by Linda Lovely
“Did that twit Diana at the front desk ask how come I recommended Hands On?” Mollye asked. “My endorsement must have surprised the heck out of them. Mom and Nancy are long-time foes. Not a chance I’d give Hands On any of my hard-earned nickels.”
I assured Mollye her referral never came up.
“What did happen?” she prodded.
As I gave a blow-by-blow of Nancy’s useless answers, I suddenly recalled the deceased’s comment about Jed signing away his rights to timberland and asked Mollye if she knew anything about it.
Her eyebrows scrunched. “Hmm, I do seem to recall something about old man Watson, Jed’s granddaddy, owning timberland. I’ll ask Mom what she remembers.” She paused. “So tell me about the screaming match. The most popular version is a full-blown cat fight with bite marks and snatched hair.”
“Ye gods, not even close. True, there was a bit of screaming, but Nancy performed solo. I just gave a queenly wave as I backed out of the parking lot.” I raised my hand to demonstrate my most regal wave.
“Ooh, that must have pissed her off good.” Mollye giggled.
“Sounds like you two are having fun.” Madge plopped down our orders. “Want to share the joke?”
My laughter died as I realized I was being a jerkwad, laughing at the expense of someone now on ice in the county morgue.
“You kinda had to be there,” Mollye answered.
Once Madge took off, our conversation took a backseat to chowing down until Andy walked in and spotted us.
“Hey, can I join you?” he asked.
“Sure thing, handsome.” Mollye scooted to the far side of the booth and patted the empty space beside her. As soon as the lanky veterinarian slid in, she leaned over and sniffed his jacket. “Peeuww. Maybe I should’a said no. You kinda smell like a barnyard.”
Andy grinned. “Yeah, I think my ex-wife listed cruelty to her olfactory senses as one of her many reasons for divorcing me.”
Ex-wife? Breaking news. Would have to ask Mollye for the lowdown.
“Well, it’s about time you started dating again,” Mollye said. “What’s it been—a year?”
Andy laughed. “You offering to fix me up? About the only time I meet young ladies is when I’m neutering their pets or sending them to doggie heaven. Not the best time to ask for a date. My truck smells like wet dog. There’s so much animal hair stuck to the seats they look like they have fur covers. What woman in her right mind wants to ride to dinner in that?”
“Me, me.” Mollye bounced up and down and waved her arms. “Oh, don’t get that petrified look. I’m kidding. You’re not my type. Too sweet. But you might have a shot at Brie here.”
I felt the flush climb my neck and head straight to my cheeks. Did everyone think I needed to be set up?
“How about it?” Andy coaxed. “We both need to eat. And who wants to go to a restaurant alone? Since you’re vegan, I went online to see if there were any places around here that served vegetarian meals. To my surprise, I found one that even claims to be vegan friendly.”
“Good to know.” Andy really was a sweetheart.
“Do you like Indian cuisine? A restaurant called Swad serves vegetarian and vegan dishes. Online reviews say the place isn’t fancy, but the food’s great. Can I take you there?”
“You were suckered,” I said. “Don’t let Mollye bully you into taking me to dinner.”
“Believe me, Mollye, bless her devious heart, has no powers of persuasion over me. Join me for supper. I’d hate to think I wasted all that research. I even promise to vacuum my truck.”
Mollye chuckled. “Andy’s definitely smitten. Don’t think that truck’s ever been cleaned on the inside.”
“Cut it out, Mollye.” I met Andy’s gaze. Yep, he was talking friends, but I thought I detected a hint of interest in something more. Still, as Andy pointed out, we both needed to eat, and it would be kinda nice to spend an evening with a considerate male.
I smiled at Andy. “I’d love to have dinner with you. But things are a bit,” I paused to search for the right word, “unsettled at the moment. You might need to bail me out of jail first.”
His grin faltered. “Don’t worry. Sheriff Jones is just hassling you because you’re Eva’s niece. Nobody thinks you killed Nancy. This will blow over. Fast. If I had to nominate a murderer, I’d put my money on Eli, Nancy’s husband. They had plenty of public knockdown drag-out screaming matches.”
I shook my head. “The leading theory has Nancy eating a brownie laced with ingredients you can’t find in Publix. Eli hardly seems the baking type.”
Andy shrugged. “True. That man’s more likely to brain someone with a two-by-four than whip up a batch of poisoned baked goods, but he knows people. Hangs out at that Hog Heaven biker bar. All kinds of drug deals go down there.”
Mollye put the back of her hand to her forehead like a swooning Southern belle. “Why Andy, I’m shocked. An innocent like you knowing about Hog Heaven.”
Andy laughed. “I’m not that innocent. Hey, I’m a divorcé; I know stuff. But you’re right. I don’t hang at Hog Heaven. Unfortunately, I treat dogs that get into their owners’ stashes. Not pretty.” He turned his attention to me. “Brie, it’s been a long time since I had a chance to take a pretty lady out to supper. Not about to give up when I hear a maybe. It’ll take about an hour to get to Greenville. How about I pick you up at five thirty tomorrow? If old Sheriff Jones carts you away in handcuffs, make me your one call. I’ll bail you out, and we can leave from jail.”
I laughed. “It’s a deal.”
How could I say no to that grin and those twinkling green eyes? Andy was a charmer, and by all accounts, a good guy. Wonder what happened to his marriage.
Madge stopped by the table. “Here’s your takeout, Andy.”
“Are you a mind reader or what?” Mollye asked. “Never heard Andy place an order.”
The waitress scrunched her face and closed her eyes in mock concentration. “I’m seeing tuna on rye, chips, and sweet tea.” She opened her eyes. “Wait. That’s the same as yesterday, the day before, and last week. Same takeout every day.”
“I appreciate a man who finds something he likes and sticks with it,” Mollye said.
Andy’s emerald eyes focused on me. “I know what I like, and I’m faithful to my favorites, tuna included.”
Had someone bumped up the heat in the restaurant?
“Gotta go,” Andy said. “A horse named Kicka is waiting for me. Her owner watched a lot of My Friend Flicka reruns, but decided the feisty mare’s name should warn folks to stay clear of her backside. See you tomorrow night, Brie.”
As soon as he was out the door, Mollye winked at me. “You lucky devil. I wouldn’t mind a few fur balls sticking to my behind if it meant I got to cuddle with that hunk.”
“Hey, I thought you said Andy wasn’t your type.”
Mollye shrugged. “Not long term. But he’d do for a night. Or two. Well, maybe a week or three. Imagine he’s seen randy studs mount plenty of mares. Bet there’s real animal passion simmering beneath that sweet-tea exterior. Hoo-ha.”
I laughed. Couldn’t help it. Mollye had a gift for taking my mind off murder. At least for a time.
“What’s the story on Andy’s divorce?”
Mollye rolled her eyes. “Andy met the witch online. He wanted to settle down, have kids. But starting a veterinarian practice kept him too busy to even date. The woman proved a terrific pen pal. Said all the right things. Too bad she thought anyone with ‘Dr.’ in front of his name meant his wife would lead a life of leisure, shopping her only duty. The reality of Ardon County, sharing a home with sick animals and dog hair everywhere, wasn’t what she had in mind. I say good riddance, but the experience has made Andy gun shy.”
After we paid our bills and stepped outside, Mollye leaned in to whisper in my ear. “I’ll see if I can coax s
ome information out of Danny McCoy. He’s a deputy, but he’s a sweetie. Not a mean bone in his body.”
“I think I met him,” I said. “Reminded me of a puppy. Big feet.”
Mollye chuckled. “Yeah, and at least in Danny’s case what they say about big feet is true. And like a puppy, he likes to lick everything.” My friend’s eyebrows bounced up and down as if they were doing an Irish jig.
I smiled as she waved goodbye and hurried off to her woo-woo store, which I promised to visit soon. Maybe Mollye could get us a little insider info from the Sheriff’s Office courtesy of Deputy Licks.
I headed to the courthouse. After two hours, I’d accumulated twenty dollars’ worth of prints of old microfilmed documents. Wasn’t sure I’d copied anything of value, but I planned to sift for treasure. My homework included deeds, foreclosures, land sales, and transfers, Burks Holdings’ incorporation documents, and old newspaper accounts of Jed’s disappearance.
As I exited the courthouse, Deputy Aaron West brushed past. “Mornin’, ma’am.” His breath reeked of onions. Must be hell flossing between those teeth.
“Whatcha doin’ here?” The saggy skin on his forehead bunched as he frowned.
I paused long enough to meet his gaze, wanting to make it clear none of the sheriff’s minions intimidated me. I kept walking, didn’t answer. Would he turn? Follow me to my car? My heart rate be-bopped up a notch. Did I hear footsteps?
I didn’t glance back until I reached my car door. The deputy was nowhere in sight. I didn’t realize I’d been holding my breath until the air whooshed out of my lungs in a relieved huff.
A leather-clad biker rumbled past, swerving so close the heat from his Harley threatened to raise welts on my legs. Someone else hoping to frighten me?
I caught myself before giving the biker a middle-digit salute. My disastrous visit to Hands On had temporarily cured me of spontaneous gestures.
After opening the driver’s side door and tossing my pile of papers onto the passenger seat, I started the engine. In the distance, Harley Leather-Britches’ tires squealed as he zoomed away from the town square.
Was this a sign? Were the answers I needed in the documents I’d collected, or could they be waiting for me at a biker bar?
EIGHTEEN
I took a detour on my way home for a short visit to Summer Place. I pulled into the driveway and stared at the lovely, yet admittedly forlorn-looking, mansion. Neglect had dappled her once snowy-white columns with mold. But despite the need for substantial repairs, I knew she had good bones. Dad told me he and Billy accompanied my twin aunts to inspect Summer Place before they bought her. Other potential buyers planned to raze the mansion and erect student condos on the site—a valuable one since the land was unrestricted and sat near Clemson and the Pickens County line. The sentimental seller let my aunts buy at a reduced price because they promised to save the historic beauty.
When would I have the time and energy to keep their promise? Summer Place’s good bones would have to wait until we buried the ugly past dug up with Jed’s skeleton.
I started the car, backed down the drive, and headed to the highway. In a matter of minutes, Magic Moonshine’s pampered zoo came into view. A fenced area adjacent to the building had a jumble of colored cubes randomly stacked at its center. A goat’s Jungle Gym. Near the building, a sloped ramp let the hyperactive goats scamper to the roof’s feed troughs. Paint said the gimmick worked. If Pops was driving down the highway, he’d slow the minute Ma exclaimed, “Honey, do you see what I see? Danged if there aren’t goats on that roof.”
I’d asked Paint, “Why goats?”
“I like ’em,” he’d answered. “They’re curious, independent, friendly. Plus they fit the hillbilly image that’s part of my outlaw moonshine brand.”
Goats were one of the bonds that cemented Paint’s friendship with my aunts.
Lowering my gaze, I spotted a crusty old dude in overalls. He stood roadside waving at passing cars and hoisting a jug of moonshine every few seconds for a pretend swig—at least I assumed the swig was for show. Another effective gimmick. I’d certainly ease my foot off the gas pedal to take a closer look. Stopping to visit was a logical next step.
Paint had described his roadside salesman perfectly. The wooly bearded gent looked like he’d just sauntered out of the backwoods with a shotgun over his shoulder.
I looked past the huckster. Two vehicles were parked by the door—Paint’s truck and a Harley. The same bike that practically singed my legs in Ardon?
Since Paint was minding the store, I had no qualms about dropping in. Maybe I’d even give a piece of my mind to one of the idiots determined to annoy me.
A bell tinkled when I entered the store. Center stage was reserved for a shiny three-piece copper moonshine still. At Aunt Eva’s dinner table, Paint admitted the contraption no longer worked, but he’d kept it for theater. It had belonged to his granddaddy—the only true moonshiner in his family. Paint portrayed himself as a third generation bad boy, part of Magic Moonshine’s mystique. No mention that his dad was a high school principal or that Paint had earned an MBA from Clemson University.
“Well, hello there, sweet thing.” The biker’s smoke roughened voice startled me. His beefy, leather-encased bod was bellied up to the counter. He was indeed the idiot who’d nearly sideswiped me.
“She’s not your sweet thing, George.” Paint’s tone underscored his hands-off message. “This lady’s my friend.”
Paint had entered from a side room, a jar of moonshine in hand. He put the jar on the counter that doubled as a tasting bar.
George dipped his head and mumbled what I assumed was either a polite hello or an apology. Paint’s appraising and proprietary look flustered me as much as it had George.
“Hi, Brie. Did you drop by to try more flavors or can I hope you just wanted to see me?”
“Thought I ought to visit your store.” I tried to sound nonchalant, though my racing pulse paid no mind to my brain. “Your moonshine barbecue sauces sound interesting. I think I’ll try basting portabella mushrooms with the peach-flavored one.”
“Dang. I’m disappointed you aren’t here to keep me company. But I never turn down a sale—especially when it gives me a chance to spend time with someone a lot better looking than George here.”
Paint turned toward his leather-encased customer. “You’ve sampled all the choices. You gonna buy a jar?”
“Later, man. I’ll be back.” The biker didn’t even glance my way as he clomped out of the store.
Once he was gone, I smiled at Paint. “I do want to buy one of your sauces. But seeing that guy’s bike parked outside gave me an added incentive to stop.”
Paint’s eyebrows lifted. “You into bikers and leather? I might have an old leather jacket somewhere. If not, I’ll buy one—and a Harley—if that’s what it takes.”
His grin was infectious. The deep dimples hard to resist.
“Nope, I have no desire to become a biker babe. But at lunch Andy mentioned Eli Watson hangs out at Hog Heaven, a bar where drug deals go down. It looks as if Nancy could have died from a designer drug, and Andy seemed to think Hog Heaven could be the drug source.”
“You met Andy for lunch?” Paint asked. “I’m crushed. Looks like my buddy and I share another interest, and he beat me out of the starting gate.”
“Actually, I was having lunch with Mollye at Abby’s Diner. Andy just dropped in to pick up some takeout.”
Hmm. Now why did I feel compelled to tell Paint my meeting with Andy was happenstance? Especially since I’d accepted Andy’s dinner invitation. Dang, my brain was flashing signs—trouble, trouble, trouble. Other body parts were sending a somewhat different message.
“Whew,” Paint said. “Knowing how Andy’s aw-shucks-nice-guy routine can charm the ladies, I feared I was already behind the curve. I’ll tell you a secret. Andy and I have been buddies foreve
r. He’s not that nice. We’ve had us some adventures.” His eyebrows wiggled up and down.
I shook my head. “You’re impossible.”
Unfortunately, his report on Andy’s adventurous side only increased my interest in the gentle pig-whisperer vet.
“No, I’m quite possible,” Paint said. “But let’s go back to the biker bar. Do you want to see the place? Bet Andy didn’t volunteer to take you there. Hog Heaven’s owner buys cases of my moonshine every week. Not the namby-pamby flavors. Those wouldn’t cut it with that macho crowd. They’re into the straight white lightning that fits the badass image. I’m due to make a delivery. What say you come with me tonight?”
Should I? Lord, help me. A week ago, I’d never have considered strolling into a biker bar arm-in-arm with a moonshiner. Eva’d cautioned me about Paint’s love ’em and leave ’em tendencies. Told me to put him in the same category as an exceptional chocolate mousse. Excellent for instant gratification, but known to have a relatively short shelf life.
“Great, what time?” My mouth answered before my brain could object.
“I’m meeting a wholesale distributor for dinner, so it’ll probably be eight o’clock before I can pick you up. Will that work?”
“Sure. See you then.”
I’d turned to leave when Paint walked out from behind the counter. “Not so fast.” He sauntered over, stopping mere inches away. He lowered his head, bringing his mocha eyes and those seductive black lashes even with my gaze. His warm breath grazed my cheek. Good googamooga, was he going to kiss me? His arm snaked around me. A second later he handed me the Mason jar he retrieved from the shelf behind me. I looked at the label. Moonshine barbecue sauce, peach-flavored.
“On the house.”
“Thanks.”
Might I have preferred the kiss?
Apparently I was over my broken engagement. I simply needed to heed Mom’s frequent admonition—“don’t jump from the frying pan into the fire.” There was definite sizzle in Paint’s direction. But who would get burned? I wasn’t exactly a babe in the woods.
