She's Gotta Be Mine (34 page)

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Authors: Jasmine Haynes,Jennifer Skully

Tags: #romance, #mystery, #Funy, #Sexy

BOOK: She's Gotta Be Mine
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Harry smoothed his pomaded hair. “It was a term of endearment.”

The hell with all that, Nick wanted some specifics. “So, did the grieving widow show up at Oil Changers asking to see the books so she could check out the full extent of her new holdings?”

“Haven’t seen her.” Kent’s jaw tightened. He’d never liked Cookie. “Yet.”

“I’m amazed.” Nick stroked his chin. “If you kill someone, do you still get to inherit?”

Harry harrumphed. “That law’s only about writing a book or selling your story about the crime.”

“No, I distinctly remember it saying you can’t profit from your crime. That includes inheriting, too.”

“Hey, do you guys want to hear or don’t you?” Kent seemed peeved he’d lost center stage.

“Yeah, tell us.” It didn’t really matter which of them begged.


Brax
was sniffing around.”

Harry grabbed his broom, as if he suddenly needed something to keep his hands busy. “He’s been sniffing all around town.”

Nick snorted. “Like a
hounddog
.”

“Doesn’t he believe that Spivey guy did it?”

Kent looked down at
Harry’s
twisting hands, back up, then spoke without speculating on the action. “What choice has he got since the guy confessed? He said they found footprints, fingerprints, and tire tracks down there. The only thing he hasn’t got is the murder weapon.”

Here was something of interest to Nick. “Did he say exactly what the murder weapon was?”

“Yeah. A shovel.”

“What kind of shovel?” he asked, hoping
Brax
had gotten more specific than he had outside the Home Depot.

“Let’s see, I think he said a spade. A flat edge.”

Shit. Just what was missing out of his shed. So his interest wouldn’t be noticed, he changed the subject. “Did he want to look at the books or anything?”

Kent eyed him. “Yeah. But the lawyers told me not to give him anything unless he came back with a search warrant.”

“That’s odd, isn’t it? Why not just cooperate?”

Kent put up his hands. “Hell, I don’t know. I just do what the lawyers tell me.”

“Why’s
Brax
interested in all of that stuff when he’s got the killer in jail?” Harry shrugged when both Nick and Kent looked at him. “It’s a legitimate question. And it’s what everybody else is asking, too.”

Kent answered that one. “You know how thorough
Brax
is. No stone unturned, et cetera, et cetera. And this has
gotta
be a hell of a lot more pressure than usual.”

“Well, people are mighty shook up about the whole thing.” Harry turned to Nick. “And they don’t like the fact that your girlfriend’s been asking questions all over town either.”

Nick put a finger to his chest. “
My
girlfriend?”

“Bobbie Jones. The
accused’s
wife.” A trace of something almost bitter crept into
Harry’s
voice. “Everyone knows it had to be an outsider.”

And no one wanted it to be themselves to whom
Brax
started looking, that much was clear.

“I think you better get her to shut up.”

Kent nudged him in the ribs. “Yeah, I’m sure you can get her to shut up real quick.”

Well, he did know one or two ways...but nothing was going to shut Bobbie up about Warren’s innocence.

“Since when do I look like a guy who can control women?” Or that he even cared to try? Sometimes they were better just the way they were. Sometimes, in the case of Bobbie.
Not
, in the case of Cookie.

Still, if folks were starting to feel a little irked with Bobbie, maybe now wasn’t the time to shove their affair under anyone’s nose. Dropping by The Cooked Goose suddenly wasn’t the great idea he’d first thought it to be. Tonight. At home. He’d tell her everything then. Christ, when she was in his arms, he’d tell her anything she wanted to hear.

Kent slapped him on the shoulder. “You know, bud, you got worse problems than your girlfriend’s big mouth”—he smacked the back of his hand against Nick’s chest—“not that big mouths aren’t good for some things, if you catch my drift.”

Nick narrowed his eyes. “Shut up, Kent.”

“Hit a nerve, huh?” Then he looked down at Nick’s suddenly bunched fists. “Shit, get a life, bud. I’m trying to tell you
Brax
seems damn interested in you, specifically. Like if I’ve ever seen what kind of shovels you own.”

Kent made a what-the-hell gesture with his hands.

Harry scratched his head.

“What’s the guy got against you these days, Nick?” Kent looked at him. “You didn’t screw
his
ex-wife or something, did
ya
?”

He shot Kent a fuck-you look. “He won’t find anything on me.” And it still didn’t make sense why
Brax
had given him his card.

Kent folded his arms over his chest again. “Right now, I’d say
Brax
is looking for something to nail you to the wall. Leastwise, if he doesn’t have Warren Spivey to throw the book at.”

Nick snorted and shook his head. “Yeah. And Bobbie’s not going to rest until she proves Warren didn’t do it.”

Both men raised their eyebrows at him. Maybe his mouth was bigger than Bobbie’s.

“The mayor’s given
Brax
two more days to figure it all out.” Harry jumped in with that juicy tidbit.

They all stood silent a moment. Kent shoved his hands in his pockets. “Well, hell, bud, looks like you may be the one who gets screwed then.”

In more ways than one, and not all of them good.

 

* * * * *

 

Bobbie had been locked in information-gathering mode all day. Between rounds of heavenly reminiscing about last night’s nine orgasms.

Of course, some people hadn’t liked her questions. Horace
Finegold
had walked out before he’d finished his eggs. The mayor’s wife arrived just after lunch, glared at Bobbie, whispered in Mavis’s ear, and left. Patsy Sapp called on the phone, her screeching tones enveloping the far ends of the diner.

Mavis motioned Bobbie over, between the toaster and the blender, which hadn’t gotten used since Mavis stopped serving cheap margaritas at happy hour. The sheer volume had threatened to put her under, and she’d given up on happy hour altogether.

“This has got to stop.”

“I’m just making conversation.”

Mavis raised one brow and
pouffed
at her cock-eyed bouffant. “Is that why you asked Ron Johnson how far behind he was on his rent?”

“I was worried about what might happen to his business before
Jimbo’s
estate gets resolved.”

“So, you asked Bruce
Migglethorpe
why he’d upped the price of a haircut in April and how he felt about having to do that.”

“I wanted to make sure he hadn’t lost any customers.”

“Well,
I’m
losing customers, Bobbie.” She stabbed her finger at the front door as it whooshed shut. “See that, Arnold just left without even ordering. What did you say to him?”

Bobbie scrubbed the toe of her shoe across the floor.

“You have to stop, Bobbie. People are getting upset.”

“I’m sorry about that, honestly.” Especially since she hadn’t heard one negative thing about Cookie all day. She’d tried, really she had, but she’d been met with a sea of blank stares. So she’d turned her attention to what Beau had said. After all, his accusations required due diligence in her questioning.

She’d learned only one useful, but alarming, thing. “They all believe Warren did it. But I know better.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Maybe they were all afraid
Jimbo
was going to throw them out of their stores because he wanted to turn Main Street into Boutique Row.”

Mavis snorted. “You mean Boutique Hell.”

Bobbie took a step back. Bitterness had crept into Mavis’s voice.

Mavis stared her down. “I’m not saying we liked the ideal, but I am saying the people of this town wouldn’t kill to keep things the way they were. So get that idea out of your head.”

Beau had been the one to put it there. Maybe for a reason, perhaps as a smokescreen. “Is Beau capable of murder?”

Mavis threw her hands in the air. “Girl, you’re going to be the death of me.”

Bobbie tapped her foot. “Well. Is he?”

Mavis tipped her head in the direction opposite the fall of her hair. “Sure he is.” She eyed Bobbie. “So am I. I was pissed as hell at
Jimbo
for believing that little witch he married and screwing Beau out of everything he’d worked so hard for. Remember how I told you I wasn’t done with that woman yet?” She narrowed her eyes. “If it was
her
that was dead, you can bet your bottom dollar
Brax
better come looking for me.”

Bobbie blew out a puff of air. “Yes, but we were talking about Beau and
Jimbo
.”

“Do I think he’s capable of killing someone, or do I think he killed
Jimbo
? Those are two totally different things, you know.”

“Mavis.”

“I can’t think of a single reason why he’d kill
Jimbo
now, but then I’m biased because I’m sleeping with the guy. And I’m married to him.”

Bobbie raised a brow. “And because he owns The Cooked Goose?”

Mavis met her glare for stare. “He owns the building. I own the business.”

“But you pay him rent.”

“In a manner of speaking.” It was clear just what manner that was. “A mutually satisfying agreement.”

Bobbie didn’t want to know about Mavis’s sex life. “You’re not being very helpful.”

“All right. You want helpful? I’ll give you helpful. I think he and
Jimbo
might have patched things up before long.”

“What?” Oh, now
that
was very interesting.

“I saw
Jimbo
go down there a couple of times. And Beau hasn’t called him a dickhead asshole in a few weeks.”

“He called him a dickhead today.”

“But did he call him a dickhead asshole?”

“No.”

“That’s what I’m saying, he’s dropped the number of epithets strung together.”

Bobbie slowly smiled. “So if
Jimbo
and Beau were patching things up, maybe Cookie—”

Mavis jammed her hands over her ears. “Don’t say that name.”

“Then maybe the witch was worried about
Jimbo
cutting his brother back in after she’d cut him out.”

“I never did like her,” Mavis tacitly agreed.

“Did you tell
Brax
this?”

“No. And I’m not going to. I’m not getting involved.” She shook her finger at Bobbie. “And you ought to heed the same warning. People don’t like outsiders stirring stuff up.”

“But I’m not an outsider. I work at The Cooked Goose.”

“You only think you aren’t an outsider.”

Oh. Well. That couldn’t be true, could it? No. Maybe? She’d better be careful.

 

 

Chapter Fifteen

 

 

“Let’s go to the Rowdy Tavern for dinner,” Bobbie said later in Nick’s kitchen.

“Together?”

Something about the panicked flash of Nick’s eyebrows almost to the top of his forehead set Bobbie off. “Well, of course. Isn’t that what ‘let’s’ means? As in us, plural.”

He took the mocha she’d brought him, wrapping his long fingers around the mug. “Forget it.”

Bobbie stared openmouthed. “But—”

“No.”

She put her hands on her hips, snagging his attention. The man was so easy. “I want to listen to gossip at the Rowdy Tavern. I’ve heard everything I’m going to hear at The Cooked Goose. The Chalet is too expensive. That leaves the Rowdy Tavern.”

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