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

by Ann Charles

  She glanced over at the front door. Grady must have sneaked in when she wasn’t looking. Then again, missing his arrival wouldn’t have been tough since the joint was rocking and rolling with ZZ Top on the jukebox and another flood of hungry bikers.

  That reminded her—she needed to thank Butch for listening to her request to mix in some classic rock with his collection of old-school country. If she had to listen to Jeannie C. Riley sing about taking down those fuddy-duddies at the Harper Valley P.T.A. one more time, she was going to beat the jukebox to death with her boot.

  She pushed to her tired feet. “Arlene,” she called down the bar to the other waitress who was handing off an order. “Will you please deliver the tray Gary’s loading up to the corner table for me?” At the bouffant blonde’s nod, Ronnie told the bartender she’d be right back and joined the Sheriff on the other side of the doors.

  “I didn’t see you come in,” she told Grady, taking in his uniform minus the hat. He must have come straight from work. Or was he still on duty?

  “I came in the back door.” With his hand on her lower back, he propelled her down the hallway toward the open door at the end. “I needed to talk to Butch, and he wanted me to grab you before I got started.”

  “Why me?” Then a thought struck her. “Oh, hell, what’s Katie done now?”

  “You tell me,” Grady said, following her into Butch’s office and shutting the door behind them.

  Butch sat on the corner of his desk, still wearing the cook’s apron he’d slung on earlier when the orders had rolled in too fast for the cook to juggle. The paperwork Ronnie had been working on when the deluge of bikers had hit was spread out on his desk where she’d left it before heading out front to help.

  “I know you’re both busy, so I’ll get right to the point,” Grady said. “Per your request,” he looked toward Butch, “I looked into Arlene. What I found doesn’t really offer much help, but it does make her a person of interest.”

  “Person of interest? What does that mean?” Ronnie asked.

  “In this case,” Grady’s somber gaze returned to her, “it means the only record of a woman named Arlene Hobbs in Florida is for a twenty-one-year-old college student going to the University of Florida in Gainesville. From what I can tell, if the woman out there taking drink orders is from St. Augustine, Florida, she was living off the grid without a driver’s license, a mortgage or rent payment, or any other kind of paperwork that ties her to the Sunshine State.”

  Ronnie looked over at Butch. “You think Katie is onto something with Arlene?”

  He rubbed his jaw. “I don’t know.” He turned to Grady. “Did you find anything on an Arlene Hobbs in one of the other states in that area? It seems like she mentioned living in Kentucky before taking care of her dying mother for the last few years. Maybe she never took up residence in Florida and everything identifying was under her mother’s name.”

  “That’s a possibility. That’s partly why I say she’s a person of interest. Usually when someone claims to be from a certain area but I can’t find anything on them in the system, they are keeping their head low for a reason.”

  “So it could be something criminal related,” Butch said.

  “Or she could be running from an abusive spouse or someone with a criminal tie,” Ronnie said. She’d been trying to disappear from the world in southeastern Arizona before Grady had figured her out.

  “Or that,” Grady said, his gaze somber.

  A knock on the office door made Ronnie jump. When Grady opened the door, Katie was standing there.

  She looked from Grady to Butch to Ronnie, her eyes narrowing. “What’s going on in here?”

  “I’ll explain later,” Ronnie told her.

  “You better.” She pointed at Butch. “Your presence is requested at the bar. There’s a woman out there covered in tattoos, spandex, and a few well-placed swatches of leather who claims she writes articles for some motorcycle magazine and wants to ask you a few questions.” She ended her monologue with a definite huff.

  Butch eyed Katie for a couple of beats, and then a grin crept up his face and made his eyes twinkle. “Well, based on that tempting description, I’d better go see what she wants.” He shucked his apron, hanging it on the coat rack next to the door. “I’ll be right back,” he told Grady and then slipped past Katie, leaving her glaring after him from the threshold.

  When Katie didn’t follow him, he came back and grabbed her hand. “You’d better come along to keep an eye on me, sweetheart. If this writer is dressed in as little clothing as you claim, I may need something to do with my hands so I don’t touch anything I’m not supposed to.”

  “You have the right to touch whomever wherever, Valentine Carter.” Katie shot Ronnie a scowl. “If you hear a bloodcurdling scream, you need to knock out the Sheriff, grab my keys, and meet me at my car. We’ll make a run for the border.”

  “Come on, killer.” Laughing, Butch tugged her after him.

  After they were gone, Grady closed the door again, leaning against it this time, sealing Ronnie inside with him.

  A nervous flutter filled her stomach at the intensity lining his face. “That’s some wind we have out there today, huh?” she said to break the silence.

  He crossed his arms, his utility belt making a creaking sound, his legs wide in the cop stance that always made her hackles rise. “I need to talk to you.”

  “About what?” she lifted her chin, preparing for a verbal sparring match.

  “You tell me. My Aunt Millie called me today and insisted that I come see you because we need to talk about something important.”

  Oh, right, Thanksgiving dinner. Ronnie had practiced asking him in the mirror this morning, but all of her attempts had sounded downright dorky.

  Grady cocked his head to the side. “Maybe we can start with what you and my aunt were doing at Dirty Gerties on Monday afternoon.”

  Ronnie’s cheeks heated. Busted, but how? “Sheesh! Did you plant a tracking device in my purse or something?”

  “No. That would be illegal without a court warrant.”

  “Well,” she threw her hands in the air, “there’s a ray of sunshine in this shit storm.”

  “I know that you and my aunt were at the club because I recently talked to the owner.”

  “Cherry?”

  He nodded once, his poker face firmly in place.

  Why was he talking to Cherry? Did he like to hang out at Dirty Gerties on his nights off? Was he like Lyle and …

  Grady growled in his throat. “Veronica, don’t look at me like that. I’m not your ex-husband. I saw Cherry at the mini-mart yesterday morning when I stopped for coffee on the way into work. She asked about my aunt using a walker now and went on to tell me about seeing you two in her establishment.”

  Relief flooded through her, cooling her jets, leaving her feeling embarrassed and stupid. She ran her fingers through her hair, wishing she could shapeshift into a cockroach and scuttle away through the vent. “Sorry. Old habits die hard.”

  “Trust me, I understand.” His face relaxed, his lips curving into a hint of a smile. “Let’s start again.”

  She nodded, sweeping her insecurities under the rug. “Fine, ask away. But keep in mind that I suffer from a rare form of interrogation-intolerance similar to Tourette’s syndrome and cannot be held responsible for the resulting verbal tics that may offend your delicate cop sensibilities.”

  “Delicate did you say?”

  She matched his challenging look clear down to the wide-legged stance. “Extremely delicate, Sheriff Hardass.”

  “Well, Ms. Morgan,” his gaze slid south, over hill and dale and the rest of her peaks and valleys before snapping back northward. Longing softened his hard features. “It sounds like I may need to use excessive force to compel compliance from an unwilling subject in order to get the answers I’m seeking.”

  “Bring the heat, Sheriff. You’re going to need it if you think I’m going to roll over without a fight.”

 
His mouth curved up on one side. “God, you’re sassy, Veronica.”

  “What are you going to do about it, Grady?”

  “I’m going to handcuff you to my bed and keep you there for a week.”

  “Sounds like police brutality to me.”

  “You don’t know the half of it. Once I get started you’ll be begging for release over and over.”

  The conviction in his voice gave her goosebumps. “Not if I corrupt you first.”

  His throaty chuckle enticed her even more. “Ah, but my beautiful bandolera, you had me corrupted as soon as I asked for your license and registration. The consequences since that day have been serious to say the least, violating my personal welfare more than you realize.”

  “Well, Sheriff, that makes two violations then—one for you and one for me. Now are you going to interrogate me or just keep standing there thinking about me naked?” Truth be told, she was the one with the naked thoughts, but he didn’t need to see how weak-kneed he made her.

  His eyes flashed, widening, but he kept his hands to himself, damn it. “Why did my aunt send me to see you?”

  “I need to ask you something.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  She licked her lips, her cockiness waning, feeling like she was back in junior high trying to land a date for the Sadie Hawkins dance. “I would like to … uh … I was wondering if you would consider …” she blew out a breath, scratching her neck. How could something so simple be so awkward and hard?

  “Just spit it out, sassy.”

  She gave it a whirl. “I would like to request your presence at the Morgan family’s dinner table on Thanksgiving Day.” What the planets! That was her worst one yet.

  Grady’s forehead scrunched. “Are you asking me to Thanksgiving?”

  “Yes.”

  Suspicion filled his gaze. “Why?”

  “What do you mean why? To eat turkey and stuffing and pumpkin pie.”

  “What’s the catch?”

  “Why does there have to be a catch?”

  “Because the Morgan girls are usually allergic to the law, especially you. Did my aunt put you up to this?”

  Ronnie hesitated, wondering how much Aunt Millie would talk about their deal in front of Grady. She didn’t want to lie, but the truth might not go over so well.

  “I knew it!” Grady shook his head, cursing under his breath. “It drives her nuts that I choose to work the holidays.”

  “Why do you work the holidays?”

  He shrugged. “It’s just another day of the year, same as Christmas. Plus it lets my deputies spend the holidays with their families.”

  His irreverence when it came to holidays tugged at her heart. Now she understood why Aunt Millie had made his invite part of the deal.

  “Grady.” She stuffed her hands in her pants pockets to keep from reaching for him, figuring any evidence of caring right then would probably make him uncomfortable. “Please have Thanksgiving with me and my family.”

  He smirked. “Now you feel sorry for me.” When she tried to deny it, he held up his palm like he was stopping traffic. “Trust me, Veronica, when I say there’s no need for sympathy. I’m happy to work through the holidays.”

  This was going to be tougher than she’d thought, but she knew better than to show up at her next meeting with Aunt Millie empty handed. “Okay, fine. If you’re too chicken shit to have dinner with us, I understand.”

  “That tactic isn’t going to work.”

  She pretended to inspect her fingernails, trying another avenue. “Never mind that I was going to fill you in on a potentially illegal situation we’re dealing with as of late.”

  “If you know of any illegal activity in the area,” he gripped his belt, “you need to inform me before someone gets gun-happy.”

  Well, that didn’t work either. What was next? Sex? It had been too damned long since they’d been alone long enough to do more than touch and tease. What the hell, it was worth a shot. “Not to mention that I was thinking we could steal a can of whipped cream and sneak out to the tool shed for some dessert.”

  “Dessert?” His voice sounded a little hoarse. Had she cracked his resolve?

  She closed the distance between them, going in for the kill. “Dessert,” she repeated, drawing a circle around his badge with her fingernail, and then scratching her way south until she bumped into his belt. “You see, Sheriff Hardass, I have this little idea.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “It involves you, lots of whipped cream, and my tongue.”

  His Adam’s apple bobbed.

  “What say you, law dog? Are you sure you don’t want to come to Thanksgiving dinner with me?” She looped her hands around his neck, pressing her chest against him.

  “You’re playing dirty, Veronica.”

  No shit. She had to satisfy her part of a deal with whatever it took. She went up on her tiptoes, pulling him down to her, and whispered in his ear, “I promise not to wear panties to the tool shed.” Then she flicked his earlobe with her tongue.

  He caved with a deep groan. He wrapped his arms around her, crushing her lips under his with a kiss so overpowering that she didn’t realize he’d lifted her off the ground for several seconds.

  He pulled back, his dark eyes turning her into a smoldering mess of need. “I shouldn’t kiss you, Veronica.”

  Fine. She kissed him instead and showed him what he’d been missing from her lately. When she came up for air, she asked, “Why shouldn’t you kiss me, Grady?”

  “I’m on the clock.” He let her slide back down to her toes, his body obviously taking her side.

  “Screw the clock.” Her fingers sank knuckle deep in his dark wavy hair, drawing him down to her this time. Her mouth taught him the error of his ways until he took over and knocked her seduction attempts out of the park. Damn, the man knew how to kiss. Her heart was dangerously close to leaping into his arms so he could carry it off into the sunset.

  The office door opened, bumping into them.

  “Hells bells, you two,” Butch said, stepping inside and shutting the door behind him. “You’re worse than the jackrabbits around here.”

  “Go away and come back later,” Grady muttered against her lips, not letting her go.

  Ronnie heard Butch’s chair squeak. “Sheriff Harrison,” he said, apparently not listening to Grady’s order. “Aren’t you still on duty?”

  “I’m on break,” he answered but then untangled from Ronnie and straightened his shirt. “Not that it’s any of your business what I do with my time, Carter.”

  Butch laughed, leaning back in his chair. “Oh, how the mighty have fallen.”

  Ronnie blew on Grady’s badge and then shined away a smudge with her sweater sleeve, saying over her shoulder to Butch, “I’ve heard that the bigger they are, the harder they go down.” She gave the Sheriff a daring grin.

  He smirked back. “Make a note of what the temptress said, Carter. She usually likes to taunt me with words like ‘delicate’ and ‘tiny,’ shooting her poisoned arrows at my ego.”

  “So what’s your answer, Sheriff?” Ronnie pressed. “Are you up for a date with a turkey and some dessert or not?”

  His brow wrinkled, his focus moving to Butch. “What are you doing for Thanksgiving?”

  “Same as usual. Pouring drinks.”

  Grady turned back to Ronnie. “If you can get Butch to take the day off, I will, too.”

  “Take Thanksgiving Day off?” When Grady nodded, Butch frowned. “Why would I do that?”

  “Because you’re going to have Thanksgiving with us,” Ronnie told him.

  “Who’s us?”

  “The mother of your child for one, along with the rest of her family.”

  He grimaced. “Is your mom going to be there?”

  “Probably.”

  Butch steepled his fingers. “I’ll make a deal with you.”

  “Let’s hear it.”

  “I’ll join you for Thanksgiving if we can have it here.”


  “At The Shaft?” Ronnie asked, confirming.

  He nodded.

  “Why here?”

  “Because I like to leave the bar open for people who don’t have family and don’t want to spend the day alone. There’s usually only a handful who come and go during the holiday.”

  “Okay.” Ronnie looked from Butch to Grady. “We’ll have Thanksgiving here and you both will be in attendance.” Aunt Millie hadn’t made stipulations on where dinner had to be, so it still fulfilled Ronnie’s part of the deal.

  Grady didn’t look thrilled when he nodded in agreement. She wondered if it had anything to do with whipped cream and a certain tool shed. While it was his fault for insisting Butch be part of the deal, she’d have to find a way to make it up to him.

  “Now where were we?” she asked.

  “You were about to tell me what you and my Aunt Millie were doing at Dirty Gerties on Monday afternoon.”

  “Research,” Ronnie shot back.

  “What would you be researching at a strip club with my aunt?”

  “Now, Sheriff,” she patted his arm, “you know it’s a woman’s prerogative to kiss and not tell. And since I already kissed you …”

  His jaw tightened. “Technically, I kissed you first.”

  “Right, well, there’s no telling what we were up to at Cherry’s establishment, but I could be persuaded to show you.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  She smiled and reached for the door. “Mark your calendars, boys: Thanksgiving dinner with the Morgan family. Butch, you’re supplying the location and furnishings. Grady, I’ll expect you to provide dessert.” She winked at him. “I like lots of whipped cream with my pumpkin pie. Try not to disappoint me.”

  Before he had a chance to continue his interrogation, she closed the door behind her. Whew! That had taken some fancy dancing, but she’d withstood his questions while managing to convince him to come to Thanksgiving. Aunt Millie had better deliver some answers on what happened to that damned camper.