by Kym Roberts
A car door slammed and the hollow thunk drowned out the less-than-ladylike name cowboy called me. All three of us turned toward the patrol car parked across the street from the bar. Mateo’s eyes narrowed as he strode toward the fake cowboy, in real hero fashion.
It was kind of awesome.
One look at that uniform and the swagger it brought with it and the cowboy backed away from Reba Sue, hands raised.
In turn, Reba Sue took advantage of the distance and stepped into the light radiating from the neon liquor sign in the front window of the Tool Shed, hugging herself and the exterior wall of the bar, clearly shaken by the encounter.
I glanced back at Beaus and Beauties, but Scarlet was gone. A long-drawn-out sigh passed my lips, the kind that signifies capitulation, and I headed in Reba Sue’s direction to see if there was anything I could do to help. My moment of nurturing, however, was interrupted before it began.
“I said, interlock your fingers and go down on your knees.” Mateo’s voice steeled with authority.
Anticipation of the inevitable violence hung in the air. Cowboy’s hands were resting on his hat, Mateo’s instructions to lace his fingers and get on his knees, however, were ignored. Spoken several times, heard several times, ignored several times. Cowboy’s compliance was limited. And Mateo knew it.
Somehow, so did I.
An engine roared behind me. I jumped, my heart shocked into a full-out run by the roar. A dark truck raced down the street in front of me and I watched as the driver slammed on the brakes and came to a sliding stop. He blocked my view of Mateo, but I got an eyeful of Cade adding his own flavor of action hero. Whereas Mateo had swagger, Cade had the prowess of a quarterback avoiding a sack. Only now, as he hopped out of the driver’s seat and ran around to the other side of the truck, I’d put my money on him making the tackle.
A crowd emptied out of the bar and I started to run in their direction, not sure what I could do but certainly not about to stand still and watch. Fear for Cade and Mateo made my feet move faster as the crowd surged forward. But the mass of spectators suddenly backed up. They moved like cattle being split between pens, and I was the post in between those pens as I rounded the truck.
Wondering what could possibly make them clear for me, clarity was delivered when a rock hit me in the arm.
“Ow!”
It wasn’t my arrival that caused them to back away. It was the kicking and spitting handcuffed cowboy who was missing his hat as Cade and Mateo pulled him off the ground.
“Break it up, folks. There’s nothing to see,” Mateo instructed.
Except there was something to see: Cade and Mateo. The women were impressed by the show of masculinity, myself included. The men? Well, a little envy may have flowed through their veins. It was understandable.
I moved back near the bakery as a few people lingered, recording the cowboy being escorted across the street to Mateo’s patrol car on their phones. Mateo patted the man down, removed a knife from inside his boot, and stuck it inside his own back pocket. The cowboy began to twist and yell at Mateo, who promptly loaded him in the backseat. The sight of his hand on the back of the man’s head resonated through my body. I shivered with the memory.
The rest of the crowd finally returned to the bar, but Cade remained behind, distractedly running his hand through his hair.
Ever since I’d first arrived in Hazel Rock and opened the cab door, everything had felt foreign and wrong in my hometown. First Marlene’s murder and now a man attacking a woman . . . and resisting arrest. It was like the Wild West had returned and I was the last to be notified.
I’d never seen anyone get arrested in Hazel Rock—other than myself. In the past, I’d experienced the bite of the old sheriff’s handcuffs on my wrists a couple of times. What had just unfolded in front of me, however, was nothing like a teenager trespassing on a water tower. Or soaping windows. Or making out in the backseat of a car with the mayor’s son.
The mayor’s son . . . I looked back at Cade. He was taller and more handsome than ever. He was the prodigal son—returned—and better because of it.
I told myself I hadn’t returned to The Barn yet because I was worried about him. Worried the butterfly Band-Aids on the back of his head had come off and needed to be redone. Yet that wasn’t entirely true. Part of me was thinking about our kiss . . . I shook my head and wiped away the memory and started in his direction.
Until my feet froze. Reba Sue ran out of the shadows and put her arms around Cade’s waist. It was an understandable thing to do. She was scared; he was a leader who’d come to her rescue. It didn’t mean anything . . .
Then Cade wrapped his arms around her—tight. Familiar. Definitely not a stranger. He kissed the top of her head and my heart dropped to my boots. I looked at Mateo, who in turn was watching me.
Without a word, I turned around and headed home.
That dadgum skull of Cade’s could bleed ’til the sun didn’t shine. And I wasn’t talking about sundown, I was thinking more like the end of time. It would serve him right. ’Cause I definitely had better things to do than waste a moment living a lie.
Obviously, Saturday nights in Hazel Rock hadn’t changed much after all.
Chapter Fourteen
I let myself into the apartment and quickly locked the door. A brush across my ankle negated the sense of security the locked door provided. It scared the bejesus out of me and I jumped, swinging at nothing but air. Princess squealed at my feet, then scurried away.
I turned on the light and found the little rodent staring at me from behind the edge of the couch. “Holy crap, Princess. You scared me half to death. If you need in, don’t rush past me without letting me know you’re there.”
I shook out the tension tightening the muscles in my shoulders feeling stupid for scolding an armadillo like she’d understand.
Still hiding, her ears shook like a momma’s knees on my kindergarteners’ first day of school. I sighed and bent down. “I’m sorry, girl, I’m not used to anyone greeting me when I come home.”
Princess laid down her ears and I got the distinct impression she was ticked. Deciding not to test her temper, I turned and headed for the shower in my dad’s bathroom.
Twenty minutes later, I felt more relaxed, dressed in Sweet Sixteen boxers and a tank top in lieu of my filthy clothing. I walked into the kitchen and stuck my face inside the fridge.
No pie. No Snickers.
Fuzz buckets.
Princess walked into the kitchen as well, looked at her empty bowl, and sat up like a half-starved little dog begging for food. Her front paws batted at me, and I could have sworn there was poodle mixed in her blood. It would explain the pink.
I opened a can of cat food and filled her ugly dish. Princess twitched her nose and dug in. Leave it to food to bring forgiveness. Cade, on the other hand, was out of luck. Period. He’d be living in the outhouse. Forever.
I turned out the light and realized I’d left the bathroom light on in my dad’s room. I went and flipped the switch off and was headed for my bedroom by the light from the moon coming in the front window when something caught my eye. It wasn’t the built-in shelves that held all the photos from my childhood. It was the thin line of light along the floorboard below it. Princess walked in, stopped, and sniffed the floor.
She scratched at it and I backed away, my heart rate picking up pace.
I knew what was on the other side of that wall. More bookshelves inside The Barn’s loft. To my knowledge there was no way to get from the store to the apartment without entering from the stairs outside. But by the light that was bleeding through the cracks, I was beginning to wonder.
I approached the shelves as if they held the secret of Al Capone’s vault behind them. Because if I was right, there was at least a hidden compartment between the walls. If I was wrong, the floor had settled in the middle of the room, which could mean structural damage. Either way, I needed answers.
The worst part was that I didn’t know who’d turned on the light on the ot
her side. My dad could’ve snuck in and left it on, which would really irritate me if he didn’t stop to check in on me. Or a killer could be waiting for me.
I shivered and grabbed my dad’s bat from the other side of the room before I rubbed my hand along the inside of the shelf, catching some dust along the way. The wood was smooth, unlike the rest of the walls, having been milled and sanded to perfection before being painted a glossy white. On the first shelf I found something I didn’t expect: a latch. But it wasn’t just any latch. It was a dead bolt, painted white and set back from view, hidden by a picture of me dressed up as Tigger for Halloween.
I pulled the bolt, but nothing happened. Princess stepped back and waited patiently. What she was waiting for I had no idea because the shelves didn’t push or pull open.
I searched the second shelf and then the third, where I found an identical lock. I pulled the second latch and took a deep breath. I looked down at Princess, who seemed to be telling me to grow a spine. Or a shell. Or something.
“I’m going. Don’t rush me,” I whispered.
I took a deep breath and yanked on the shelf. It gave way and opened, but not to what I expected. I was looking at another wall, with the beam of light still filtering out through a narrow track along the floorboard. Princess stepped forward and nudged it with her nose, pushing it open and letting the light spill into the bedroom from the cluttered loft of the store. In the middle of the floor sat a man, sifting through books by the beam of a flashlight that was pointed in my direction.
I almost screamed, but he beat me to it.
It may have had a throatier sound to it, but it was definitely right up there with scared half to death. I lowered the bat. He stopped, recognition dawning for both of us.
“Mr. Duncan?”
“Charli Rae Warren?”
It was Scott Duncan, Marlene’s ex-husband. My math teacher, who’d pushed us to the brink of teenage insanity with daily homework my senior year. He was young and nerdy, in a cute sort of way. A little on the skinny side, with a baby face and a soft mouth. He still looked the same—too young to be married to Marlene.
“What are you doing here?” we said at the same time.
“You first, Mr. Duncan,” I said, arms crossed, bat still ready to whack some sense into him. After all, I did own the building, and he was breaking and entering.
“I . . . I . . .” He stammered and looked around at the books lying on the floor. “Marlene loved to read.”
I remembered that about her from my teen years. The woman was our best regular customer. She came in every other day to buy a book. When I’d asked why she didn’t just buy a couple of books at a time, I remembered her laughing and saying then she might miss the next best thing that someone brought into the store. It was a risk she couldn’t take.
Mr. Duncan continued to look around at the books, as if they would give him all the answers. “Go on,” I ordered in that teacher voice of mine I used to address the bully in my class.
“I just wanted to be in the last place where Marlene was alive.” He moved a brown leather satchel behind him and out of my view.
Something in my chest melted and guilt filled my heart. It was my turn to stammer. “I’m . . . I’m sorry, I didn’t . . . I didn’t mean . . .”
He waved me off and brushed the back of his hand across his eyes. “It’s okay. I should have asked if I could spend time here. Your dad never minded me coming into the store when he was out.”
Seriously? Another person Dad let come and go as he pleased? “How did you get in?” I asked skeptically.
“The key under the flowerpot.”
“What flowerpot? There’re thirty out there.”
A sad smile crossed his face. “It was nice of everyone to remember Marlene that way.”
It was nice. A pain in my backside, but nice. I waited for his answer.
“The one inside the gate. Everyone knows your dad keeps a key there.”
Everyone but me. Was there a key to the apartment out there as well?
“I heard you were a teacher now,” Mr. Duncan continued. “Do you teach math?”
I laughed. “You could say that. I teach kindergarten.”
“Oh.” His disappointment was palpable. The bond he was hoping for wasn’t going to happen. We were both teachers, but he worked at the high school and I dealt with snotty noses. I guess you could put them in the same category, but I didn’t think he thought so.
“I didn’t know there was a way between the barn and your apartment. That’s . . . that’s pretty cool,” he said as he dusted off his hands and stood up.
I had to admit it was cool, but it didn’t make me feel any better that I’d exposed the secret passageway to Mr. Duncan. Granted, he was shorter than me, with a short-sleeved, yellow, button-down shirt hiding his skinny frame. His jeans were cinched tight with a dark leather belt sporting a big buckle in front. He wore boots that made quite a bit of noise as they scraped across the floor. I wondered how I didn’t hear his bootsteps earlier.
Not that I thought he was the killer, but then again . . . why not him? He could be a jealous ex-husband who couldn’t let her go.
I thought about the wife who’d delivered a brick pie back in Denver. The woman hadn’t even been five-foot tall and couldn’t have weighed a hundred pounds. Yet she’d sent that man to the hospital for surgery.
My grip on the bat tightened.
“Mr. Duncan, I can appreciate you wanting to reminisce. I know this has got to be very difficult for you—”
“Don’t.”
“Excuse me?”
“Please don’t kick me out. I won’t bother you. You won’t even hear me.”
He looked at me with eyes filled to the brim with unshed tears.
Princess nudged me and looked at Mr. Duncan. Her nose was twitching, as if she didn’t want to see a grown man cry. It was the last thing either one of us wanted to see.
My shoulders sagged. “All right, but I want you out by midnight, Mr. Duncan.”
“Thank you, Charli. I really appreciate it.” He stuck out his hand for me to shake. “And please call me Scott.”
Hesitant, I reached for it, surprised by the strength he displayed in his grip. His eyes, however, were friendly, not mean or made of the stuff ax murderers came from. “Good night, Scott.”
I turned and went back to the apartment with Princess on my heels. I held the shelf open for her and she scurried past.
Never in my wildest Hazel Rock dreams did I think I’d hold a door for an armadillo.
Chapter Fifteen
The alarm went off at eight-thirty, and for a minute I was lost in a strange familiar room. It came back to me when I saw the prom photo on the dresser. Hazel Rock. Murder. My dad missing. I was stuck and I had to find out as much as I could to help clear his name.
Then I wanted to get out of this town faster than a roadrunner being chased by a coyote—except I didn’t feel as if the roadrunner was gaining any ground.
The sheriff ‘s display of business as usual the previous night didn’t allow me to sleep peacefully. Not that he’d done anything wrong. On the contrary, he’d done everything right. But I’d had dreams of my father and the sheriff in a similar showdown at sunset with the sun cresting the horizon at the end of town. It’d been a mixture of the O. K. Corral and a squirt gun fight. My dad and I used to have squirt gun battles in the stalls of The Book Barn. Nothing dangerous, just fun-filled laughter. My nightmares through the night, however, were nothing to laugh at.
The last thing I wanted was my father facing off with the sheriff. The violence the night before had made the case against Bobby Ray seem real.
And that scared me.
I dragged myself out from under the quilt, made the bed, and got dressed. I’d absconded with a few book-themed T-shirts from the bookstore the previous day and pulled on a turquoise T-shirt with Get Cozy and Read On printed across the front. It was either that, or wear Cade’s jersey.
That wasn’t happening. Any
thing was better than the number thirteen in orange or blue.
I was also wearing a pair of low-rise khaki cargo shorts that really didn’t go with my boots, but such was life. I put my hair in a ponytail, knowing that soon the curls were going to be completely out of control. One of these days I’d get to the store and buy some hair products to calm it down.
I microwaved an egg and ate it in about three bites before brushing my teeth and heading down to meet the team. All twenty of them were already gathered around Coach in the courtyard, waiting for me.
I cringed. “I’m sorry—did I get the time mixed up? I didn’t mean to be late.”
“You’re not late. You’re right on time,” Coach said.
I looked at my watch. Eight-fifty. I was ten minutes early, wasn’t I?
“On time is late,” several voices said at once.
I looked around at the young, fresh faces, wondering what exactly they were talking about.
Coach Purcell laughed. “Fifteen minutes early is on time. On time is late. That’s what I expect from my boys.”
I returned Coach’s smile, remembering Cade saying something like that back in the day. “How could I forget?”
I unlocked the side door and the boys piled in, taking up most of the space.
Gathering the boys around me in a huddle, Coach asked, “What do you need us to do, Princess?”
Some of the boys snickered.
“Charli. Call me Charli.” I smiled, feeling that sick drop in my gut as all of them assessed me. I cleared my throat, refusing to be intimidated by all the testosterone in the room.
“Sorry, Charli. Old habits die hard.” The coach winced, stumbling over the word die. The boys immediately lost interest in me as they started looking around for signs of the crime. As if blood and guts would be scattered across the floor and the shelves in The Book Barn . . . Princess.
The real diva, whom Dad had named the store after, had impeccable timing. Princess the armadillo showed up in the doorway and scared a boy well over six-foot tall half to death.
He yelled some weird boy scream and would’ve punted her across the barn as I stood there sucking in wind, if it hadn’t been for one of his teammates pushing him back.
