There’s no in-between with Rage. If he likes you, he considers you family. If he doesn’t, you can bet he’s already planned your death and he’s merely waiting for a signal from me to carry it out.
I’m sure he’s been on edge, waiting for our business to be settled before sorting out whatever it is that’s caused Kent to go dark, but he knows club business comes first.
“You want some company?” I already know the answer, but my words are significantly less patronizing than telling him to call if he needs help.
“Here’s that address you asked for,” he says, tapping a piece of paper on the desk and I notice the laughter in his eyes before his next words. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”
Considering it’s Rage who said that, I’m grinning when I peer down at it. I can picture exactly where the Tucker house is located and after shooting the shit with the guys for a bit, I head out there.
Chapter 4
Bull
There doesn’t seem to be anyone home at the Tucker house, so I take the unlocked front door as permission to enter and slowly open it, calling out to announce myself. Being in the funeral business as long as I have, I tend to brace myself before walking into an older person’s residence.
At this stage of my life, it’s a relief when I walk into a stranger’s home and don’t smell death or piss. Piss is definitely worse, but none of the scents that make my skin crawl assault me. Strange, since Tucker’s last wife hasn’t been dead six months.
Instead, I smell fresh baked goods and the faint scent of apple cider vinegar—probably used as a cleaning product. Rather than feeling nauseous, my stomach rumbles to remind me that I skipped lunch.
“Hello?” I yell again, just to make sure I don’t get shot.
Wiping my boots dry doesn’t seem to get me anywhere, so I kick them off to give myself a tour of the home.
It’s a pretty standard design and I quickly find myself in the kitchen, enjoying an oatmeal cookie that’s in a clear container on the counter. While things are a bit cluttered for my taste, I appreciate how clean everything looks.
I snort. Of course, things are cluttered, Tucker’s been married five times and if I remember correctly, all except his first wife lived in this house.
Looking into the bedroom on the first floor, it’s obvious that Tucker stays down here, so I head upstairs. All of the doors are closed, so I continue down the hallway until I enter the bonus room that sits over the garage.
Yep. This is what I wanted to see. It’s vibrant, like the woman staying here. While I’d guess that the furniture was all pulled from different rooms of the house, Margo’s made the long, rectangular room downright cozy.
Crossing to a desk that has a large mirror balanced on it, I pick up a tube of lipstick and write my number across the surface. Replaying our conversation in my head, I notice my smirk in the mirror, suddenly having an idea where I might find her.
The VFW hall is a cross between a warehouse and a log cabin. The façade gives the building a warm feel, until you drive further back into the parking lot and realize the budget didn’t stretch much further than the first ten feet along the side of the building.
I’m no sooner in the bar than Old Mae lets out a whistle. “You looking for a cougar, sweetheart?”
The bartender is nearly as old as the bar, but no one dared called her ‘old’ to her face until her granddaughter, also named Mae, started picking up shifts here a few years back.
I grin at her, having immediately clocked the room, and walk up, ordering a couple of pitchers of beer and reaching over to grab a few fresh glasses.
“My dad warned me about you,” I tease her, throwing her a wink that’s never let me down in the past.
She starts fanning her hand in front of her face, playing along, before cackling and leaning forward to show off her generous cleavage. “Your dad was always an ass man, and me? Well, you see where my appeal lays.”
I wink at her again before throwing a fifty down. “Always a pleasure, voluptuous Mae.”
“Next one’s on me…”
“Oh, no, I know for a fact I can’t afford that!” I easily get another laugh out of her.
Draft beer is sold at substantial discounts when compared to regular bars, hence the appeal to the older crowd, so even if she does send over another pitcher, she’ll still have a generous tip.
I’m careful to smile and nod at the appropriate people, they’re going to be my customers sooner rather than later, after all, but I don’t stop until I hit Tucker’s table.
His granddaughter’s back is to me, but as he didn’t clue her in to my impending arrival she jumps when I set the pitchers down. Without a word, I pull out the chair on her left and sit down, slinging an arm around her back after I top off everyone’s beer.
Tucker’s eyes shift between Margo and mine. Giving him a moment to digest my arrival, I look at the man sitting beside Tucker.
