She's Gotta Be Mine (A sexy, funny mystery/romance, Cottonmouth Book 1) (Cottonmouth Series)

by Jasmine Haynes

  All eyes—except the big guy at the counter slurping his soup—focused on him, some avid, some terrified, as if they expected him to whip out an Uzi right then and there.

  Behind the counter, Bobbie started a new pot of coffee brewing. God, she looked hot in that uniform. He couldn’t take his eyes off her butt. Then, when she turned, her breasts caught him, held his gaze.

  “Must be something new on the menu you’ve heard about.” Mavis’s sly gaze moved from him to Bobbie.

  He mentally shook himself. “Just a hankering for that sludge you call coffee, Mavis.”

  “Have a seat over...let’s see, over there.” She pointed to a spot in the back, isolated from the rest by empty booths and vacant tables. “Bobbie, why don’t you get him his sludge?”

  His shoes pounded the linoleum in the relative silence. Sliding into the booth, he watched Bobbie’s progress.

  Armed with a white mug, wearing black tennis shoes and black nylons, she made his mouth water. What the hell was it about her? She wasn’t pretty in any standard way. Her red hair was a tad too short. Yet something in her green eyes reeled him in, a twinkle. And her mouth, that was real pretty, lusciously red.

  That hint of a smile, though, made him distinctly uneasy. As if she could see right inside him to find secrets no one else did.

  She set the mug of steaming coffee on the table along with a couple of tubs of cream, then stuck out her pelvis to facilitate pulling a pad from her apron.

  “You sure know how to make an entrance,” she said, pencil poised.

  “All I did was walk in.”

  “That’s what I’m talking about.”

  Whispers and low voices began to fill the room again. Ceramic plates chattered from the kitchen. A basket of French Fries hissed in hot grease.

  Pointing at his closed menu, she asked, “You want something to eat?”

  Just her. “No.”

  “You only came in for the coffee?”

  He dumped two creams in before answering. “No.” Unable to raise his eyes beyond the level of her plump, perfect breasts, he stirred. And stirred. “I just dropped by about your pasta bowl. You forgot it the other night.”

  She doodled on the pad. “You could have left it on my porch.”

  “Someone might have stolen it.”

  “Yeah. Right.” She licked her lips, drawing his gaze from her breasts.

  He thought about asking why she hadn’t come over last night. Why was he here, like a nerdy teenager wanting to ask the head cheerleader for a date?

  She stopped doodling and stuck pencil and pad back in her apron pocket, jutting her pelvis again. Did she do that in front of everyone? “Well, I should get to work then, if you have everything you want.”

  He didn’t. But revealing that was out of the question. His mind swirled around the things he could say to get her to stay.

  “Shit, lady, what the hell are you doing?”

  Bobbie jumped as the big guy at the counter bellowed. The crash of glass and a yelp followed.

  Little Ellie Brooks backed up against the stainless steel drainboard. “I’m sorry, Mister, I’m really sorry.”

  “You burned me, goddamn it.”

  “It wa—was an accident.”

  “Where’s Mavis?” Bobbie whispered beside Nick.

  The big oaf at the counter had come off his stool, shaking his finger at a terrified Ellie. “You stupid cow.”

  “Hey, that’s not very nice.” Bobbie’s voice couldn’t have carried beyond Nick’s hearing. “I should do something.”

  Nick started to push himself out of the booth. The bastard needed to learn some manners. “I’ll take care of it.” But Bobbie blocked his way. “So move.”

  “I can’t just stand here,” she muttered to herself, not even hearing him. Then she pursed her lips, snagged a deep breath, and surged forward, her black tennies stomping the floor.

  Dammit, didn’t she see how big that guy was?

  “Hey, leave her alone. She told you it was an accident.”

  Burly Asshole turned on Bobbie when Nick was still several feet away. Shit.

  “Butt out, bitch. I’m gonna get her fired.”

  Bobbie stared, long enough for Nick to make it another three feet, then suddenly she stabbed her finger in the big man’s chest. “Don’t threaten her. Get. Out.”

  The guy’s arm pulled back, and his fist bunched. Nick started to dive for him. Only someone grabbed his arm.

  “Let her handle it.” Mavis, her voice like steel wool in his ear, her grip a vice.

  Nick almost leaped anyway, but then Bobbie’s pencil was suddenly in her hand, dagger-style. “You punch me, and I’ll poke your eye out.”

  Something in her tone, in that narrow-eyed look, stopped the man’s arm mid-swing. The big guy crouched, and Bobbie’s nose was right up in his face. “Now, you apologize to Ellie for calling her a cow.”

  The man’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He didn’t take his eyes off the pencil in Bobbie’s hand as he muttered out of the corner of his mouth. “Sorry I called you a cow.”

  “And accept her apology for spilling the coffee on you.”

  “I accept your apology.”

  “Good.” Bobbie lowered the pencil dagger. “Now, the meal’s on me, but you get out of here, and don’t come back.”

  Burly Asshole sidled around her and pushed through the door, the bell tinkling overhead.

  Nick let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. The sound of a clap beat against his eardrum. Mavis. Others joined in, until everyone was standing, the clapping deafening despite the relatively few patrons. Or was that his heart pounding right out of his chest?

  Ellie, somehow having scampered from behind the counter, hugged Bobbie, throwing her whole body into it.

  Not a part of this, Nick took a step back, then two. He might have made it out the door if Bobbie hadn’t turned then. Flushed with excitement, her eyes the brightest of greens, almost a shade not duplicated in nature, she called out, “Fresh coffee for everyone.”

  Mavis held onto his arm like an anchor. “Don’t you dare leave now. Take your seat.” Then louder, so that Bobbie could hear, “Don’t forget you owe eight thirty-two for the jerk’s meal.”

  “I won’t.” High on adrenaline, Bobbie bounced around the restaurant, wielding the pot she’d started when Nick first walked in. Then she was bouncing back to him, like she had a pogo stick between her legs.

  Interesting image, that. Made him think of other things he could put between her legs.

  She topped off his cup. “Did you see that? I beat him.”

  “He could have broken your jaw.” Not that Nick would have let the guy that close, with or without Mavis hanging on his arm.

  She snorted. “But he didn’t. He backed down.”

  Nick still wasn’t sure why the man had. “Give me the look you gave him. I couldn’t see it well enough.”

  She narrowed her eyes. But he knew that wasn’t the look; it didn’t scare him one damn bit. In fact, it made him hot. “You can’t do it again.”

  “I can, too.” She brought her light brows together.

  “It’s still not menacing.”

  “It was the heat of the moment then.”

  “You should have let me take care of him.”

  “I—” She stopped. “I had to do it.”

  “Why?” It was suddenly the most pressing of issues.

  Avoiding his eyes, she looked toward Mavis helping Ellie clean up the broken glass and spewed coffee. “Because.”

  What didn’t she want to say? “Because why? I’m not going to let go of this until you tell me.”

  She poured a trickle of coffee into his mug though he hadn’t touched it, bit her lip, then set the pot down. She put her hands flat on the table and leaned in, giving him an impressive view down the front of her uniform. He almost forgot the question.

  “Because Mr. Winkleman almost made me...tried to intimidate me when I turned in my resignation.”

 
Who the hell was Mr. Winkleman and what had he almost made Bobbie do? He waited, as if he had infinite patience.

  “He called me some awful names, none of which I can repeat because I’m a lady.” She gave Nick a look, daring him to say otherwise. “But I knew he was only angry because he didn’t want to have to deal with the auditors himself. He thought if he humiliated me enough, I’d stay. And then he could fire me, when he didn’t need me anymore.”

  She took a deep breath. “I should have told him...to...stick it where the sun don’t shine. But I didn’t want to get fired. And then I thought, I’m quitting anyway so he can’t fire me.” She smiled at that notion. “Still, I didn’t want to burn any bridges if I ever needed a reference.”

  Nick remembered the way she’d talked to herself as the Ellie scene played out. As if she’d needed coaching to step in. She hadn’t kept quiet with Winkleman merely to get a good reference.

  Bobbie rolled her eyes and went on as if she hadn’t just turned on the proverbial lightbulb above his head. “You know, it’s the old male authority figure thing.” She stood straight, puffed up her chest, which didn’t need an iota of puffing to rivet his attention. “Bluster, bluster, blather, blather. On and on. You never know what they’re going to do when they’re cornered.”

  She’d been scared, maybe even irrationally so. And she hadn’t told Winkleman where to get off. Nick had the suspicion that wasn’t the first time she’d let a man intimidate her. She wasn’t the woman-on-top, go-for-what-you-want type she pretended to be. Which was why she’d gone on the offensive for Ellie.

  She might have gotten decked for her trouble, but she’d proven something to herself. And to Nick. “You handled him, that was good.”

  She flexed an arm muscle. “John Wayne, the Duke, fearless protector of women and small animals, at your service.”

  The twinkle in her eyes captivated him.

  Sometimes it was doing the things you were afraid of which made you really brave. Wasn’t that the definition of courage?

  He had an absurd urge to kiss her. Shit. That was scary, almost as frightening as the realization that he was starting to like her for more than her magnificent breasts and squeezable tush.

  Chapter Six

  “So, what’s going on between you and the serial killer?”

  Though she’d guessed this conversation was coming, Bobbie almost choked on the banana split she was sharing with Mavis.

  It was seven-thirty on a hot Friday evening, and Johnson’s Ice Cream Soda Fountain swelled with screaming children, sweating, harried parents, and teenagers on dates. No sign of a failing Cottonmouth economy here. Thank God the little league team had just left or even Mavis’s voice wouldn’t have penetrated the din.

  Bobbie managed to swallow the bit of banana, then dabbed at the chocolate sauce on her lips, and ventured, “Serial killer? Have there been murders around Cottonmouth?”

  God, she couldn’t believe she’d almost told Nick her boss had been close to making her cry. She’d only been that close because of the whole Warren business at the time, of course. But gosh, she’d been so proud of herself, standing up to that horrible lout harassing Ellie, that she’d almost revealed far too much to Nick.

  “Do not give me any crap about not having heard all the stories about Nick Angel,” Mavis muttered around a mouthful of chocolate ice cream, then abruptly reverted to their earlier argument. “I don’t know how I let you talk me into coming. That Kelly person is probably robbing me blind.”

  It had taken Bobbie over half an hour to talk Mavis into the short outing. And she was sure there was nothing wrong with Kelly that a little higher education wouldn’t fix. Except if you listened to Mavis, who was still going on about her. “Or she’ll burn the place to the ground, and if she does, it’s coming out of your paycheck.” Mavis punctuated the threat with another stab at her ice cream. “What was I saying? Oh yeah. Nick Angel.”

  Did Mavis see the same things in his art that Bobbie did? “Why do you have his calendar, Mavis?”

  Mavis shrugged, a stray candy sprinkle falling out of her hair. How it got there, only God knew. “I like him,” she said simply.

  Shock of shocks. Bobbie thought everyone in Cottonmouth hated Nick. “Do you know him very well?”

  “Used to. But that boy hasn’t been into my place since Jimbo tried to knock his block off.”

  Which was, presumably, a long time. But now he’d made an exception. Because Bobbie was working there? What a nice thought. She hid the secret pleasure. “Why would that sweet man beat up Nick?”

  “I said ‘tried.’ And you’ll have to ask the serial killer. Or Jimbo.”

  And hadn’t it been the most perfect time for Nick to show up, when she’d flawlessly played Warrior Princess, like a model for his artwork? Maybe she should have said something about the calendar. No, she wanted him to show her first. “I’m certainly not going to ask Jimbo something that’s none of my business.”

  What would Warren have done if he’d ever seen the warrior princess? It occurred to her that he might have chosen the Cookie Monster anyway. Chocolate sauce curdled in her stomach. Ooh, bad thought, conquer it.

  Mavis’s next comment helped Bobbie do just that.

  “So, ask the serial killer.”

  Ask Nick? That would be a conversation starter. “I think you should stop calling him the serial killer.”

  Mavis spread her hands. “And I should do that...because?”

  Because Bobbie’s Cottonmouth reputation probably couldn’t withstand the impropriety of sleeping with the local serial killer. If she did manage to him into her bed, no sleep intended. “Because he’s actually a very nice man. And he didn’t mean to make that pornographic film. It was a mistake.”

  Mavis leaned forward, an avid light glittering in her eyes. “How do you know?”

  “He told me.”

  The older woman gaped. “He told you a thing like that?”

  “Well, yes. He said they tricked him into it.”

  Mavis drummed her fingers on the table. “Honey, a man can’t dip his wick into something hot without him knowing that’s what he’s doing. I should know.”

  “It wasn’t his...wick.”

  It started as a guffaw, then turned into tears. Mavis almost fell off her chair. The shop quieted around them. Bobbie’s truck-stop mentor had the grace to lower her voice. “Yeah, right. That’s why his poor mama went ballistic in the middle of her little ‘my son’s big movie’ party. You’d think she’d know her own son’s wick since she used to bathe him when he was a baby.”

  Hopefully, his wick had changed considerably since then. “She had a party to show people his movie?”

  Mavis wiped her eyes. “They had to call the paramedics for Eugenia Meade. She said she was having a heart attack, but knowing the mayor’s wife, all she needed was some attention. Marjorie Holmes, his high school drama teacher, went into the bathroom and used a pair of his mother’s nail scissors to cut off her hair.”

  No wonder Patsy, and everyone else in Cottonmouth, had a bad taste in their mouth. And maybe that’s why Nick’s face had reddened last night in his living room’s gloom. Because of the embarrassment he’d caused his mother. He must have felt awful.

  “I’m sure it was terrible for his mother.”

  Mavis snorted. “It was hilarious. Of course, I was the only who ever thought so.”

  Bobbie herself struggled to keep the smile from her lips.

  Mavis tapped her spoon against her teeth. “You know, I think he’d rather everybody believe he intentionally made that movie. For his sake, don’t spread it around that he was tricked.”

  The somewhat melted ice cream froze in Bobbie’s mouth. “I would have thought he’d want to clear his name.”

  “Not if it means showing how stupid he was. Take it from me, he’ll thank you for letting him remain a fallen man.”

  “Oh.” She could understand that. She’d rather everyone believe she and Warren had the most amicable of divorces tha
n tell them he left her for a hairy blue Sesame Street character. See, Warren needn’t have worried that she’d spill the beans about Cookie, even if the woman hadn’t asked for her divorce yet.

  “But he must want in your pants real bad if he’s revealing his big bad mistakes to get there.”

  And it just might work.

  “Women are such suckers for a tale of woe,” Mavis muttered.

  A tale. Which reminded her. “What’s the scoop on Mary Alice Turner?”

  “Mary Alice? Where the hell did you hear that name?” Mavis quickly held up a hand. “Don’t tell me, it was Eugenia or Patsy. I, for one, never believed he did it.”

  “Believed he did what?”

  “Got her pregnant when they were in high school, refused to marry her, and instead handed her money for an abortion.”

  Oh my. That was bad. But at least Mary Alice hadn’t been anyone’s murder victim. Cottonmouth did seem to have such a long memory, if the mistiness in Patsy’s eye had meant anything.

  “He forced her to get an abortion?” Bobbie didn’t want to believe it of him.

  Mavis spread her hands. “That’s what they say. But in my opinion, he seemed more protective of her than anything else. He wouldn’t let a bad word be said about her, even after her parents moved her away. His attitude just didn’t have the feel of a boy shirking his responsibilities.”

  Bobbie let her shoulders relax. Mavis was right. No man sentimental enough to appreciate the romanticism of Laura would force his girlfriend to get an abortion.

  “In fact, I recall him having a little out with the sheriff at the time,” Mavis went on. “Of course, he wasn’t sheriff then. Captain of the football team.”

  Oh my God. Mary Alice wasn’t to Nick what Cookie was to Warren, was she? Near panic made her tamp the idea down. Please, not again. She focused on another thought. “The sheriff grew up here, too?”

  “Yeah, his daddy owned the dry cleaners. When Brax’s old man died, his mama wanted to move to Palm Springs, and his sister went off and married the fruitcake. So Brax sold out.”