Highball Rush: Bootleg Springs Book 6

by Kingsley, Claire

  I nodded. “Can’t go back.”

  “No,” he said again. “No, you can’t. All right. We’ll figure something out. Come on, let’s get off the road.”

  He cast a wary glance around, then stood and gently helped me to my feet. I couldn’t stop shaking. He got me into his truck and dug through the glove box for some napkins. I pressed the coarse paper to my face, careful not to touch my nose.

  He went around to the driver’s side and got in. Muttering about ice and bandages, and something that sounded like Gibs would kill him, he started his truck and pulled out onto the street.

  36

  MAYA

  “My dad didn’t hurt me, Gibson. He never touched me. He just cleaned up the messes afterward.” I still held his arms and tears ran down my face.

  “Jesus, Callie,” he whispered.

  “It was her. I couldn’t remember. After I ran away, people always assumed it was my father. I got to Blue Moon with a nose that was smashed to pieces and deep cut on my face. I had bruises on my back and my arm was sliced to ribbons. People thought it must have been him, and I never corrected them. I had to get it all out of my head. It was torturing me. Her face. Her voice. Her dead eyes.”

  I stopped, a sob choking off my words. Gibson gently drew me into his arms. Held me against his chest and stroked my hair. I was having a breakdown in poor Henrietta’s cabin, but I couldn’t stop. The dam had finally broken.

  “She was always cold, but it started when I was eight.” My voice was muffled in his chest. “I overheard things I shouldn’t have. Illegal things my dad was doing. She said she had to for my own good. She had to make me obedient so I’d never tell anyone about him.”

  “Oh my god.”

  “It got worse when I was older. She started slicing my arms. Drawing blood. She made it look like I was hurting myself. She told her friends I was troubled. Made me see a psychologist. She’d hurt me before each session to remind me not to tell them anything. She’d whisper in my ear that I was a terrible girl and if she had to, she’d cut too deep and let me bleed.”

  “Fuck, Callie.” Gibson’s voice was strangled.

  “And he never stopped her. He knew what she was doing to me and he didn’t stop her. Just went behind her with bleach and kept the cabinet stocked with bandages so he could hide what she did. He justified it, telling me it was necessary.”

  Gibson held me in his strong arms, stroking my hair. Neither of us said anything. I felt sick and exhausted, like I had poison in my veins. The taint of it clung to me, the terrible memories so hard to face.

  But just when I thought I might crumble beneath the weight of the horror threatening to crush me, I breathed in Gibson’s scent. Felt his hand slowly rubbing my back. His cheek resting against my head. I sank into him, the raw power of his love like a cleansing shower. It washed away the worst of the poison. Reminded me I wasn’t that girl anymore. That it had never been my fault.

  His strength fed mine. The power I’d always had inside of me. The courage that had allowed me to live a life after being so brutally abused. I wasn’t a victim anymore. And I wasn’t going to allow my mother to continue harming me all these years later.

  Closing my eyes, I wrapped my arms around Gibson’s waist and faced the truth. Owned it. And decided not to let it break me.

  I pulled away, feeling shaky, but whole. “Thank you.”

  “For what?” He had tears in his eyes.

  “For loving me.”

  He leaned his forehead against mine. “I’ll always love you. Honey, are you serious about this? Are you okay?”

  “Yes. I couldn’t remember. I’d locked it all away. But I’m sure of this, Gibson. I can see it now. It was my mother who hurt me.”

  The license plate still bothered me. Not that it was from Virginia. Plenty of Virginia drivers must go through this area. One of them losing a license plate—probably in an accident—wasn’t unusual. But why would it have that frame? The one my mother had used to project the image of the proud parent with an accomplished child?

  “Henrietta, do you remember where you found the things in your collection?”

  She nodded an enthusiastic yes.

  “All of them?”

  She nodded again. It was clear her collection was important to her.

  “Can you please tell me where you found this?” I pointed to the license plate, afraid to touch it again.

  She held up a finger, gesturing for us to wait. From a cabinet, she produced a rolled-up piece of paper. Gibson helped her spread it out on the floor. It was an old map of Bootleg Springs and the surrounding mountains.

  We crowded around it and she touched her finger to the spot marked Bootleg Springs.

  “Did you find it in town?” Gibson asked.

  She shook her head, then traced her finger along one of the roads leading out of town. Tilting her head, she studied the map for a few seconds, as if making sure. Then she stopped her trace and tapped her finger a few times.

  “There?” Gibson shifted so he could look more closely. “That’s Mountain Road. That’s where my…”

  Henrietta nodded, grabbing the license plate, then took down a basket. She placed the license plate on the map and covered it with rocks, sticks, and pinecones from the basket.

  “It was buried when you found it,” he said.

  Another nod.

  Gibson stared at the license plate like it might burst into flames. “That might be why no one else did. Henrietta, when did you find this? Recently?”

  She shook her head and scrunched up her face, her eyes narrowing, as if she was thinking hard. Finally, she held up both hands, splaying her fingers. Then closed them and held up two.

  “Twelve. Do you mean twelve years?”

  One sharp nod.

  I met his eyes, but neither of us spoke. We didn’t have to. His mother had died in an accident on Mountain Road twelve years ago. An accident that might not have been an accident.

  This wasn’t a coincidence. This was proof. My parents—probably my mother—had killed Connie Bodine.

  37

  GIBSON

  Callie’s revelation left me reeling.

  We packed up the license plate and brought it back to my place. She changed out of her jeans and curled up on the couch with Cash.

  “You should take it to the sheriff,” she said, running her hand over Cash’s soft fur.

  “How are you so calm?” I asked. She’d just dredged up those godawful memories, but I was the one pacing around the room.

  “I feel clear,” she said. “It was like cleaning poison from a wound. It hurt, but now that it’s over, I think I can finally finish healing.”

  I knelt in front of her and touched her face. “You’re amazing. Do you know that?”

  Her smile soothed some of the rage boiling inside me. “Thanks. So are you.”

  I grumbled something incoherent as I stood. “All right, I’ll go see the sheriff. You sure you’re okay? Do you want me to call Shelby or Leah Mae or Scarlett or something?”

  “I have Cash to keep me company. I’ll be fine. I think I need a little time.”

  Cash’s ears twitched and he opened his eye.

  “Good boy. Take care of our girl.”

  I was glad Callie was handling things so well. I was proud of her for being strong enough to face her past.

  Me, on the other hand—I was fucking done with the whole thing.

  I was sick of waiting. Sick of being told we didn’t have enough evidence to put these monsters away. There wasn’t long until the judge’s confirmation hearing. I wasn’t going to sit around and hope there was enough paint on the license plate to get a match. Or that someone else would find a way to prove Lee Williams worked for the judge. The fucker was wandering around my town, making my girl afraid to go out.

  It was getting on toward dinner, but I found Sheriff Tucker still at the station. Bex brought me back to his office.

  “Gibson,” he said, looking up from a stack of paperwork on his d
esk. “What can I do for you?”

  He raised an eyebrow when I lowered myself into the chair on the other side of his desk. I pulled the license plate out of my bag. He moved his papers aside so I could set it in front of him.

  “What’s this?”

  “I think that when you run that plate, you’ll find it belonged to Mrs. Kendall. Twelve years ago.”

  His eyes widened slightly, and he smoothed his mustache a few times while he studied the plate.

  “All right, Gibson. I’m listening.”

  I told him everything, and the more I talked, the more shaken up he looked. His jaw hitched and I could see the fury in his eyes—anger that matched mine. It burned like a bed of coals in my gut.

  When I finished, he was quiet for a few minutes. He nodded his head silently a few times, like he was digesting everything.

  “Damn,” he said, finally. The sheriff had always been a man of few words, and he didn’t need to say anything more. I understood. Felt the same way.

  “Yep.”

  He shifted the license plate and clicked his mouse a few times. Typed something on his keyboard.

  “You’re right, Gibs. This plate was from a blue Audi A6, registered to an Imogen Kendall.”

  “Did you say blue?”

  He met my eyes. “I did.”

  “Cass found blue scratches on Mom’s car.”

  “She did.”

  I felt like I was about to pop out of the chair like a jack-in-the-box, but Sheriff Tucker put up a hand.

  “Easy, Gibs. We’ll have to see if forensics can match the paint. How’s Callie handling it? Is she okay?”

  “Yeah, she’s all right. Said she feels better now that she can remember. Like cleaning poison out of a wound.” I shook my leg, unable to keep still. “So what do we do now? More tests? More waiting?”

  He tipped his fingers together. “Well, I’ve got an entire town full of amateur surveillance detectives keeping tabs on Lee Williams’ every move. Seems he’s settled into a routine. Breakfast at Moonshine. A drive around town, circling past the vacation rentals and the Kendalls’ house. Sometimes trips to the Pop In or Shop ’n Buy. He’s wandered into Build-A-Shine a few times. Browsed the other stores. Sits in Yee Haw Yarn and Coffee or down at the lake with a cup of joe. Then a drink or two at the Lookout each night.”

  “What in the hell is he doing?”

  “Watching. Chatting up the locals. My guess is, he’s listening for any mention of Callie Kendall.” One corner of his mouth lifted in a subtle smile.

  “But Bootleg ain’t talking about Callie Kendall, are they?”

  “No, they’re not. Tongues are waggin’ about the big new tires Trent McCulty put on his pickup and whether they’re making up for a deficiency elsewhere. Whether Old Jefferson Waverly’s going to build a new barn on his land. Who got into Bex’s garden shed and ran off with her favorite set of pruning shears. Or who’s gonna play matchmaker for Mona Lisa McNugget and get a town rooster.”

  “It still won’t keep the truth from that jackass forever.”

  “No, it won’t.” He smoothed his mustache again. “Would be real interesting if some motivated individuals could get Lee Williams to sing like a canary, wouldn’t it?”

  I stopped shaking my leg. “Sure would.”

  “Interesting that he stops for a drink at the Lookout every night, too.”

  My eyes narrowed. “Sure is.”

  “Thanks for bringing this in.” He moved the license plate aside and shifted the stack of paperwork.

  I stood and went to the door, my mind already racing. Making a plan.

  “Gibs.”

  “Yeah.” I glanced at him over my shoulder.

  He didn’t say anything. Just held my eyes for a few seconds. I nodded. It wouldn’t do any of us a bit of good if I pounded the guy’s face into the dirt. We needed Lee Williams locked in a cell, not me.

  But it was time to handle this Bootleg style.

  38

  GIBSON

  Next day, I went to work making preparations. Then I called my brothers and George, and told them to meet me at the Lookout before the evening rush.

  “I can already tell I’m not gonna like this.” Bowie kicked out a chair at the table I’d chosen in the back corner of the bar.

  Jameson, Jonah, George, and Devlin were already here, barely drinking the beers they’d ordered. I had a basket of fries I had no plans on eating. They were just to give Nicolette some business while I took up one of her tables.

  Callie had shared her newly-remembered details with Shelby. I appreciated how well Shelby had talked her through it, gently asking questions and helping her work out what she knew. Cassidy had sat in on it, eventually taking down an official statement. It had been hard to watch Callie go through that—recalling all those horrible things—but I’d been so damn proud of her.

  Shelby and Cassidy had done the job of filling in the rest of my family. So the dark looks on my brothers’ faces were no surprise.

  “This ain’t a get-away-from-it-all trip to the bar, is it?” Jameson asked.

  “Nope. Tonight we’re on a mission. We’re gonna get the truth out of that Lee Williams asshole.”

  I probably could have handled this thing myself—with Nicolette’s help, of course—but I wanted my brothers here as backup.

  “Oh boy,” Devlin muttered and took a swig of beer.

  “How do you plan on doing that?” Bowie asked. “You gonna chat him up at the bar?”

  “In a manner of speaking, yeah. We’re gonna bring out the big guns.”

  Jameson and Bowie shared a look.

  “You don’t mean…” The corner of Bowie’s mouth ticked, like he was trying not to smile.

  I crossed my arms and nodded. “Moonshine truth serum.”

  Jameson didn’t hide his grin. “Oh, shit. You got Sonny to give you some?”

  “Of course he did. I told him what it’s for.”

  “What’s moonshine truth serum?” Jonah asked.

  “I’m glad you don’t know either, because I was just about to ask the same thing,” George said.

  Bowie let out a short chuckle. “Sonny Fullson has a very special moonshine concoction. The recipe is a closely guarded secret.”

  “The world couldn’t handle it,” Jameson said. “It’s important to keep it under wraps.”

  “Are you saying it makes people tell the truth?” Devlin asked, clearly skeptical.

  “Is it anything like that stuff you fed me before you shot me into the lake?” George asked, wincing.

  “Nah, that was just the peach cobbler brew,” I said. “Moonshine truth serum is different. It opens people right up. They’ll talk your ear off and tell you every secret they’ve ever kept.”

  “Do you remember when Nash took a shot of it by mistake?” Jameson asked.

  “Who knew the big guy’s favorite hobby was quilting,” Bowie said.

  “Or that he was the one who broke Mrs. Morganstern’s upstairs window with a baseball in junior high,” Jameson said.

  “How is this supposed to work?” Devlin asked. “Because right now I’m picturing you tying him to a chair and forcing liquor down his throat.”

  “That’s why you wanted me here, isn’t it?” George asked, leaning away from the table like he was about to get up and leave. “You want me to hold him down.”

  I shrugged. “It shouldn’t come to that. Nicolette’ll serve it to him. Don’t y’all remember? It’s Moonshine Day, the best unofficial holiday of the year. Shots of moonshine on the house for everyone.”

  “That could definitely be a real thing,” Jonah said.

  “It is, but it ain’t until October,” Jameson replied.

  “Do you think he’ll notice what we’re doing?” George asked. “Get suspicious?”

  “The thing about moonshine truth serum, it hits you fast,” I said. “Makes you go all woozy for a minute. He’ll be busy trying to figure out why his eyes won’t focus, and then he’ll feel great.”


  “Nicolette on board?” Jameson asked.

  I gave him the side-eye. “Do you even need to ask?”

  “Guess not.” Jameson raised his beer to Nicolette, who stood behind the bar. She gave him a solemn nod.

  “What do you need us to do?” Bowie asked.

  “Backup mostly, in case this goes south,” I said.

  “All right,” Bowie said. “Let’s do this.”

  Customers trickled in and we spread out, filling them in on the plan. We didn’t want any accidental bar brawls or other interruptions tonight.

  Then, all we could do was wait.

  I sat with Jameson at the table in back, bouncing my leg, unable to keep still. Bowie, Dev, and Jonah nursed beers at the bar, making sure to leave a few stools open. George stayed farther back. Music played in the background and the mood in here was subdued. Tense.

  My edges felt sharp, but I was focused. I knew I couldn’t let my temper get the best of me tonight. Flying off the handle and breaking the guy’s face wasn’t going to get us the answers we needed.

  I’d keep my shit together for Callie. I could do it for her.

  Finally, Lee Williams wandered in, crooked nose and all. Took a seat at the bar, just like we’d hoped. His clothes were plain—a shirt and brown pants—and I didn’t see a bulge at his waistband. Hopefully he wasn’t packing heat tonight.

  I waited to give Nicolette the signal. Let him order a beer and sit with it for a while. Didn’t want to make him suspicious before we’d had a chance to get the moonshine down his throat.

  Jameson met my eyes and we nodded to each other. It was time. I caught Nicolette’s attention and gave her a nod.

  “Hey, y’all.” She lined up shot glasses and started pouring. Damn, I hoped she’d keep them straight and give Lee Williams the right one. “You know what today is—Moonshine Day! That means shots of the Lookout’s finest, on the house.”