by Lucy Score
“I’d be curious, too,” Bowie admitted. “Why don’t we do some preliminary introductions at least?”
Sallie Mae Brickman was leaning so far back in her chair to catch the scraps of our conversation I worried she’d end up on her ass in her Sunday best.
“You already know that I’m Scarlett. I’m the youngest and only girl. I run Bodine’s Home Services, and I’ve got a few rental properties here in town.”
“I’m Bowie, your age, which puts us as the second oldest in the crooked Bodine totem pole. I’m the vice principal at the high school.”
Jameson hated shit like this, so I enjoyed watching him squirm.
I grinned at him. “Come on, Jame. It’s not that hard.”
“Jameson, second youngest. I work with metal.”
“He’s a pretty amazing artist,” I supplied for Jonah. It was true. What Jameson couldn’t seem to put into his human interactions, he twisted and welded in metal form. His popularity had skyrocketed since he’d been commissioned to do a large-scale installation in a park in Charleston.
“You know who I am,” Gibson said, his tone surly.
“Yeah, we get that you’re the resident asshole, brother dearest. Tell Jonah something he doesn’t know,” I suggested helpfully.
“I’m the oldest. I’m a woodworker.”
I snorted. “Gibson likes working with wood.”
“Nothing makes Gibs happier than havin’ a handful of wood,” Bowie agreed with a wink.
Even Gibson managed a smirk at that while the rest of us busted up laughing.
“It’s a double entendre about erections,” I whispered to Devlin who appeared not to have gotten the joke.
“I get it,” he said dryly.
“Your turn, Dev. Tell Jonah who you are.”
“I’m Devlin. I have nothing to do with your situation.”
“What do you do, McAllister?” Gibson asked, shifting his pissed-offness to Devlin.
“I’m a disgraced lawmaker in the Maryland State Assembly.”
I choked on my coffee and sent a fine spray across the table.
“Thanks, Scar,” Bowie said, mopping up the mess.
“Disgraced in what way?” Jameson pressed. Jameson was interested enough to ask questions. That was a first.
“I was going to get around to telling you this part,” Devlin said, looking at me sheepishly.
“Oh, boy.” I could only imagine. This was the part where he told me he ran over his soon-to-be ex-wife or, worse, took a vow of chastity.
“My wife was cheating on me, and I was too busy to notice,” Devlin said matter-of-factly. “When I did notice, it wasn’t pretty. My divorce will be final in a few weeks.”
He shot me the side-eye.
“Uh-huh.” I knew all this already.
“I’m on leave and under orders to lay low because, on the last day we were in session, I assaulted the guy she was sleeping with.”
Bowie slapped the table and hooted.
Gibson gave an almost imperceptible nod of approval. “Bet that felt good,” he predicted.
The corner of Devlin’s mouth quirked up.
I reached under the table and squeezed his knee. His truth seemed to embarrass him. But a man who’d punch out an asshole didn’t scare me. Hell, in Bootleg, that was an admirable quality.
“Your turn, Jonah. Spill your guts,” I said cheerfully.
“I’m Jonah Bodine. My mom gave me my father’s name, but that’s the only piece of him I ever had or wanted. I live in Washington State, and I’m a personal trainer. Until a week ago, I thought I was an only child. I don’t want anything from you. Just maybe a chance to get to know you. If you’re not all assholes.” Jonah reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. My brothers and I shared a glance. It was a nervous trait we’d all seen in our father.
“Why didn’t he want anything to do with you?” Gibson asked.
“Jeez, Gibs,” I rolled my eyes. “Maybe tone it down a notch?”
“No, it’s okay,” Jonah shrugged. “My mom never talked about him much. We used to live in Virginia. I guess she met your dad at a diner when he was passing through. I didn’t ask for details. She didn’t know he was married. She said he tried to make it right, but she didn’t want to ruin a family. So we made our own.”
“You said last night you’d met him twice?” I prodded.
Jonah nodded. “First time when I was like six or seven. We were still in Virginia then, and he came to the house one day. I was playing in the yard. We threw ball. I didn’t know. I was just a kid. When my mom came out, she freaked. Sent me inside. They talked for a long time in the yard, and then she cried the rest of the night.”
Gibson was staring hard at the table. Bowie was frowning into space. Jameson was his usual unreadable self. I wasn’t sure who I hurt for more.
“Before I put y’all’s food down, is there gonna be anyone else joining you?” Clarabell asked, carting a tray of steaming breakfast food.
Devlin answered for us all, and she doled out the hot plates.
“Be back with refills,” she promised and hustled away.
We dug in in silence and let Jonah’s story settle over us.
“You said you saw him twice,” Gibson said, finally breaking the silence.
Jonah poked at his eggs. “We moved cross-country when I started college. One weekend, I came home with a basket of laundry, and there he was at my mother’s house. He was drunk, upset about something, and she was treating him like a sick kid. I blew up. She had a boyfriend at the time, a nice guy. I thought he was back to mess things up for her again. I left, went back to school. We never spoke about it again.”
“I don’t know if y’all did the math, but that lines up with when Dad disappeared after Mom died,” I said quietly.
“So, he waited all of five seconds after she died before running back to the woman he had an affair with?” Gibson asked bitterly. “No offense,” he added at Jonah.
“Do you think Mom knew?” Bowie asked.
No one answered him.
I didn’t know what the best answer would be. Mama and Daddy’s relationship was volatile at best. In most ways, their relationship never progressed past the high school years. Petty jealousies, unrealistic expectations. They fought more than they got along, and we’d grown up thinking it was normal. There was a good reason none of us Bodines had settled down. We didn’t know how.
Cassidy and June’s parents, Sheriff Harlan and Nadine Tucker, were another story. Steady and strong. I know there’d been times over the years when they’d stepped up for each one of us when our own parents weren’t capable. I was grateful. And jealous.
Devlin cleared his throat. “It sounds like the next best step would be for you all to spend some time together. Get to know each other and decide if this is a relationship you want to develop or let go.”
We all looked at him.
“Look at you bein’ all lawyerly,” I crooned.
“Well, would you look at that, Bodines?” Bowie announced. “A mature suggestion that actually makes sense.”
“I guess it’s less taxing than beating the shit out of each other,” Gibson mused. He waved Clarabell over. “Clarabell, I changed my mind. I think I’ll have the eggs benedict.”
12
Devlin
It appeared that the Bodines had reached a tentative truce. It was good news for them, but I still had yet to get Scarlett alone to talk to her about that kiss. I had thought of little else, and the longer we went without talking about it, the stupider I felt bringing it up.
I watched her through the deck doors. It was another beautiful spring day. A Monday, and I had no place to be but staring out the door onto the deck where the afternoon sun was shining, the birds were singing, and a beautiful woman was swearing a blue streak at a particularly bad-tempered joist.
She wore those ass-hugging jeans and an old V-neck t-shirt. Her work boots were doll-sized and scarred from years of abuse. She wore her hair back in a high ponytai
l that made me want to wrap it around my fist. A new temptation.
“That’s my new sister you’re staring at there,” Jonah said wryly.
“Got a problem with it?” I asked.
Jonah smirked. “Don’t know yet. What are your intentions?”
I gave a dry laugh. That was the thing about Scarlett. She inspired instant and unshakable loyalty.
“I don’t know what my intentions are. I can’t get her alone to talk to her long enough to find out.”
“I’m torn by newfound family loyalty and roommate gratitude,” Jonah warned.
Scarlett hammered the wayward joist into submission with a triumphant shout and was working on positioning the new board on top of it when her phone rang. I watched her idly as Jonah prowled the kitchen. “You want eggs?” he asked.
We’d worked out a deal on splitting groceries and utilities. and like magic, food appeared in the fridge. An added bonus? Jonah could cook.
“Sure,” I said.
“You son of a bitch!” We both heard Scarlett growl into her phone. It was different than the litany of curse words she’d laid down on the timber.
Jonah left the eggs on the counter, and I started to open the door.
“If you don’t give me my shit back, I will burn down your life!”
Jonah and I exchanged a glance.
“Yeah, that’s real funny Wade,” Scarlett shouted. “You know what I’m gonna do? I’m gonna go find a nice tiny jar that I can store your little baby balls in. And when I find it, you better hide because I’m coming for you and your microscopic balls.”
The unlucky bastard on the other end of the call must have hung up on her because Scarlett held the phone in front of her face and gave a scream of rage. She wound up and hurled the phone off the deck into the yard.
Jonah whistled. “Nice arm.”
She reached for the nail gun and started to wind up again.
In a display of emergency teamwork, Jonah got the door open, and I nipped her around the waist before she was able to launch it into the yard. She fought like a wild animal in my arms. I outweighed her by a good hundred pounds and had a foot on her. It was almost comical… at least until the heel of her boot connected with my knee.
I pressed her against the siding of the house. “Scarlett,” I said calmly. “Breathe.”
She growled, and Jonah backed up a few paces.
“Breathe,” I ordered again.
She sucked in a seething breath.
“If I let you go, are you going to break anything else?”
“Just Wade Zirkel’s face.”
Good enough for me. I released her. “Who’s Wade Zirkel?”
She crossed her arms in front of her, temper snapping off of her like downed wires. “A big mistake I made a few weeks ago. He has some of my stuff and thinks he can hold it hostage until I ‘come to my senses’.”
I knew two things for sure. I hated Wade Zirkel, and I hoped I never, ever made Scarlett Bodine this mad.
“I’m takin’ my lunch,” Scarlett announced and stormed down the deck stairs.
It was two o’clock on a Monday, and she’d already eaten her sandwich with her toes in the water.
I looked at Jonah over my shoulder. “What would Bootleg do?”
Apparently, Bootleg would text Scarlett’s brothers. At the diner, with a tentative family truce in place, everyone had traded numbers. Today, Jonah called his first family meeting. Bowie was at school but demanded that he be conferenced in.
“Now what did she do?” Gibson demanded, slamming the door of his Dodge Charger in my driveway. Jameson climbed out the passenger side.
“Wade Zirkel,” I said, filling them in on the situation.
“I hate that fucking guy,” Jameson muttered.
“Guess he didn’t learn his lesson last time,” Gibson said. “Get the trash bags.”
“Awh, hell,” Bowie said from the screen of Jonah’s phone. “I’ll meet you guys there. But I can’t get blood on me. I’ve got a parent conference tonight.”
Gibson eyed me up and pointed. “Bring a change of clothes for Bow,” he said.
“What exactly are we doing?” I asked.
“Bootleg justice,” Jameson and Gibson said together.
The ride to Wade Zirkel’s apartment was relatively quiet. Jonah and I sat in the back, the roll of trash bags and a clean shirt and pants between us. I still wasn’t sure if the bags were for Scarlett’s possessions or Wade Zirkel’s body.
It occurred to me that this was probably something I shouldn’t be doing while laying low. But I didn’t like that some asshole thought he could treat Scarlett like this. And I really didn’t like the idea of him being anything to her.
Gibson pulled up to the curb in front of a duplex and revved the engine twice. A warning. I saw the blinds twitch on the first floor.
Bowie’s SUV pulled up behind us, and he got out in khakis and a button-down. He took his tie off and threw it through his open window.
“I can’t believe she gave this asshole the time of day again,” Jameson muttered.
“This is the last time,” Gibson promised. “Get the trash bags.”
I grabbed them out of the backseat and was relieved when I noted none of them were carrying weapons. “So what’s the plan?” I asked casually.
“We’re going to scare the shit out of this douchebag and get our sister’s stuff back,” Gibson said.
I nodded thoughtfully. “Uh-huh. Sure. And how are we going to do that?”
“Just follow our lead,” Bowie sighed, rolling up his sleeves.
Jonah and I exchanged a look, each of us wondering exactly what was going down and how much legal trouble we’d be in.
We climbed up onto the skinny concrete porch, and Gibson ignored the bell in favor of a heavy fist to the door.
The blinds twitched again.
“Might as well open the door, Wade,” Bowie called out.
We all heard the sound of the deadbolt sliding open. Wade Zirkel peered through the inch of door that he cracked open. He had a ball cap on and a polo shirt that was plastered over “I go to the gym seven days a week” muscles. He was the kind of fake-tanned, bleach-toothed, former quarterback who was still riding high on his high school fame. I hated him even more.
“Well, hey there, Bodines. What do I owe the pleas—”
Jameson shouldered his way through the door, shoving Wade back a few paces.
“You can’t just come in! That’s breaking and entering,” Wade squealed.
“Actually it’s only trespassing,” I pointed out.
“We’re not here for pleasantries,” Bowie announced. “We’re here for Scarlett’s stuff.”
“I can call the cops,” Wade announced, puffing out his impressive chest. The handsome bastard looked like a cross between Paul Walker and Vin Diesel from the car movies.
“Do you really want to do that?” I asked him. “The fines for trespassing are a lot lighter than harassment and larceny. Did you know you can face up to six months in prison for petty theft?” I asked him.
Wade blinked, his tan face going a shade of red.
“That’s right, Wade. We brought ourselves a lawyer,” Bowie said. “Now, are you gonna let us take Scarlett’s stuff, or are we going to have to do this the hard way?”
Wade bobbed his head under his red Zirkel Auto Sales hat. “Help yourselves,” he said meekly.
“Do we know what stuff she has here?” Bowie asked me in a whisper. I shrugged.
Gibson stalked up to Wade and stared the man down. He was a big guy, but the second Gibson Bodine invaded his personal space, he shrank into himself, shoulders stooping, gaze gluing to the floor.
“I want a sandwich,” Gibson announced.
Wade gulped audibly. “Okay.”
“Make me a sandwich, Zirkel.”
“S-s-sure. Roast beef or t-t-t-una?”
If Wade made it through this encounter without pissing his pants, I’d consider it a miracle.
“Come on,” Bowie said, leading the way down the hall and up the stairs. “Gibs will babysit him.” He handed out trash bags.
“You all take the bedroom. I’ll start in the bathroom.”
I had no idea what we were looking for. I found a pink hoodie on the floor of the closet and threw it in the bag along with a pair of leggings that I doubted belonged to Zirkel. I really hated the idea of Scarlett being here with this guy. He was an overgrown asshole with a pretty face who obviously didn’t know how to treat women.
Jonah tossed me a Bodine Home Services t-shirt and a pair of socks with hearts all over them.
Feeling irritable, I grabbed the stack of scratch-off lottery tickets off of the nightstand and added them to the bag.
“Find stuff?” Bowie asked, sticking his head out of the bathroom.
Jonah picked up a scrap of material off the shag carpeting. “What’s this?” It was black-and white-striped and stretchy.
“That’s Misty Lynn’s ‘get lucky’ tube top,” Bowie said, glowering at the shirt. He snatched it out of Jonah’s hand.
I briefly wondered what kind of alternate universe I’d landed in. Here, your neighbors knew what outfit you wore to get lucky. In Annapolis and D.C., you kept your secrets on lock down because, sooner or later, someone would use them against you.
“And we hate Misty Lynn?” Jonah guessed.
“She cheated on Gibson when Mom died,” Bowie said shortly. “And apparently Mr. Zirkel had no problem mixin’ it up with her and Scarlett.”
There was a tic beneath Bowie’s eye. “Take the shower curtain,” he growled at us before marching downstairs.
Jonah and I looked at each other and shrugged. I headed into the shoebox of a bathroom and yanked the shower curtain off its hooks.
“Why do y’all have Misty Lynn Prosser’s shirt on your bedroom floor on top of Scarlett’s stuff?” Bowie’s raised voice carried up the stairs.
“We should probably get down there,” Jonah suggested.
I wasn’t sure if he was worried about missing out on the action or being there to prevent any murders.
Wade was sputtering his excuses in the kitchen. And Gibson was glaring at the man like he’d like to beat him to death with his own arms.
