“I’m your husband, not some caped hero who never does a damn thing wrong,” I’d snarled. “I’m tired, frustrated with this case, and… You know what? I’m not talking about this anymore.” She wasn’t the one who came home early and found me in bed with another woman, yet there she sat like a wounded little bird, curled up on the sofa with her legs tucked under her, tears streaming down her cheeks because I couldn’t forgive her for fucking my best friend.
“Where are you going?” she’d asked when I put on my winter coat.
“Out.” It was Christmas Eve, and I spent it drinking myself into a stupor in my favorite neighborhood bar. When I got kicked out at closing, I dragged myself home, only to find a three-ring circus happening in our apartment. My neighbors were crowded around the entry, and when they saw me, silence fell as they parted like the Red Sea, making a path that led to the door. Standing just inside watching me was my precinct captain, pity shining in his eyes. Through the opening, I could see other cops, EMTs, and a gurney, a white sheet draped over it. No one had to tell me what had happened.
Guilt ripped my legs right out from under me, and I fell to my knees. I’d walked out on her when she’d needed me the most. She had tried to talk to me, and I had refused to listen. Because she’d had bouts of depression throughout our marriage, I should have recognized that she was capable of such a dramatic act. I also knew her intention had been to punish me. Well, it sure as hell worked.
“You okay?”
Jenny’s voice penetrated the movie reel playing in my head, and I blinked Christine’s face away. “Sure, why?”
“You kind of spaced out there for a minute.”
“A little too much sun today. Let’s go get that banana-less banana split.” I could tell she wasn’t sure she believed me, but she smiled and squeezed my hand. It was the best hand squeeze I’d ever had because I knew she was telling me that she wouldn’t pry, but she was there for me.
As we approached my car, I spied Captain Moody several rows back in what appeared to be a terse conversation with Mayor Jim John Jenkins. I was trained to recognize body language, and there was no doubt in my mind that my police captain intimidated the mayor.
“What do you know about those two?” I asked Jenny.
She wrinkled her nose. “Moody’s an ass, and our mayor couldn’t find his balls if they were dangling in front of his face.”
I burst into laughter. Couldn’t help it. Miss Jenny Nance was a treasure. Someday, when she finished seeing the world and decided to settle down, some man was going to be damn lucky. I wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “I like you, Red.”
“I like you, too, Chief.”
My laughter had caught the attention of the mayor and my officer, and both glanced over at us. Moody smirked, as if he didn’t give a shit that I’d caught him towering over the town’s mayor. Mayor Jenkins slinked down until the cars hid him from view. Maybe he was looking for his lost balls.
Moody tried to engage me in a stare down, but I rolled my eyes, letting him know that I thought he was an idiot. He might very well be one, but that little episode between him and the mayor confirmed what I’d thought from the beginning. Moody had something on Blue Ridge Valley’s mayor, and I was going to find out what.
13
~ Jenny ~
The day had been perfect. I didn’t want it to end, and when Dylan pulled up in front of my apartment, I invited him in. “You can’t stay long. I have to get ready for work.”
He gave me that lopsided smile that I was coming to adore. “Kick me out when you need to.”
I had the unsettling thought that I wouldn’t ever want to kick him out. I blinked away any notion of Dylan permanently in my life and headed to the kitchen.
“Taste this,” I said, returning with a shot glass filled with golden liquid. Dylan eyed the glass with suspicion, which I found amusing. I hadn’t missed his dilemma when Hamburger had reached his hand into his legendary canvas bag, the one every person born in the valley knew held moonshine.
The thing about Hamburger, he rarely sold the mason jars filled to the brim with some of the best ’shine this side of the Mississippi. He used to, but after his last arrest and a stern warning by Judge Padgett, Hamburger had started giving the stuff away. It was beside the point that every one of us lucky enough to get a jar of Hamburger’s liquid gold never charged him for whatever he bought or consumed when in one of our establishments. Mountain bartering at its best.
“I’m not stupid, you know,” Dylan said, taking the shot glass from me. “I’m aware of what this is.” He drank it anyway, tossing the contents down his throat.
I waited for his reaction and wasn’t disappointed at seeing his eyes widen.
He licked his lips. “That tasted like apple pie.”
“Good, huh?”
“Very, but honeypot?”
I sputtered a laugh. “Mmm?”
“Next time you give me some of that, lie. Tell me I’m drinking a flavored fruit drink or something.”
Although he winked when he said it, I knew he was half serious. Hamburger Harry’s moonshine was obviously a quandary for Dylan, but he’d get used to small-town ways soon enough.
