Lock and Key (26 page)

Oh, brother. This was only my second hour of life in club lockdown. I needed to get it together and calm down. Now.

I chugged down my water.

“Hey, Aunt Grace did you see the painting Lock does? You remember he told me about it when we went out for dinner?” Jake took my hand and dragged me towards another chopper on a pedestal. “Look at that! Isn’t that cool?” Jake’s voice swelled. “Lock painted a bike!”

My jaw slackened as I took in a ferocious green-eyed black panther soaring through orange red flames over the bike’s gas tank. The entire was detailed to match.

“That’s incredible,” I said.

“You like it?” Lock’s dark gaze settled on me.

“It’s beautiful.”

“Got to finish it with a few more layers of gloss.”

I grinned up at him. His dark eyes widened and immediately shifted down to the rag in his hands. “Jake, put the broom and the rag in the back closet, okay, buddy? You organize it the way you want.”

“On it!” Jake darted off towards the rear of the shed, his arms full of broom, rags, pail, in search of the fabled utility closet. I turned back to Lock’s black panther.

“What is it?” Lock asked.

My hand brushed over the smooth leather seat of the bike. “It’s… magical.”

His large luminous eyes softened over me. “It’s just something I do for some of the guys once in a while. No big deal.”

“It is a big deal,” I said. “I hope you’re getting paid big bucks for this sort of custom detailing. That’s quality work.”

His eyebrows quirked up for a moment.

“You should be doing this sort of work full-time, Lock.”

“Nah, it’s a side thing,” he said. The edges of his long, full lips curled into a slight smile. I suddenly remembered the taste of those lips on mine, and my insides twinged. But his smile faded, and the silver threads in his eyes seemed to harden.

“How’s it going, Jake?” he called out to Jake, his eyes never leaving mine.

“Good!” Jake shouted from the back.

Why was he pulling back? Why was he so cool and indifferent? My brain came up with half a dozen fitting adjectives for Lock’s behavior and attitude towards me, but no plausible explanations. I could slice the tension between us with a bread knife.

“Why are you doing this?” the words tumbled out of my mouth in a rush of air before I lost my nerve to utter them. Or hear the answer.

“It’s better this way.”

“Oh.” I nodded, pretending I understood.

To hell with that.

“I don’t understand. Why is it better? For you?” I asked. “You seemed to want this before. You were the one trying to convince me. Did someone say something? Jump? Alicia?”

“No, no one knows shit.” He wrenched the cap closed on his empty water bottle. The bottle top cracked.

“Then what is it?” My heart crawled up my throat.

“It’s better to cut it off now rather than later. I just… I can’t.”

“You can’t?”

He frowned and smashed the empty plastic bottle in his hands. “You were right, Grace. Too much shit going on for you now, too much shit happened in the past, and all of it right here. It’s just bad timing.” He tossed the crushed bottle at the recycling bin across the room. It landed perfectly.

Yep, just not into me.

My real life tarnish had dulled his shiny fantasy. I was much too complicated.

I bit down hard on my inner cheek. My initial instincts had not been wrong. Why did I ever listen to him? Why did I believe all his little declarations? How stupid of me to have read more into a purely physical act (or four or five, whatever) and mistaken it for something else, like sharing, caring, or some sort of compelling voodoo. Was I that lonely? That pathetic?

Back to my Candy Bar Theorem.

I averted my gaze. “Jakey, you finished?” My sharp voice echoed through the shed. “Let’s go!”

The intercom buzzed. “Yo, Lock. Little Sister in there with you?” Junk’s voice boomed over the speaker.

Lock went to the wall unit and pushed the button. “Yeah Junk, she’s here with Jake,” he responded, his voice husky. His hand rubbed the back of his neck. I crossed my arms and looked around the shed as if the piles of tools, bike parts, and Wreck’s plethora of Americana artifacts could possibly provide me with explanations for my stupidity.

“Deputy Sheriff Owens showed up. Wants to talk to her. He’s out front.”

“Motherfucker,” Lock muttered. His eyes flashed over Jake then up at me. He put his hands on his hips.

“Um, sorry, Jake.”

“Mommy now says ‘Motherfudgemycake’ instead of that word,” Jake said. “You should try it too, Lock.”

Lock’s eyes snapped up at me, and he let out a laugh. His fingers tousled Jake’s blonde hair. “Maybe I will, little buddy.”

Jake’s bright gaze darted up at me. I gave him a wink and sighed.

“The cops want to talk to me?” I asked.

Lock frowned. “Deputy Sheriff came himself to see you.”

I crouched down in front of my nephew and squeezed his arms. “Jakey, why don’t you go with Mrs. Davis and her kids out front and try out that slide and the monkey bars, huh? I’ve got to go talk to someone for a few minutes. Is that okay, honey?”

Jake nodded at me. “Okay.”

I bent down and planted a kiss on his cheek, and Jake zoomed out of the shed. I followed him, Lock on my heels. A police car was parked out in the lot. Clip and the two prospects, Dawes and Tricky, stood with the Deputy Sheriff. My eyes adjusted in the glare of the sun to the figure waiting for me. My muscles stiffened.

Deputy Sheriff Owens? Shit, it was Trey Owens.

“Can I help you?” I asked.

Trey’s blue eyes were a shade duller than I remembered. He wore the uniform well, but that lazy, cocky attitude was still mighty evident in the tilt of his head and the way his hands were hitched on his hips.

Trey grinned. “How are you doing, Grace?”

“Good, thanks, Trey.”

“You two know each other?” asked Lock, his voice brittle.

Trey smirked at Lock. “We go way back.” His eyes slid back to mine. “Don’t we, Grace?”

I crossed my arms and let out a sigh. Lock hardened into a wall of muscle at my side and cursed under his breath.

“You wanted to talk to me, Deputy Sheriff?” I asked. Trey’s eyes picked over Clip, Dawes, Tricky, and Lock.

“Still shacked up with these lowlifes?”

I moved two steps forward, right into his face. “Get to the point.”

His eyes lit up. “Wanted to let you know that we might need you to make a statement about your husband’s murder. There are still some holes in the case. Now that you’re back and able to put two sentences together…”

“Douchebag,” hissed Lock.

Trey’s eyes tightened. “Watch it.”

“That’s not very good to hear,” I said. “A fifteen year old murder still unresolved? Doesn’t say much for your department. And as a victim of that extremely violent crime, I think I’ll have to voice my concern to the appropriate authorities.”

Dawes cackled with laughter. “Oh geez, that’s a good one,” he said. Tricky punched his arm.

Trey’s eyes scanned the men. “Yes indeed, the outlaw criminal element in our little town is pretty damn slippery,” he said. “That’s what that says, Grace.”

“Mrs. Quillen,” I said.

“Mrs. Quillen.” Trey’s lips twitched. “Anyway, I didn’t say the murder was unsolved. I said there were big holes in it. There’s a difference.” He tilted his head at me. “There’s also another matter that’s been linked to your husband’s murder that we need to talk about.”

“Oh?”

“Maybe you’d like to discuss it in private?” he asked.

I took in a deep breath and walked with him. “What’s this about?” I asked once we were out of earshot of everyone else. My eyes darted to Lock. He glared at us, his jaw clenched.

“This is about stolen gold,” Trey said.

I blinked up at Trey’s amused face. “I don’t understand.”

He rested his hands on his hips. “I’ll bet you don’t, Grace. But I’m sure your husband would know what I was talking about, but he can’t do any explaining, now can he?”

“For God’s sake, Trey.”

“You must remember, Grace. The old man who had panned gold in the Black Hills and was robbed and hacked to death in his motel room? There wasn’t a lot of gold, a small amount of raw grains and flakes, but it was worth a few back then. It’s worth a hell of a lot more now, of course,” he said planting his hands back on his hips. “The old man’s suspected killer was a known drug addict and two-bit hustler. We’d had him on our radar for a while. And guess what? His uncle was a Demon Seed. Maybe you know him? His name is Vig. Now he’s their president. Well, our hustler suddenly disappeared two days after the old man was murdered and the gold disappeared. Word was our hustler’s disappearance was drug related. And we all know your husband was definitely drug related.”

“And? That automatically means that Dig had something to do with his disappearance?”

“I don’t believe in coincidences, Grace. Dig had been seen in the vicinity of that guy’s last known whereabouts,” said Trey. “And then your husband gets gunned down within the week by the gold robbing hustler’s little brother who you ended up shooting.”

“In self-defense.”

“Yes, in self-defense,” he said.

“The only logical explanation for the little brother to kill Dig would be as revenge for his brother’s death. I’m thinking Dig killed the hustler, and, I’m also thinking maybe Dig took something they considered theirs, and that made the brother real angry? Had to be worth a lot to a scumbag like him to come gunning for Dig Quillen though, don’t you think? And the brothers’ connection to the Demon Seeds, known rivals of the One-Eyed Jacks, makes it all the more tidy a package, in my opinion.” Trey leaned in to me. “By the way, you think Dig robbed the gold robber? And if he did, where’s that gold now? It all seemed to vanish into thin air after your husband got killed.”

I pulled on the silver chains around my neck. “As you can see, Deputy Sheriff, I’m partial to silver.”

Trey chuckled and shook his head. “Go ahead, Grace. You play it this way. In fact, you play it any way you damn well like. But know this, word’s out that you probably know something about it.”

My scalp prickled. “Word’s out? What does that mean?”

He took a step closer to me. “I got me little birdies in lots of pies,” he whispered. “So if I were you, I’d watch my step. You play games with these fuckwads, you just might get yourself splattered on the road, same as your man. Then again, you like playing games, don’t you?”

“You done?” Lock asked. He stood at my side. His eyes burned fiery lasers through Trey. Trey’s thin lips tipped up.

Trey opened the door to his cruiser and got behind the wheel. “Keep in mind what I said, Mrs. Quillen.” From his open window he glanced up at me one last time. He started his engine, shifted into gear and left the property.

Lock moved in front of me. “What the hell was all that about?” His hands were jammed in his front pockets, his eyes hard as stone.

“I dated him for about 2.2 seconds a couple of years out of high school, and he was a jerk then. Amazing how some people never change. Dig got in his face a few times. When he became a cop, the animosity stuck. Then the speeding tickets and the warnings came flying. Most of it crap. How long has he been Deputy Sheriff?”

Lock studied me.

“Two, three years now,” Clip said, now at Lock’s side.

“So what was all that chit chat about?” Lock asked. “Did he come here to ask you out on a date?”

“Oh, for God’s sake!”

A muscle along Lock’s jaw pulsed. “What’s he after?”

“Like you had said, now that I’m back, he wants to poke around Dig’s murder case. They’re missing key details.”

Lock’s eyes narrowed over me. “Why do I think there’s more to this than you’re saying?”

“I guess that’s your problem.” I turned and stomped off in the direction of the small playground.

“Uh oh,” Dawes said behind me.

“Shut the fuck up,” Lock muttered.

“He’s very handsome.”

Alicia smiled at me. “Who, sweetheart?”

“Your son,” I said. “Wes is going to be a real heartbreaker.”

Wes racked up the balls on the pool table. He ran one hand through his long brown hair, his other wrapped around a pool cue. His large, blue eyes sized up the placement of the balls, and he leaned over the table to take his shot. James Dean had nothing on him.

Alicia and I lounged on one of the sofas in the clubhouse drinking beer. After all the excitement in the shed, rambling around the playground with Mary Lynn’s kids and a hearty dinner of spaghetti and meatballs and lots of homemade brownies that Alicia had brought over, Jake finally collapsed just before ten o’clock. Rather late for his usual schedule, but this week at the club would be anything but usual. At least now I was certain he wouldn’t wake up again in the middle of the night and maybe get scared in a strange room. It was now midnight, and the grown-ups were hanging out.

“My boy is already a heartbreaker!” Alicia let out a laugh and threw her arm around me. I grinned at her, but as I watched Wes take his shot I bit my lip to keep it from wobbling. My eyes stung. I tore my attention away from Alicia and Jump’s gorgeous fifteen-year old son before I lost it.