by Linda Lovely
Why shouldn’t I enjoy a couple of evenings out with entertaining male companions?
NINETEEN
Eva and I ate as soon as we finished the evening chores. She tried to tempt me with chicken parmesan, one of my favorite dishes from childhood. My aunt had no more success seducing me than I had waving a stuffed portabella mushroom under her nose.
“No trade,” she huffed. “I have zero interest in eating an oversized pile of fungus. There’s such a thing as too healthy. Don’t think I didn’t see that printout you put on my pillow. Some study about Chinese rice eaters living to a ripe old age. If they’d had a choice, bet they’d have swapped a couple years in their nineties for a juicy filet mignon.”
I sighed. Looked like I’d be cooking for one for a long time, and I expected a retaliatory refrigerator note come morning.
“Uh, Eva, I’m planning to go out for a drink with Paint tonight. He’s coming by about eight. Do you mind my leaving you alone for a couple of hours?”
Eva snorted. “Don’t go acting like your parents. I’m not afraid to be alone. I invited you to live here. Never planned to take you prisoner.” She winked. “Kick up your heels a little, kiddo. You’re only young once, and Paint’s one fine specimen. Stay out all night if you want.”
I rolled my eyes. “Give me a break. We’re going out for a drink, not heading to the nearest No Tell Hotel.”
She laughed. “Hey, I’m not your momma. You’re old enough and smart enough to know all about safe sex. It’s one foolproof stress reducer. In fact, I think I’ll ask Billy over tonight now that I know I have the house to myself. How about a pact? Paint’s picking you up at eight, right? Don’t come home before eleven.”
“Can’t promise that, but I’ll tiptoe in. Won’t knock on your bedroom door if I come home sooner.”
I hadn’t mentioned our Hog Heaven destination. I doubted I’d want to spend three hours in a place I assumed would live up to the hog part of its name.
“We have a couple hours before Paint arrives,” I said. “Want to help me sort through those papers I copied at the courthouse?”
“Sure, though I’m not clear about what smoking gun you hope to find.”
We sat at the dining nook, papers spread across the table. My aunt started scanning the documents related to her farm, and I picked up the incorporation papers for Burks Holdings, LLC.
“Whoa, what have we here?” I’d come across a list of the original LLC partners.
Eva looked up. “What did you find?”
“Guess who owns a piece of Burks Holdings?”
“We only have an hour until you need to get ‘purty’ for Paint. Let’s not waste time on guessing games.”
“Ray Burks owns forty percent of the LLC. Not a huge surprise, though I’d have thought he’d keep at least fifty-one percent for control. But I about swallowed my tongue when I saw the other three partners. Each owns twenty percent of the company.”
“So give already. Who are they?”
“Victor Caldwell, your favorite banker, Sheriff Robbie Jones, and Deputy Aaron West.”
“You’re shitting me.” My aunt’s language became a mite saltier when my mom wasn’t around.
“No. I’m not.”
Eva shook her head. “Victor’s not a shocker. He comes from money. That bank’s been in his family for decades, and his folks bought up lots of land when it was cheap. So Burks would have put him at the top of any list of potential Ardon investors. But Jones and West? The Sheriff’s Department isn’t known for lucrative pay. Neither man is poverty-stricken, but I can’t imagine either of them scraping together enough coin to help finance a fancy resort.”
“Interesting. Wonder if Paint or Andy might have an explanation?”
Eva grinned. “Be sure to work in those questions between smooches.” She laughed at my expression. “Just teasing. Better get used to it. That’s one of the things I miss most. Lilly could give pretty good. We had us some fine sparring matches at least once a day.”
“I’ll remember that. Now I’m going to try to get ‘purty’ since you seem to think I need help in that department.”
“Never said that, Brie. You’re about the prettiest young woman I know.”
I laughed. “You’re only saying that ’cause Dad claims I look just like you did at my age.”
“Well, there you have it. You’re not pretty, you’re gorgeous.”
“Wow,” Paint said when I answered the door. “Not sure I should take you to Hog—”
Before he could say more, I placed my fingers on his lips. “Eva doesn’t know where we’re going,” I mouthed.
He grasped my hand and, one by one, kissed the fingers I’d pressed against his lips—his moist, soft, warm lips. “I can keep secrets,” he whispered, “for a price.” His gaze started at my feet and slowly climbed to my red sweater. “Love those boots.” He raised his voice a notch above normal so Aunt Eva would hear. “And red is my favorite color.”
My pulse climbed right along with his no-holds-barred appraisal. If he liked my red sweater, bet he’d go bat shit over my bra. Where did that come from? I had no plans for Paint to get a peek at my bra. Of course, my cheeks, undoubtedly flaming, were now his favorite shade.
I engaged in a little appraising of my own as he brushed a shock of shiny hair back from his forehead. My fingers itched to do it for him and find out if it felt as silky as it looked. His nearly black eyes shone like onyx. Crinkly laugh lines framed his eyes, hinting at lusty mischief. Was it getting hot in the cabin or what?
The unmistakable clippity-clip of tiny nails on pine floorboards broke the spell as my pup scrambled over to greet him. Paint laughed as Cashew bounced around his legs in excited circles. He scooped her up and grinned as Cashew’s tongue painted the air. She was trying her darndest to lick him to death.
She liked him. Good sign. Not that it would have stopped me if she didn’t, but a rebuff might have slowed me down. Another glance at those eyes crowded out all consideration of my pup’s lickable rating scale.
“Evening, Eva,” Paint said as my aunt joined us. “How are you doing?”
“Almost ready,” she teased. “Brie told you I’m coming along to chaperone, didn’t she?”
“Great,” Paint answered. “A beautiful woman on each arm. I’ll be the envy of every guy in the joint.”
Eva punched his arm. “You’re no fun. Can’t get your goat no matter how hard I try.” She made a shooing motion. “Go on, you two. I have my own entertainment plans for the evening. Billy will be here in a few minutes.” She wagged a warning finger. “Don’t bring Brie home too soon.”
“Eva!”
Paint and my aunt chuckled as he put my squirming puppy back on the ground.
“Glad to see I can still get someone’s goat,” she said.
Hog Heaven was everything I expected. The parking lot was chock-a-block with motorcycles of every vintage, shape, and horsepower. Although mostly Harleys, a few rice rockets held their own. Yet with all the bikes, Paint’s truck was no outlier. There were at least a dozen behemoths. All, including Paint’s, sported gun racks. Paint’s bright red truck was distinguished by the oversized decals pasted on the doors. The signs featured a buxom babe hoisting pints of white lightning, Magic Moonshine emblazoned across her boobs. First place males would focus.
“Promise it’ll only take a minute for me to run my delivery around back,” Paint said. “Wait for me.”
“Yep. I’ll be right here.” Like I’d saunter into Hog Heaven by my lonesome.
Paint was as good as his word. Couldn’t have been more than three minutes before he was back to open my door.
As soon as we walked inside, my eyes began to water. The bar’s designated smoking area was a joke. The indoor smog would seriously test my mascara’s waterproof claims. No need to waste money on a cigarette or reefer of my own, all I had to do
was inhale.
Though the light was murky, it was easy to tell females were a minority. I guessed the gender mix at seventy-thirty. I was happy to have Paint’s nicely muscled arm possessively draped around my shoulders. Four big bruisers left a booth and Paint led me toward it. The table held two empty pitchers, foam still clinging to the rims, four mugs, peanut shells, and shredded napkins. The overflowing ashtray had to have at least twenty butts.
“You hold our seats,” Paint said. “I’ll order drinks and ask Cindy to clean the table. Can you handle my moonshine? Bad advertising if a moonshiner doesn’t drink his own product.”
“From what you told me about Hog Heaven, my choice of flavor is white lightning or white lightning. Guess I can handle one. Don’t count on me to down more than two glasses. You’d have to carry me out.”
“I may stop you at one. I’m obliged to be a complete gentleman with tipsy ladies.” His eyebrows hiked up. “Sober ones? Well, I’m sure Eva warned you about us moonshiners.”
I enjoyed the view as Paint sauntered away.
“I’ll rack ’em this time. Lady Luck ain’t gonna help you again.” The slurred voice coming from the pool table nearest our booth sounded familiar. All I could see was the stocky speaker’s boots, legs, and flat, wide butt. His jeans looked dirty enough to live on without any underlying fabric. Red mud caked his scuffed boots.
A waitress walked close enough to casually hip-check my date just before he slid into his seat. She gave me a nanosecond’s attention and a curt nod as she transferred the dirty glasses and pitchers to a nearby stand and swiped our table with a damp cloth. The babe kept her eyes fastened on Paint. Once she sashayed off, he slid along the bench.
As Paint’s thigh cozied up next to mine, the skunked pool player straightened and turned.
Holy Havarti! No wonder the voice sounded familiar.
I clamped onto Paint’s arm. “We need to leave,” I whispered.
“What? We just got here. Thought you wanted to case the joint. See if we could talk to some folks here who know Eli.”
“Not anymore. Look who’s playing pool. The grieving husband. If he sees me, Eli may go postal. He swung an axe at me before we’d even met. Now the sheriff’s probably convinced him I murdered his wife.”
Paint stared at Eli and squeezed my hand. “Don’t worry. The owner of Hog Heaven’s my friend. So’s his bouncer. I have a lot more clout than Eli. If it gets ugly, they’ll chuck him out.”
Scenes of bar fights danced through my head. Broken beer bottles. Flying fists. Bloody mouths. Cool it, I told myself. This is real life, and Paint knows the turf.
I watched Eli laugh, then take a big swig of beer. His wife was in the morgue, slit stem to stern for an autopsy, and he was boozing it up, shooting pool, laughing. Maybe he really was the killer. A happy one at that.
“You look scared to death,” Paint said. “Hope nobody thinks I’m the cause. Take a sip of moonshine. It’ll take the edge off. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
I thought Jack, my ex, had cured me of interest in Alpha males. Yet Paint’s promised protection warmed me down deep where I didn’t need warming. I took a big gulp of moonshine for courage. Remembered too late his recommendation to keep my danged mouth closed. I sputtered and coughed as oxygen ignited the fiery liquid sliding down my gullet. Paint patted my back.
My hacking carried over the barroom clatter. A dozen heads turned our way. Eli’s included.
His eyes narrowed into a vexed squint. He shook his head like a dog who’d stuck his nose in a patch of pepper. His expression said he couldn’t quite believe his eyes. It also suggested three sheets to the wind wouldn’t quite capture his condition. Eli sober wasn’t pretty. But Eli soused?
He lumbered our way, a sturdy pool cue in hand. Paint stood.
Spam in a can. What now?
“What’s that murderin’ bitch doin’ here?” Eli snarled.
Ninety percent of the bar’s leather-clad cronies stared at us. A circle began to form.
“Think it’s time for you to leave, Eli.” Paint raised his hands in the universal stop signal. “Know you just lost your wife, and you tipped back a few to ease the pain. But this lady here has nothing to do with you or your loss. Leave it alone. Go home.”
“The hell I will.” Eli swung the pool cue with all his might.
Paint ducked, waited for the stick to pass, then shot up to steal the weapon from the surprised drunk’s hands. He jabbed the butt end deep into Eli’s flabby stomach. Paint now had full custody of the pool cue. The drunk yelped and sank to the floor. Looking almost bored, my date tossed the pool cue away as Eli writhed in pain.
“You summabitch,” Eli moaned. “I’ll get you and that bitch.”
Paint turned toward the man who’d been shooting pool with Eli. “Can you take him home, Aaron?”
Aaron? I hadn’t paid Eli’s drinking buddy any attention. None other than Aaron West, the deputy sheriff who’d been all too happy to show off the gun he’d found in Eva’s barn. The same deputy who owned twenty percent of Burks Holdings.
“I think I’m gonna puke.” Eli’s hoarse declaration prompted retreats by most of the looky-loos who’d been hoping to see two dudes duke it out.
“Let’s make sure you do it outside.” Paint grabbed Eli’s right arm and Aaron took the left. They yanked, and Eli lurched to his feet. Before they could perp-walk him to the nearest exit, the drunk tried to spit on me. The slobber just dribbled down his chin.
Alone in our booth, I tried not to squirm, knowing I’d become an unwanted center of attention. Come on, Paint, hurry. The two minutes he was gone seemed like hours.
“Aaron’s taking Eli home,” Paint said. “He won’t be bothering anyone tonight.” He looked at my empty glass. Everyone in the bar seemed to be watching, waiting for Act Two. Having downed one moonshine for liquid courage, I felt a tad light-headed and less than eager to hoist another one or stay long enough to merit an increase in Cindy’s tip jar. Get me outta here.
“You ready to leave?” Paint must have read my mind. “Why don’t we go to my place for a night cap? Eva will skin me if I bring you home this early.”
My reason for visiting Hog Heaven—chatting with some of Eli’s friends—was long gone. “Let’s go.”
My brain cartwheeled. Paint’s place? I was pushing my luck—and willpower—heading to his lair. Being alone with him. My red bra would definitely be to his liking. But he wasn’t going to see it.
Note to self: red is the color for stop signs.
TWENTY
I wondered if Paint was sorry he’d suggested we leave Hog Heaven. Nerves had turned me into a chatterbox. Bet he’d love to find an off switch.
“Aaron and Eli are buddies?” I asked.
“Not really. But Hog Heaven’s where they both like to drink and shoot pool. Aaron comes when he’s off-duty. He pretends it’s part of his lawman routine, keeping an eye on what’s going down. If that’s true, he does a piss-poor job.”
“Could Eli have bought drugs there? Something he might have used to kill his wife?”
“It’s possible. Jimmy, the owner, turns a blind eye when his customers smoke marijuana, but he doesn’t tolerate drug deals inside Hog Heaven. The empty lot next door is a different matter. Deputy Aaron knows what goes on there, too. Just ignores it.”
“Eli looked like he was a happy camper tonight. Not exactly grief stricken.”
“I don’t know about that.” Paint shrugged. “People handle loss differently. Eli and Nancy had some nasty public fights, but I’ve also seen them all lovey-dovey the next day. I can’t imagine the man killing her with drugs. Too premeditated. Knife her, shoot her, wring her neck? Yes, Eli might do any one of those in a fit of rage. What I can’t see is him getting mad, then buying drugs and biding his time to get even.”
The more I thought about it, Paint’s analysis had
the ring of truth. The murder method didn’t jibe with what I knew of Eli’s character. But if Nancy’s husband didn’t do her in, who did?
Back to square one. Who wanted Nancy Watson dead? Were there any suspects beyond Aunt Eva and yours truly?
Paint turned down a rutted dirt road. “We’re almost there.”
There, where? We hadn’t seen a streetlight in miles. Squinting, I could just make out a falling down shack. Paint’s home? I’d expected rustic, but I figured there’d be an actual roof.
We drove past the shack. A minute later, a log cabin came into view.
Paint laughed. “I heard that sigh of relief. You thought that shack was mine, didn’t you?”
“No, of course not,” I lied.
An eerie howl raised goosebumps up and down my arms.
“That’s Lunar welcoming us home,” Paint said. “A farmer found him huddled against his dead mother and took him to the animal shelter. They called me, since they knew my folks had raised an orphaned wolf.”
“Your pet is a wolf?” I swallowed.
“Yep. Don’t worry. He’s a ladies’ man. Doesn’t cotton to my male friends, but he’s a complete gentleman around the ladies.”
What was I getting into? Alone with not one wolf, but two.
“Just let Lunar sniff your hand when we get out.”
Paint punched some gizmo on his key chain and a spotlight came on, bathing his cabin’s front yard in amber light. The first thing I saw was a wheelbarrow filled with colorful pansies. Then I spotted Lunar. Sleek grey fur, piercing blue eyes. Beautiful. Scary as hell.
Paint walked around the truck and opened my passenger door. Lunar padded over to meet me. I held out my hand. He sniffed, then crept away. Tacit approval? Little Red Riding Hood had survived one wolf. A quick glance at Paint made me wonder if I’d make it past number two.
The cabin interior was sparsely furnished, but spotless and cozy. The main living space included a couch and recliner next to a potbellied stove. The open floor plan also included a one-butt kitchen with a pine table and two chairs in an adjacent nook. Two partially opened doors provided a glimpse of the rest of the cabin. One door led to a bedroom. The other to a bathroom.
