The Rowdy Coyote Rumble (Jackrabbit Junction Humorous Mystery Book 4)
Page 35
“I don’t think you are happy, Kathryn. That’s why you cry so easily these days. The hormones are just making it harder to hide your feelings behind your pretty face.”
Manny had pinned the tail on el burro. She didn’t want to sleep alone in this damned R.V. anymore. But the bed she wanted to crawl into each night had someone in it and words needed to be said before he’d invite her back into it. Words that her tongue was too chicken shit to say yet, too afraid that after he’d listened to these words, he’d still say, “No thanks.” Butch had rejected her before. She had no doubt he could do it again.
She looked back toward the bedroom, swiping away another rush of tears. “I’m afraid.”
“What’s to fear?”
“Butch wants the baby but not me.”
Manny chuckled, coming over to lean against the counter next to her. “Mi amor, if that is true, then it is his loss. You are a bloom in the desert.”
She sniffed. “You’re only saying that because you’re sleeping with my mother.”
“Being married to tu madre has nothing to do with how much I care for you three girls.” His satin draped arm rested on her shoulders. “And now you’re going to make me an abuelo.” He squeezed her in a side-hug.
Kate’s brain screeched to a smoky stop. She leaned slightly away and frowned up at him. “What did you say?”
“I’m going to be a grandfather.” When she continued to stare up at him without moving, his smile slipped a little in the corners. “Well, a step-grandfather. I meant no disrespect to your father.”
She waved his words away. “Not that part, the stuff before that.”
“I care for you girls?”
She shook her head. “The part about being married.”
“Sí. What about it?”
She stepped back, her mouth falling open. “What the … When did …” she looked down at his left hand. “There’s no ring there.”
“We’re getting it resized.”
“You married my mother?!!”
“Sí. In Vegas.”
“What!!!” Kate sank all ten fingers into her hair, tugging it back from her face. “When? How did I miss it?”
“You were in South Dakota with your sister.”
“Does Claire know?”
He nodded.
“Ronnie and Gramps?”
He nodded again.
“How come nobody told me?”
“Maybe they thought you knew.”
He’d married her mother. “Why?” She shook her head, flabbergasted. “Why did you go and marry her, Manny? You were enjoying the milk for free.”
“I wanted more than free milk. I wanted familia.”
“Family?” She laughed in disbelief. “Why would you want us as your family? We’re as dysfunctional as they come.”
“I disagree, especially when it comes to you three girls. You’re adventurous and full of life.”
That was literally true for Kate, with the baby growing inside of her. “We’re messed up in the head and always landing ass deep in trouble. Haven’t you seen how much we make Gramps bark and growl?”
Manny shrugged. “Eh, es verdad, but his eyes also shine when he talks about you three. Now mine will shine, too.”
Kate scoffed. “I can’t believe you willingly wanted all of this … this … insanity we call family life.”
“It’s exciting, Kathryn.”
“But Mom’s turned into a drunk.”
“That will pass as soon as she’s finished exorcising her demons.”
Kate had been waiting for that exorcism to be complete for going on thirty-two years now.
“I’ve never had a stepdad before.” She contemplated him as a father figure, thinking how absurd he looked in his beat up cowboy boots and her mother’s pink robe. A feather boa would really make his outfit. She smiled. “What do you want me to call you?”
“What do you want to call me?”
She shrugged. “Manny.”
“Manny it is.” He tightened the satin belt. “Now what are we going to do about you living alone in this camper and all of those tears you keep leaking?”
“I don’t know,” she frowned, her angst returning.
“I do. You’re going to tell that muchacho that you want to move back in with him and that he is going to make you his wife before that baby is born.”
“Wife?” She grimaced. The idea of speaking that word in front of Butch incited a rash of terror up and down her limbs.
“Wife,” Manny iterated, crossing his arms over his chest. “And if he isn’t willing to put a ring on your finger, you tell him that your stepfather comes from a long line of Mexican gunfighters and isn’t afraid to face off in the street at high noon.”
“Oh, Manny.” Her eyes filled again, damn it. “Thank you for marrying my mother.” She stepped closer and wrapped him in a hug. “You smell like Mom’s perfume.”
He patted her back. “I think I will keep this robe for me. It’s very soft.”
Chuckling, she stepped back and straightened his collar. “Chester might find you sexy, especially in those boots.”
He made a face. “Never mind.” His gaze moved to the window. “Look, the birds are up. It’s time for us to get dressed and go take on el mundo.” He said that last bit like he was broadcasting a soccer game on Spanish television.
“Good idea.” Kate headed for the bedroom, adding over her shoulder, “But first I need some ice cream for breakfast.”
An hour later, Kate pulled her Volvo into the almost empty parking lot at the grocery store in Yuccaville. A tub of mint chocolate chip ice cream was in the forefront of her thoughts, along with what she planned to do to her sisters when they got their secret-keeping butts out of bed. She’d teach them a lesson for not telling her about their new stepfather.
With spots plentiful, she parked up front near the door. Purse in hand she climbed out of her car. The rumble of a muffler interrupted the squeaks and croaks from a pair of grackles fighting over half of a sandwich near a trash can, jousting with their beaks in between snatching at the bread.
The sight of the Polar Bear pulling into the lot made Kate gasp and duck down behind her car. She peeked through her window, watching as he parked his motorcycle in one of the marked handicapped spots right up front. He climbed off his bike and strolled inside the store, walking without any sign of a limp.
Kate popped up. “He parked illegally!” she told the grackles, who looked over at her, cocking their heads one way and then the other.
She planted her hands on her hips. As if plotting to terrorize and torture her sister wasn’t enough, the son of a bitch had parked in a handicapped spot, and he was clearly walking just fine. “It’s not as if the damned lot is full with nowhere else to leave your ridiculously shiny bike.”
One of the grackles whistled at her. The other took advantage of the distraction she was creating and plucked up the remains of the sandwich. He flew off with the other bird chasing his tail feathers.
She walked over to the motorcycle, circling it. Where did he get the money for such a pricey machine? From torturing innocents for information? Killing for money? Her vision shifted through shades of pink and ended up at red.
That was it. She was done sneaking around worrying about what happened next in his game of hide-and-go-kidnap.
She glared over at the grocery store’s front doors. “You’re messing with the wrong family.”
Stalking back to her Volvo, she snapped on her seat belt, jammed the keys in the ignition, and shifted into reverse. She backed up about fifty feet and hit the brakes. A final search of the lot found it clear of pedestrians.
All systems go. She shifted into drive.
With a war cry that would have made Gramps smile in pride, she hit the gas pedal. The speedometer was close to forty when she slammed on the brakes, the motorcycle front and center in her windshield. The brakes pulsed, but her car’s momentum carried her forward. She winced in preparation for the BOOM! of the airbag goin
g off in her face.
Her Volvo rammed into all of that pretty polished chrome with a clanging crash. Shiny parts and pieces flew everywhere catching rays of sunlight, sparkling in their final glory before smashing back to earth. The bike itself skidded sideways several feet and then keeled over and slid to a stop on the pavement. It lay like a dead horse in clear view of the store’s front doors, its leather saddlebags ripped loose, the front tire spinning slowly.
Huh. The airbag hadn’t gone off. Go figure.
“Whew!” Kate blew out a breath of relief. After weeks of watching the Polar Bear’s comings and goings, lying awake at night worrying about his next move, fearing for her sister’s future, she’d done something proactive to keep Ronnie safe.
At the sight of a handful of people rushing out of the store, she pushed open her car door. Stumbling out, she held her forehead and groaned good and loud for effect.
“Are you okay?” a man in an apron asked, coming to her aid.
“I think so.”
“What happened?”
“I don’t know. I started sneezing as soon as I turned into the lot and couldn’t stop. You know how it is with the winds kicking up all kinds of dust and mold spores this time of year.” When the bagger nodded in agreement, she faked two sneezes in rapid succession. “Anyway, I must have accidentally hit the gas instead of the brakes. I tried to stop, but—”
“What the fuck?!!!” a voice bellowed.
Kate looked across the hood of her car. The Polar Bear stood in front of the store, his eyes bugging as his sites locked onto his dead chrome horse.
“Uh-oh,” she said to the bagger. “He looks perturbed.”
“Maybe you should get back in your car, miss, and lock the doors.”
The Polar Bear stumbled over to his crunched bike, his jaw opening and closing with no sound coming out. He grabbed the handlebars with one hand trying to haul it upright, but the bike slipped out of his hand and crashed to the ground again. The remaining mirror fell off and shattered on the pavement.
His eyes were black, menacing holes when they scanned the crowd, stopping at her. “Who did this?”
Kate expected him to start snorting and pawing at the ground at any moment. She crossed her arms over her chest, gearing up for battle. “I did.”
“You hit my bike.”
“It was an accident.’
“You hit my goddamned bike!” he roared.
She raised one eyebrow, slipping into teacher mode. “I heard you the first time, sir.” She walked around her car, standing across his mangled motorcycle from him, feeling safe in the middle of a growing crowd of onlookers. “Where’s your cane?”
“What?” His big face was beet red, the rims of his eyes almost the same color.
“Your cane. You were parked in a handicap spot. I’d expect you to have a cane or wheelchair, something that would make you impaired enough to need to park right up front.”
His lip snarled. “I’m vision impaired.”
“And yet you ride a motorcycle.” She tapped her chin with her index finger. “My, that sure seems dangerous. And odd. Where do you keep your handicap sticker?” She looked over the bike. “I sure don’t see one anywhere.”
“What the hell does it matter where I parked? You hit my fucking bike!”
“Yes, but if you hadn’t been parked illegally in a handicap spot, I wouldn’t have hit it.” That was the bona fide truth. Had he not been so blatant about disrespecting a parking spot set aside for those in need, she would happily have bought her ice cream and gone on her merry way, his bike and her car intact.
He clenched his fists, his eyes issuing death threats. “Lady, I hope you have insurance, because this here bike costs a lot of pretty pennies.”
“I have lots of pretty copper pennies, but unfortunately no insurance.”
He strode over to her car and slammed his fist down on her hood, making a huge dent in the middle of it.
“That wasn’t very smart, especially with all of these witnesses.” She spread her arms wide toward the murmuring crowd.
He shook his fist at her, the same one he’d used to dent her hood. “Listen, you ditzy blonde bimbo.”
Her scoff interrupted his threat. “Come on. Ditzy blonde bimbo? Is that the best you can come up with, you slope-headed cretin? Somebody please give this guy a thesaurus.”
He took a menacing step toward her.
Her heart panicked, throwing itself against her ribcage over and over. She should have brought Claire’s bat along. A good lesson for future ice cream runs.
The sound of a siren coming their way made everyone turn toward the street. The screeching of tires followed as a Sheriff’s Bronco careened into the lot and slid to a stop in front of the Polar Bear’s bike, almost adding another dent.
Kate shielded her eyes, trying to see who was behind the wheel, but the morning sun ricocheted off the windshield.
Please let it be Grady. Please let it be Grady. Please let it be …
The door opened. Black boots came into view.
“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the notorious Kate Morgan.”
The Bronco door slammed shut.
Shit.
It wasn’t Grady.
* * *
“The phone’s ringing.” Jessica said, joining Claire at the kitchen table.
“So answer it.” Claire took a bite of pancake.
“I can’t. My nails are wet.”
“Criminy, do I have to do everything myself?” Claire stood up from the table, taking her can of soda with her into the rec room. She grabbed the receiver next to the bar. “Hello?” she spoke through a mouthful of pancake.
“Claire, it’s Butch. I need you to come with me.”
“What?” She swallowed the food in her mouth. “Where?”
“To Yuccaville.”
It wasn’t even nine o’clock yet. Did he need more supplies? Why her? Why not Kate or Ronnie? She took a sip of Coke to help wash the pancake down her throat. “Why?”
“I just got a phone call.” Butch sighed. “Kate’s in jail.”
She gasped, spitting Coke on the bar and down the MoonPie T-shirt Mac had bought her last month. Damn it, what had Kate done now?
“I’ll pick you up in ten minutes.”
She grabbed a rag from behind the bar. “I’ll be ready.”
Manny stepped out of the kitchen, spatula in hand. “You ready for some more pancakes?” he asked as she wiped off the bar.
She shook her head. “Put the pancakes on hold.” She tossed the towel on the bar, not sure how to deliver the news she’d just received other than straight up. “Kate’s in jail.”
“No!”
“Yes.”
“Ay yi yi.” He smacked his forehead. “This is my fault.”
“How is Kate landing in jail your fault? You’ve been in the kitchen making breakfast for us all morning.”
“I should not have told her to go take on the world.”
Jessica poked her head out from around Manny, a piece of bacon sticking out of her mouth. “Kate’s in jail again?” she practically yelled.
Claire shushed her. “Let’s keep this to ourselves.”
“How cool! Can I come with you to spring her?”
“Who’s in the hoosegow now?” Chester asked, pushing aside the curtain leading to the General Store.
Shaking her head, Claire headed back to her bedroom to grab her shoes and purse. The shower was running next door. She debated on stepping into the bathroom and telling Mac what was going on but then decided against it. This was her problem not his. She’d fill him in when they got Kate home.
On her way back through the rec room, Manny handed her a wad of cash.
“What’s this?”
“Bail money.”
“You don’t have to pay her bail.” While she was in the bedroom, Claire had grabbed one of the credit cards Gramps had left behind for her to use in case of an emergency.
“I told you, this is my fault.”
He pushed it into her palm and closed her fingers over it. “Just take it.”
A horn honked out front.
“That’s Butch,” Claire said, pocketing the cash. “Tell Mac I’ll be back in a bit.”
“Can I tell him Kate’s in jail?” Jessica asked.
A screech of surprise came from the hallway leading back to the spare bedroom. “Katie’s in jail?” Ronnie hollered.
“Way to keep it a secret, Jess!”
Ronnie joined them in the rec room wearing yoga pants and a long sleeve T-shirt, her cheeks red, her hair pulled back in a ponytail. She must have been exercising in her room again. On colder mornings, she shied away from heading outside to do her yoga. “What happened?”
“I don’t know. I gotta go. Butch is waiting.”
Ronnie grabbed Claire’s flip-flops by the back door and snagged her purse from the barstool. “I’m coming with you.”
She followed Claire down the General Store’s porch steps. “You take the front seat. I don’t want to stink out Butch after my workout.”
“You stink him out on a daily basis, Ronnie,” Claire said, reaching for the door. “What makes today so special?”
“Shut your lips, brat.” Ronnie shoved her into the pickup.
Butch waited for them to click on their seatbelts before rolling out of the park. The Doobie Brothers were cranking good old Black Water out of the speakers, wanting to hear some funky Dixieland.
“Who called you?” Claire asked him, flipping down the sun visor. “Kate?”
“Grady did.” He turned the radio down. “He said he got a call from his deputy that Kate was in the holding cell. She wouldn’t come out to call anyone to come pick her up because she insists the deputy wrongfully arrested her.”
“Oh, dear God.” A groan came from the back seat.
“That’s not all,” Butch continued, glancing in the rearview mirror at Ronnie. “She refuses to leave the jail cell until the deputy says he’s sorry.”
“Jiminy Cricket,” Claire grimaced out the window. “Her marbles have truly rolled away, scattering every which way into the desert.”