Making It Right (A Most Likely To Novel Book 3)

by Catherine Bybee

  She glanced at the offerings Zoe brought. “I should probably check on Billy.”

  “Oh, he’s fine. Sleeping like a baby.”

  The door leading to the one holding cell was cracked open enough to hear him call out for help but closed enough to not hear his snores, which had threatened to keep her up most of the night.

  Jo settled into a chair, pulled the warm pastry from the basket. “You’re like Mary Poppins with a bag full of goodies.”

  “It’s a basket,” Zoe said with a smile.

  “Even better.” She tore off a chunk and popped it into her mouth. Jo closed her eyes and hummed. “Have I told you how much I love you being back in town?”

  “If I didn’t know you, I’d swear you’re using me for my culinary skills.”

  Jo pulled off another piece, talked around the food in her mouth. “Oh, I am. No doubt about that.”

  They both laughed.

  The coffeepot buzzed, signaling it was time for a hefty dose of caffeine.

  Jo offset the bitter brew with a truckload of sugar. “Have you heard from Zane?” she asked as she took her first sip.

  “He called night before last. Said he might be moved from Virginia to North Carolina.”

  Zoe’s brother, Zane, had joined the marines shortly after Ziggy, their father, had been shot and killed the previous year. Sheryl, Zoe’s mom, sat in a woman’s penitentiary for voluntary manslaughter for shooting her husband. Even though the woman was protecting her children, she still ended up with a three-year sentence with a mandated one year to be served. Jo didn’t think the courts would keep her all three years. Ziggy’s long history of violence and abuse weighed heavily on the case. The chances of her getting out and being anything but a mouse in need of a hole to sleep in were slim to none. She’d been beaten down her whole life; she would suffer even more behind bars.

  “More training?” Jo asked, redirecting her thoughts to Zane.

  “He said something about tactical. He sounded excited.” Zoe smiled like a proud sister should.

  “I’m so happy he joined.”

  “Me, too.”

  Rattling of metal on metal brought their attention to the door to the holding cell. “Jo . . . I mean, Sheriff . . . you out there?”

  Jo took another swig of her coffee before setting the cup aside. “Looks like I’m on.”

  Zoe tapped her toe against the air as Jo made her way to the back.

  Billy Ray’s bed head hair, rumpled shirt, and bloodshot eyes suggested his night was just as bad as Jo’s. “Look who sobered up.”

  He looked past her to the open door. “I take it my mom didn’t want to come down and pick me up?”

  She leaned against the door frame. “She didn’t answer the phone. I’m not even sure I had the right number.” There was no way she was getting his mother out of bed to take care of his drunk ass.

  Billy narrowed his eyes. “You have everyone’s numbers.”

  “Everyone who ends up on that side of the bars,” she corrected.

  “But I’ve . . .”

  Yeah, he’d been there before. “Dustin isn’t pressing charges,” she told him.

  Billy sighed in relief.

  “But disobeying a direct order from a peace officer . . .”

  Billy looked up and met her gaze.

  “I’m sorry, Jo. Steve and I had been drinking. Opal’s my sister . . . I couldn’t just sit there.”

  She took a step forward. “You didn’t just sit there, you ended up sleeping here. Is Opal’s broken engagement worth a police record, Billy? Do you think your mom needs to deal with this kinda thing?” Billy had always been a mama’s boy, hence the reason he was still living with the woman at twenty-five.

  “I’m sorry.”

  Funny, the man actually looked sorry.

  She grabbed the key to the cell and moved to open the door. “In case you missed it, you’re not invited to R&B’s for six months.”

  He muttered something under his breath.

  “And if I see you anywhere near Dustin causing trouble, I’m going to cuff you first and ask questions later . . . got it?”

  Billy nodded like a bobblehead doll.

  She inserted the key in the lock and paused. “You have running shoes, right?”

  “I have sneakers, if that’s what you mean.”

  “Good.” She clicked open the door. “Bring them with you tomorrow when you meet me at River Bend High at six in the morning.”

  He ran a hand through his hair. “Six in the . . . what do you want?”

  She opened the door wide. “Six a.m., River Bend High.”

  She didn’t expect an argument, and Billy was sober enough to understand that.

  “Thanks, Sheriff.”

  Yeah, he’d thank her now . . . but tomorrow, after three miles on the track . . . not so much.

  She followed him out the door and found Zoe snickering as he walked by. “Mornin’, Billy.”

  He mumbled a good morning and hustled out the door.

  Once it closed, Zoe started laughing. “I swear you’ve turned into your father.”

  “I run faster than he did.”

  Zoe slid off her perch. “I better get back to Miss Gina’s. Breakfast won’t cook itself.”

  “Thanks for this.”

  “Not a problem. Always great to see you playing cop.”

  They hugged before Zoe walked out the door.

  Playing cop . . . yeah, that’s how it often felt.

  Jo put together her essentials: gun, duty belt . . . keys to the squad car, before gathering the spoils left by Zoe. Once outside the station, she locked the door and looked around the silent streets of River Bend. Saturday morning held little interest for early risers unless there was some kind of town event or holiday to celebrate.

  Not that weekend.

  Her eyes landed on the cornerstone bronze plaque of the station, the one that told anyone who could read the date the building was constructed. Taking a step closer, Jo noticed where Zoe had pushed aside the vining jasmine to find the key they’d tucked into the underside of the building’s facade. Pleasant memories of her youth kept her staring at the building for quite a while before she stepped away.

  Out of habit, she drove the few blocks of town, around the block, and back down the main street before making her way home.

  She left the squad car in her drive and unlocked the front door of the single story bungalow. There was a time in the not so distant past she didn’t bother locking the door to her house. Her father never had, and they never needed to. Only the previous fall, around the time of Ziggy Brown’s death, the weight of a thousand eyes bore down on Jo like a thick fog choking the town from the ocean.

  Jo had started locking doors, looking behind her back, and changing her routine. Looking behind her back and changing her routine lasted about a month longer than the eyes watching her. Or perhaps she grew used to being under someone’s radar. Either way, she was getting sloppy again. At least according to Agent Burton, the Fed who had become a friend over the past couple of years.

  Jo started undressing before she turned down the hall and into the master bedroom. It had taken two years for her to move her father’s stuff out and take over the space to make it her own. For almost eight years she’d been sleeping in his room and performing his job.

  For nearly ten years she’d been living his life.

  The bed called out to her, suggesting she catch another couple of hours of sleep.

  Instead she turned to the shower and turned the volume of the rock band of the hour on high.

  Chapter Two

  Jo, Mel, and Zoe sat in the parlor of Miss Gina’s Bed-and-Breakfast for their weekly girls’ night. Most of the time they had to use Jo’s house for their gatherings due to the B and B having a full house. But Tuesday nights and even the occasional Wednesday this early in the spring meant the inn had one, maybe two rooms occupied.

  Miss Gina entered the room carrying a red pitcher of her famous lemonade. Her worn
Birkenstock sandals made squeaky noises against the floor as she walked, her ever-present tie-dyed skirt swishing at her ankles.

  Mel stood. “I’ll get the glasses.”

  A tray of guilty pleasures sat on the table: chocolate, cheese, and fruit that Zoe had thrown together. Anyone else would have put a bowl of Hershey’s kisses and small chunks of cheddar, but not Zoe. Jo could identify two of the four cheeses, and the chocolates looked like the gourmet category that one picked up at the mall in Eugene. Even the fruit had been prepared with some kind of cutesy knife that offered deckle edges to the melons.

  “You’ll be happy to know my cookbook is now in production.” Zoe picked up a small chocolate and nibbled.

  “What does that mean?”

  Miss Gina spoke first. “It means Felix and his crew are coming into town by the end of the month to start filming.”

  “Did I know about this?” Jo tried to place the information inside her head and came up blank. “I remember talking about the possibility—”

  “Probability.” Mel set the glasses on the table and started to pour. “Felix set everything up, right, Zoe?”

  Zoe was dressed down to jeans and an oversize shirt, her long black hair pulled back in a simple ponytail. “Felix put together a small team—”

  “How small?” Jo was more interested in the safety of large truckloads of film equipment sitting around for long periods of time.

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Guess.”

  Zoe glanced at the ceiling. “No less than ten people, probably more like a dozen.”

  “And trucks? How many trucks?” The size of the town and simple politics meant there weren’t permits needed for filming, but if someone wanted to cause problems, there was county-wide red tape that could be pulled.

  “Just one, probably,” Zoe answered.

  “Why do you ask?” Mel sat back, her bare feet tucked under her bottom as she made herself comfortable.

  “So I can head off any issues before they become a problem.”

  “You think there’s a problem?” Miss Gina asked.

  Jo shook her head. “No. Most of the people in town love it when Zoe’s people are around. It makes everyone feel like they are the famous ones.”

  “I’m not famous.” Zoe rolled her eyes.

  Jo shook her head. “Who here has not been on TV multiple times with celebrities all over the world?”

  Miss Gina, Mel, and Jo raised their hands.

  “Who here doesn’t have a zillion frequent flyer miles on their airline of choice for filming said TV spots?”

  Three hands went up.

  “Who here doesn’t have fan mail, has to dodge autograph requests, or has an agent—”

  “Okay, okay . . . so I’m a little famous.”

  Jo laughed. “Anyway, if I know what’s coming, I can give a heads-up to those who might need to know, and maybe the few busybodies in the area, to avoid any trouble.”

  “If there is any trouble, we will sic Felix on them. He’s great at making everyone get along.”

  Jo took a sip of her drink and decided to not finish the glass. She wasn’t on duty, but the thought of not being able to jump on an issue if needed didn’t sit well with her.

  “Hope can’t wait to see the crew.”

  Hope, Mel’s nine-year-old daughter, was blossoming into quite the prima donna of Miss Gina’s Bed-and-Breakfast. With her innocent smiles and fluttering of her eyelashes, the crew handed her the keys to their hearts the minute they arrived.

  “She wants to make some money off that swear jar you have in the kitchen.” Miss Gina groaned. Her pocket had grown empty in the two years Hope had lived in River Bend, and her language had cleaned up considerably.

  “Smart girl,” Jo said.

  Mel took another swig of her drink. “The high school has managed to lure me into the alumni committee,” she told them.

  “For the reunions?” Zoe asked.

  “Yep.”

  “How hard can that be? How many kids were in our graduating class, fifty?”

  “Ish,” Jo said.

  “Yeah, but this year’s ten-year reunion is going to be triple the size.”

  Zoe found another chocolate, kept nibbling. “Baby boomers of River Bend?”

  They laughed.

  “No, Waterville High had a fire during the holidays that year,” Mel told them.

  Jo narrowed her eyes.

  “I forgot about that,” Miss Gina said.

  “I don’t remember anything about it,” Jo mumbled.

  Miss Gina patted Jo’s knee. “You had a hard year.”

  She sure had. Before her father’s death, she was working odd jobs in Waterville and renting out a bedroom from a divorcée who needed the extra money. When Jo would come home, she’d often stay with Miss Gina. She and her father had just started talking without massive fights right before his death. Jo attributed the peace to the distance.

  “I can’t believe it’s been ten years.” Mel’s voice softened.

  “Feels like forever.”

  Miss Gina made a humming noise as a slow smile inched across her lips. “Your dad liked his beer, but he had a soft spot in his heart for my lemonade.”

  “My dad never kept beer in the house.”

  “That’s because you’d drink it!” Miss Gina never minced her words.

  “And when did he have a chance to drink your lemonade?” Jo asked.

  “Joseph made the trip out here a few times that last year you girls were in high school.”

  “He did?” Jo didn’t remember hearing about him going to Miss Gina’s except for the occasional drive through and checking on people when the weather was bad and the power was out. Which, where they lived, happened quite a bit.

  “To check on you, mostly.”

  “How come you didn’t tell me?”

  Miss Gina tipped her glass back. “I told him I wouldn’t. Besides, if I told you back then that your dad and I talked, you wouldn’t have come to me when things were hard for you.”

  “I came to you for just about everything.”

  “We all did,” Zoe added.

  Mel removed her honey blonde hair from her ponytail and ran her fingers through the ends. “I remember the day we had that counselor come to the school to talk about teenage pregnancy. We all came here to get the facts from you.”

  Miss Gina nodded with a grin.

  “You told us abstinence was what the preachers tell their daughters to practice about six months before their illegitimate babies were born.” Zoe’s words brought back the memory.

  “Then we had a road trip into Waterville and came home with condoms and the number to the family planning clinic for pills when we needed them.”

  “I used that number,” Jo told them.

  “I didn’t have to. Miss Gina handed me three months’ supply when she heard that Luke had asked me out.”

  “You didn’t have sex with Luke for, like, six months,” Mel protested.

  “Seven, but I started the pills sooner.”

  Jo laughed. “That’s because you thought you’d get pregnant by just thinking about sex.”

  Zoe rolled her eyes. “I did not.”

  “Did, too,” Mel said.

  “You were paranoid, Zoe.” Miss Gina waved her glass in the air.

  For a minute it looked like Zoe was going to protest; instead she nodded.

  “So what did my dad and you talk about? Not birth control pills, I hope.”

  Miss Gina shook her head. “He never flat-out asked about that part of your life, but I did remind him that you were smart and didn’t want to be a teenage mother.”

  “He probably knew I was having sex.”

  “Oh, he knew . . . he just couldn’t figure out with who. Bugged the crap out of him that you didn’t date any local boys.”

  “Which is exactly why I didn’t date anyone in town.”

  “You didn’t date anyone here because they all knew your dad,” Mel corrected her.


  “It’s a good thing as it stands. It’s hard enough policing River Bend, imagine if it were filled with exes.”

  “I would laugh my ass off all the time.” Zoe chuckled.

  Miss Gina tucked a long strand of silver-speckled hair behind her ear. “Your dad wanted to know you were safe and getting by. He offered to give me money once in a while to help you out so long as I didn’t tell you about it.”

  This was news to Jo. “And did he . . . give you money?”

  “Yep, and I took it, too. You kids emptied my pantry every time you showed up.”

  Jo had no idea. “Why didn’t you tell me about this before now?”

  “You weren’t ready to hear this right after your dad died. Would have made you fall even deeper in your grief. But your dad loved you. He didn’t always know how to handle you, and that summer after high school he had to put his boot down or risk losing you to the wrong crowd. Especially after Zoe left and Mel was in California.”

  “I was with the wrong crowd,” Jo said, remembering the party lasting for months.

  “Yes, but you called me to pick you up when things were a little hairy, and you never ended up in jail.”

  “Dad locked me in his more than once.”

  “Not the same.” Miss Gina looked beyond them in her memories as she spoke. “He did that to scare you.”

  “All it did was piss me off.”

  “It scared you or you would have ended up in someone else’s holding cell.”

  Neither of her BFFs offered a protest.

  Mel refilled her glass and topped off Zoe’s. “So Jo’s dad came here often?”

  “The year Jo was living in Waterville. He’d come by after you’d visit.” Miss Gina nodded toward Jo. “He wanted the real story . . . did I approve of your friends? Had I met them? Were you getting enough to eat? He was a worrywart, your dad.”

  “He never showed that to me.” Jo wasn’t sure if she should be relieved to know how much her father thought of her back then or distressed to know he didn’t tell her directly.

  “He had to keep it from you, JoAnne. You needed to be on your own two feet in order to realize how much you had with him. The harder you had to work, the less time you had to party.”