Gin Fling (Bootleg Springs Book 5)

by Lucy Score

  “As long as you and everyone else involved is taking this seriously,” Shelby said, stroking a hand over Billy Ray’s silky ear.

  “This is bullshit,” Gibson snapped. I couldn’t help but agree with him.

  46

  Shelby

  A t first, being surrounded by people was entertaining. But the suffocating Shelby Watch soon began to take its toll. Not only was I never alone, but Jonah and I were never alone either. News of the “incident” on Mountain Road had spread. No one outside the Bodine, Tucker, and Thompson clans knew that there might be more to it than a stupid, dangerous prank.

  But within our ranks, everyone was aware and vigilant. And very, very present. Babysitting me seemed to have become a new Bootleg Springs pastime. I was looking forward to the triathlon tomorrow just to slip my guards for a few hours.

  Right now, Gibson was kicked back on the couch with Jonah’s mother, Jenny, watching some diving competition on TV. But even my noise-canceling headphones couldn’t block out their presence.

  Gibson was pumping off pissed-off vibes while Jenny was curled into herself. She’d tried to draw him out and was rewarded with the patented Gibson brush-off. A combination grunt and shrug that made it clear he wasn’t looking to be friendly.

  And I was just tired enough of dissecting things to let them both stew.

  I was tired.

  Bowie and Cassidy’s wedding was tomorrow, the triathlon. The end of summer. I’d scheduled my interview with the doctoral program director for a week after the triathlon. The tension in me was taut like a wire.

  I wanted to talk to Jonah about us. About the possibility of an “us” beyond August. But it was hard to have the conversation when we were surrounded by parents and siblings. And between the scare on the bike, the training, and polishing my dissertation, I was exhausted every night.

  I spared the couch occupants another glance.

  Gibson had hardly been seen since news broke about Callie’s murder. His brothers said he was locked in his shop. But he had shadows under his eyes and a beard that was days beyond well kept. He’d lost weight as well.

  Jonah walked in with Billy Ray on his heels. He paused in the doorway, the tension everyone exuded acted as a forcefield.

  “Everything okay?” he asked with suspicion.

  “Just great,” I lied, tilting my head in the direction of the couch.

  A diver on TV executed a perfect maneuver, and neither Gibson nor Jenny reacted.

  Abruptly, Gibson pushed off the couch and walked past Jonah into the kitchen. He returned with a beer and cracked it open.

  Jonah and I both watched as he sat back down and guzzled it.

  Gibson didn’t drink. Ever.

  “Gibs. What’s going on?” Jonah asked.

  I braced myself for an explosion. A denial.

  “Our father’s a murdering bastard. And we’re all just supposed to be fine with that,” he said, his tone flat and dull.

  Jenny winced, looking surprised.

  Jonah opened his mouth to speak, but I shook my head, warning him off.

  “He killed a sixteen-year-old girl who had her whole life ahead of her. We come from that. That’s in our blood. He was a monster,” he spat out, setting the beer down on the end table with a snap. “How are the sons of monsters supposed to protect someone?”

  “Your father didn’t kill anyone,” she said firmly. Too firmly for it to be parent patronization.

  I remembered our talk outside the library. How she warned me about taking on men of power. Specifically Judge Kendall. “Oh God, Jenny,” I breathed. “You know something.”

  All eyes went to her. Now, she looked sick.

  “I promise you boys, your father didn’t hurt Callie Kendall.”

  “Mom?” Jonah said his voice low. “What do you know?”

  She closed her eyes, rubbed a hand at her forehead.

  “I think we’re all going to need a drink,” she said.

  * * *

  We opened a bottle of whiskey and moved the discussion to the dining room. It felt formal. Gibson stared at the glass in his hand while Jonah and I waited.

  “I know your father didn’t kill Callie,” Jenny said, gaze skating back and forth between Jonah and Gibson.

  “Why? Because the drunk sonofabitch told you he didn’t?” Gibson snapped. There was so much pain in his voice that it hurt me to hear it.

  “Your father saved Callie Kendall’s life.”

  Gibson was shaking his head already. Like he was trying to shake free the hope the words sparked.

  “Mom, what are you saying?” Jonah asked.

  Jenny took a fortifying sip of whiskey and settled back in her chair.

  “Jonah was coming home from a late run to the grocery store—”

  “You mean the liquor store,” Gibson sneered.

  Jenny covered his hand with hers, and I watched in surprise when he didn’t pull away.

  Gibson Bodine needed a mom. A mom like Jenny. And that just about broke my heart for the man.

  I reached for Jonah’s hand under the table and squeezed.

  “The grocery store,” she repeated gently. “He’d gotten paid for a big job that day and had some money burning a hole in his pocket. So he got steaks for the whole family to grill the next day.”

  Gibson sat stonily. But he was listening.

  “He was on his way home. It was dark. There was this flash of red crumpled up on the side of the road.”

  I held my breath.

  Gibson pushed away from the table and rose but didn’t go anywhere.

  “It was Callie. She’d been hurt badly. Jonah thought maybe she’d been hit by a car. Until he got a better look at her. Her face was bruised and cut. There was a lot of blood. She had several cuts on one arm. They looked deep.”

  Gibson’s nostrils flared.

  I fought against the memories that threatened to swallow me. I knew what it was like to be bruised and cut.

  “He took his shirt off and tied it around her arm. Asked if she wanted to go to the hospital or home. She said neither. Asked him to help her get out.”

  “Who did it?” Gibson demanded. “Who did she say did it?”

  “She didn’t. She refused to tell him. Jonah worried that because she didn’t want to go home that it meant her father had done something. But when he asked her, Callie refused to answer. She begged him to get her out. To help her leave. To save her life. She was shaking, in shock. And terrified. He said he’d never seen anyone so scared in all his life.

  “So he took her to your grandfather’s cabin, where you live now. It had been empty for a few years by that point. And he called your mother. Connie called you that night and asked you to take your brothers and sister for the night. Remember?”

  Gibson nodded slowly. “I thought they’d had another fight and didn’t want anyone around.”

  “She came to the cabin with first aid supplies, and they did what they could to stop the bleeding and clean her up. She was hurt badly but kept insisting that she needed to get out. That her life depended on it. They believed her, Gibson. So the next day, your father took your mother’s car, and he and Callie left town. He drove her to New York. To a friend of a friend of Callie’s. Someone she said she could trust. And then he came home.”

  “None of this makes any sense. Obviously, he didn’t save her life. That’s still her body they found.”

  “No, it’s not,” Jenny said firmly.

  “The dental records matched,” Jonah chimed in. “They identified the body as hers.”

  “I’m telling you the dental records are wrong or the report was tampered with. That body is not Callie Kendall’s. But someone wants her to stay gone.”

  The hairs on my arms stood at attention.

  “What proof do you have?” Gibson demanded, his voice breaking.

  Thoughts whirled around in my brain.

  Wordlessly, Jenny reached into her purse and pulled out a stack of postcards. She laid them out one by one in fron
t of Gibson. Blue Moon Bend, New York. Buenos Aires. Tokyo. Atlanta. Los Angeles. London. Seattle. Boston.

  There were twelve in total. The first several were addressed to Jonah Bodine in Bootleg Springs.

  “I don’t understand,” Jonah said.

  Jenny tapped the first one. Blue Moon. “Flip it over.”

  Restlessly, Gibson flipped it on the table.

  Thanks for everything.

  Gibson sank back down in his chair like his knees had gone weak. He looked pale.

  Jonah picked up the card and studied it. “The postmark is a week after she went missing.”

  “Are you saying these postcards are all from Callie Kendall?” I asked, my curiosity getting the better of me rendering me unable to stay quiet.

  This was a family matter. But I’d been drawn into it. Or I’d drawn myself into it.

  Gibson flipped every card over carefully. “That’s her handwriting,” he said hoarsely.

  I skimmed over them quickly. They were all postmarked about a year apart. The more recent ones included innocuous song lyrics. The last card had been mailed thirteen months ago. To Jonah’s mother.

  “If she sent these cards,” I said, “there’s no way those remains are hers.”

  “And if they aren’t hers, who do they belong to?” Jonah asked. “And why does someone want everyone to believe it’s Callie?”

  * * *

  Q. Bootleg Springs is famous for the disappearance of Callie Kendall. What is your theory?

  Misty Lynn Prosser: Why’s everyone always goin’ on and on about that girl? So she disappeared. Big deal. She didn’t even live here. Personally, I couldn’t give two shits about what happened. Maybe she up and got herself murdered and dumped in the lake. Maybe she met a boy and ran away and got herself murdered and dumped in a different lake.

  47

  Jonah

  O ut of all the Bodines, I’d been the least affected by the Callie Kendall investigation and our father’s involvement. I hadn’t grown up here. Hadn’t known Callie or experienced the horror of her disappearance. Hadn’t been raised by the man that many now considered to be a murderer.

  But with my mother’s revelation, my head was spinning. Gibson looked like he’d just seen a ghost.

  I picked up the postcards again, examining them as if they held the answers.

  “I can’t believe you never told me,” I said to my mother.

  Mom winced. “Subjects pertaining to your father were a sore subject for you,” she said diplomatically. “And if his suspicions were correct and Judge Kendall had anything to do with Callie’s injuries, then that man is dangerous. Your father made me swear never to tell anyone. He didn’t want anyone else becoming a target.”

  Shelby was watching Gibson closely, drumming her fingers against her lips. Her tell for deep thought.

  My brother’s words echoed in my ears.

  That’s her handwriting.

  There was more to the story. A lot more. I was sure of it. But right now, there was an immediate danger to be dealt with.

  “I gotta be honest. This is a lot to process,” I said to the room in general.

  Shelby nodded, still staring at Gibson. I knew she’d zeroed in on his comment as well.

  “You knew this whole time?” he asked my mom quietly.

  “Yes. But it wasn’t my story to tell. I don’t tell stories that aren’t mine,” she said carefully as if she were delivering a message in code.

  “Jonah, can I see you in the kitchen for a minute?” Shelby said suddenly.

  “Uh, sure?”

  I followed her out of the dining room and into the kitchen.

  She turned to face me, arms crossed over her chest. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I said, not quite sure if I meant it or not. My mother had been keeping a secret so big it now involved dead bodies. And she’d kept it for over a decade.

  “This is a lot of information,” she pressed.

  I ran my hand through my hair.

  I could hear Gibson and my mother speaking in the dining room. He had questions. We all would. And I had one, too.

  “How did he recognize her handwriting?” I asked quietly.

  Shelby bit her lip. “I was wondering that myself,” she confessed.

  “Things are gonna get crazy,” I told her.

  She nodded. “But I’m here for you. Whatever you and your mom and the Bodines need.”

  I pulled her into my arms. “Thank you for being so good to my family.”

  “In a town this small, there aren’t many degrees of separation between your family and my family.”

  “Still,” I said, tilting her chin up. “Thank you.” I kissed her softly.

  * * *

  “So, who do we tell?” I asked.

  Everyone around the table was silent. Billy Ray burped under the table, then barked in delight.

  “We have to go to the authorities,” Shelby said. “They need to know that that body isn’t Callie Kendall. That some other family lost a daughter, a sister.”

  “Bowie and Cassidy are getting married tomorrow,” I reminded her. “Your triathlon is tomorrow.”

  “I realize that. But if this is all connected? If whoever threatened Cece Benefiel into retracting her claim was involved in Abbie Gilbert’s death?”

  “If the same person is responsible for that car nearly forcing you off the road on your bike,” I added.

  “If one person did all that, they’re also likely the person who hurt Callie in the first place. And they’re powerful enough to change a forensics report,” Shelby said.

  Her statement hung like a cloud over the table.

  “This is bullshit. We know it’s the judge,” Gibson said, slapping a hand on the table.

  The puppy barked ferociously at the noise. Gibs had accepted my mother’s story as the truth, which told me he either trusted her or he needed Callie Kendall to be alive. Maybe it was a bit of both.

  “Sorry, bud,” he said, leaning down to pick up Billy Ray. Despite the anger in his tone, he held the dog gently.

  “The evidence points in that direction,” Shelby began. “But we can’t be certain. If we start making accusations—”

  “Fuck accusations,” Gibson said. “I want a face-to-face conversation with the asshole.” Billy Ray took exception to the language and slathered Gibson’s face with his tongue. “Get your damn tongue out of my mouth!” he sputtered.

  The mood around the table lightened almost imperceptibly.

  “This is exactly why we shouldn’t tell Scarlett,” Shelby pointed out. “Half-cocked accusations aren’t going to get us a confession. And if it is the judge, he obviously has power and reach. He has access to police records, maybe even a thug or two in his pocket to do his dirty work.”

  Gibson handed the puppy over to my mother who still looked guilty and dazed.

  She and I were going to have a long talk in the near future.

  “Why didn’t you tell Jonah when he came here?” Shelby asked. It was like the woman could read my mind.

  “Everyone was safer assuming Callie Kendall was gone,” Mom said. She seemed lighter, too. As if sharing this news had somehow lessened a weight she’d been carrying for a long time.

  “Maybe everyone is still safer assuming she’s dead,” I pointed out.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” Gibson demanded.

  “Our brother is getting married tomorrow. Do we really want to have a family sit-down and ruin that? Who’s going to be paying attention to two people who waited their entire lives for six o’clock tomorrow when the whole world is lit up over Callie Kendall being alive?”

  “Still, it would be nice if she could go un-missing to clear this mess up,” Shelby mused.

  “Call her,” Gibson said earnestly to my mom. “Bring her back here.”

  “I can’t do that, Gibs. It was one-way communication. Everything was set up for her safety. I don’t know where she is or how to contact her. After your mother died, Callie an
d your father spoke on the phone. They decided that she would continue sending postcards but to me instead of here, where someone might notice them and wonder.”

  “Who would see a postcard and find it suspicious enough to raise a red flag?” Shelby asked.

  “Seriously, Shelby? How long have you been in Bootleg?” Gibson asked dryly. It was the first hint of humor I’d seen from him in a long time.

  She gave a little mock bow. “Point taken. The bottom line is, what if the postcards aren’t enough proof?” she said, wetting her lips. “If someone has the power to tamper with a forensics report, they’re not going to have much of a problem disproving a couple of postcards that could have been sent by anybody. Without Callie herself, we’ve still got nothing.”

  “You have me,” Mom said firmly. “Your father’s name needs to be cleared. I’ll tell them everything I know.”

  “It’s still… what would Jayme call it?” I asked. “Hearsay? So you got postcards in the mail. What are they going to do? Fingerprint them?”

  “Maybe. And there’s also the fact that I met her last year.”

  “Mom! Are you fucking kidding me?”

  “Holy shit,” Shelby breathed.

  “Holy shit. Disney princess swore,” Gibson whispered.

  “Watch your mouth, Jonah. And no, I’m not fucking kidding you,” Mom said with a slight smile. “When your father died last year, Callie called me. We met in Seattle for lunch.”

  “What did she say? How did she look? Could you tell it was her?” Shelby was hinged so far forward her chin was almost on the table.

  I stroked a hand over her back, feeling unusually calm. I assumed a complete and total breakdown was in my near future and decided to embrace the calm while it lasted.

  “She’d heard your father passed away. With both your parents gone, she felt her debt to them, to make sure they knew she was safe, had been fulfilled. That’s why the postcards stopped.”