by Ann Charles
Her smile was downright scandalous as she stared off over Ronnie’s shoulder for a moment. Then she shook herself back to the present. “Anyhoo, how deep of a tar pit have you gotten yourself stuck in now? Judging from the fact that you needed to meet me in a top secret location, I’m guessing you’re up to the top of your hip waders already.”
More like up to her neck. Ronnie sipped on her drink, forming her request in her head. “I need your help again, but you can’t say a word to anyone about this. Not even to the other girls. It’s too dangerous.”
One of Aunt Millie’s eyebrows lifted. “I’m listening.”
“The woman who was killed in prison, the one you told me about, along with her partner, was staying at my step-grandmother’s R.V. park in a camper. They had hidden the box of diamonds underneath it, tucked up inside the frame. It was a freak happenstance that my sister saw it while she was under there trying to catch my grandpa’s dog.”
“This is the sister who attacked poor Greta in the library?”
“Uh, yeah.” Ronnie ignored the guilt that rippled through her for agreeing that Claire was the instigator in that scuffle. But now was not the time for sister solidarity.
After a glance around to make sure nobody was looking in their direction, Ronnie leaned forward, lowering her voice. “I need to know where that camper is now.” She’d scouted the impound yard but hadn’t seen it there.
“Did Grady’s boys take it away when the hubbub was all over and the mule carted off to jail?”
“Yes.”
“Why don’t you ask Grady then?”
Ronnie hesitated. She really wasn’t sure how many details of her relationship with Aunt Millie’s nephew she should share. While Grady was willing to go public now with their relationship, the waters between them were anything but clear.
“Ahh,” Aunt Millie smiled, nodding. “You’re sleeping with him on a regular basis now, and you’re trying to keep your nose clean as far as he knows.”
“Something like that.” Truth be told they weren’t sleeping together often enough for her satisfaction. Between the demands of his work and her crazy family’s interruptions, more often than not Grady left her burning up and wanting more.
“I understand. I’m not so old that I’ve forgotten what that itch feels like and how much a good scratching can satisfy yet still leave you hankering for more.”
The fact that they were talking about sex with Grady, the woman’s nephew, had Ronnie squirming in her seat. “Grady is a good man,” she said, taking the conversation out of the bedroom. “I don’t want to worry him unnecessarily about this diamonds deal if I can help it.”
“Good answer.” She snickered. “Do you love him?”
Ronnie gave her best impression of a department store mannequin. “Uhhhh …” Did she? No, it was too soon. Wasn’t it? She thought about how much his presence made her light up like a jackpot-winning slot machine. “I don’t know,” she answered honestly.
“Another good answer.” Aunt Millie lowered her needles. “I can find out what happened to that camper after it left your step-grandmother’s campground, but what’s in it for me?”
“More jewelry?” One way or another, Ronnie and Claire would figure out how to get their mom to donate to their cause.
Aunt Millie shook her head. “I have plenty now thanks to you.”
“Okay,” Ronnie leaned back in the booth, sipping the last of her drink, holding Aunt Millie’s stare. “What do you want for this job?”
The needles clinked back to life, her focus returning to her scarf. “Thanksgiving,” she answered.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
“You want me to give you Thanksgiving? As in the holiday?”
Aunt Millie smiled across at her. “You’re going to invite me to your family’s dinner.”
Ronnie set her drink down, frowning with a mixture of confusion and surprise. “You want to have Thanksgiving with me and my family?”
“Yes. I’m sick of the senior center’s gravy. It tastes like gelled horse’s hooves.”
“Horse’s hooves?”
“And their cranberry sauce is straight out of a can, no sugar added thanks to the damned diabetics.”
Thanksgiving? With her mother? Why would Aunt Millie want to subject herself to such torture? What was the catch? “Is that it? Just an invitation for you to join my family for Thanksgiving?”
“No. There’s one more thing.”
“If you’re going to insist we put raisins or broccoli or anything other than the basic ingredients in the dressing, I’ll go find that damned camper on my own.”
“You can have the dressing however you like. What I want is a second invitation.”
“For whom? Greta?” That wouldn’t sit well with Claire at all.
“I want you to invite Grady to Thanksgiving dinner, too.”
“You want me to invite the Sheriff of Cholla County to the Morgans’ dinner table?”
The logistics of Aunt Millie showing up were complicated enough after she’d threatened to drag Kate into the library bathroom months ago and teach her a lesson or two. But Grady too? In Ruby’s house? Eating dinner with her family? Dear Lord, the potential for trouble was endless, especially since Manny and Chester would undoubtedly be there as well.
“Yep. And don’t even think about taking ‘no’ for an answer from my nephew, or I won’t deliver the information on that camper.”
Ronnie crossed her arms over her chest, casting a shrewd look at Aunt Millie. “Besides salted gravy and real cranberries, what’s in this for you? With Grady being there, too, I mean?”
Wouldn’t Grady’s family be unhappy about his not showing up for their own get together?
“My nephew has worked every Thanksgiving since his ex-wife left him, the selfish little tramp.” Aunt Millie tucked her knitting into one of the bags draped off the front of her walker. “That boy needs to remember what living is about, and I imagine that your family’s dinner table is the perfect place to get reacquainted with life.”
Or not.
Claire and Kate would not be thrilled with either guest at their table, not with the troubled histories they shared with Grady and his aunt, and especially not with the secrets they were trying to keep tucked under the rug these days. But Ronnie wanted to know what had happened to that camper, especially if someone might be coming for her and Claire next.
She reached her hand across the table. “You’ve got a deal. Two invitations are yours.”
Aunt Millie shook her hand. “You’ll need to ask my nephew as soon as possible so he can schedule one of his deputies to work that day.”
Grimacing slightly at the awkwardness sure to come when she delivered his personal invitation, which she fully expected him to decline, she nodded. “You have my word. He’ll be there, even if I have to drag him there and tie him to the chair.”
“Sounds like fun to me. Let me know if you need my help with the dragging part. The boy’s sheriff britches get too big for his own good sometimes.” Aunt Millie smiled at something over Ronnie’s shoulder. “Heads up,” she spoke through her teeth, “we have company.”
“Hello, ladies,” Cherry the owner said, hovering over their table. “I’m surprised to see you here again,” she said to Ronnie and then winked at Aunt Millie. “But not you. What’s with the walker? You fall and hurt your hip since I saw you last?”
“Something like that.”
“Well, I hope it heals soon. You need to stay after closing again. I haven’t had such a good time dancing up on stage since I was wearing ponytails, leotards, and tap shoes.” Cherry squeezed Ronnie’s shoulder. “Have you ever seen Millie here shake her booty?”
Her gaze bounced from Aunt Millie’s pinched lips to her notorious walker and back again. Holy dingle balls! Was the walker a ruse? A con to fool everyone into thinking she was a tottering little old lady? Why? Ronnie chuckled. Damn, Grady’s aunt was good.
“No,” she told Cherry, “I h
aven’t yet. But she’s promised to teach me a few dance steps soon.”
Aunt Millie’s eyes narrowed a fraction, but then her lips rounded into an easy-going smile that she aimed at Cherry. “The place is looking good, sweetheart. I’m proud of all you’ve accomplished in here, and the girls you hired are the sweetest things. Maybe we should see about getting Ronnie up there on stage one day.” Aunt Millie shot her a daring glance. “What do you think, dear? You feel like making some extra cash?”
Ronnie shook her head. “I’m more of a drinker than a dancer.”
“If you ever change your mind,” Cherry said, “I’m always looking for new talent, and I offer a solid health insurance package.” Someone called the owner’s name from over by the bar. She tapped the table twice. “You ladies take care.”
After she left Ronnie nailed Aunt Millie with a gunslinger stare. “How long have you been conning everyone with that walker trick?”
“It’s not a con. I slipped last February and hurt my leg, so the doctor gave me this walker.”
“Does it still hurt?”
She shrugged. “Sometimes.”
Ronnie wasn’t sure whether to believe her or not, but a glance at her watch told her it was time to head back to The Shaft. Butch’s bookkeeping called.
“Time for me to fly. I’ll be in touch.” Ronnie slid out of the booth and scooped up her purse. “As for Thanksgiving, you need to let me know what Grady’s favorite dessert is.”
Aunt Millie chortled. “Oh, sweetie. I’m sure he’s already shown you exactly what he likes and how he likes it.”
Oh, man. With Chester, Manny, Deborah, and Aunt Millie all sitting around the dinner table this year, it was sure to be a Thanksgiving Ronnie was going to want to forget.
Chapter Eighteen
The Shaft was cooking.
Ronnie’s stomach growled at the aroma of seared meat in the air as she crossed the parking lot in the late afternoon desert sunshine. A cool breeze rolling in from the greasewood flats stirred the dust around her feet, promising another cold night under the stars after the warm rays disappeared behind the mountain range to the west.
A long row of Harley Davidson motorcycles lined the front of the building, chromed horses tied to an invisible hitching post, gleaming under their leather saddlebags. A few Kawasaki and Honda motorcycles were mixed in with the herd.
What was with all of the bikers? It was a nice day, but still, this was about three times more than usual. Then she remembered a conversation with Butch right after she’d started helping him with his bookkeeping. Word had gotten out about the specialty burgers he’d added to the menu after the only other eatery in Jackrabbit Junction had gone out of business. A well-known motorcycle enthusiast website had requested an interview and done a write-up on The Shaft. Judging by the number of bikes in the lot, the article had been posted recently. She wondered how much of a boon this would be for Butch’s business.
When she stepped inside The Shaft and saw her little sister with her blonde hair hanging half out of her chignon, the tired sag of her shoulders, and the red splotches on her cheeks, she realized what was good for the gander wasn’t necessarily good for the goose.
Ronnie made a beeline back to the storeroom and grabbed an apron. Butch’s books would have to wait. She met her sister on the other side of the swinging doors.
“We’re drowning out here,” Katie hollered over the din of music, television, and conversation.
“I’m diving in.” Ronnie tied her apron as she rounded the end of the bar.
Behind the beer tap handles, Butch’s number one bartender, Gary, was working so hard pouring drinks his glasses were partially fogged up. He handed her a tray of foamy beers. “Take that to the group next to the pool tables.”
The five chaps-wearing bikers shouted in appreciation when she arrived. She promised to check on the rest of their order and moved over to another table that hadn’t been touched yet, starting there with drinks. She passed Arlene on the return trip to the bar.
“Hey, sugar, have you seen Butch?” she asked Ronnie, sounding like the same Arlene she’d been before Katie had found her scarf in a possible killer’s motel room.
Ronnie couldn’t see Arlene as a threat. She worked as hard as everyone else here, was never late, filled in whenever asked, and had kind eyes. Katie had to be barking up the wrong tree. It wouldn’t be the first time. Unlike Claire, Katie’s gut instinct had flunked Intuition 101.
“No, but I just got here.”
“If you see him, tell him that I need to talk to him about taking a couple of days off soon. I have an old friend coming to town for a visit.”
Old friend? Or an old lover? Ronnie shook her head, trying to get rid of Katie’s suspicious voice playing through it. “Will do,” she told the older waitress.
Ronnie left her orders at the bar with Gary and grabbed another tray of drinks he had ready to deliver. Through the narrow window behind the bar that opened into the kitchen she caught a glimpse of Butch standing by the grill with a spatula in hand. Arlene must not have looked into the kitchen in a while.
Ronnie took the drinks to a table with three gray-haired Harley couples, all six of them walking advertisements in their orange and black gear. On her way back to the bar after emptying the tray, Mississippi caught her eye. He was playing a game of pool against a skinny guy dressed in red and white leather motorcycle getup. This one had the Honda brand plastered all over it.
Mr. FBI waved her over.
“Hey, Mississippi,” she said, pointing at his drink. “Can I get you a refill?”
Truth be told, with this much leather and testosterone in the place, she was happy to see the FBI agent.
“I’m good.” He lined up a shot, called it, and sank the 4 ball in the corner pocket as he’d foretold. “Give me a minute,” he told the Honda fan and looked at her. “Follow me.”
He led Ronnie off to the side and leaned down to speak in her ear. “Your ex-husband is trying to work a deal with the FBI.”
Terrific, what was that shit-bag up to now? “What sort of deal?”
“He’s not happy living in a jail cell without a chance of parole for a decade.”
“That’s too fucking bad.”
He smirked. “Yeah, that’s what I say, but my superiors have other fish they’d like to fry.”
“What’s that mean?”
“Lyle and his lawyer have scheduled a meeting with the FBI for later this week. They want to cut a deal to shorten his stay in prison.”
“Why do I have a feeling this is a bad thing?”
“Because you don’t like the organization I work for?”
“You mean your boss and coworkers over at the local Fucking Bandwagon of Imbeciles office?”
An actual smile lit his face, a sighting as rare as the fabled jackalope. “That’s a new one. I’ll have to share that one with the other imbeciles.”
A glance toward the bar found another tray of drinks ready for her to deliver. “I have to go, Mississippi. Thanks for the heads up.”
Two customers flagged her down on her way to the bar and requested drinks.
For the next two hours, Ronnie’s head spun as she helped Arlene and Katie keep up with drink orders. Was this the height of the rush from that website article? Or would things get worse? If this kept up, Butch was going to need to add on to the bar and hire more staff or he’d be turning away customers.
As the light outside faded, so did the bikers. Her feet were killing her by the time she had a moment to plop down on a barstool and breathe. Usually when she waited tables she wore tennis shoes and jeans, not a knee-length knit dress and boots. Her tips today had been better than usual; but on second thought that actually might have had more to do with the non-local clientele than her outfit.
Katie dropped onto the seat next to her, her hair down, the chignon a thing of the past. Her nose shone, her eyes had dark circles under them, and her pink shirt had a big red ketchup smear down the center of it.
&n
bsp; “I need to talk to you,” Katie said to her.
“Shoot. I’m not going anywhere for a few minutes.”
Katie glanced over one shoulder and then the other before leaning closer. “I borrowed Dory Hamilton’s phone today.”
It took Ronnie’s brain a moment to remember who Dory was thanks to the exhaustion settling in for the evening. Then it came tumbling back, ending with Claire and Katie taking off early that morning to track him down and ask him what the hell that anonymous phone call had been about last week.
“You borrowed his phone?” Ronnie frowned. “How did you get him to …” Ronnie let her question drop. The less she knew about Katie’s law bending the easier it was to claim ignorance when Grady questioned her about her sister’s next crime. She got to the point. “What did you find on his phone?”
“He’s a shitty speller. Just about every one of his text messages has errors, and his grammar is atrocious. Makes me wonder about the meter readings he writes down for Tucson Electric Power. Ruby should probably start double checking her bills.”
“Is that it, Miss Teacher? Because the last I checked being a bad speller doesn’t automatically make you a conspirator in attempted murder, so I hope to hell you found something worthy of you breaking the law again.”
“I swear you and Claire are such weenies these days. I told you I only borrowed it. I fully intend to give it back to him.”
“Claire isn’t a weenie. She’s just tired of going to jail. As for me, I’m sleeping with the Sheriff, remember? It’s a little tough to look him in the eyes when my sister keeps committing crimes.”
“So face the other way during sex.” Katie said and then giggled at her own smartass comeback.
Forcing a smile to her mouth, Ronnie said, “Funny. You’ve been hanging around Claire and Chester too much.”
Katie sobered, searching Ronnie’s face. “Oh shit, you’re falling for Grady, aren’t you?”
Ronnie didn’t want to talk about the Sheriff and her growing feelings for the hardass at the moment. “Did you find anything else on Dory’s phone?”
