Whiskey Chaser (Bootleg Springs Book 1)

by Lucy Score

  He released my wrist, his expression unreadable. I couldn’t stop myself from reaching out and running my palms over his broad chest.

  “I can’t just pack up and leave,” he said. “What about Jonah? My grandmother’s house—”

  “Granny Louisa will be fine with Jonah staying on. She trusts my judgment.”

  I saw Devlin’s jaw clench once and then relax.

  “This is what we’d planned all along,” I reminded him. “A great time and a friendly parting.”

  “I thought we’d be saying goodbye in a different way,” Devlin admitted.

  I gave him a saucy wink. “Naked, you mean?”

  “Well. Yeah. A romantic dinner on the deck watching the sun set,” he said, tracing the back of his knuckles over my cheek. “A good bottle of wine. Candles.”

  I was melting into him when I needed to be walking away. I let my fingers dig in to his chest.

  “Thanks for all the orgasms,” I said, desperate to keep it light.

  I saw a flash of amusement and sadness in his brown eyes, and then he slid his hands around my waist. “Thanks for an unforgettable summer,” he whispered.

  I closed the distance between our mouths and kissed him hungrily. This was no sweet goodbye. This was desperation, a need unmet. I felt him thicken and harden against my belly. God, I wanted him. Not one last time though. I wanted him every night forever. I knew for sure that no one else would make me feel the way Devlin Brooks McCallister did. And in that moment, I almost hated my daddy just a little bit.

  “There’s an alley six feet from here,” Devlin said, pulling back, his breathing ragged.

  I laughed breathlessly. “That’s not a good idea.”

  “Right. My parents might catch us,” he said casting a glance in the diner window. Half of the customers had their noses pressed up against the plate glass window.

  “Oh, for Pete’s sake! Sit down and eat your breakfasts,” I hollered.

  Mona Lisa McNugget, Bootleg’s official mascot chicken, strutted past pecking her little beak at the piece of toast Moonshine staff left for her every morning.

  “I’m going to miss this place,” Devlin said, waving to Mrs. Morganson through the window.

  “Look at us bein’ all civilized about this,” I said. “You must have rubbed off on me.”

  Devlin threaded his fingers through my ponytail. “I think the rubbing was mutual.”

  “I sure hope so,” I breathed. He was put back together. That was for sure. Gone was the shadowed, anxious man who’d arrived in Bootleg. In his place was a strong, smart, capable man who had better not take shit from anyone or else I’d have to track him down and give him another lesson.

  “Dev, promise me you won’t get back with Johanna,” I said. “I know it’s not fair to try to dictate who you date and don’t date. But she’s no good for you. You can do better.”

  “I’ve already done better, Scarlett.”

  47

  Scarlett

  “If you have no further questions for my clients, we’ll leave you to do your jobs.” Jayme, our surprise lawyer, was a shark in a sleek pantsuit and sky-high heels. She’d nearly tackled me and my brothers on our way into the police station, claiming to be our representation. Jayme had already been briefed on our situation and claimed that a friend had called in a favor. I assumed it was Sheriff Tucker worried about us Bodines. Old habits were hard to break.

  Sheriff Tucker exchanged a long look with the homicide detective who’d driven in to stick his nose into the case. Detective Connelly wore his years of experience in the deep lines of his face. “We’ll do our best to keep your clients’ names out of this mess,” Sheriff Tucker promised. “But with forensics going over their daddy’s house, it’s only a matter of time before every busybody in the tri-county area knows.”

  Gibson shifted in his chair, no happier about a team of investigators ripping through our childhood home than I was.

  “We appreciate every effort you make to ensure my clients’ privacy.” Jayme said, cool as the cucumber eye masks at Bootleg Springs Spa.

  I took my cue from her and stood up while she packed her briefcase. “Gentlemen,” I said, nodding at the sheriff I’d known my entire life. His mustache twitched. And I knew this was as hard on him as it was on us.

  Cassidy was pacing outside the door and grabbed me by the tank top straps. “You were in there for fucking ever!”

  “Excuse me, deputy. My clients and I were just leaving.” Jayme hauled me out of Cassidy’s grip and through the back door of the station where our lawyer had ordered Gibson to park in the alley. “We’re having a meeting,” she announced. “Where can we go?”

  “We can go to my house,” I sighed.

  “I’ll follow you.” Jayme slid behind the wheel of a sexy little crossover vehicle.

  I climbed in the backseat behind Bowie.

  “Well, that was fun,” Jameson drawled.

  “We did the right thing,” Bowie said. “Callie’s father has a right to know, and who knows? Maybe they’ll turn up evidence that leads them to the real killer.”

  Gibson’s eyes found mine in the rearview mirror. Neither one of us said anything. It was a tentative truce.

  “I can’t believe you went to Cassidy behind my back,” I said, slapping Bowie’s head from behind.

  “Ow! What are you talking about? She said you went to her.”

  I leaned around the seat and grabbed my brother in a chokehold. “Are you sayin’ you didn’t tell her?” I demanded, applying just enough pressure to make him uncomfortable.

  “Gibs, I’m gonna kill you for teachin’ her this one,” Bowie gasped.

  “Swear it, Bow! Swear you didn’t tell Cassidy,” I growled.

  He slapped at my arm. “I didn’t say a damn word to anyone.”

  “Wrote an unsigned letter? Made an anonymous call? Hired a sketchy skywriter?” I pressed.

  His neck was turning a deep shade of raspberry.

  “Jesus, Scar. I swear I didn’t tell anyone.”

  I released him and sat back to glare at Jameson. He held up a hand before I could attack from the side. “It wasn’t me either.”

  All eyes slid to Gibson.

  “Don’t look at me. I’ve been holed up in the workshop for three days. I didn’t even see the sweater.”

  “None of y’all talked?”

  Gibson made the turn into my driveway. “How do we know you didn’t tell her?”

  “I did tell her but only because she already knew!”

  Jayme pulled in next to us, and I couldn’t help but look next door. Jonah’s car was in the driveway, but there was no sign of Devlin’s. Was he already gone? Had he really vanished from my life just like that? It was what he needed to do, what he should do. But why did that half-empty driveway hit me like a fist to the gut?

  “Cute place,” Jayme said, pulling off her designer sunglasses and studying my cottage. I couldn’t tell if she was being sincere or sarcastic.

  “Come on in, y’all,” I said, leading the way.

  I put the coffee on and poured glasses of ice water while Jayme arranged her files just so on my dining table.

  “Okay, here’s the deal,” she said, launching into business. “The sweater is being sent off for forensic testing. It’ll take weeks for any results to come back, so that’s a little bit of a reprieve. However, the crime scene investigation team already started on your father’s house. The sheriff and Detective Connelly have agreed to refer to you all only as ‘witnesses’ in any official statements and paperwork. But I grew up in a small town, and I know how fast news travels. You’re not to comment to anyone about anything,” she said. “Got it?”

  I nodded, and Jayme zeroed in on me. “That includes your deputy friend.”

  “Cassidy is trustworthy,” I argued. “She’s on our side.”

  “Say nothing to anyone,” Jayme enunciated crisply. “This is now a police matter, and I don’t want you to get tangled up in this any further. None of you are sus
pects. None of you are to blame for any potential actions by your parent or parents. That being said, they will name Jonah Bodine as a person of interest. That plus the sweater when it leaks—and it will—will have the media swarming you like fleas.”

  My brothers and I looked at each other. “Okay,” I said. “What else?”

  Jayme consulted the notes she’d scrawled during our formal interview. “Stay the hell away from Judge Kendall. I know you share a town the size of a city block, but don’t talk to him, don’t try to defend your family, and for God’s sake don’t apologize.”

  Avoiding someone in Bootleg was about as easy as finishing a marathon with only one leg.

  “If you feel threatened by anyone, go to the police,” Jayme continued.

  I snorted. “Who exactly would we feel threatened by?”

  “Judge Kendall. Overzealous media. Drunk townsfolk.”

  Gibson rolled his eyes. “We can hold our own.”

  “Not saying you can’t,” Jayme said. “I’m saying your family doesn’t need any additional legal trouble for the foreseeable future.”

  I laughed weakly. “Guess y’all can’t start any more bar fights.”

  Jayme rolled her shoulders. “God, I hate favors,” she muttered.

  It was better and worse than we thought it would be.

  All it took for word to spread like spilled gin was Rocky Tobias to drive past Daddy’s house when the state police were roping off the driveway.

  Approximately ten minutes later, everyone in Bootleg was informed that somethin’ was goin’ down at the Bodine homestead. Less than an hour later, the sheriff’s office was so inundated with calls and drop-ins that they issued a vague statement.

  Bootleg Springs Police Department Memo

  Evidence relating to a crime was recently discovered by anonymous witnesses at a home outside of town. There is no reason to believe there is any threat to the community at this time. Please go about your business.

  By lunchtime, the rumor mill had more grist than it knew what to do with. I didn’t know who was the first to whisper Callie’s name, but it ignited like gasoline fumes. And when Sheriff Tucker’s cruiser was spotted in Judge Kendall’s driveway, everyone’s suspicions were confirmed.

  Bootleg Springs Police Department Memo

  In response to the flood of calls and questions, the Bootleg Springs Police Department would like to remind our citizens that there is no call for concern. There is no threat to our community. We are simply investigating a police matter relating to an old crime.

  Bootleg Springs Police Department Memo

  Y’all really need to stop gossiping. That’s an official order from your sheriff. Also, please stop standing outside Judge Kendall’s house. And we’d like to take this opportunity to remind you that harassing private citizens—which includes inundating someone with phone calls demanding answers even if it is just for a betting pool—is still against the law in Bootleg Springs.

  Lines were drawn. And my hometown chose sides faster than the Yankees and Confederates.

  48

  Scarlett

  I had the flu. Or the plague. Or a case of food poisoning that had lasted six straight days. My body hurt like I’d decided to swim the length of the lake and then gotten run over by Jimmy Bob Prosser’s monster pick-up truck.

  I heard my back door open and pulled the quilt over my head. The male Bodines had decided that we needed to host a bonfire and pretend that everything was peachy keen. I didn’t know if they were doing it to pull me out of my funk or test the waters to see who in Bootleg we could still call friends.

  Whatever their motivation, I wasn’t moving from my bed cave. If the pile of maintenance calls coming in didn’t rouse me from my deathbed, then some dumb party wouldn’t either. I didn’t have the energy to fix a damn thing let alone make small talk and swill beer.

  I wanted to lay here and think about Devlin. Wonder what he was doing. Was he missing me? Had he stepped right back into his old life? Why hadn’t he texted or called? Had he heard the news that Jonah Bodine Sr. was a person of interest in Callie Kendall’s disappearance?

  I’d started to text him a thousand times and deleted every single one of them without hitting Send. Only once had I seen the dots in our last text conversation that meant he was typing. I’d clutched my phone so tight my fingers hurt. But the dots disappeared without a text.

  “Scarlett Rose Bodine.” Cassidy’s voice snuck through the cotton of the quilt.

  “Go away. I’m contagious.”

  She unceremoniously ripped the quilt off of me. “Get your ass out of bed!”

  “She looks terrible,” June announced from the doorway, pulling her tank top over her nose as if to ward off germs. “Maybe she is ill.”

  “Oh, she’s ill all right,” Cassidy confirmed. “Ill in the head.”

  “Just go away and leave me to die,” I moaned dramatically. “I think it’s the flu.” I coughed as if to prove my point.

  “You don’t have the flu any more than I have a dick,” Cassidy announced.

  “Oh, so you’re a doctor now?”

  “Do you have fever, chills, and body aches?” June asked.

  “Yes!” Well probably not the fever or the chills part. And the body aches were really more of a lethargy that hooked its talons into me… but it was clearly the flu.

  “No, she doesn’t,” Cassidy said without pity. “She’s got a broken heart, and she did it to her own damn self.”

  I sat straight up in bed indignantly. “What in the hell are you talking about, Cassidy Tucker?”

  “You pushed Devlin away because you loved him, and we all know it was a huge mistake.”

  I ignored the ridiculous part of her statement and zeroed in on the other. “We all?”

  “The fifty people in your backyard. We voted. You need to get your ass up and go after Devlin.”

  “We parted ways. It was very civilized,” I argued.

  June snorted.

  “Since when do you do anything civilized, Scarlett?” Cassidy demanded. “You love Devlin.”

  “We had a fling—”

  Cassidy shook her head. “You fell sloppy stupid head-over-boots for the man. Admit it.”

  “I’d like to share my theory,” June interjected. “I believe Scarlett’s romantic feelings for Devlin scared her, and she rejected him to protect herself.”

  “June, are y’all calling me a chicken shit?” I gasped.

  “Essentially? Yes.”

  “I am no such thing!” I put my feet on the floor and stood up.

  “Good job, Juney. You got her out of bed, now insult her again so she gets in the shower. She smells like a junior high boys basketball team.”

  “I don’t smell—” I gave my armpit a sniff and reconsidered my words.

  “Call him,” Cassidy said, thrusting my phone at me. “Call him and tell him you’re a sorry idiot and you miss him and you want to make it work.” She had no idea how many times in the past week I’d wanted to do just that. I missed him. I physically ached for a man I’d chased away.

  “Cass, I appreciate your concern. But I am not dragging Devlin into this Dumpster fire of a mess. He’s got a career to worry about.”

  “Did you ever bother asking him what he wanted, or did you just make the decision for him?”

  “God, you sound like Jonah.”

  “Speaking of Jonah, how do you think your half-brother feels finding out about his father from Bootleg and not you.”

  “Hell.”

  “Let me guess. You didn’t want to burden him with it either?” Cassidy crossed her arms over her chest.

  I could only face one mistake at a time.

  “What if Devlin didn’t want to stick? What if I told him everything, and he still left?” I demanded. “Do you know what that would have done to me?”

  “Newsflash, dumbass. He does know. He figured it out on his own. Who do you think told me so I could protect your ass? Who do you think called in Jayme the Terrifying
? You think me or my dad have those kind of connections?”

  I gaped at her. “That’s not true. Is it?”

  “Damn straight it’s true. He was ready to stay, to help. And you sent him away. You didn’t trust him to love you back.”

  “He loves me?” I whispered.

  “Either that or perhaps he just has masochistic tendencies,” June piped up.

  I shook my head. “It doesn’t even matter if he loves me or is a masochist. We’d just end up like my parents.”

  Cassidy threw her hands up in the air and screeched. “Did someone drop you on your head recently? What makes you think you’re destined to repeat your parents’ mistakes? Did you get knocked up in high school? Uh. No! Did you marry your high school sweetheart and then proceed to never mature past the eleventh grade? Also no! You and Devlin had something special, and you got scared and shit all over it!”

  “I didn’t shit all over anything!” I hollered.

  “You know what?” Cassidy said, looking at me with disdain. “The longer I talk to you, the more I just wanna punch you right in the face.”

  “Bring it on, Deputy Assface.”

  Cassidy sucker punched me right in the dang face. I was so surprised I fell back on the bed. But the second my ass hit mattress I launched myself at her. The force of our bodies hitting the wall dented the drywall.

  Growing up in Bootleg, Cassidy and I learned how to fight dirty. I grabbed a hold of her hair and gave her a shot to the gut with my knee.

  She grunted and threw an elbow that connected with my right boob.

  I got off a short shot to her jaw that snapped her head back. But Cassidy wasn’t weak from a week of moping. She gripped me by my t-shirt—Devlin’s Cock Spurs t-shirt that I hadn’t given back—and threw me on the mattress. She climbed on and we traded shots, shouting insults.

  “You’re the thick-headedest mule in three counties!” Cassidy yelled.