“He found out where I got the financing for the bar.” Poppy squirmed.
“Shit on a shingle!” Boone blurted out, then covered his mouth. “How did that happen?”
Boone didn’t like to curse, and although Poppy and I had promised him not to use the F-word anymore, if any occasion called for it, this one did. Poppy had gotten the money for her club from her father’s older brother. A guy Chief Kincaid hadn’t spoken to in forty years.
Blackie Kincaid lived in Nevada and owned the High Tail Inn brothel. Being the bad girl that she was, Poppy had defied her father’s decree that no one in the family have any contact with his brother and had gotten in touch with her uncle when she was in college.
Having no children of his own, Blackie had practically adopted Poppy. And when she decided to open Gossip Central, he’d been thrilled to lend her the cash interest-free. He’d wanted just to give her the money, but she turned down his generous offer. In another six months or so, she’d finish paying off the loan.
“Dad wouldn’t tell me how he found out about Uncle Blackie bankrolling the bar’s start-up,” Poppy huffed. “But I think he must have used some of his law enforcement contacts to investigate me, which is so totally heinous, I can’t even wrap my mind around it.”
“Honey, you have no idea how much data the government has on all of us. Or how easy it is to discover that info if you know where to look.” Boone wrinkled his nose. “Your father wouldn’t have had to pull any strings. All he’d have to do is take a stroll through the Internet.”
Boone was a bit of a conspiracy theorist. I knew I had to stop him before he started in on how the Freemasons control and manipulate the government. Or something equally as outrageous.
Hastily redirecting the conversation, I asked, “What did your dad want you to do? The money’s already spent, and you’ve almost repaid it.”
“Who the eff knows what Chief Holier-Than-Thou wants?” Poppy mixed the whipped cream into her Irish coffee and took a healthy sip of the steaming liquid.
“He didn’t say?” Boone patted the swath of tawny-gold hair that rested on his forehead. “That doesn’t sound like the chief. He doesn’t usually make you guess. He just tells you to your face what he wants you to do.”
I flinched. Boone challenging Poppy’s perception of her dad wouldn’t end well.
“You always take his side.” Poppy poked out her lower lip. “You’re supposed to be my best friend and support me no matter what.”
“Damn it all to hell!” Boone glared, possibly because he’d just sworn again. “We do support you. But you need to get over this feud with your father. Agree to disagree.”
“Don’t you think that I’ve tried that?” Poppy cried. “He keeps picking at me. Wanting me to change and settle down and be . . . Iris.”
“Ouch!” I made a sympathetic face and squeezed my BFF’s fingers.
Poppy’s sister had been the good girl of the family. She’d been a freshman in college studying to be a kindergarten teacher when she died in a car accident fifteen years ago.
“‘Ouch’ is right.” Boone winced in sympathy and covered Poppy’s and my hands with his.
“So what did your dad want you to do?” I asked.
I knew the chief had made some kind of outrageous demand or Poppy wouldn’t have been as riled up as she was when I saw her. Had he ordered her to get a teacher’s certificate and work with five-year-olds?
“Close the bar,” Poppy muttered. “Go to grad school and get my psych degree.”
I cringed. My guess had been close.
“Oh.” Boone frowned, then used his thumb to smooth the line between his brows and asked cautiously, “Any possibility of that?”
“Not an icicle’s chance in hell.” Poppy crossed her arms. “Dad can’t understand that I’m happy. I like running a business and I’m good at it. I make a great living and it’s fun. I like the rush of the bar on a Saturday night when things are really jumping.”
“Did you ever tell your dad that?” I asked. “I mean, really explain, not yell.”
“He doesn’t listen to me or my mother. He never has.” Poppy’s lips pinched together. “He only hears what he wants to hear.”
“Have you tried when you’re both calm?” I asked. “Rather than in the heat of the moment?”
The chief had always listened to me. He didn’t always do what I wanted, but he’d always heard me out. Surely, he could do the same for his own daughter.
As if reading my mind, Boone shot me an unreadable look. “Maybe Dev could go with you as a sort of intermediary.” He shrugged innocently. “I mean, she and the chief seem to work well together in solving crimes.”
“Well . . .” Poppy’s expression was speculative. “Do you really think it would help?” She looked down, playing with her napkin. “I mean, I’m not the wild child he thinks I am and . . . and . . .”
“And you’d like to stop fighting with your dad,” Boone finished for her.
She nodded, and Boone whipped out his cell. “Why don’t we schedule a meeting right now?”
“No!” Poppy and I shouted simultaneously, then she said, “I don’t like planning things like that ahead of time.”
“Why?” Boone held his phone at the ready.
“Because if you do,” Poppy smirked, “the word premeditated gets tossed around in front of the judge.”
I chuckled, and before Boone could pursue the matter, I said, “Let’s think this over a little. There’s no need to rush into anything.”
I wasn’t sure what I was afraid of. Maybe that I’d lose my good relationship with the chief, as well as damage my friendship with Poppy. Whatever it was, I wanted time to consider the idea before I agreed to act as a mediator for the Kincaid family.
Boone reluctantly put his phone back in his pocket, and I breathed a sigh of relief.
The three of us sat in silence finishing our desserts and drinks until I remembered a conversation that I’d had with Poppy a month or so ago. Was this about more than her father?
Licking the last of the flan off my spoon, I asked, “Is there another reason you want to improve your bad-girl rep?”
Poppy’s hand jerked, splashing her drink, and she said, “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Like, maybe the guy you told me about?” I smiled slowly. “The one who isn’t your type and is too different for even a fling?”
“No.” Poppy’s gorgeous heart-shaped face turned as red as the bottle of hot sauce sitting on the table. “Not really. And, like I said, he’s in love with someone else, so it wouldn’t matter what I did.”
“And why am I just hearing about this now?” Boone crossed his arms.
“It’s not important.” Poppy tried to shrug off the whole conversation.
“Doubtful.” Boone ticked off the facts. “First, you never blush. Second, your motto is that if the man isn’t married, then he’s available. And third, you’ve never cared about differences before. In fact, you always say you like having nothing in common because there’s no possibility of becoming emotionally involved.”
“Which is exactly why this guy can’t be on my radar.” Poppy slumped. “Just thinking about him makes me doubt myself too much.”
“Sweetie.” I slid my chair over and put my arm around her shoulders. “You’re amazing. Any man would be lucky to have you. We can always improve, but that doesn’t mean we aren’t great the way we are.”
“Tell us who he is.” Boone leaned across the table and took Poppy’s hands. “We really can’t make any informed suggestions without knowing.”
I saw the unhappy set of Poppy’s face and noticed a flash of guilt before she said, “I can’t. It would just cause trouble.”
Shoving aside the flicker of alarm, I ignored the idea that had popped into my head. If I didn’t think about it, it would go away. Right?
“Now I’m intrigued.” Boone’s grin was wolfish. “Who is this guy?”
“Let it go, Boone!” Poppy snapped, her voice cracking suspiciously.
Oh. My. God! Was Poppy on the verge of tears? The only time I had ever seen my friend cry was at her sister’s funeral. Certainly not over a man.
“We’ll talk about it another time,” I said. Poppy was beginning to worry me.
“No, we won’t.” Poppy’s expression was stubborn. “Just drop it. I’m sticking to men who are like this Irish coffee. Hot, fueled by alcohol, and able to keep me up all night.”
“Fine.” Boone’s nostrils flared. “But I thought we were best friends.”
Shoot! The last thing I wanted was for my two BFFs to fight.
Searching my mind for a change of subject, I spotted a good-looking blond guy tapping his foot impatiently at the take-out counter. When he saw me looking at him, he flashed a grin and I nodded. He looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t figure out where I’d seen him.
“Do either of you know who that is?” I moved my chin slightly in the man’s direction. “I feel like I should know him.”
“That’s Mac McGowan.” Boone’s eyes brightened at the prospect of good gossip. “Mac’s the golf pro at the country club. Although maybe not for long; I heard they were thinking of firing him.”
“Why’s that?” Poppy asked, evidently happy for the distraction.
“He hit the trifecta of sins.” Boone dissolved into what could only be described as a fit of giggles. “At least, sins for the hired help.”
“Which are?” Poppy asked, peevishly drumming a fingernail on the tabletop.
“One, he got caught doing coke in the locker room,” Boone said, sticking a finger in the air and nearly wiggling with glee. “Two”—his ring finger joined his pinkie—“he came to work drunk.”
“And three?” Poppy’s bloodred nails were hitting the table in double time.
“Patience is a virtue,” I admonished, snickering at her eagerness.
“And three”—Boone raised a third finger—“he got caught naked in the hot tub with the club president’s wife.”
When Boone paused dramatically, I asked, “Why in the world would McGowan do something like that? He had to know there was a decent chance that he’d be caught.”
“It’s the drugs,” Poppy said. “Part of the high is not having to think about what’s right and wrong. Just doing what feels good at the moment.”
Boone frowned at our interruption and said, “Even worse than being discovered nude with a married woman, there was another lady present.”
“Who?” Poppy squealed. Her thirst for gossip was second only to Boone’s.
“No one knows.” Boone’s lip curled. “She managed to get away without anyone seeing her face. All they could say was that she had a great body.”
“And by great, you mean a hundred pounds soaking wet, right?” I asked with a sarcastic edge to my voice that I couldn’t hide.
It had taken me years to become comfortable with my curvier-than-acceptable figure, and I was no longer jealous of the size 00s, but it was still a little annoying that everyone thought less was more.
Poppy and Boone looked at each other uncomfortably until I blew out a breath and said, “Sorry. Sometimes societal expectations still get to me.” I frowned. “Women will never achieve true equality until they can appear in public bald and with a beer belly, and still feel attractive.”
Poppy ignored my feminist rant, punched me lightly in the arm, and said, “You have beautiful hair.” She leaned forward and touched my ponytail. “A lot of women pay big bucks to get this cinnamon gold color you have naturally, but you scrape it back instead of showing it off.”
This was the same thing she said to me on a semiregular basis. I should just tell her why I opted for a ponytail. But I didn’t, because I didn’t want her pity. Since I’d given up the big bucks of the financial industry, I’d had to forgo the luxury of having my hair cut by someone who knew how to handle the thickness and the curls. I’d tried Vivian Yager’s beauty salon, but even she admitted that my unruly mane was a challenge.
Taking my silence as a green light to join in the let’s-critique-Dev session, Boone said, “Not to mention your gorgeous eyes. Do you realize people wear aquamarine contacts so their eyes will look like yours? But you do nothing to emphasize them.”
Again, good makeup was expensive, and I was allergic to most of the drugstore brands. I didn’t waste the pricey cosmetics on everyday situations. Jeez. You would think they’d never seen me looking good.
“Not to mention how you dress.” Boone’s gaze wandered over my jeans and sweatshirt. “I saw the cutest outfit in Glamour. It would be perfect for you. Let me get it for you as a Halloween gift.”
“Forget it.” I crossed my arms. “I’ve vowed not to wear any clothing modeled by a woman who weighs less than Gran’s cat.”
“Fine.” Poppy leaned back, suddenly deflated. “But you have two hot guys who love you. Who cares what other people think about your body type?”
“True.” That shrill alarm sounded in my head again. Since when did someone as gorgeous as Poppy look so unhappy at the thought of the men in my life? In all the years we’d been friends, she’d never exhibited one iota of jealousy before.
Something was definitely up. Something I didn’t want to even think about. I hoped I was wrong, but I had a feeling that I wasn’t.
Time to end this evening before one of us revealed something we’d all regret. None of us were ready to deal with what I feared might be exposed.
I quickly stood and said, “I’d better hit the restroom before I take off.”
“Good idea.” Boone rose and glanced around. “Where are they?”
“Near the entrance.” I looked down at Poppy. “How about you?”
“Nah.” She grabbed the check. “I’ll pay and meet you guys up front.”
Boone got out his wallet, and I dug through my purse. We each gave Poppy enough cash to cover our share of the bill, then made our way toward the bathrooms. As we neared the door, I glanced out and saw Mac McGowan juggling a tower of take-out containers as he fumbled with his keys. He saw me watching him and scowled, then quickly got into a small bright green car and drove away.
Boone followed my gaze and snickered. “Is Mac driving an avocado?”
“Sure looks like it.”
I was a bit of a car snob, and the tiny vehicle just seemed wrong for such an athletic guy. Granted, he wasn’t super tall or bulked up, but it still seemed an odd choice for him.
Shrugging, I went into the ladies’ room. To each his own.
But why had he glared at me? Did he think I was coming on to him because he’d seen me looking at him earlier? Nah. A guy like that would probably expect all women to be interested in him. Which made his frown all the more puzzling.
CHAPTER 10
It was barely nine thirty when I said good-bye to Poppy and Boone, got in my car, and headed home. It was unusual for our friends’ night out to end so early. Typically, our get-togethers lasted long past the witching hour. Of course, we were normally at Gossip Central, and no one there minded if we monopolized a table for an entire evening. At Mexilicious, it wouldn’t have been fair to the server to stay much longer.
And, although I’d never admit it out loud, I wanted to get home and check on Dad. Even though Gran was on her big date with Tony in Kansas City, she would have fixed Dad something to microwave for his dinner, so the actual food wasn’t an issue, but I felt guilty that he might have been lonely eating the meal all by himself.
I had sent Dad a text telling him I would meet up with my BFFs, so he wouldn’t have expected me for supper. Still, I worried about his state of mind. I hoped there was a good movie on TV or a MythBusters marathon. He loved that program.
Since getting out of prison, Dad had stuck c
lose to the house. At the best of times, he’d never been one to socialize much, and the years of unjust incarceration had made him even less inclined to seek the company of others.
One reason was just Dad’s natural introverted nature. But a bigger cause was that even though the real criminal had finally confessed to everything—the bank embezzlement, planting the controlled substance in my father’s glove box, and drugging him—Dad had still been the one behind the wheel when the vehicle hit and killed an innocent young woman. And not everyone had welcomed him home.
Unfortunately, some of the townspeople didn’t care that my father had been roofied. They felt he’d committed vehicular manslaughter and so should have served the rest of his sentence. And they made their displeasure known.
It certainly helped that Chief Kincaid had stood by Dad’s side. They’d been friends before my father’s wrongful conviction, and the chief had openly resumed that friendship when he was freed. Which was a big reason that although I was uneasy about mediating the feud between Chief Kincaid and his daughter, I would do my best for them.
With that virtuous thought, I pulled into the lane that led to my grandmother’s place. The house was located at the edge of town on the ten remaining acres of the property my ancestors had settled in the eighteen sixties. I had lived with my grandmother there since I was sixteen when Mom had dropped me like an unwanted kitten on Gran’s front porch.
Before my grandfather died, back when the Sinclairs had been prosperous landowners, the hired hand had lived in an apartment above the garage. But when Dad got out of prison, he’d moved into that space, and now three generations of Sinclairs occupied the old homestead. It was a bit too cozy when any of us wanted privacy, but mostly it was nice to be close to what little kin I had left.
Due to premature deaths, several generations of only children, and entire families packing up and moving away, Birdie, Dad, and I were the last Sinclairs in Shadow Bend. When my grandfather died sixteen years ago, Gran had refused to accept her son’s financial help.
Lions and Tigers and Murder, Oh My Page 9
