggle. “What he doesn’t know, won’t hurt us.”

I held up the coffee cup in salute. “My favorite saying.”

Jayme moved to the stove, dropping a couple of eggs into a butter-soaked skillet. The sizzle made my stomach growl. I glanced at the clock over the door. It was just after eight. Surely Gett Whiskey’s staff would be at their desks. I used Jack’s house phone to dial the number I’d memorized after Lester had told me about Roger’s calls to Gett.

“Gett Whiskey, how can I direct your call?” a young woman’s voice answered.

“Nancy Jeanne?” I asked, recognizing her soft tone. “Is that you?”

“Who’s this?” she asked.

“Charlotte Lucky.”

“Oh.”

“Do you always answer the phone?” I asked.

Silence. Then a tentative, “Yes.”

No, it couldn’t be. My stomach rolled. In a flash, the pieces began to fall into place.

“Are you there, Charlotte?” she asked, her voice trembling ever so slightly.

“Yes.” I held the phone out, debating. “I think we need to talk.”

More silence.

Then came a small whisper. “Not now.”

“When?”

“After work. At my house.” And then she hung up the phone.

I stared at the receiver in my hand for a long moment. Was it possible? Had Roger knocked up Nancy Jeanne? And when he refused to leave Mary, had Nancy Jeanne killed him? It couldn’t be. Then again, it made a certain sense. Brodie’s questions about my conversation with Nancy Jeanne flickered through my head.

The Getts were protecting her.

But why? What did she have on them?

An old rumor buzzed in my memory. Brodie’s father caught in an affair with a Gett employee. Talk of an illegitimate baby. And a large lawsuit settled out of court.

I’d been six or seven at the time. But I clearly remembered my teacher’s repulsion as she gossiped with the moms of my classmates.

Was it possible? Was Nanny Jeanne a bastard begot by a Gett? She was about the right age. And she had certain Gett features. Though not their annoying personalities. Nature versus nurture, I supposed. It made more and more sense.

Nancy Jeanne had to be a Gett.

What other reason would the Getts have to protect a calculating killer?