Cheers rose up from the patrons and her customers went to the bar to collect their shots.
Nicolette pushed a shot glass at Lee. I held my breath, too far away to hear if he said anything to her. People around him downed their shots and set their glasses on the bar, thanking Nicolette.
Come on, you piece of shit. Drink it.
He lifted the shot glass to Nicolette, then tossed it back in one swallow. And then, badass bartender that she was, she grinned and poured him another. He drank that one, too.
Jameson twitched.
“Wait for it,” I said, my voice low, eyes locked on Lee.
Nicolette started cleaning up the shot glasses. Bowie took up a spot at the end of the bar, leaning against it like he didn’t have a care in the world. Jonah and Devlin went back to their stools, looking tense.
Lee tilted to the side, almost falling off his stool. Bracing himself on the bar, he struggled to keep his seat. He straightened, but shook his head and started rubbing his eyes.
“Now,” I said quietly.
I stood and wandered to the bar, taking the empty stool next to Lee. Jameson hung back, ready to detour anyone who might try to get too close. Jonah and Devlin were on Lee’s other side, and Nicolette kept on with what she was doing.
Nothing unusual here.
“Holy shit,” Lee muttered, still trying to shake off the initial dizzying rush of the moonshine.
I leaned forward, elbows on the bar, keeping my face forward. “Potent stuff.”
“Jesus fuck,” he said. “What the hell was that?”
“Bootleg moonshine ain’t for the weak,” I said.
He glanced at me, blinking hard like he was trying to focus. Between the dim lighting and the quick dose of moonshine, he didn’t seem to recognize me. Yet. “Guess so.”
“Seems like you’re new around here. What do you think of Bootleg?” I needed to get him answering questions so I could be sure it was working.
“Small town shithole, basically.”
He might have said that without the truth serum. I couldn’t be sure. “Is it, now? I take it you’re a city boy?”
“Oh yeah. Born and raised in Baltimore. Wound up in Virginia, but Richmond isn’t bad. Always wanted to live in New York City, though.”
I suppressed a grin. It was working, all right.
“You know what I hate about small towns?” He turned toward me, resting one arm on the bar, and his voice was nothing but friendly. Part of the magic of Sonny’s moonshine was what it did for a person’s mood. Made them feel great. And extremely chatty. “There’s nothing to do. I’m stuck out here, bored off my ass.”
“That’s a damn shame,” I said. “What are you stuck here for?”
“A job. It’s a dead end, if you ask me. But my boss is fucking paranoid.”
“Huh. Paranoid about what?”
“Oh man, it’s a good story.” His speech slurred a little and he jabbed a finger toward me.
“I’m always up for a good story,” I said, trying to seem like a friendly listener without looking at him straight on.
“This guy I work for, he’s a big shot, right? Dirty fucker, but he keeps his hands squeaky clean. I mean, he’s good. Even kept me out of prison all these years. Anyway, some twelve or thirteen years ago, his teenage daughter goes missing. Shady shit, let me tell you. He had me searching for her, but he called me off after a while. Didn’t say a word to me about it for, I don’t know, ten years? I always figured she was dead.”
I resisted the urge to clench my fists and made a non-committal noise. Nicolette kept acting like she was working.
“Anyway, about a year ago, the kid’s case gets reopened. New evidence or some shit. So he sends me out to look for her again. I come up with nothing, and he’s pissed. This guy’s so twisted he wants his own kid dead.”
Stay calm, Gibson. Stay calm. “Shit. He wanted you to take her out?”
“Yep. Wouldn’t be my first hit, but I don’t like it. She’s not a kid anymore, but still. What kind of guy does that?”
“Good question. But why would he want her dead?”
He shrugged, hiccupping. “Don’t know. My guess is, she knew something and they don’t want her around to tell.”
“You were right, it’s a damn good story. Did you ever find her?”
“No, and here’s the real rub. I made everything a hell of a lot easier for him and he still sends me out to this crappy town. She’s officially dead, we have the forensics report to prove it. Fake report, but no one’s going to question it. Even if she did turn up, who would believe her? Some chick already burned that bridge when she claimed to be her.”
“You’re shitting me.”
“Don’t you follow the news out here?” he asked. “I guess if it doesn’t involve someone driving a tractor into a fence or a chicken taking a shit in someone’s roses, you people don’t pay attention.”
God, this fucking guy. “Guess not. What happened?”
He proceeded to tell me all about Abbie Gilbert. How she’d turned up at a hospital, claiming to be his boss’s missing daughter—he still hadn’t said anyone’s name—and how his boss had gone out to see who she was. Brought her home and told the media his daughter had been found.
“Did he know it wasn’t her?” I asked. “I mean, a guy would have to know his own daughter.”
“Oh, he knew. I think it was his wife’s idea to use her. They figured this would close the case for them. They were getting sick of these damn investigators poking their noses everywhere.”
“Smart move,” I said. “So what’d they do? Pay her off to keep up the lie?”
“That’s exactly what they did.” Swaying on his stool, he poked my shoulder. “Paid her a solid chunk of change and set her up out in Philly. I took her out there, myself. Dumb girl thought she’d won the lottery.”
“What happened to her?”
“This is good, too,” he said, practically laughing. “So someone outs her, right? Gets their hands on a DNA sample—don’t ask me how, because I don’t know—and makes her come clean. So she loses her fancy apartment and the allowance they were giving her. Guess she wasn’t happy because she came back and tried to blackmail them. Said she’d go to the media and tell the truth about their agreement. I’m sure you can guess how that ended.”
“Tell me.”
He made a slicing motion across his throat.
“Damn,” I said. “You have to do it?”
“I hired a guy,” he said. “It cost me a little extra, but I don’t like killing girls if I don’t have to.”
I stopped myself from saying that hiring someone to kill a girl wasn’t any different than doing it yourself. But we were so close. I just had to hold it together a little longer.
“I don’t know, man. This all sounds like a bunch of made up bullshit to me.”
“All true,” he said, putting a hand on his chest and hiccupping again. “Swear it on my mother’s grave. So anyway, my boss keeps getting more and more paranoid, right? I really think he might be going off the deep end. Then he finds out some former social worker’s been trying to dig up stuff on his daughter. Guess who got saddled with that problem?”
“You?” Holy shit, he was going to tell me about Shelby’s kidnapping.
“Damn straight it was me. But, hey, the boss man pays me good money to take care of shit like this for him.”
“What’d you do?”
“It was almost too easy. I found out who she was and did some research. She had some guy stalking her a while back. He was perfect. Legitimately crazy. So I tracked him down and gave him some rather specific information about her whereabouts. It was like throwing a dog a stick. He couldn’t help himself.”
“Did it work?”
He hiccupped again. “Well enough. She backed off. But then it got worse again. Some local guy got hauled in for questioning about the daughter. So the boss man sends me out here to find out why. The guy’s nobody, just some redneck carpenter who had an old picture
of her. It was a total dead end, just like the rest of her case. I keep trying to tell him he’s in the clear. We have science on our side, for fuck’s sake. The dumbass lab tech was easy as shit to buy off. And after thirteen years, or however long it’s been, his daughter isn’t going to turn up.”
“Sure doesn’t seem like it,” I said. “But what does all this have to do with you being stuck out here, bored off your ass?”
He rolled his eyes and reached for the full beer Nicolette had quietly set in front of him. “He’s convinced something is going down in this little backwoods town. Sent me out here to fill him in on all the gossip in case her name starts being mentioned again—you know, more than usual. Like maybe somebody knows something. I shouldn’t complain too much, though. The drinks are good, and the women aren’t bad, either.”
“A man’s gotta do something to pass the time.”
“Damn straight.” He took a swig of beer, sloshing some in his lap. He didn’t seem to notice. “I hooked up with a sweet piece of ass last night. Dumb as a box of rocks, but who cares, right?”
I risked a quick glance over my shoulder. Jameson was watching, wide-eyed. We were thinking the same thing.
“No shit? Who was she?”
He barely got the mug back on the bar. “Does it matter? She had two names. Missy something? No, that wasn’t it. Misty? That’s it. Misty Lynn. Crooked fake tits. Hard as concrete. She wasn’t a bad lay, but afterward she wouldn’t shut the hell up. Kept whining about her ex-boyfriend.”
My back and shoulders knotted with tension. “Huh.”
He shook with a sloppy, drunken laugh. “Get this. She said her ex-boyfriend’s new girlfriend is my boss’s fucking missing daughter, Callie Kendall. Swear to god, this town is obsessed with that girl. As if she’d be back here, dating some redneck, and the whole world wouldn’t know. Like I said, my little side job last night wasn’t blessed with much upstairs.”
“You pass that on to your boss?” I asked, trying hard to keep the alarm out of my voice. “I mean, obviously it ain’t true. Probably best to keep the rumors out of it.”
“Nah, I told him. If he got wind that I’d heard something and hadn’t let him know? He’s so on edge lately, he’d probably put a hit out on me.”
It ate up every scrap of willpower I had not to wrap my hands around this fucker’s neck and choke him out. I couldn’t even think about Misty Lynn. Damn her. A red haze tinged my vision and fire seared through my veins.
Jameson casually sat on the stool on my other side and whispered, “Easy.”
Nicolette slid another shot glass across the bar. “Looks like you could use another.”
“You know, I’m liking this town more and more,” he said, grinning at her. He tossed the shot back and winced.
I waited while his eyes crossed, and he held the bar like he couldn’t stay upright. The rush seemed to pass, and he shook his head.
“Goddamn, this shit is strong.”
I ground my teeth together, my nostrils flaring. Took a breath before I trusted myself to speak.
“Must be tough working for a guy like that,” I said. “He has you do his dirty work and you gotta worry about whether he’ll get rid of you someday?”
“I’m not too concerned. I have so much dirt on this guy, I could bury him under a mountain of it. See, I’m not stupid. I have insurance.”
“What sort of insurance?”
“Recordings. Log books. I keep track of everything.”
After three shots, I wasn’t worried about whether he recognized me. He’d talk no matter what. He wouldn’t be able to help himself.
Turning on my stool, I looked him straight in the eyes. “Where do you keep all that insurance?”
He regarded me through droopy eyelids, his jaw going slack. “Wait. I know you. You’re that guy. The one with the photo of her.”
“Yep. But where’s the insurance? You keep it locked up somewhere?”
He laughed again, his shoulder shaking with a drunken giggle. “It’s all at home. I have a file cabinet with a lock.”
“Good place for it.” I glanced at Nicolette. “You been getting all this?”
She smiled and pulled my cell phone from beneath the bar. Set it on top. “Every incriminating word.”
Lee gaped at the phone, his mouth hanging open. Then he swiveled his head to look at me. “What’s goin’ on?”
“Just for shits and giggles, what’s your boss’s name?” I’d gotten enough out of him, but I wanted to see if I could get him to say it.
He closed his mouth, narrowing his eyes at me, like the gears in his drunken brain were slowly turning. “His name? You’re recording me, aren’t you?”
“Yup. And West Virginia is a one-party state. I can legally record you without your knowledge. But really, who do you work for? You know you want to tell me.”
He hiccupped and laughed at the same time. “Judge Henry Kendall. He’s the boss man. Did I tell you he’s a shady fucker? Knows how to keep his hands clean, though.”
“I imagine he does.” I grabbed the phone and tapped the screen to stop recording and make sure it saved. Then I held it up. “You’re too shitfaced to understand what just happened. But when you wake up in a jail cell in the morning, I want you to remember two things. One, you told us everything we need to know to put that piece of shit judge away for good. And two, if you slept with Misty Lynn Prosser, I suggest you get yourself tested for just about everything under the sun.”
Nicolette held up another cell phone. “Used both, so there’s a backup.”
“Thanks, Nicolette,” I said. “I owe you big for this.”
“Just doing my part.”
I got up and nudged the swaying Lee. “Where’s the judge now?”
He burped. “Not sure. He was in Washington. Congressional hearing soon.”
“Is he coming out here? When you told him Misty Lynn said Callie Kendall is in Bootleg, did he say he was coming?”
“Don’t know. He wasn’t happy about it, I can tell you that. Did I tell you he kept me out of prison? Dirty fucker, but he knows how to keep his hands clean. That’s my job.”
“Fuck,” I muttered. “Hey Bow, can y’all get this guy out of here? Take my phone with you and give it to the sheriff.”
George came up behind Bowie and cracked his knuckles. They wouldn’t have any trouble lifting him into someone’s car.
“We got it,” Bowie said. “Where you going?”
“I gotta get back. If the Kendalls might be coming…”
“Shit,” Jameson said.
“Exactly. Get this fucker in a jail cell.”
I left Lee Williams in the capable hands of George and my brothers and took off to find Callie. She was with my sister tonight. Hardly a person alive I trusted more than Scarlett Rose.
I’d gotten everything out of him. Sonny Fullson was some kind of goddamn genius. So I should have been relieved. Breathing easier.
But I wasn’t. The Kendalls knew. Lee hadn’t believed Misty Lynn, but the judge and his psycho wife would. They knew their daughter was here, in Bootleg Springs. And I had a very strong feeling they were about to show up, looking for her.
Or looking to get rid of her for good.
39
MAYA
Gibson was up to something. I didn’t know what, but it was obvious. He’d spent a full ten minutes texting earlier today. That was the equivalent of a half-day of conversation for Gibs. Then he’d left me at his house with Scarlett while he went out.
He’d barely let me out of his sight since the Cock Spurs game. The only place I’d gone in the last week had been Henrietta’s cabin. Since then, I’d been hiding out at Gibson’s, usually with the doors locked and the windows covered.
Scarlett had turned up with snacks, and we’d gotten comfortable on the couch, Cash happily napping between us. She’d spent the last hour trying to pry sordid rock-star stories out of me. She was a Bootlegger. Gossip-hunting was in her blood.
“I’m bored,”
she said, crumpling up a food wrapper. “I don’t mean I’m bored talkin’ to you, I just mean being here makes me bored. I feel like getting out.”
For the first time since arriving, I was starting to feel a little stir crazy myself. “I could stand a few hours of different scenery. But I don’t think I should go into town.”
“I completely agree.” She sat up and started typing on her phone.
“What are you thinking?”
“We’ll bring the party to us. Outside, not in here. Gibs has plenty of space. We’ll get a good bonfire going, turn on some music. It’ll be fun. And totally safe.”
Gibson wasn’t going to like Scarlett throwing a bonfire at his house. But I’d be able to make him feel better about it. If he got mad, I’d just take him inside and take off my clothes. That was a win for both of us.
“Let’s do it.”
Scarlett put the word out and it didn’t take long for people to start showing up. Cars and trucks—everything from Millie Waggle’s compact sedan to Rocky Tobias’s souped-up pickup—rumbled down the long drive. We picked a clear spot away from the house for a makeshift fire pit. Hauled in some wood and got the blaze going. It wasn’t a big fire, like the ones on Scarlett’s beach. But it was cozy.
More people arrived, someone turned on music, drinks were passed around. Cash happily darted around people’s legs, his tail wagging. Scarlett Bodine could go from zero to full-fledged bonfire party in no time flat.
The sound of the crackling fire, tinny country music coming from a dashboard stereo, and good-natured conversations filled the air. Sparks danced in the darkening sky. I hugged one of Gibson’s flannel shirts around me. Fall had arrived in Bootleg. The leaves were turning, and the air had a bite to it.
Scarlett wandered over with two beers and handed me one. “Better?”
“Better. Thanks. I don’t feel like I’m in the witness protection program anymore.”
“Now, why didn’t anyone think of that?”
I glanced at her. “Think of what?”
“There were all sorts of theories about what’d happened to you. Different factions, if you will. But I don’t remember anyone coming up with she’s gone into the witness protection program.”
Highball Rush: Bootleg Springs Book 6 Page 30
