Thirty and a Half Excuses (27 page)

Mason looked angry. “Why didn’t you tell me he threatened you?”

I shrugged. “He’s a kid. I thought he was all talk. I mentioned it to Joe yesterday…before…” I closed my eyes, pushing the pain back down. Funny how worrying about going to jail had momentarily pushed my other troubles aside.

“I’m glad you told Joe, but he’s not here, is he?” Mason’s voice was cold.

My eyes widened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Joe is off doing who-knows-what who-knows-where while he’s undercover. He can’t do anything with this, Rose. I’m the one here in Henryetta. You should have told me too.”

“I didn’t think it was important.”

“If someone says Daniel Crocker is threatening you, it’s important.”

“Joe said he was going to call the sheriff’s department to see if they knew anything. And he gave me the contact information for a friend of his with the state police.”

Mason look unimpressed.

“Do you think they took Bruce Wayne to Weston’s Garage?”

“I don’t know.” Mason looked lost in thought, and then he pulled out his cell phone. “I’d love nothing more than to have the Henryetta police check this out, but we both know how well that would go over. I’d call the sheriff, but while Weston’s Garage is on the outskirts of town, it’s still within city limits. Henryetta police get jurisdiction. However, I plan to call them myself about the Crocker threat.”

“Well, I can’t just sit here and do
nothing
. What if they did take him? What if they hurt him?” My voice broke.

“All the more reason for you to stay as far away from them as possible.” He stood. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?”

“I don’t know yet, but we’re not accomplishing anything by sitting here.” The waitress walked by, and Mason pulled a business card out of his coat pocket and handed it to her. “Brittany, if you remember anything else, would you give me a call?”

Giggling, she took his card and stuffed it in her apron pocket. “Sure thing, Mr. Deveraux. Is your home number on there?”

“Just my office.”

Disappointment sagged her shoulders.

“But my secretary will put you right through to me if I’m available.”‘

That seemed to make her happier.

We stepped out onto the sidewalk, the steamy air hitting me in the face. When was the weather going to figure out it was almost October? “You’ve got quite the fan club,” I grumbled.

Mason stopped in front of me. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Everywhere you go, women fawn all over you.”

He shook his head in bewilderment. “
You’re
the one who told me I was one of the most eligible bachelors in Henryetta. I never asked for any of this. Why do you even care?”

Fuming, I refused to answer him. Mostly because I didn’t have an answer. I couldn’t figure out why it ticked me off. The crummy weather and losing Bruce Wayne must have made me cranky. The best way to handle the situation was to change the subject. “So have you figured out where are we going?”

“The sheriff’s office.”

“I thought you were going to call.”

Mason led me to his sedan and opened the passenger door for me. “I was, but a visit seems more in order.”

“You’re bringing me with you?” I asked in surprise.

“If I let you out of my sight, Taylor might catch wind that Bruce Wayne is missing and decide you’re a flight risk and lock you up. That’s the best case scenario. Worst case, the guys who took Bruce Wayne could come for you. What do you want to do?”

“Stay with you.”

“Yeah, I figured.”

The sheriff’s office was in a little town about ten minutes outside of Henryetta. Everyone in Fenton County knew there was a rivalry of sorts between the two law enforcement departments. I was hoping that would work in Bruce Wayne’s favor.

As we walked inside, Mason straightened his tie. “I’ll show you where you can wait for me while I talk to the sheriff.”

“Okay.”

He sat me in a waiting area outside of a glass-enclosed box, like some gas station attendants sit behind when they work in a bad neighborhood. “Is that bulletproof glass?”

Mason cast a glance toward it. “I guess,” he answered absently.

“Do they have many shootings out here? Why does the receptionist need to be behind bulletproof glass?”

“Rose, you’re perfectly safe out here. Just wait for me.”

Easy for him to say. He was the one going behind the glass, but it wasn’t like I had any options. “I’m not going anywhere.”

The sheriff’s deputy led him into the back, and I took in my surroundings. A young guy sat two chairs down from me. He had headphones in his ears, and he tapped his fingers on his legs like he was playing the drums.

I picked up an old issue of
Better Homes and Gardens
, trying to find an article to read, but I really didn’t care about making a Valentine’s Day centerpiece. I tossed it back on the table next to me.

The outside door flew open, and a woman rushed the glass window. The woman behind the glass actually jumped in surprise.

The blond-haired woman beat on the glass with her fists. “I demand justice! I’m not leaving until I get what’s mine!”

The receptionist, who had recovered from her initial excitement, now looked bored. She yawned and pushed a clipboard through the opening at the bottom. “If you have a complaint, I’ll need you to fill out this paperwork.”

“Paperwork?” The woman shrieked. “I’m past paperwork!” She pulled a handgun out of her purse and held it up in the air.

I was going to beat Mason Deveraux senseless the next time I saw him. Perfectly safe out here, my eye.

The receptionist had already bent over her paperwork, not even noticing the gun. And here I’d been pinning my hopes on the sheriff.

The crazy woman spun around to see who was in the room, and her gaze stopped on me.

I blinked. “
Christy
?” Miss Dorothy’s niece was standing in the sheriff’s office holding a gun. She must have lost her ever-loving mind.

“Rose?” Christy lowered the gun to her side, out of sight of the receptionist, who got up from her desk and walked to the back, leaving the front window abandoned.

I pointed to the gun. “What are you doing here?”

She shrugged, starting to cry. “I just need someone to listen to me.” She looked like crap. Her hair was stringy, and her face was dripping with sweat.

“Waving a gun around the sheriff’s office doesn’t seem like the best way to go about it.”

“I wanted to get the sheriff’s attention.”

I decided it wasn’t a good idea to point out that I was the only person who had noticed. The little drummer boy was still beating on his leg, his eyes closed as he played through what looked to be a wicked drum solo.

“I heard about Jonah Pruitt getting your aunt’s house.”

She moved toward me, the gun still lowered. “It ain’t right. It just ain’t right.”

“No, it’s not.”

Her face hardened. “Hey. You work for the rat bastard.”

My heart nearly leapt from my chest. “No.” I shook my head. “I don’t really work for him. I’m more contract labor.”

Her face lit up. “Oh, I think it’s more than that. In fact, when I visited the church last week, you two looked downright friendly.” She lifted the gun again and pointed it at me. “I bet you know all about it. You’re coming with me. We’re going to go talk to Reverend Pruitt together.”

“I’m not sure that me talking to Jonah is going to help.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Jonah, huh? That’s a little personal, isn’t it?”

Crap.

“I think this might be a great idea.” She moved next to me, pointing the gun into my side. “Let’s go.” Her eyes were wild, and her pupils were dilated. Christy was high on something.

Shit.

I looked desperately at the window, but the receptionist hadn’t returned yet. The man with the beats was working up to a crescendo. I considered shouting or screaming, but Christy seemed agitated and strung out enough to actually shoot me.

Sighing, I headed to the door with her. How did I get myself into these situations? “I came here with the assistant DA,” I said. “He’s not going to be happy when he notices I’m gone.”

While I thought that might help her change her mind, it seemed to have the opposite effect. The gun jammed into my ribs, and I cried out in pain and fright.

“The DA brought you here, himself, huh? Is he about to file charges against you
for stealing what’s mine
?”

“No, he’s protecting me.”

She laughed. “He’s doin’ a shitty job of it, ain’t he?”

I grimaced. “It’s obviously not turning out as I had hoped.”

Her car was close to the entrance, parked at an angle in the middle of the parking lot. She hadn’t even bothered to find a parking space, blocking in Mason’s car and several police cruisers.

Christy made me get behind the wheel while she sat beside me in the passenger’s seat. “I’m sure you know how to get to
Jonah’s
house.”

I hated to admit that I did, but that seemed to be the least of my worries at the moment. “This is a stick shift.”

“So?”

“So, I can’t drive a stick shift.”

“You’re a lying whore. Drive.”

Pointing a gun at me was one thing, but she had just besmirched my character. “A lying whore? Why are you callin’ me
that
?”

Her eyebrows arched, and she stared at me like I was an imbecile. “Sleeping with a minister and stealing other people’s money makes you a lying
whore
.”

“I’m not sleeping with him. How do you get that from us talking to each other?”

“I know these things!” she screamed, jabbing the gun wildly in my direction. “Now
drive
.”

My shaky hand turned the key over, and my mind raced as I tried to remember the one and only time I’d driven a stick-shift car. I’d visited Aunt Bessie and Uncle Earl on their farm, and Uncle Earl had tried to teach me on his old truck. Key word:
tried
.

Foot on the clutch. Move the stick. I followed my own instructions, and the car didn’t move. Instead, it started rolling.

“What are you doing?” Christy shrieked. “Get going!”

“I told you that I can’t drive a stick shift. I’m trying.”

The car rolled, stopping when I banged into the sheriff’s patrol car.

“You just hit a police car!”

“I didn’t mean to! Stop shouting at me! You’re making me nervous!” I let my foot off the clutch and the car jerked, hitting the patrol car again. “Crap!”

Christy grabbed the stick with her free hand. “Put your foot on the clutch and the brake.”

I did what she instructed, although I wasn’t sure why. Perhaps the gun she had pointed at me was all the persuasion I needed.

She gave me instructions, and we jerked and screeched our way onto Highway 82. The car made such a racket, I couldn’t believe no one had come to investigate. But I was grateful they hadn’t. I didn’t doubt Christy would use the weapon if backed into a corner.

We made it to Jonah’s house, and I parked at his curb while my mind scrambled to cobble together some kind of plan. Would she shoot Jonah? “Christy, I know you need money, but there’s another way. I promise you.”

She waved her gun around in the air. “Another way than gettin’ what’s rightfully mine? Good, then I’ll have even more money. Let’s go.”

We walked up to Jonah’s front door, and my palms started to sweat. If I went inside that house with her, I was sure this wouldn’t end well. She knocked on the door, and we waited long enough for her to knock again. When he didn’t answer, she jammed the gun into my side again. “Where is he?’

“How should I know?”

“You two are sleepin’ together, ain’t you? Surely, you know his schedule.”

I cringed in disgust. “Eww! No! I am
not
sleeping with him.” An image of Jonah Pruitt naked flashed into my head. I suddenly felt the urge to take a shower.

“Like you’d admit to it. Open the door.”

I jiggled the door knob, grateful it was locked.

Christy kicked the door, and then yelped in pain. “
Where is he
?”

I tried to back up but she grabbed my arm, her fingers pinching my skin. “I don’t know. The church?”

She pushed me toward the car, telling me to drive again. This was ridiculous. “You should drive,” I told her. “I’m terrible at driving a stick. People in town are bound to notice. What if the police pull me over for drunk driving?”

“I can’t drive and hold a gun on you at the same time.”

“I won’t do anything. I promise. Just don’t make me drive.”

She chewed on her fingers as she considered it. “Okay, but you can’t run away.”

I nodded, not actually saying the words.

We got back into the car, and she set the gun on her lap. Guilt ate at my conscience. The lying part of the
lying whore
was turning out to be true. But I had no choice.

I needed to distract her as much as possible, so I started peppering her with questions. “Aren’t you supposed to be back in Shreveport by now? I thought you had to get back.”

Her upper lip curled in disgust. “Did your
boyfriend
tell you that?”

I shuddered. “Jonah Pruitt is
not
my boyfriend. And no, Bruce Wayne and David told me that you needed to take care of your aunt’s house so you could get back.”

“You mean
my
house!” she shouted, veins popping out on her forehead. “That bastard stole it!”

“Is that why you killed Miss Dorothy? So you could get the money?”

She started laughing hysterically. “Do you really think I’d admit that to you?
Do I look like an idiot
?” She’d turned to look at me, so she didn’t notice that the Suburban in front of us had stopped. Her car rammed into the back of it, throwing her gun to the floor.

The seatbelt dug into my shoulder and abdomen after the impact. My fingers fumbled with my seatbelt latch as Christy tried to orient herself. I reached for the door handle just as she figured out what I was doing. She grabbed a handful of my hair.

“
Where do you think you’re going
?” She reached down beneath her, feeling for the gun.