by Tegan Maher
"Sure you will. It's kind of a no-brainer. If somebody offers you something like that, it's a gesture of goodwill; sort of like holding out a hand to shake. It’s rude to say no. Take it and say thank you. The one piece of advice I should probably give you is that any liquid in a glass jar should be handled with care. Unless you trust the source, don’t drink it. Take it because it’s a big deal for somebody to share their hooch with you, but dump it down the drain. Some of the shine around here will literally kill you, especially if you’re not used to it. Even if it doesn’t kill you, it’ll make you wish you were dead the next day.”
“You’re kidding, right? Moonshine’s really still a thing?”
“It’s definitely still a thing.”
As we were choosing our food trucks, Will and Violet Newsome walked by. “Hey, Will, Violet! Have you met our newest deputy yet? He moved here a few months ago. Hunter Woods, this is Will Newsome, doctor to all things with fur, feathers, or scales. Violet is his wife and right-hand woman."
Hunter held out his hand. "Nice to meet you, Will. Violet."
"Pleasure to meet you, too, Deputy," Will said, shaking hands. He was normally an upbeat guy with tons of energy and a ready smile, but right then he looked like he'd been through the wringer. Dark smudges rimmed his eyes, and he was sporting a five o'clock shadow that was well on its way to a beard.
Violet, on the other hand, looked fresh as spring daisy. She was one of those who had never quite found her place in Keyhole, but she'd always been nice to me, and Will obviously loved her.
I furrowed my brow. "Everything okay, Will?" Honestly, he looked like he'd been on a three-day bender, but I knew him better than that.
"Sure," he said, tipping the corners of his mouth up. "Just been putting in extra hours at the clinic."
Violet said, "You know how it is—some days you're the dog, others you're the hydrant."
Hunter nodded, studying Will. "I know how you feel. Since the sheriff died, everything's been dumped in my lap. I've been going through his records trying to bring myself current but there doesn't seem to be much going on. Peggy Sue's been extremely helpful."
Will, Violet, and I looked at each other. There was plenty going on in this town; Hank just didn't bother to make any files that didn't suit him or, more likely, that would incriminate him. Most real reports that would require effort or wouldn’t make him money, he just tossed straight into file thirteen like he did mine. Maybe I should suggest to Hunter that he dig deeper into that garbage can.
"So have you found anything odd?” Will asked. “The sheriff had a lot of ... side interests."
It was a good question, and I knew what Will was getting at. With everything Hank had going on, he had to have some sort of system to keep track of it all.
"Nothing really strange so far."
"Good luck, then." Will paused. "The sheriff wasn't exactly a nice guy, Deputy. Don't be surprised when you find evidence of that. There may come a time when you hold a lot of power over a lot of good people. And I hope you’re a better man than he was."
Well, that wasn't cryptic at all. I was just about to ask him what he meant when Violet looked at her watch.
"Will, our next appointment is in twenty minutes." She turned to us. "We just popped up to grab something to take back to the office. It was nice to meet you, Deputy. Noelle, always a pleasure."
We said our goodbyes and they continued on their way.
After he'd gone, Hunter turned to me. "I'm starting to think you weren't exaggerating. Was the sheriff really that bad?"
"No, I’ve been lying to beat a murder rap."
He scowled at me, but didn’t reply. "What was with the cryptic comments?"
"I don't know." I tilted my head and thought about my experiences with Hank—the taxes, the threats, and even the brakes. “Hank was into some shady crap, and if he had to put a head or two in a vice to get something he wanted, he'd squeeze as hard as he had to. It's hard to tell what's going to turn up now that his rock's been kicked over."
The smells of greasy carnival food and barbecue tinged the air with deliciousness, and my stomach rumbled for something more substantial than the bear claw.
There was a makeshift bar set up in the middle, but since both of us were working we skipped it, opting instead for the homemade lemonade the Boy Scout troop was selling.
The choices for BBQ were overwhelming, and I wasn't feeling any kind of smoked or sauced meat. Instead, I opted for a foot-long corndog and fries, and Hunter went to Bobbie Sue's booth and bought a pulled-pork sandwich from Sarah.
We sat at one of the long, family-style picnic tables and were almost finished when Sam and Callie McCauley, a couple who had moved to Keyhole from Tennessee a few years back, plopped down across from us with plates piled high with food. I introduced them and we chatted about the town for a while, and Hunter told them a little bit about himself. It wasn't long before the conversation inevitably turned to Hank.
Callie brought it up first. "So," she said, hesitant but determined to talk about it. "It sure is sad what happened to Hank yesterday."
Sam snorted. "Sad that it took so long for it to happen, you mean. Maybe now we can get some law enforcement around here that, you know, actually respects and enforces the law instead of uses the badge to bully people and rob them blind."
Hunter choked on his lemonade but recovered quickly. I shrugged my shoulder and gave him my best I-told-you-so expression.
"Is there a single person in this town who liked the man, or even feels a little bad he's dead?"
I dragged a fry through a glob of ketchup and opted to keep my mouth shut so he could see for himself what others really thought.
Callie blushed and looked at her plate but apparently opted for honesty. "Well, I hate to speak ill of the dead, but no, likely not many. I reckon his backup crew, Butch Davies and Ronnie Dean, are probably sorry. They're kind of out in the wind now that they don't have somebody in a position of power on their side."
Sam nodded and took a swig of his beer. "Oh, and Cheri Lynn Hall is probably going to be pretty upset, but only because she's lost her meal ticket."
Hunter looked at him. "Cheri Lynn Hall?"
I swallowed a bite of corndog and said, "Yeah. She's Hank's mistress. Though that seems a bit classy to describe the relationship. She lives on the outskirts of town in a trailer and dances at Tassels which, as the name implies, is a strip club. It's across the tracks."
Before you laugh, yes, we have a literal “wrong side of the tracks” where the less savory businesses have set up shop. There's Tassels, a couple of adult toy stores, a seedy hotel, a run-down liquor store, a shady all-night truck stop, and a pawnshop.
Hunter took a bite of his sandwich and chewed thoughtfully. "Why do I have a feeling there's more to Hank than I learned during my interview, or from working with him over the last couple months?"
"Probably because there is, but none of it’s good." I replied.
Sam and Callie just nodded, and I relayed the dirt I'd picked up at the Clip N Curl yesterday.
Callie piped up. "And we all know Jim Simpson slips him a ton of cash to look the other way so he can keep Tassels and the liquor store open after hours. And that's just the tip of the iceberg." She shrugged. "Far as I'm concerned, the mass amounts of fried food and snack cakes he ate finally paid off. At least for the town."
I glanced at my phone and realized it was almost time for me to relieve Sarah at Bobbie Sue's booth. I popped the last fry in my mouth and stood to leave. "Sam, Callie, it was good to see you again. Hunter—"
His phone rang, interrupting whatever I was going to say, which was probably a good thing. I had no idea what would have been the right thing to say. I wasn't exactly graceful when it came to the whole boy-girl thing.
He looked at the screen and held up a finger. "Excuse me." He slid his finger across the screen to answer. "I have to take this." He answered and an excited voice reverberated through his speaker. Hunter pulled the phone away from his e
ar and scrambled away from the table for some privacy, but it was too little, too late. The rest of the conversation didn't really matter because everybody within a ten-foot radius heard the first, critical sentence that would most assuredly make the gossip rounds in record time.
The tinny voice had yelled, "It wasn't a heart attack like we thought—somebody up and killed him!"
We all strained to hear the rest of the conversation, but Hunter had moved away from the table and was standing by the garbage can several yards away. He had one finger stuffed in his ear so he could hear; the guy on the other end had apparently lowered his voice, albeit a bit too late.
I was dying to hear what was being said as much as Callie and Sam were, but the information well had dried up and I needed to relieve Sarah. "Well. I guess somebody got tired of waiting for the junk food to do its job,” I told them. “Y'all have a good day. It was good seeing you."
They said their goodbyes, then I gathered our trash and headed toward where Hunter was standing. He was still on the phone, so I tossed our empty containers in and touched him on the arm. He looked up.
I smiled and mouthed, "See you later."
He winked and nodded, then turned back to his call. I tried to drown the butterflies that wink stirred up in my belly with a huge gulp of lemonade.
When I made it to Bobbie Sue's booth, Sarah was almost beside herself. "Is it true? Did somebody really off Hank?"
I raised my brows and looked back toward Hunter. He was still on the phone, and there wasn't a single customer at the booth. Sure, the gossip mill turns fast, but seriously? "How in the name of all that's holy do you know that already?"
She snorted as she pulled off her apron and scooped her cash out of the tip jar. "You're kidding, right? There were a half-dozen people standing close enough to hear that. I'm only thirty feet away and that's the type of news everybody wants to be the first to deliver. I've already heard it from three people. What they couldn't tell me was how he died."
"I wish I could tell you. You already know everything I do. Somebody called Hunter and was so excited he was practically yelling. Hunter held the phone out before he realized what was coming, and everybody around him heard it. All the voice said was that somebody killed him."
"Well, I can't say I'm surprised." She picked up a box of to-go food. "Your deputy's got his work cut out for him, though. I can't think of anybody who hasn't wanted to wring Hank’s neck at some point. Heck, my uncle Dan is a preacher and Hank tried to charge the church a rental fee when they had youth day camp at the county park last summer. Dan is a real turn-the-other-cheek kinda guy, but even he was ready to punch Hank in the mouth."
I thought back to my college days when I had big dreams of becoming a CSI, and considered everything that had happened in the last couple days. For the first time in my life, I was glad to be wearing an apron instead of a badge.
I DIDN'T LEAVE THE fair until after eleven and was beat when I walked into the house. I was dreading dealing with the motorcycle incident, but it needed to be addressed, and Camille was supposed to come for her answer too.
Shelby was waiting for me in the kitchen when I got there, her elbows on the table and her phone facedown in front of her. Her expression was refreshingly devoid of attitude.
I plunked my purse onto the table and pulled out the chair beside her, curling my tired bare toes against the cool hardwood floor. She looked up at me.
"Has Camille been here yet?"
Shelby raised her brow. "Weirdly enough, I forgot she was supposed to be here tonight. I haven't heard a word from her."
That wasn't so unusual. She seemed to be nocturnal and often stopped by after ten. Maybe she did it because that was the only time we were both sure to be home.
On to the main event, then.
"Shel, today wasn't okay."
Her crestfallen look made me want to turn back time by two minutes and keep my mouth shut, but I couldn't.
"It's not what you think, Noelle. He's a really nice guy. He just moved here a few months ago because his parents died. That's why he was at the deserted section of the lake that day. He asked me to meet him at the fair today and when I saw his bike, I begged him for a ride. He truly didn't want to without your permission, but I talked him into it. He drove all the way back to his place from the fair just to get a helmet for me because he wouldn't let me ride without it. Please, just give him a chance, okay?"
This was a side of Shelby I hadn't seen in a long time. For months, she'd been belligerent and hotheaded, refusing to follow any of the rules we'd established or communicate rationally about anything. Raising a teenager would have been hard enough, but raising one with powerful but unruly elemental magic was ten times worse.
"It's kind of nice to hang out with somebody who knows what I am,” she continued. “At least if I slip around him, I won't have to make some stupid explanation up. I can be me, which takes a lot of stress off." The look in her eyes was so earnest my anger melted away.
I couldn't even begin to imagine how frustrating her situation was for her. We're both telepathic—or at least we thought she was—but I was able to build walls as I grew to help me filter out thoughts and control my gift.
She couldn't seem to master it or control it; the only thing she could do was try to block it. She said sometimes it was like everybody in the room was talking to her all at once, then it would cut out and she wouldn’t hear anything for days or weeks at a time, even if she tried.
She could often project if she really tried, but reception was iffy.
Addy floated forward and whispered in my ear. "Noelle, I don't like the motorcycle thing, but if you push too hard on this, she's just gonna want him all that much more. Pick your battles and play the long game, sugar. He might even turn out to be good for her."
I was shocked when I heard Shelby's voice in my head for the first time in months and saw her concentrating to push her words through. Please, Noelle. He's different. At least meet him before you decide.
I had to admit her request was fair, though I was still skeptical. "Okay. But I have to meet him, especially before I decide about the motorcycle."
She squealed again and hugged me so tight I thought she was going to strangle me. "You're going to love him—I just know you are! He wants me to show him around tomorrow. I figured I'd take him to the fair. And we'll take my car instead of his bike, until you can meet him. Can I?"
For the first time in months, my sister was actually trying to get along instead of running her mouth, sneaking around, and being a pain. Maybe having a friend would be good for her, even if I didn't particularly like that the friend was a boy. Her best friend Emma, Camille’s daughter, was out of town, and most of her other friends were more like acquaintances.
"Fine. As long as you take your car. And stop in at Brew and at least introduce us properly."
For the second time that night, my little sister hugged me. I'm not typically a hugger, but in this case, it was a hundred times better than the back-sassing, door-slamming behavior that seemed to be her preferred method of communication lately. She was happy, and she wasn't mad at me.
I'd take it.
Chapter 11
W
hen I stumbled into Brew4U at six o'clock the next morning, my head felt like it was packed with cotton. For the first time ever, I wished it was just an everyday job so I could have called off, but it wasn't.
I usually worked a couple of days a week to help Raeann keep her labor costs down. Though the shop was doing well, she had student loans and a small business loan to pay. She insisted I keep every penny we made off the pastries, so I figured it was the least I could do.
Besides, between my job and hers, and the extra time she was spending with Jake these days, we didn't get much quality time together.
She was already there, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, when I arrived. "Well good morning, sunshine!" she chirped.
I blinked twice to clear the sand from my eyes and contemplated strangling her, but ju
st didn't have the energy. Plus, it wasn't her fault she was one of those freaky morning people, and I’d regret it once I was caffeinated.
"Coffee," I croaked.
"Already gotcha covered," she replied, careful to keep her distance as she shoved the cup down the counter to me. She knew me well.
Because most of the prep work was done in the afternoon at closing time, we didn't have much to do other than turn on the espresso machine, unlock the door, and turn on the neon-pink open sign.
Since she'd already warmed up the espresso machine, I flicked my wrist a couple of times to unlock the door and turn on the sign, then slid the pastry case open. Yawning, I summoned two strawberry-cream-cheese turnovers, dropping one on a napkin in front of her and catching the other mid-air.
She smiled appreciatively and took a bite. "Yum. Breakfast of champions. So what do you think about the whole Hank situation?"
I had, of course, texted her the minute Sarah had walked away the afternoon before, filling her in about Hank and the motorcycle incident, but had been too busy the rest of the evening to call her with the details.
"I think I'm glad I'm not the one responsible for finding the killer. That's gonna be a hot mess for sure. The few people who didn't hate him have lost their muscle now that he's dead, and you can't swing a cat without hitting somebody who's wanted to kill him at one time or another. Heck, I had the urge to choke the life out of him myself just a minute before he checked out. As a matter of fact, I gave him a warning squeeze and told him that one of these days he was gonna mess with the wrong person."
"Well, we know for a fact that besides you, Marge and Bob from the hardware store had motive. So did the guy who owned the cafe next to the Clip N Curl, but he moved away. I suppose Anna Mae would, though you'd think she would have done it already instead of waiting twenty years." She paused, considering who else might have taken issue with Hank. "Then there's any number of people he's railroaded out of cash with his trumped-up speeding charges and inflated property taxes and made-up fines and assessments, though you wouldn't think that would be cause for murder."
