The Rowdy Coyote Rumble (Jackrabbit Junction Humorous Mystery Book 4)

by Ann Charles

  The thump of the Bronco’s door slamming behind her brought her back to her current predicament. Would Grady buy that she’d parked here in hopes of catching Arlene at home? That she hadn’t remembered the other waitress was working the lunch crowd at The Shaft today? Probably not. Grady had been good at sniffing out her lies from their first meeting when she’d crashed into Butch’s pickup. He hadn’t bought it back then when she’d tried to place the blame for the accident partly on Butch in order to keep her insurance company from dropping her, and she doubted he’d believe her now.

  As footfalls approached, she rolled down her window, wondering if she should call him Sheriff Harrison now that her sister was sort of seeing him or if Grady would be okay.

  “What’s your business here, Ms. Morgan?” a voice that was very much NOT Grady’s came through her window.

  Her neck bristled on cue, her gaze whipping upward. Deputy Dipshit! Jowls, sneered lip, handcuffs, and all.

  “I’m eating my lunch, Deputy.” She held up her half-eaten peanut butter sandwich as evidence.

  His mirrored cop sunglasses reflected twin distorted versions of her upturned face. “You sure picked a funny spot to have a picnic.”

  “I like the view here.”

  He bent over, resting his forearms on her car door, filling the window with the smell of onions and French fries. His blatant attempt at intimidation made her want to smash her sandwich in his face. “Where did you find that fancy spyglass?”

  She glanced at the brass spyglass lying on the passenger seat. Shit! She’d forgotten to stash that under the seat. “It’s a family heirloom.”

  That was kind of true since Ruby was her step-grandmother and Joe’s stolen treasures were now hers, whether she wanted them and the headaches that came with them or not.

  “I sure hope you aren’t using it to peek in any windows around here. I’d hate to have to haul you back to jail. The Sheriff has today off and won’t be able to come to your rescue anytime soon.”

  Her chin lifted. “Is it illegal to carry a spyglass, Deputy?”

  “Not currently.”

  “Is parking along a non-painted curb on a public street illegal for a substitute teacher who’s enjoying a quick lunch off-campus?”

  “They’re letting you teach now, huh? They must not have checked your criminal record.” His crooked smirk needed to be straightened out with a frying pan. Lucky for him, she hadn’t packed one in her lunch bag today. “They must be really desperate for teachers these days.”

  Her forehead burned along with the ball of fury heading toward supernova in her gut. “For your information, Deputy, I happen to have multiple teaching credentials along with my master’s degree.”

  “From where? Clown college?”

  “Is that the best you can do, Deputy Droopy?”

  The use of Claire’s other nickname for the dipshit made his nostrils flare. He pulled out a pair of handcuffs and held them up between them. “Nope. I could slap these on you and we’ll laugh all of the way to the station.” His lips flat-lined. “Your sister’s not here today to play interference and save you this time.”

  God, she wanted to hiss and bite him.

  Instead she gripped the steering wheel, telling herself that no judge or jury was going to buy that she temporarily turned into a zombie and couldn’t control her teeth. Especially when zombies usually hungered for brains and Deputy Dipshit obviously had only a walnut rattling around inside his thick, meaty skull.

  She smiled, all teeth and sarcasm. “I don’t need my sister to save me from your bumbling attempts at a false arrest.”

  His white knuckled grip on the handcuffs gave away how deeply her verbal jab had gotten under his skin. “Be careful, Ms. Morgan.” He stood up straight, giving her breathing space again. “You may have the Sheriff fooled into thinking you’re just a pretty blue-eyed blonde, but I’m onto your game.”

  “And what game is that?”

  He looked over at The Rowdy Coyote Motel. “Stalking.”

  Oh, sheesh. Did he ever have this backward. She was here trying to stop someone from stalking Ronnie, not the other way around.

  “One slip up,” he continued, “and I’ll be on you like flies on shit.” He clasped his big shiny belt buckle with both hands. “Now, why don’t you move along little teacher and run on back to school before you get into trouble here.”

  Kate bit into her sandwich, taking her time chewing and swallowing as she glared at him. The shithead wanted to dance, did he? “You ruined my lunch, Deputy.”

  “Shucks. That’s too bad, Ms. Morgan. I’ll be sure to make up for it next time you’re behind bars.” He patted the roof of her car. “Off you go now.”

  She keyed the engine to life, rolling up her window as he stood there with his legs wide, his cocky grin even wider.

  He pointed two fingers at his eyes and then his index finger at her.

  Shifting into gear, she rolled away, her chest tight.

  “You better be watching, Deputy Dipshit,” she told his reflection in her rearview mirror. “Because the dance has begun, and this little teacher is going to school you on what happens when you bully the wrong scrapper.”

  She stared back at herself in the mirror, a smile creeping onto her face. “Let the ass kicking begin.”

  * * *

  Mac woke with a pounding head and aching body, feeling like he’d had his ass kicked and been left out for the coyotes to fight over.

  He opened his eyes and looked around, realizing that it wasn’t his head pounding, it was the rec room. Or rather somebody in the rec room.

  Gingerly he sat up in the shadowed room, groaning at the stab of pain in his ribs. Late afternoon sunlight poked through the blinds in his aunt’s bedroom, making stripes across the nasty bruise on his shin.

  The pillow next to him was empty and indent free. He wasn’t surprised. Claire had told him on the drive home from the ER that she was going to sleep in the spare room with her sister so that she didn’t bump him in the night. He’d insisted he was fine, but the painkiller they’d given him in the hospital had fogged up his brain, so he didn’t remember much besides the sight of the sun cresting the Tres Dedos Mountains and Claire tugging off his jeans.

  He adjusted the shoulder sling holding his arm mostly immobile and stood wincing. He was getting too old for this shit. His shoulder felt like he’d spent yesterday on the shooting range with a 12-gauge shotgun kicking back into it over and over. Putting on jeans one-handed was slow going, causing several more winces in the process. He grabbed one of Harley’s button-up shirts from his aunt’s closet and slid one arm into it, letting the other side drape over his sling. He’d need help maneuvering into the left sleeve.

  Running a hand through his hair in lieu of a comb, he headed out into the hall to find out who was making all the racket in the rec room.

  Chester glanced his way from the middle of a pile of plaster and lathe debris. The bow-legged bristle-top was the guilty party, his hammer in one hand, a blue electrical box in the other.

  “Claire,” Chester called around the nails in his mouth. “Sweet Buns is awake.”

  “Coming,” she called from the General Store. The sound of other female voices carried through the curtain. Afraid Deborah might show before he’d had enough caffeine to stomach her ever present scorn, he detoured to the kitchen.

  Mac was pouring himself a cup of cold coffee when Claire joined him. His gaze widened at the sight of her in a long beige crocheted skirt, white shirt, and blue jean jacket. Damn, she looked good enough to make him forget about his aches and pains for a few minutes.

  “How are you feeling?” she asked, taking the cup from him and directing him to one of the kitchen chairs.

  “Not so bad that I can’t make my own coffee.” She smelled like a fruit cocktail. His mouth watered at several sweet and juicy ideas that outfit put in his head.

  “Here, let me help with this.” She unhooked his sling, delicately maneuvered his arm into the shirt sleeve
, and put the sling back on, nudging him over to the table. “Now let me play June Cleaver for a moment and get you something to eat and drink.”

  “Who are you and what have you done with Slugger and her tool belt?” He lowered into the chair, keeping his breath shallow until he’d settled onto the seat.

  “I have my tool belt hidden under my skirt,” she smiled over her shoulder at him as she fished in the refrigerator.

  Jessica breezed in through the doorway, gasping at the sight of him. “What happened to you?”

  He looked to Claire, wondering what she’d told everyone.

  “He tripped,” she lied smoothly, closing the fridge door.

  “And did all of that damage? Jeezo-weezo.” Jess sat down across from him. “You are really getting old, Mac.”

  He grabbed a cloth napkin from the Lazy Susan centerpiece, wadded it up, and threw it at his cousin, making her giggle.

  “So is Mac coming with us tonight?” Jess asked Claire, who placed his now-warmed-up cup of coffee in front of him along with a thick ham and Swiss sandwich.

  He tore into the sandwich, groaning through a swallow. It’d been over twenty-four hours and a shitload of pain since he’d had something to eat.

  “That depends on how he feels.” Claire took the seat next to him, sipping from a bottle of Coca-Cola.

  Actually he’d hoped to have some time alone with Claire. They needed to talk about his promotion opportunity without interruption. “Is there a reason you two are talking about me as if I’m not sitting here?”

  Jess giggled.

  Apparently not. “Where are you two going?” he asked.

  While Claire looked dressed for a night on the town, Jess was wearing blue jeans, a ponytail, and an old Cleveland Browns sweatshirt her father had sent years back for Christmas. It was one of Steve Horner’s yearly token of affection gifts that had continued to make Jessica think her father actually cared about her. Ruby often had complained in private that she rather would have had some of the child support Horner didn’t pay than more clothes to remind her of the asshole who’d gotten her pregnant.

  “The Shaft.”

  “With Jess?” At a bar? Had he played Rip Van Winkle and slept through five of her birthdays?

  Claire nodded. “Butch is having a private party out on the patio. Drinks and food on him.”

  “He’s celebrating a big sale in his cactus nursery business.” Jess explained. “Since I work for him I get to come, too.”

  Mac looked over at Claire. “You’re going to The Shaft dressed like that?”

  “What’s wrong with this?” She looked down at her outfit. “I borrowed it from Ronnie.”

  “Are you supposed to be undercover or something?”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “MacDonald Garner, what are you insinuating?”

  “Nothing. I’m just confused by the sight of you wearing your sister’s stuff.” She looked clothes-catalog-model good, but he sort of preferred her in a T-shirt, blue jean shorts, and a tool belt. “Are those actual hole-in-your-ear earrings?”

  She fingered the golden circle dangling from her right ear. “Yep. The real deal.”

  “I didn’t know your ears were pierced.”

  “I’m not the open Do-It-Yourself book you think I am.”

  Between her initial un-thrilled reaction over the phone when he’d told her about his promotion opportunity that would allow her to avoid having to find a day job and now this, Mac was beginning to wonder if he understood Claire at all. After so much time apart lately, they needed to play catch up—in and out of the bedroom, his body willing and able.

  “How could you not know my ears are pierced?” Claire asked. “You’ve kissed my ears dozens of times.”

  “When I’m kissing your ears, my mind is usually thinking about other places on your body.”

  “Ewww, gross.” Jess wrinkled her lip. “Young ears are at the table, you know.”

  “What? You don’t want to listen in on a private conversation?” Claire asked Jess, her grin taking any sting out of her words. “Any other time you have no problem eavesdropping.”

  “That’s because you two are old news now. Everyone knows you’re a couple, so there’s nothing juicy and exciting about your relationship anymore.”

  Mac frowned. That didn’t sound like a good thing. He glanced over at Claire, wondering if she felt the same way. She was sticking her tongue out at Jess.

  He returned his focus to his plate, his sandwich not nearly as appealing as before. Was that why Claire avoided going home to Tucson these days? The excitement in their bedroom had flat-lined? It certainly hadn’t dulled for him. Hell, most nights he missed her enough to ache a little.

  He eyed her outfit again, considering her grandfather’s warning months ago about her history of running away from relationships. Was she dressed to the nines tonight in hopes of finding someone new while he stayed home in his sick bed? Someone more exciting who didn’t work so much overtime each day and sleep in a bed two hours away from her every weeknight?

  Jesus. What in the hell was wrong with his head? He rubbed his face, wondering what that damned ER doc had given him for pain that was making him have melodramatic thoughts and stupid doubts.

  “You feeling okay?” Claire asked, her forehead creased with concern.

  “I’m fine.” Butch was right when he had joked last night about the rocks rattling his gray matter. “What time is Butch’s deal tonight?”

  “Seven,” Jess answered. “Claire said she might let me have a glass of wine.”

  “I said no such thing.”

  “Come on. Mom lets me drink all the time.”

  Mac snorted. “You’re so full of crap, Jess.”

  “Are you up to coming with us?” Claire asked him.

  With her looking like that, hell yes. “Sure. But you may need to help me get dressed for the shindig.”

  “What you’re wearing will do just fine.”

  “Claire!” Deborah called from the other room.

  The sound of Medusa’s voice made Mac cringe.

  “In the kitchen,” Claire returned.

  Deborah sashayed in wearing something pink and absurd as usual. “What time shall Manuel and I plan on being at Butch’s for this fancy dinner of his?”

  “It’s not a fancy dinner, Mom. It’s just a barbecue, and it’s on the patio at The Shaft, not in some elegant dining room with chandeliers and a wait staff. Don’t overdo it.”

  “Fine, I’ll keep my silk in the closet then.” She pinched her red lips. “Although Manuel does like to touch me more when I wear it.”

  “Ewww!” Claire and Jess jinxed.

  Deborah tittered and flounced out.

  Mac turned on Claire. “You tricked me.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You didn’t tell me your mother would be there.”

  “Yeah, well you’re not alone.” She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “I didn’t tell Butch either. You think he’ll change his mind about wanting to be the baby daddy when he hears the grandmother of his unborn child cackling in the night?”

  Chapter Eleven

  As parties went, this one was making Claire’s head spin.

  She frowned into the ladies room mirror at The Shaft, wondering what else could happen out on Butch’s patio before the night was through. The evening had started off promising. Mother Nature had kept the cool desert-fresh breezes to a minimum while filling the night sky with sparkling starlight. But Claire’s mother quickly had sent things off kilter by having too many pre-dinner drinks on an empty stomach. After Deborah’s second attempt at table dancing, Claire and Manny had made a pact to secretly take turns watering down Deborah’s drinks for the rest of the night.

  Then there was Jessica’s blood curdling shriek when she thought she had seen El Chupacabra under the parking lot lights, the sound of which made Deborah spill her nearly full drink in Chester’s lap.

  The mythical goat-b
lood sucking creature Jess claimed to have seen turned out to be a harmless jackrabbit with a piece of sagebrush tangled around its torso, but thanks to all of the boogeymen in Claire’s life these days, it took a bit of negotiating to coax her heart down from her throat and back into her chest.

  Chester proceeded to stuff wads of paper napkins down the front of his wet pants, which inspired a long string of racy jokes and lewd comments from him and Manny, every other one inappropriate for the sixteen-year-old girl and her sponge-like brain who sat at the table with them. With Deborah too full of tipsy titters to chastise the old boys, Claire stepped in with glares, pinches, and several swats. Ruby was going to be appalled by her daughter’s sailor-like vernacular when she returned from South Dakota.

  In the midst of the chaos, Claire tried to keep things smooth and functional in front of Butch’s other guests. But putting a diaper on a pissed off porcupine would’ve been easier than keeping her family’s crazy antics from dominating tomorrow’s talk of the town. Not that she was concerned about the gossip column, she just wanted to keep flying under the radar in case some of Joe’s old enemies were sneaking around looking for weak spots in her defenses.

  After returning from her trip to the bathroom, she stepped out onto The Shaft’s patio and scanned the crowd for Mac, finding him over by the grill where Butch was teaching Jessica how to cook burgers. A contemplative expression lined his face as he stared out into the darkened desert. Did he see something? Something attracted by the aroma of charred beef and chicken? Or was he thinking about the Humdigger mine secluded out there in the night on that hillside, its secrets waiting to be unearthed? She sure as hell was obsessed with it since coming to the conclusion it was booby-trapped.

  A cool breeze blew her skirt around, spurring her to move closer to one of the kerosene patio heaters Butch had set up among the tables. Randy Travis was crooning on the patio speakers about digging up some bones. Claire had already been there and done that. She’d moved on now to burying Joe’s illegally acquired treasures to keep thieving buzzards from circling.