by Penny Reid
Jethro: Roscoe and I are about to leave with two of your suits. He likes the gray, but I think you want to wear the black, so we’re bringing both. Do you need anything else from the house?
Diane: I’m assuming you and Jenn are off somewhere together. Would you please ask my daughter to return to her party? Folks are starting to ask where she is and tonight has been embarrassing enough without covering for y’all. I’m pretty sure she doesn’t have her phone, which is why I’m texting you.
I’d left my phone in the lodge’s honeymoon cabin where my mother and I had changed out of our work clothes and got ready for the party. This dress, though I loved it, had no pockets, and I didn’t want to carry a purse.
The messages disappeared as an incoming call from Billy changed the screen to mostly black. I stared at his phone just before he brought it to his ear, realizing it hadn’t made a single sound or seemed to vibrate. Cletus must’ve set his notifications to silent.
“Cletus. Is Jenn with you?” Billy sounded very concerned.
“Yes,” I said, no longer needing to whisper.
“Thank God. Are y’all all right? Did you hear the shots? Where are you?”
“I’m going to answer in reverse. We’re in the bakery kitchen pantry, we heard the shots, we’re all right. Are y’all okay? We heard screams coming from the barn.”
“Yes. Everyone here is fine for the most part, just a little shaken up. The screams were in response to the sound of gunshots. Some folks took off, running out the doors, but almost everyone stayed.”
“Did they find the shooter?”
“Not to my knowledge, and I’m standing next to the sheriff right now.”
“Billy, listen for a sec. I need you to tell the sheriff where Jenn and I are.”
“Okay.”
“Furthermore, I want you to tell him we’ve been inside the kitchen the whole time and saw the—the guys who came in and left.”
My eyes widened with surprise. It hadn’t been pitch-black, but it had been dark in the main kitchen after the timer flipped the sink lights off. Then again, Cletus always had been able to see fairly well in the dark.
“What? What are you talking about? Who came into the bakery?”
From the other side of the line we heard the sheriff bark, “Bakery? Where is Cletus?”
“Just tell the sheriff to meet us here—specifically in the pantry—but don’t tell anyone else. Just him. We’ll wait.”
“You’re going to wait inside the pantry?” Billy asked.
“He’s in the pantry?” The sheriff’s voice emerged muffled.
“Yep,” Cletus answered. “We’ll wait here.”
“Roger that. Talk soon.”
As soon as Cletus hung up, I grabbed his forearm. “Who was it? Who came into the kitchen?”
I felt his stare on me for a long moment before he finally said, “It was two people, but the only one I saw best looked like it might be, uh, Roger Gangersworth.”
I reared back and almost fell on my backside. Roger? Gosh, that . . . well, that made no sense. Sure, he hadn’t been pleased when I won the state fair again this year—and he ended up with pie in the face, although it had been an accident—but I’d won every year and he’d never shot up the bakery during a party before.
Cletus reached for me and helped me find my balance. “Are you still in those shoes?”
“I’m sorry, I can’t see.” As gracefully as possible, I leaned back to sit on the floor. “And these straps are tied with a double knot.”
“Here—” Cletus remained crouching and reached for my ankle, guiding it to his knee “—I’ll do it, I can see well enough.”
“But do I need to take them off still? There’s glass on the floor out there.”
I felt his fingers already working on my leg. “Yes. The shooter is still out there.”
“You mean Roger is still out there?”
Cletus released a restless-sounding breath, like my question flustered him. “I doubt Roger was the shooter.”
I agreed, but I pressed, “Then why was he in here? And what was he looking for in the cabinets? And why did he use the sink? And why did he run when Jackson came to the back door?”
“I don’t know. Yet. But I’ll carry you over the glass when we have to leave, one way or the other. And if you have the shoes off, you can run easier once we’re outside.” He finished with one shoe and gently set my newly bared foot down, reaching for the other.
Cletus worked for a bit in silence, and in the silence I allowed my mind to drift, which was a mistake. The scary reality of what had just happened, what was still happening until the shooter—and Roger—were caught, attacked my conscious, gathered and built like a swarming ant hill, and I inhaled an unsteady breath. Even though it was still quite dark and I could barely see, I closed my eyes so I could concentrate on pushing the overwhelming thoughts and feelings away.
I couldn’t think about it, not yet. It wasn’t over. We were still hiding. No one was safe. I had to focus and stay calm. So I did my best to shut the door in my mind on fear. Growing up like I did, I’d learned how to shut doors in my mind on all sorts of things: unpleasantness, hurt feelings, expectations, wants, desires, hopes, dreams. I’d grown up sheltered, but at compartmentalizing emotions in the moment, I was an old pro.
However, once the evening was over and Cletus and I were home, safe, and in each other’s arms with the alarm on and the safety of our panic room just steps away, I was going to open the door and cry my eyes out.
To distract myself from the wave of doom that continued to press against the door in my mind, I broke the silence to ask, “Did you set your phone to silent?”
Cletus must’ve really been concentrating on my shoe because he flinched a little when I spoke, like the sound of my hushed voice startled him. Or maybe he was still on high alert. “Pardon?”
“Your phone, you set it to silent. All those messages and calls, and it didn’t even vibrate while we were hiding in the pantry.”
I felt the lace loosen but Cletus didn’t give me my foot back, instead he kept it on his lap and held my calf, rubbing circles on my skin with his thumb. “Oh. That’s right. I set it to silent when I’m with you.”
“What? Why?”
“Well, I don’t want to indulge my family by being reachable all the time, they might start taking me for granted.”
I breathed out a little laugh tinged with the nerves I was trying to suppress. “When did that start? Your phone used to vibrate when we were together.”
“I reckon . . .” He paused, and the thumbs on my calf halted their circles. “Do you hear that?”
My heart jumped to my throat and Cletus gave my leg back, pivoting toward the crack in the pantry door. Not a second later, the bell to the bakery jingled and I resumed my crouching stance, pushing the shoes to the side so I wouldn’t trip over them if I had to run out of here. But also positioning them next to me in case I had to use the spiked heel as a weapon.
Cletus’s hand connected with my knee and he squeezed. “Don’t make a sound.” The words barely audible as the unmistakable sound of footsteps—multiple people’s footsteps—marched from the front bakery to the back kitchen. Déjà vu.
Someone flipped on a light. “Cletus, it’s us. Come out.”
I heaved out a breath at the sound of Jackson’s voice, relief flooding through me.
But Cletus pressed me further back and against the shelves. “Who is us? ’Cause I only see you.”
“Me and Boone.” Jackson’s voice was still some distance away, like he stood by the doorframe from the bakery shop leading into the kitchen.
I felt Cletus hesitate, I felt it in the tensing, relaxing, and tensing of his muscles. “I told the sheriff just him.”
“Yes, we know. But on the way here we stumbled across Elena Wilkinson’s body, and he’s dealing with . . . that.”
“Elena?” I squeaked and was speaking before I could catch the question, “Is she okay? Was she shot?”
“We can’t say.” This statement came from Boone and was firm. “Now y’all need to come out and keep your hands where we can see them.”
“Oh good Lord,” Cletus mumbled, and from the way he said the words I knew he’d paired them with an eye roll. “Fine. I’m coming out. But until y’all put those guns away, Jenn is staying inside the pantry.”
“No, you’re both coming out,” Boone ordered.
“No. I’m coming out.” Cletus pushed the pantry door open and lifted up his arms, and for some reason I felt like someone was both strangling me and sitting on my chest.
Clearly, Boone didn’t trust us. Boone! If Boone didn’t trust us, then could we trust him? What the hell was going on?
“Wait—” I whispered, trying to catch Cletus’s shirt before he left. Just like earlier in the barn, it was too late.
I watched with a strange mounting terror as he stepped further into the room and out of my sight. “Now y’all want to tell me what—other than some crazy person shooting into the bakery—has you on edge?” Cletus demanded, sounding like he was near a fit.
“How long have y’all been in here?” Jackson asked, his tone appearing to be much calmer than Boone’s, and I resisted the urge to peek out the door so I could see if they’d lowered their weapons.
“After the sheriff escorted Kip, Elena, and Diane out of the barn, Jenn and I took a moment.”
“A moment? You’ve been gone for over an hour.” Boone’s statement was accusatory. “What were y’all doing?”
I covered my face, bracing myself for Cletus’s answer, and he certainly seemed to be debating it.
“Well?” Boone demanded.
More silence from Cletus.
I heard the distinct sound of clicking metal. “Cletus, if you don’t answer the question, I’m going to have to arrest you.”
“We were having sex!” I shouted, coming out of the pantry with my hands up and finding both officers with their guns pointed at Cletus. A pair of handcuffs swung from Boone’s other hand.
They gaped at me and, as absurd as it was, I felt my cheeks heat with embarrassment. But it was too late for modesty now.
“Okay? We were having sex. Right there, on the counter. If you need evidence, Cletus left the condom in the bathroom,” I said tartly, letting my hands drop and gestured to the kitchen island. “We came in here, I cleaned up the scratches on Cletus’s face, we talked, we had sex, we talked some more, and we were on our way back to the party when we heard the first set of shots. Cletus pushed me to the ground. Are you happy now?”
Both Jackson and Boone had lowered their guns as I spoke, and when I finished, Jackson’s stare shifted to Cletus as he mumbled something like, “Not as happy as y’all, clearly.”
Cletus had lowered his hands and now held one of mine. While I related events, he simply stood silent. I snuck a quick look at him and found his eyes apologetic, his jaw in a dour line.
Rolling my eyes—at myself, because I was still blushing—I squeezed Cletus’s hand to communicate that I was okay and addressed Boone and Jackson. “Now it’s your turn. Why would y’all come in here with your guns drawn? What the heck is going on, Boone? We were hiding in that pantry, scared out of our wits after someone shot the windows out, and you’re treating us like criminals.”
Boone frowned, clearly remorseful, but there was still something about the set of his mouth and how he hadn’t stopped inspecting us since I emerged from the pantry, like he was looking for a lie.
“Jenn, you may want to—uh—sit down.” Jackson holstered his weapon, his tone bracing and gentle.
I stepped closer to Cletus. “What? Why?” I searched their faces. “What happened? Is—is my momma okay? What happened to Elena? Was that—”
“It’s your father.” Boone re-hooked his handcuffs to someplace hidden, but he didn’t put away his gun.
“What? Did he hurt someone? Was he the shooter?”
Boone seemed to be readying himself for something, watching me with a scrutinizing intensity, and said, “He’s dead.”
Chapter Five
*Cletus*
“Police work wouldn't be possible without coffee," Wallander said.
"No work would be possible without coffee."
They pondered the importance of coffee in silence.
Henning Mankell, One Step Behind
I hadn’t thought about killing Kip Sylvester as often as I thought about murdering my own father. However, over the past year, the man had taken Razor Denning’s place as a close second on my To Murder list. Discovering that someone else had beat me to the deed filled me with a strange, chaotic assortment of feelings.
Also inspiring chaos? The lie I’d told Jenn back in the pantry. The person I saw in the kitchen had not been Roger Gangersworth.
After the debacle in the bakery with Boone and Jackson, I’d carried Jenn out of the building, and she’d carried her shoes. She didn’t say much. Her eyes had gone cloudy, distant. Jenn was in shock, and I was not surprised. I mired and marinated in a fair bit of shock myself. Everyone present in the fancy faux-barn for the evening’s events seemed to suffer from various levels of shock as well. Except, unlike everyone else, Jenn had just lost her father and her mother was nowhere in sight.
Presently, we were in the fancy faux-barn, but before we’d left the kitchen, I’d snuck a peek at the sink. Traces of red liquid pooled around the drain.
Hmm. . . That wasn’t good.
Boone and Jackson had asked for our consent to swab our hands and the front of our clothes—I assumed for gunpowder residue—and “requested” we return to the barn on the sheriff’s orders. Everyone was to stay on site at the lodge—specifically here, in the barn—until questioned and whereabouts during the murder were accounted for. Meaning, they wanted everyone’s alibi.
Jenn and I had been swarmed upon our return. Shelly, Beau, Billy, Sienna, Jethro, Drew, and Roscoe encircled us, creating a barrier between Jenn and the rest of the guests. They’d obviously heard about Kip’s death. To my family’s credit, they didn’t ask her a single question.
Sienna had pulled Jenn into an embrace and held her. She and Jethro had then distracted Jenn with light and silly banter, observations about wood floors, condiments, and ordering coffee in different countries. Shelly and Drew stood guard, keeping other folks at bay. Beau and Roscoe put their lethal levels of charm to work, intercepting anyone who approached and redirecting attention elsewhere.
Ashley, it had been explained to me, was off with Elena Wilkinson, tending to the woman’s injuries, whatever they were. We’d heard an ambulance pull up just after leaving the bakery, I’d assumed it was for Elena.
During all this, I endeavored to contemplate the present fiasco and what I knew about it as well as the facts I hadn’t shared with anyone.
I knew: Kip was dead. Elena was incapacitated at least. Jackson and Boone had suspected me and Jenn for one or both of the crimes.
Facts I hadn’t shared: The first in the pair of people I’d seen in the kitchen had been a motorcycle brother of my father’s who went by the name of Repo. The other, the woman with him, had been none other than Jenn’s mother. Neither Repo nor Diane were presently in the barn. I felt certain this was the case since I’d been scanning the space for their faces since we’d entered.
And, last but not least, Diane had been cleaning either red food dye, cherry pie filling, or blood off her hands in the bakery kitchen sink.
“Hey. I need to talk to you.” Jackson James materialized before me, redirecting my attention outward. He lifted his chin toward Billy. “You too. Both of you, come with me.”
I glanced behind me at Jenn. Her eyes were cloudy, her expression detached, and I swallowed around a discomfiting tightness at the base of my throat. But I also saw that Sienna and Jethro seemed to be doing a good job of keeping her distracted.
As such, I followed Billy and Jackson out of the barn. The blond deputy led us along the outside wall and around the corner. He then turned, his hands on hi
s hips, his expression stern under the cloudless night of a waxing moon and bright stars.
“Let me fill y’all in, then we need to compare notes,” he said, in a very uncharacteristic display of getting right to the point. “Elena was knocked out, but she seems to be okay. We don’t know what or who knocked her out, and she’s not speaking to us. She said she wants her lawyer present. So we don’t know if Kip was with her when she was knocked out or why they were back here after being escorted to their car earlier and told to leave.”
“Y’all escorted Kip and Elena to their car?” I asked. Since Jenn and I left for the bakery, I didn’t know what the resolution had been with the Kip and Elena showing up uninvited situation.
“Yes,” Billy answered hurriedly. “The sheriff pulled us out of the barn, gave Kip and Elena a talking to, then had Evans and Jackson escort them to their car.”
“And I watched them drive away,” Jackson added. “So I know they left.”
“What about you Billy? What about Boone, the sheriff, and Ms. Donner? Diane? Did she go back to the barn?” I successfully modulated my voice to the frequency of mildly curious.
“We all went back to the barn.”
I nodded, absorbing Billy’s information. “And all y’all stayed put?” I’d been holding out hope that the blonde woman wearing a red dress in the kitchen with Repo hadn’t been Diane. Based on Billy’s statement, maybe my eyes had been playing tricks? . . . Unlikely.
Jackson and Billy swapped a look before turning narrowed eyes on me. “I remained in the barn until the shots were fired.” Jackson looked to Billy.
“So did I.” Billy’s hands came to his hips, mimicking Jackson’s posture. “So did the sheriff. He was there issuing orders right after the first few shots then took off.”
Jackson blinked, glancing over my head. “I don’t know if Ms. Donner was still there, though.”
Time to change the subject. “Okay, so shots fired. What happened after that? Other than mass hysteria at the barn.”
“Evans stayed and kept folks calm while my dad, Boone, and I ran toward the parking lot by the bakery—’cause that’s where the shots sounded like they were coming from. Then we heard another round and stopped, ducking behind those big azalea bushes halfway between the barn and the bakery. When nothing else happened, we ran to the parking lot and checked the cars.” Jackson paused here, his jaw ticking, his eyes narrowing. “That’s when I spotted Mr. Sylvester’s car in the lot.”
