Wallflowers: Double Trouble

by CP Smith

  “I thought you said we were safe as long as we’re with you?”

  “You are. But I can’t be in two places at once. We’ll head to town and book rooms at a hotel. You’ll be safe there while we’re figurin’ this shit out.”

  I nodded. I was fine with being as far away from the ranch as possible. “We’ll bring the aunts and Natasha as well, right?”

  “Yeah,” he growled. “I need to speak with Natasha. Someone has it out for them, and I need to know why.”

  “I’ll call the sheriff,” Devin said, pulling out his phone.

  “I’ll call Aunt Martine and let her know I’ll be a few more days,” Nate stated, pulling out his own phone. “She’ll be thrilled, since she loves teasin’ the college boys who come into my bar.”

  We rounded the corner of the barn and found Bernice, Eunice, and Natasha waiting for us. They were on alert, watching the six of us anxiously.

  “We have a situation,” Bo announced.

  “Well, spit it out. It can’t be any worse than what I’ve been through in the past twenty-four hours.”

  Bo glanced at me, then got right to the point as usual. One thing I’ve learned about Bo, he doesn’t mince words. “Clint Black is dead. Murdered. We think someone’s tryin’ to ruin you.”

  Natasha sank down on a step as Cali’s aunts gasped. “I was wrong,” she muttered. “You were able to top the last day.”

  Bernice and Eunice sat down next to her, and each took one of her hands in comfort.

  “Can you think of anyone who would want to hurt you?” Devin asked.

  Natasha shook her head. “We’ve never harmed a soul, keep mostly to ourselves. It’s just Boris, me, and the ranch hands.”

  “Has anyone come around recently inquirin’ about the place?” Bo asked.

  She shook her head again. Worry pulled at her features, and I became concerned that the stress might be too much.

  “We should get them to town. Settle her into a hotel room so she can rest,” I said to Bo.

  He nodded in agreement, then turned and looked toward the barn. Then he put his lips to his teeth and blew a sharp whistle.

  Troy and Brantley emerged from the shadows as if Bo had trained them to follow his command, and made their way over, looking at us with interest.

  “Is somethin’ wrong?” Troy finally asked.

  “Black is dead. Murdered,” Bo answered.

  Both men blinked, then bit out, “By whom?” at the same time.

  “That,” Bo growled, “is the question of the day. We’ll get to that as soon as we settle the ladies into a hotel. Grab two of the vehicles and start loading up their stuff, yours, too. The whole ranch is a crime scene until further notice.”

  Catham County Sheriff, Justin Moore, peeled out of his SUV and stretched, then he scanned the front of the hotel where Bo, Sienna, and the rest were staying. Bo looked at Devin just as his jaw tightened for control. Five days earlier, the same sheriff had interrogated Devin and Calla in the death of Charles Taft, a reporter who was keeping tabs on Devin for Calla’s grandfather. His interrogation of Calla didn’t sit well with Devin, nor did the card he gave her with instructions she should call him any time, no matter the reason.

  “Is this gonna be a problem for you?” Bo asked with a grin.

  “Nope. ‘Cause he’s not gettin’ Calla alone again.”

  Bo rolled his bottom lip between his teeth to keep from smiling.

  Moore entered the conference room they’d sequestered for the meeting and scanned the space. Instead of coming straight to Bo and Devin, he walked up to Calla and smiled. Then he turned to Poppy and Sienna, and his smile widened.

  “Ladies,” Moore drawled smoothly, then looked back at Calla. “I was more than a little surprised when I saw your name as one of the witnesses.”

  “I don’t mean to keep findin’ bodies,” Calla rushed out.

  Moore raised his hand to stop her. “I said, surprised, not suspicious.”

  “Is he purposely ignorin’ us?” Devin asked.

  Bo didn’t answer. He was too busy watching Moore flash his million-dollar smile at Sienna.

  “Player,” Bo mumbled.

  “Not a player,” Devin answered. “Just cocky as hell.”

  Done with introductions, Moore finally turned his attention to the men and put out his hand.

  “Detective, good to see you again,” Moore said, then turned his attention to Devin. “Hawthorne, how’s Armstrong treatin’ you these days?”

  “Like shit, so I think he’s warmin’ to me,” Devin answered, shaking Moore’s hand.

  Moore flashed his smile at both men, then, done with the niceties, ordered, “Run this down for me from the top.”

  Devin turned to Bo and raised a brow. “I’ll let you cover this.”

  Bo raised a brow in response, then turned to Moore and laid out what he knew.

  “Black was found by Sienna Miller,” Bo started. “He’d been dead two hours when she found him. No intruders were seen on the property. Everyone who was supposed to be on the ranch was accounted for. No one had the means or opportunity at the time they were alone. We suspect the fire and release of cattle onto the neighbor’s property are also involved. Either the unknown perp has a score to settle with Boris and Natasha Winkle, or Black was runnin’ from someone, and the rest is pure coincidence.”

  Bo expected Moore to ask further questions, but the man turned instead and looked at the table where the Wallflowers were sitting. “Is Miller the blonde or brunette?”

  “She’s the taken one,” Bo clipped matter-of-factly. “The brunette’s her friend Poppy Gentry.”

  “Poppy’s taken as well,” Devin added quickly when he saw Nate enter the room, “just like Calla.”

  Moore grinned, looked back at the Wallflowers, and shrugged. “A man would have to be blind not to notice.”

  “Noticin’ is one thing; handin’ out your card in an attempt to keep in contact with her is another. Not when you know she’s got a man.”

  Moore raised his hands in surrender. “An oversight on my part. It won’t happen again.”

  “What won’t happen again?” Nate asked as he joined them.

  “Moore here was just askin’ about Poppy,” Devin lied.

  “What about her?” Nate replied, leveling Moore with a look of steel.

  Moore turned, then sighed when he realized his eyes were level with Nate’s jaw. “Jesus, Hawthorne. Your point was made,” he grumbled.

  “What point was made?” Nate asked, crossing his arms.

  “That Moore here is barkin’ up the wrong tree,” Bo said. “Now, do you want to take each of our statements as a group or separate?”

  “He wants to take our statements as a group,” Devin rumbled low.

  Moore looked at Devin and nodded. “Group is fine. I have no reason to suspect any of you. I’ve spoken with Mrs. Winkle on the phone, and she explained that Black approached her about a job at the hospital. It seems that, once again, you and your friends are at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

  “Or we’re exactly where we’re supposed to be,” Bo argued. “Seems to me that a lot of harm would have come to these good people if we hadn’t come.”

  “That’s another way to look at it,” Moore agreed. “Let’s get the formalities out of the way so you can be on your way.”

  Devin shook his head slowly. “We’re not leavin’.”

  Moore glanced at Bo. “Are you steppin’ on my investigation?”

  Bo crossed his arms. “We’re here on vacation. Five days of horseback ridin’ and campfires.”

  Moore’s mouth twitched. “Right. Then let’s get you back to singin’ Kumbaya under the night sky.”

  Nate watched Moore head back to the Wallflowers, then looked at Devin questionably. “Asshole?”

  “He’s the sheriff who gave Calla his card,” Bo informed Nate, reminding him of the night at Poe Publishing when Calla had dropped that tidbit of information.

  “So, asshole,” Na
te replied.

  “That about covers it,” Devin grumbled, then moved to sit by Calla, slinging his arm tightly around her shoulders.

  “He’s in deep, isn’t he?” Nate said, watching Devin.

  Bo caught the smile Moore flashed Sienna as he handed her a pen, and his gut clenched.

  “Yeah. He’s in deep. Can’t help but be,” Bo stated as he moved past Nate, ready to pound his chest while he threw Sienna over his shoulder.

  “Why’s that?” Nate called out.

  Bo turned and decided he’d give Nate a heads-up. “Wallflowers burrow under your skin and wrap around your heart. There’s no escapin’ them once they grab hold. Think about that.”

  “Gin,” Poppy said, grinning.

  “What? But you’ve only drawn two cards,” Cali cried out.

  I snorted, rolling to my side. I was lying on the bed in Bo’s and my room, chatting with the Wallflowers while he, Devin, and Nate were off hunting down information that would shed light on Black’s murder. Hamburger wrappers littered every surface of our room as the scent of onions mingled with air freshener. After spending two days on the ranch, being shut in a room with one window and no ventilation made me a tad claustrophobic and feeling antsy.

  “We need to do somethin’ to help,” I said, sitting up. “I’m not meant to sit around and do nothin’!”

  Poppy shuffled the deck, ignoring me, and started dealing out cards.

  “Remember what happened the last time we took matters into our own hands?” Cali asked as she picked up each card she’d been dealt.

  “We saved you from a mad woman hell-bent on endin’ your life?”

  Cali shuddered and shook her head. “I meant the most recent attempt to help.”

  “You mean when we found the cows and got them home with nary a scratch?”

  “That’s the one,” she answered, picking up a card from the deck. “Didn’t you end up in a fight with Bo for taking chances with your safety?”

  I flopped back on the bed. “Yeah.”

  “So you’re willing to risk his wrath again?”

  “No. But that doesn’t mean we can’t help in a non-life-threatenin’ way. We could, I don’t know, go to the local diner and ask around. Wouldn’t the locals know if someone had it out for Boris and Natasha?”

  “Gin,” Poppy called out triumphantly.

  “Bullocks,” Cali shouted. “Do you have another deck hidden in your lap?”

  I sat up and glared at my two friends. “Aren’t you the least bit curious what the heck is goin’ on?”

  Poppy rolled her eyes. “Of course, I am. I’m just waitin’ for you two to grow some twiddle diddles and quit worryin’ about what Bo and Devin will say.”

  “Good use of the word twiddle diddles,” Cali smiled.

  “Thank you. I’ve been waitin’ to use it in the proper context.”

  “As for my twiddle diddles, they’re big enough,” Cali stated, standing from her chair.

  “So, you’re in? You’ll go with me to the local diner and see if we can stir up any dust?”

  “It beats gettin’ my derriere kicked.”

  Poppy snorted. “Let me guess. You can’t say ass?”

  “We aren’t startin’ this again,” Cali sighed.

  I smiled at Poppy. “She can’t say it.”

  “Oh, I can say it,” Cali replied, grabbing her purse.

  “She totally can’t say it,” Poppy chuckled, opening the hotel room door.

  I started to leave, but thought a note saying where we’d gone might smooth things over with Bo, so I grabbed a sheet of paper from the desk drawer to write him one.

  “Two seconds,” I called out. “I’ll just leave Bo a note so he won’t worry.”

  “We could call and let him know,” Cali said.

  “No. They’d tell us to stay put, and I’ll go stir-crazy if I don’t get out and do somethin’ productive. This way we can’t go against them if they cause a fuss.”

  “I’m pretty sure I heard Bo say not to take any risks. Aren’t you goin’ against him now?”

  I looked at her, then looked at the note. Then I put X’s and O’s under my signature for good measure, hoping the affection would appease him if he came back before us. Then I wadded it up. He was going to be pissed either way.

  “I’ll just tell Natasha where we’re goin’, to be safe. Besides, he told me he didn’t want to change a thing about me, so I’m just bein’ me.”

  The thing about small-town Georgia is . . . people find any reason for a celebration. The church got a new roof, have a barbecue. Little Timmy finished kindergarten; throw a graduation party. It seemed this night it was a wedding. Buck married Bill, so they threw a huge-ass party to celebrate love in all its beautiful forms.

  Normally, this kind of celebration would be held at the local church, but seeing as the church was still coming to terms with gay marriage, they held the celebration at the local diner.

  This was good news for the girls and me for two reasons. For one, most of the men were gay, so we didn’t have to worry about being hit on. And two, the crowd was large, so our chances of finding someone who could shed light on Boris and Natasha’s situation were good.

  Twinkle lights wound around every surface, giving the once chrome and red diner a magical glow, while signs congratulating the happy couple hung from the windows. The cake, featuring two cowboys in denim jeans and western shirts, was a towering feat. Chocolate layers with raspberry filling stood nearly as tall as the happy couple.

  The locals pegged us for outsiders the minute we walked in. They eyed us with curiosity and smiles as we pushed our way through the crowd to the cash bar for a glass of wine.

  “We aren’t dressed for a weddin’,” Poppy yelled over the music.

  “They won’t care,” I shouted back. “Half the people here are in jeans.”

  “So, who should we hit up for gossip?’ Cali asked.

  A cute teenage girl was walking past us as I scanned the crowd, so I tapped her on the shoulder. “Excuse me.”

  The girl turned and looked me up and down. “Yeah?”

  “If we wanted to know everything there is to know about this town, who would we talk to?”

  She crossed her arms in adolescent defiance, then asked suspiciously, “Who wants to know?”

  I looked at the girls and bugged out my eyes. “Um, friends of Boris and Natasha Winkle.”

  That must have been good enough for her because she pointed to a woman with shrewd eyes. She looked to be in her late sixties, with silver hair braided into a bun. She was sitting in the corner watching everyone.

  “She looks like she doesn’t miss a thing,” I told the girl.

  “She doesn’t,” the girl replied, then smiled and walked away.

  “Come on,” I said, then pushed through the crowd past the towering cake and the two grooms who were shoving cake into each other’s mouths. We dodged partygoers as they toasted Buck and Bill, and made our way over to the woman.

  She looked up from her phone after taking a picture of the happy couple and smiled at us. “Hi,” I shouted over the music. “I’m Sienna Miller and these are my friends, Poppy Gentry and Cali Armstrong. Do you mind if we ask you a few questions?”

  “I know who you are,” the woman answered. “You’re the gals helpin’ out Boris and Natasha. Sit a spell and take a load off.”

  Poppy grabbed a chair and pulled it to the booth, while Cali and I squeezed into the seat opposite the woman.

  “We’re sorry to bother you during a wedding celebration, Ms.?” I said loudly.

  “Name’s Irene. Irene Ledbetter. How can I help you?”

  I wasn’t sure if the town knew about Clint Black’s murder, or if the sheriff wanted the news spread, so I went with who would want to hurt Boris and Natasha.

  “Boris and Natasha have had some trouble at the ranch. We think someone is tryin’ to hurt them, so we thought we’d ask around and see if any of the locals might have information that would shed some light o
n the situation.”

  “You’re speakin’ of the fire and the murder of that drifter.”

  “You heard about that?” Cali asked.

  “I’m the dispatcher for the volunteer fire department. We got the call on the fire and the murder.”

  Bingo. We’d hit pay dirt. I had no doubt she knew where all the skeletons were buried.

  “So, do you have any thoughts on who would try to hurt Boris and Natasha?”

  “Other than their no-good son?”

  “The banker who lives overseas?”

  “That’s the one. He left town and never looked back, other than to encourage them to sell the ranch to some friend of his.”

  “When was this?” Poppy asked

  “Maybe a month ago. He wanted them to liquidate their holdings and retire to Florida. Asked them if he could have his inheritance sooner rather than later, so he could invest in some brokerage firm. He went as far as to have the land surveyed and the boundary markers set to make sure the total acreage was accounted for. It cost him a pretty penny, considerin’ they’re sittin’ on fifteen hundred acres.”

  “I take it they didn’t agree?” Poppy asked.

  “Nope. They told him they’d think about it, but in the end, Boris said he wanted to be buried on his land. They haven’t heard from him since.”

  “What an asshole,” Cali spit out, then gasped and covered her mouth.

  Irene let out a cackle of laughter. “No need to worry I’ll be offended. I agree. He is an asshole.”

  “Well, we learned two things for sure,” Poppy shouted with a gleam in her eyes. “The son could be involved, and Cali can, indeed, say ass.”

  “Hardy har har,” Cali snipped. “But I think you’re wrong about one point. It doesn’t make sense for the son to burn down the house and set the cattle loose. Those are assets. If he wanted money, then he’d be cutting his nose off to spite his face.”

  Dang it. Cali was right. Which meant we had nothing.

  “Good point,” Irene answered.

  “Can you think of anyone else?” Poppy asked.