Mint Juleps and Justice (9 page)

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

M
ike took the list of Keith Farrell’s hangouts and punched in the addresses on the tablet. Not only did the information get logged into the Hound application, but the software also charted the most succinct map like a GPS on steroids.

Technology sure made the job a breeze.

He tapped the red dot closest to his current location. Pappy’s Pool Hall. One more click and the GPS picked up from there.

It didn’t take but about twenty minutes to get to the dive. In front of the small brick building there were a couple motorcycles and half-dozen cars. He was getting ready to leave when he spotted the big Dodge pickup parked around back.

Mike pulled the T-bird across the street and settled in. No telling how long Keith would be in there. He’d known guys like Farrell. He could be downing a liquid lunch and shooting pool for hours.

About thirty minutes later Keith Farrell walked out of the building and got into his truck. Mike eased onto the road behind him. It was a hassle trying to follow him in the downtown traffic, but once Keith got on the interstate it was smooth sailing, and it didn’t take Mike long to figure out exactly where Keith was headed. Back to Adams Grove.

He dialed Von to let him know he was on Keith’s tail and cancelled their dinner plans.

Once they got onto Route 58, Keith pulled into a gas station. Mike rode on by. No sense blowing his cover. He went up the road about a mile and stopped to top off his own tank, then waited for the green truck to catch up.

Mike watched Keith drive by and then waited to let a big rig pass and pulled the vintage car behind it.

Forty-five minutes later they were tooling down Main Street in Adams Grove. Keith pulled into the parking lot at the post office. He rolled the window down, his elbow dangling out, as he sat in his truck right across the street from the County Agriculture and Extension office where Brooke worked.

Mike parked around the corner where he could see them both but Keith wouldn’t have a clear line of sight on him. When Brooke walked out of her office building, Mike saw Keith straighten and crank up the truck.

Brooke walked up the block and met up with a blonde-haired girl, then both entered the diner.

Keith gunned the engine on the big truck and took off.

Mike followed him at a distance. He had a pretty good idea where Keith was headed.

Mike passed and went down to the end of the street as Keith pulled into Brooke’s driveway. He turned around at the culvert near the lake then pulled to a stop down the street where he had a straight-shot view of the side of Brooke’s house. He watched Keith saunter up the front steps, and from where he sat, it looked like Keith used a key to get inside.

“One mystery solved.” Mike hadn’t had time to set up any type of internal surveillance yet, so he watched to see what would happen next.

A few minutes later, Keith walked out of Brooke’s house, busy working his thumbs across a small device in his hands. Mike would put his money on it that Keith was synchronizing his own smartphone to Brooke’s. It was easy enough to do if she was keeping her home computer calendar synced to her phone.

Mike followed Keith back to Brooke’s office.

Keith parked up the street and sat watching until she walked out of the diner and headed back to her office. He moved up the street and parked right across from her office. He was being bold. New wheels or not, that was a smug move.

He was on her every move, and so absorbed in watching Brooke that he hadn’t noticed there were eyes on him too.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

G
oto slowed as Mike turned into one of the nicer neighborhoods. He knew this area well. He’d delivered plenty of pizzas out here over the past month.

He considered his options before turning in behind Mike. There was only one way in and out of this neighborhood. At least there was one advantage to working that pizza gig. He knew this area like the back of his hand already. The cul-de-sac at the very back of the neighborhood opened up to a large park. He’d slept there a few times. That was before he’d manipulated that kid at the pizza shop to let him crash at his place. Nice kid. Too bad he didn’t have a clue that he had a criminal in his midst. Pizza Boy would probably freak when the plan was done and he saw his own roommate on the front page of the paper.

Goto could picture Pizza Boy saying, “He was such a nice guy. I can’t believe he’d ever do something like that.”

A belly laugh flooded the car at the thought. He waited another minute before turning down the street behind Hartman to look less conspicuous.

Goto tugged on the neck of his T-shirt. Between the humidity and nerves, his shirt was soaked. The neckline hung. He swept the back of his hand across his forehead and began to slowly drive down the street.

Steady.

Don’t speed up or slow down.

Head forward, only look with the eyes.

Don’t want to get his attention
.

He crept down the street at the posted 15 mph.

This neighborhood was known by the guys down at the pizza shop as the best tipping area. In fact, the guys had fought over the new lady who had moved in. They’d even given her the nickname Tipper. But he knew she was the one he’d met at the yoga studio that day.

He drove past her house, but there was a green truck there he hadn’t seen before. Two doors down, parked on the street, Goto passed Mike parked along the curb.

It nearly killed Goto not to look the man in the eye; his insides were screaming to react. This was the closest he’d been to him so far. His jaw ached, reminding him not to clench his teeth, but every muscle was taut being this close to his mark.

Mike was watching someone.

He was watching Mike watching someone.

Not just anyone, though. He was watching the house he was familiar with. A good tipper. Brooke Justice.

What were the odds?

“It’s like she was tossed down on a silver platter just for me,” Goto cried out to the Jesus air freshener. “In the yoga studio, the same one from Hartman’s office yesterday, the one whose tips were keeping him afloat to execute his plan. Destiny. She was meant to be part of the plan.”

Hot chick. Hot car. The guys in the pizza shop said she hadn’t lived there long. The tips were nice, but what he liked was how she answered the door with a warm smile, like he was doing her a favor.

She smelled good too. Like honeysuckle, or something fresh like that. His mind connected to the scent, but then he breathed in a little too quick, swallowing his gum, choking on it.

He still hadn’t figured out exactly what that plan was going to be, but now he was sure that Brooke Justice was going to have a pivotal role in it. Small world.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

W
hen Brooke got out of yoga class Monday night, she’d just opened her locker to go shower when her phone rang.

She picked it up and glanced at the display—Mike
Hartman’s number. “Hello?”

“Hi Brooke. It’s Mike. We need to talk.”

“Okay, I could stop by in the morning if you like.”

“Actually, I was thinking more like now. I made some progress today, and I’d like to go over it with you and take care of a couple of things. Could you meet me over at your house?”

“My house? Sure.” She pulled her clothes out of the locker and draped them over her arm. “I’m on my way.”

Brooke threw her lock in the top of her handbag and headed out of the locker room. She spotted Jenny over by the smoothie bar with a group of new clients. She’d never miss her.

Sweaty from the class, she yanked the ponytail holder from her hair and headed for home. Mike was sitting on the front porch when she got there.

“I look a mess. Sorry. You caught me just after yoga.”

“I think you look pretty.”

Pretty?
She ran her hand through her hair, feeling very conscious of her appearance.

Mike stood. “Didn’t realize that stuff was so exerting though.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised.” She walked up the steps. “Come on in.”

He followed her inside. She let the dog outside, then went to the kitchen and came back out with two glasses of ice water. “So, what’s going on?”

“I tracked down your ex today. He’s been busy.”

She took a long sip of her drink. “What’s he done now?”

“Quit his job, moved out of his apartment, switched to a burner phone. Even stopped by here.”

“He was here?” Her heart dropped. “Today?”

“In your house. I saw him.”

She looked around. Feeling vulnerable. “How?”

“It looked like he had a key to me. We’ll file a complaint against him, but I’d like to get my guys over here to change the locks and install a security system. It’s good technology. I think it’s important that you do that, especially under the circumstances.”

He looked at home in her house, but heck, it seemed like anyone could make themselves at home in her house these days. How had Keith managed to get a key to the new locks? “Okay. When can they do it?”

“I called them this afternoon and let them know we might need them tonight. If you’re okay with it, I’ll get them right over.”

“What’s it going to cost?”

Mike pulled a sheet of paper out of his pocket and spread it out on the coffee table between them. He reviewed the system and its cost.

“That seems like a fair price. That’s installed?” She leaned forward and sighed.

He placed his hand on her arm, then moved it away. She wondered if he’d felt that tingle between them.

“I know it’s a lot to take in. It’s a good deal, and yes, that’s the price. Completely installed. It also includes two external surveillance cameras. Nothing on the inside of the house. I think you need that privacy, and you can have any of it disconnected if you decide you don’t need them later.”

“Great. Let’s do it.”

Mike pulled his phone from his hip and made the call. “They’ll be here in about thirty minutes.”

“That’s fast.”

“I’m a little concerned about this guy. With him cutting all ties, it seems like something is up. There’s more too. He’s got a sketchy past with the law. I don’t think we want to take any chances.”

“Thanks.” She chased the chills that ran the length of her arms.

“Let me walk you through how the system will be installed while they’re headed over.” He’d just finished walking her around the house and discussing the placement of the external cameras when his guys showed up to do the installation. He introduced them to Brooke and unloaded ladders and supplies.

“How long will all this take?” she asked.

Mike jumped in before the guys could answer. “I thought I’d take you for a ride so they could get to work. They’ll be done before we get back.”

“I’m a mess. Maybe I should shower and change.”

“Come on. I’ve got my truck. We’ll bring Stitches too.”

“Seems like you’re not going to take no for an answer.”

He shrugged. “No reason to primp. It’s not like it’s a date. Come on.”

It’s not a date. He’s just a nice guy. She picked up her purse and lifted Stitches to her hip. “Deal.”

M
ike and Brooke rode in silence for twenty minutes until he honked the horn twice as they crossed the North Carolina state line.

“My daddy used to do that,” Brooke said.

“Mine too.” He seemed to enjoy the memory as much as she did. “In fact, he probably still does.”

“It’s good luck.”

“You have a lot of lucky beliefs. I like that about you,” Mike said. “Are you hungry?”

“A little.”

“Good. I’ll take you to one of my favorite places. It’s just up the road here.”

“Unless it’s a drive-through, I don’t think I’m dressed for it.”

“You’re dressed just fine. It’s an old train depot that’s now an antiques shop and they make a great sandwich. I think you’ll like it. The owners are a couple of old ladies—sisters, I think. Trust me. We’ll be the only ones in the place.”

“You’re not going to let me have a say anyway. You’re borderline bossy, you know.”

“Look who’s talking.”

She knew he was right. “Just get there already, would you? Before I regain my fashion sense and refuse.”

“We’re here.” Mike turned into the lot, crunching through the deep gravel, and pulled the truck near the front door. He rolled down the windows for Stitches, then got out of the truck and moved quickly ahead of her to open the front door.

Brooke dipped under his arm, entering first, and getting a whiff of his cologne. The old wood floor creaked. The smell of home cooking filled the air. They took their time poking around the cluttered collection of items. Each room had its own theme, filled with glorious old pieces of furniture, trinkets, linens slightly yellowed with age, and hand-crocheted doilies. She headed for a big mahogany dresser and pulled the top drawer open. The workmanship was beautiful, and the knobs were all original. “This is wonderful,” she said to Mike, realizing that he was just barely within earshot.

“Sorry, I didn’t hear you.”

“I was just saying I love this place. What do you have there? Some kind of animal trap?”

“No.” He dangled a pair of antique spurs he’d just picked up from a huge tabletop of goods. “They’re spurs. I collect them.”

“I love this kind of stuff. You can feel the memories.” She looked around and took a deep breath as if the air would share the details of the decorative items among the old furnishings.

“Let’s go place our order and we can look around while they’re cooking. I’m starved.”

Brooke let Mike lead her to the lunch counter, where he ordered BLTs and limeades for the two of them. They circled back and returned to browsing through the old treasures.

“Mostly I love the stories behind these things,” admitted Brooke. She lifted a teacup, admiring the beautiful intricate design on the inside. She turned it over to examine the mark on the bottom.

Mike picked up an old cast-iron skillet. “Okay, what’s the story? Lay it on me.”

“Well,” she said with a playful glint in her eye, but an oh-so-serious tone. “Grandma Vivian used to use that pan every Sunday morning.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yes, every single Sunday. She would fry up bacon, from the hog she’d slaughtered right out back of her house. A local 4-H project, no doubt. The hog’s name was Ham Bone. His sister was Riba.”

“Reba, as in the great country singer?”

“Uh, no, Riba, as in barbecued ribs.”

“Of course. How could I have not known?”

Brooke continued in full animation. “Then she, Grandma Vivian that is, would fry up eggs in the bacon grease until they were crispy on the edges. She made the best darn fried eggs for miles. That pan is quite a steal, you see, because it has made memories for so many people over the years. In fact,” she said, lowering her voice, and looking around as if to make sure no one was listening, “it’s really quite hush-hush, but rumor has it that Grandma Vivian once made fried corn bread in that very pan for,” she cleared her throat and looked around before leaning in and lowering her voice again, “the King himself.”

“The king? As in the King of England, I presume?” he asked.

“Oh, don’t be silly. The real king.” She flashed a mischievous smile. “Elvis, hello!”

“Grandma Vivian and Elvis? Scandalous,” he teased.

“You know Elvis wasn’t really crazy about jelly doughnuts. The truth is, he was really all about Grandma Vivian’s corn bread. And yes, he did put jelly on that too.”

“Interesting.” Mike twirled the heavy pan in his hand.

“Oh, yes, the memories of Grandma Vivian’s corn bread…” Her voice drifted off.

“I see. Making memories. That’s what it’s all about, isn’t it?”

“Of course,” she said. “Even if you have to make them up.”

“Better than my story, I guess.” Mike held the pan. “Some woman beat the crap out of an intruder with this. Guy had a big knot on his head that was covered in bacon grease and fried egg pieces. End of story.”

“Stick to your day job,” she teased.

“Here’s something with a real story.” He motioned for her to come over to a long oak glass-front counter. “It’s an old postcard. Pretty cool.” He flipped it from front to back reading the message and looking at the picture, then passed it to her. “They look like myotonic goats.”

“Goats pulling a cart. I love it. Hope they aren’t myotonics. Those are the fainting goats. That could be a problem if they’re supposed to be pulling a cart.”

“True. Probably just Spanish goats,” he said.

“You do know a little about livestock. I’m impressed.”

“I’ve got friends.”

“That man in the cart looks like a giant compared to them. We grow goats a lot bigger these days.”

“Learn something new every day, huh?” Spending this time getting to know her layered the feelings that had been sprouting inside him lately, feelings he thought had been tucked permanently away after that tragic event over eight years ago.

When she turned around he was standing right there, practically toe-to-toe with her.

He tipped her chin up with his knuckles. “I love rustic stuff. There’s lots about me you don’t know.”

“I think I’m going to like learning about you.” She hadn’t felt this carefree in a long time. It felt good to be silly with no strings attached, and he was good company. “You know, that postcard would be really neat in a shadow box. You should get it for your friend.” Brooke edged along the counter. “Hey look, a lucky horseshoe.” Then her mouth dropped wide as she moved to a velvet-tray display of jewelry and trinkets. “Now
that
is exquisite.”

“Which one?” He was so close his shoulder brushed hers. A comfortable energy ignited between them.

“That one. Right there. She pointed to a white- and yellow-gold-filigree hair comb studded with tiny pearls and gemstones, maybe even a few rubies. “Isn’t it beautiful? I wonder how it ended up here.”

“That
is
pretty.” He signaled to the blue-haired shopkeeper to open the case.

Brooke balanced the beautiful piece in her hands. “This is the kind of thing you pass on for generations. Maybe the woman had no family to leave it to, or she became desperate for money and had to give it up to save the farm. I bet there’s a beautiful story behind this comb.”

“Do you know anything about this piece?” Mike asked the shopkeeper.

“It came from an estate sale. Sorry. No details.”

“She may have worn it in her hair on her wedding day.” Brooke imagined a young woman with perfect skin, hair swept up, nervous about the nuptials.

Mike placed a hand on Brooke’s shoulder. “I bet you were a beautiful bride.”

“Order up.” The ding of a bell followed.

Brooke felt literally saved by the bell from the awkward moment just then.

She avoided the comment as she and Mike meandered back to the counter and hopped up on the barstools. Brooke caught a glimpse of herself in the old warped mirror behind the counter. “I can’t believe I’m out in public looking like this.”

He pushed a wisp of hair back from her right cheek, quietly leaning into her. “Actually, I wasn’t going to say anything, but I did hear those two ladies over there talking about how they couldn’t believe a frumpy chick like you ever landed a good-looking guy like me.” He gave her a convincing look, but she knew he was teasing her.

“You’d better quit picking on me. You’re on my payroll, you know.”

“I’m not billing you for this. Besides, you look beautiful to me. And you’re fun to pick on.”

“Hey, quit with all the flirting and just eat, would ya?” she said, then bit into her sandwich.

“Can’t you even just take a compliment?” He rolled his eyes.

They munched on their BLTs without much conversation and then headed back home.

“This was great,” she said, looking out the window. “Do you think they’ll really be done with the security system by the time we get back?”