Sidecar Crush Page 12

  He was still talking about my damn career. Not once had he said anything about us. Every word out of his mouth made me more certain that I was doing the right thing.

  “It’s not a mistake,” I said. “It’s over, Kelvin.”

  “You’re going to regret this,” he said and hung up.

  I lowered my phone and took in a deep breath. I wasn’t sure if his last comment had been a threat, or just an expression of his anger and frustration. But it didn’t matter. I wasn’t in love with him and there was no way on earth I could marry him. It had been over for a long time; I just hadn’t admitted it until now.

  But now I was free. And it felt pretty damn good.

  I kicked a little pebble into the parking lot, happy I’d worn my cute cowboy boots, and went back inside.

  Scarlett, Cassidy, and June had a table near the bar. I smiled, a very silly feeling of euphoria pouring over me.

  “Hey, Leah Mae,” Scarlett said.

  I loved how everyone here still called me by my full name, not just Leah. “Hey.”

  “What’s up?” Scarlett asked, then took a drink of her beer.

  I looked down at the ring on my finger. Pulled it off. “I just broke up with Kelvin.”

  Scarlett coughed, spitting beer all over the floor. Cassidy patted her on the back while June watched, one eyebrow raised.

  “Is Scarlett choking?” June asked.

  Cassidy laughed. “No, I think Leah Mae just surprised her a bit.”

  Scarlett put a hand to her chest and took a deep breath. “Did you just say you broke up with your fiancé?”

  I put the ring on the table. “I did.”

  “Well, holy shit,” Scarlett said. She called toward the bar over her shoulder. “Nicolette, we need some whiskey over here. We’ve got somethin’ to celebrate.”

  “I’m confused,” June said. “Don’t we normally lament the end of a relationship and soothe the pain of the breakup with a lot of sympathy and sugary baked goods?”

  “We do when the breakup is a bad thing,” Scarlett said.

  “Okay, slow down, Miss Scarlett,” Cassidy said. She turned to me. “Are we celebrating this, or do you need the sympathy and cake?”

  “I won’t say no to cake,” I said. “But I’m celebrating.”

  “See?” Scarlett said, a triumphant smile on her face.

  Nicolette came to our table with a tray of whiskey shots. Her dark hair was in a ponytail and she had a t-shirt that said I’ve got a good heart… but this mouth. She gave me a friendly smile as she slid the shot glasses onto our table.

  I picked up the whiskey. “Ladies, I might have just ruined my career. But I was in that relationship for all the wrong reasons. And now that it’s over, I’m not sad. In fact, I feel great.”

  “That’s a sign,” Scarlett said. “I’m proud of you, Leah Mae. You did the right thing.”

  “Agreed,” Cassidy said.

  June picked up her shot. “I have to concur.”

  “Thanks,” I said, feeling the prick of tears in my eyes. Not from sadness. From gratitude. The world I’d been living in for the past twelve years was so fake. Bootleg was real. These women were real. I hadn’t even realized how much I’d been missing that.

  “To new beginnings. And being open to the right man.” Scarlett winked at me.

  My cheeks warmed. I had a feeling I knew what she meant by that, but I wasn’t sure what to say. I tilted my head back, swallowing the whiskey. It was strong, burning my throat as it went down.

  “New beginnings,” I said, putting down my glass. All I could do was smile. I’d never felt so free.

  15

  Jameson

  Being here was odd. I was twenty-eight years old—hadn’t lived in my dad’s house for a decade—but it still felt familiar. Smelled familiar. Walking through the door had always made my back clench. Now it made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

  Didn’t much like being here, but there was still a lot of work to be done. Devlin had chewed us out for dumping it all on Scarlett, and he’d been right. That hadn’t been fair. We all had our own reasons for not wanting to deal with what we might find in here. But sometimes a man had to face his demons.

  My brothers and Scarlett were coming over later, but I’d been up early anyway, so I’d decided to come get a head start. The air was colder inside than out. Smelled stale. We’d already done some of the cleaning out and organizing, but it looked like we’d barely made a dent. The police had left the place a mess.

  Scarlett had divided up the house so we each had a section. We were supposed to box things up that were worth giving away or selling, and toss everything else. I had the kitchen to start with, and I reckoned there wasn’t going to be much worth keeping in there. It had been a long time since Mama had cooked dinner or baked pie in that kitchen.

  I’d brought garbage bags and picked up some empty cardboard boxes, so I got to work. Clearing out the cupboards and drawers was easy enough. Pots, pans, and the plates and glasses that were in decent shape could all go to the thrift store. Anything chipped or broken got tossed. I worked my way through each cupboard, one at a time, either throwing things out or packing them away.

  I got to a cupboard with a mix of glasses and mugs. Most of them were in decent shape, so I wrapped them in newspaper and put them in a box. Way in the back, I found a mug with a chipped edge. I hadn’t seen it in years, but I remembered it well. I pulled it out and turned it around. World’s Best Mom.

  Us kids had gotten that mug for our mom for Mother’s Day one year. She’d used it all the time—so much the lettering had started to fade. I could still remember her, sitting with her fingers wrapped around the handle, blowing on the hot liquid before bringing it up to her lips.

  I had no idea what to do with something like this. Would anyone want it? Should we just let it go? I wasn’t the sentimental type, so keeping an old mug—even our mom’s old mug—didn’t hold much appeal. But I set it aside so Scarlett could at least see it. Even if she didn’t want it, she might like to reminisce over it first.

  The front door opened, and in came Jonah, followed by Bowie. Scarlett and Gibson weren’t far behind. They all chatted for a few, saying hi and whatnot. I nodded to my siblings but kept working. The sooner I finished, the sooner I could get out of here.

  My brothers split up. Gibson took the garage while Bowie and Jonah headed upstairs. Scarlett came into the kitchen to help. I showed her Mom’s mug. She held it for a few moments, tracing her fingers across the words.

  “We can let it go,” she said.

  “You sure?”

  She nodded. “I think there’s a lot of lettin’ go that needs to happen.”

  “I reckon you’re probably right.”

  She glanced toward our dad’s bedroom door. Not the first time she’d done so. I could tell she didn’t want to go in there.

  “If you want to finish up in here, I’ll go start on the bedroom,” I said.

  She nodded. “Yeah, sure.”

  I put an arm around her shoulders and kissed the top of her head.

  “Oh, knock it off,” she said, pushing me away.

  I messed up her hair, then went into Dad’s bedroom.

  Another chill passed down my spine, worse than when I’d first come into the house. He’d died in here.

  I swallowed hard, deciding to put that all aside and do what needed to be done. It was just a bedroom, and what was in here was just stuff. He was gone.

  Most of his clothes were fine for the thrift store, so I packed them in big garbage bags. When the dresser drawers were empty, I decided to tackle the closet.

  I groaned. It was packed, the contents bulging out. The police hadn’t exactly cleaned up nicely after they’d searched the house.

  Clothes hung on the rack and boxes were piled on top of one another. I spent some time going through the clothes, separating what we could donate from what was too old and worn and needed to be thrown out. Hauled bags out to my truck. By the time I finis
hed with the clothes, Scarlett had gone out for lunch and brought it back. We took a break on the porch, but only for long enough to eat. None of us said much. Seemed we were all wrestling with being here.

  But I was glad to not be here alone.

  After lunch, I sorted through more stuff in the bedroom. Helped Scarlett haul boxes from the kitchen to her truck for a run to the thrift store. When her truck was full, I went back inside and started pulling stuff out of Dad’s closet.

  There was no telling what was in all the boxes. I opened the first one and rifled through. Seemed to be a mix of things—papers and envelopes. A handful of old photos. In one of the envelopes was a picture of the four of us, all sitting on the porch. Looked to me like I might have been five or six years old. The back said first day of school. I put it aside to show Scarlett.

  Tucked in the envelope among some more photos was a yellowed piece of paper—looked official. It was a speeding ticket with my dad’s name on it. That wasn’t too odd. I reckoned my dad had probably had more than a few traffic violations in his day, although I wondered why it had been stuffed in an envelope with old pictures. What caught my eye first was the state. New York.

  That was odd. When had my dad been in New York state? Then I looked at the date. Twelve years ago, almost exactly. The summer Callie Kendall had disappeared.

  I knew that date. Not just because the town still talked about Callie, or that her missing persons posters still hung outside Moonshine. I knew it because that was the last summer Leah Mae had come to Bootleg.

  But it wasn’t just the year, or the fact that the ticket had been issued in July. Callie Kendall had gone missing on July twelfth, and this ticket was dated just three days afterward.

  Given the fact that Callie’s sweater had turned up here, in our dad’s house, raising suspicions about his possible involvement in her alleged murder, this was probably important.

  I brought it out to the living room. “Hey, y’all. Come look at this.”

  Scarlett and Jonah came from the kitchen, and Bowie walked down the stairs. I stuck my head in the garage and told Gibs to come on inside for a minute.

  “What’d you find?” Bowie asked, gesturing to the brittle paper in my hand.

  “It’s an old speeding ticket,” I said. “But there’s something odd about it. It’s got dad’s name on it, but it’s from New York state.”

  “When was Dad up there?” Bowie asked.

  “Well, according to this, three days after Callie Kendall disappeared,” I said.

  A hush settled over the room, like none of us were even breathing.

  “All right,” Bowie said, putting his hands on his hips. “Maybe this tells us something.”

  “Tells us what?” Gibson asked. “That he got caught speeding? He was probably drunk.”

  “Stop it, Gibs,” Scarlett said. “You’re not helping.”

  “Didn’t Dad leave for a few days after Callie went missing?” I asked. “Do y’all remember that?”

  “He did,” Bowie said. “I don’t remember if Mom said why, but she told us he’d be gone a few days.”

  “You’re right,” Scarlett said. “I’d forgotten, but I remember being mad. I wanted him to stay and help look for Callie.”

  I thought back on what had happened in the wake of Callie’s disappearance. It had been tense and confusing. Mostly I remembered trying to stay out of everyone’s way. And then finding out that Leah Mae’s mom was coming to fetch her home to Florida. I’d felt guilty at the time that Leah Mae leaving had hit me harder than Callie’s disappearance. But I’d been crushed when she’d had to leave.

  “It was something about his cousin in North Carolina,” Gibson said. He shrugged, like it didn’t matter. “House flooded. Dad drove out there to help them fix it so they could move back in.”

  I held up the ticket. “But if Dad was in North Carolina helping his cousin, how was he in New York getting a speeding ticket?”

  Bowie took the ticket and looked it over. I met Gibson’s eyes, and I knew we were both wondering the same thing. What if Dad had taken Callie’s body somewhere to get rid of it?

  “I don’t know what this means,” Bowie said, his eyes on the paper. “But it’s not a coincidence.”

  “There’s too much we don’t know,” Scarlett said. “Why he was gone. Whether Mama knew where he really went. Everyone who knew anything is dead.”

  “And it’s not like the police are giving us any information,” Bowie said.

  Gibson rolled his eyes. “Y’all can play CSI West Virginia on your own time. I’m getting back to work.” He stalked off to the garage, letting the door bang shut behind him.

  “What do you think?” I asked Jonah, meeting his eyes.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “I wasn’t around for any of this. But looking at it from the outside, it’s suspicious. The timing, and the story you were told about him going to North Carolina. This isn’t just in another place, it’s in the opposite direction. If he’d gone help his cousin, why would he have been hundreds of miles away?”

  Scarlett groaned. “I swear, this mess keeps gettin’ worse. I think I need to be done here for today.”

  “Fair enough,” I said. “Do you think this is something we need to show to the police? For the investigation?”

  “It should be on his driving record, so I’d think they’d already know,” Bowie said. “But I can run it by Jayme. Want me to hang onto it?”

  “Sure.” I handed the ticket to Bowie.

  “Y’all mind if I take some of the boxes home with me?” I asked. “That way we can get this place cleaned out faster, and I can go through more of his stuff later.”

  “Fine with me,” Scarlett said. “I’ll help you carry some.”

  “Yeah, if we all take some, we’ll get things out of here quicker,” Bowie said. “Good plan.”

  There were several more boxes I hadn’t yet touched. Jonah and Bowie helped Scarlett and me load them in the back of my truck. Jonah was supposed to meet Devlin for a run, so he said goodbye. Bowie said he’d come back to help more tomorrow afternoon and went on his way.

  Scarlett and I locked up. Her keys jingled in her hands, and she looked up at me with a little grin. “Got plans tonight?”

  “No.”

  “Hmm,” she said, and I could tell she was feigning nonchalance. I wasn’t buying it. “Talked to Leah Mae recently?”

  Oh lord, this again? “A bit.”

  “You should call her,” Scarlett said.

  “Any particular reason?”

  She shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. She broke up with her fiancé.”

  My grip tightened around my keys, the hard metal digging into my palm. I tried to keep myself from choking, but it felt like my throat had closed up on me. I turned, coughing, and pounded my fist against my chest.

  “You okay?” she asked, patting my back.

  “Yeah,” I said, my voice coming out strangled. “Fine. Just got an itch in my throat.”

  “Sure you did,” she said, patting me again. “Anyway, just thought you’d want to know. Night, Jame.”

  “Night, Scar,” I said, still trying to catch my breath.

  She went out to her truck and drove off, leaving me standing on our dad’s porch.

  I was reeling. Felt as if the ground pitched beneath my feet, leaving me unstable. Before I knew it, I was sitting in my truck without so much as a glimmer of an idea as to how I’d wound up there. It was like I was in shock, my brain struggling to come to terms with what Scarlett had just told me.

  Could it be true? Scarlett wouldn’t lie to me, especially not about this. She saw right through me—knew I had it bad for Leah Mae.

  Far from bringing me relief, the news that Leah Mae could possibly be single filled me with dread. What did it mean? Why had she done it? And what was I going to do the next time I saw her?

  It wasn’t as if I could suddenly confess my feelings. If she really had broken up with him, it was too fresh. The last thing I wanted was to b
e a rebound fling. That was bad news all around—the kind of thing that would destroy a friendship in no time flat.

  And if there was one thing that scared me more than never having a chance with Leah Mae—I’d come to terms with that for the most part—it was losing her entirely. At least this way, I could still be her friend. But if something happened between us, and it went south, then what would I do? Now that I had her back in my life—even if we were just friends—I couldn’t stand the idea of losing her.

  The thought of navigating this new world where Leah Mae was single again scared me to pieces. I didn’t know how to handle it—didn’t know what was right. I just knew I didn’t want to make a mistake. Because if I lost her for good, I’d regret it for the rest of my life.

  16

  Leah Mae

  I pulled up outside Jameson’s house and turned off the engine. I’d been at my dad’s place this morning and, on a whim, decided to swing by and see Jameson after I left. He’d told me more than once I could stop by anytime, and I still hadn’t seen his workshop.

  It was just after lunchtime on Monday, and I hadn’t seen much of Jameson in the last week. We’d texted back and forth a handful of times, but that was it. I figured he was just busy. At least, I hoped that’s all it was. I knew he had a lot to do on the piece he was working on. He’d told me it was for a big client in Charlotte. I wondered if he’d let me see it.

  His house was set back from the road with a long gravel driveway. The house itself looked small, but tidy, with a cabin-like charm. Next to it was an old barn that looked like it must be his workshop.

  I tried the front door to the house first, but no one answered. Jameson’s truck was here, although I didn’t see Jonah’s car. I went over to the barn’s side door and knocked before opening it and peeking inside.

  Jameson stood with his back to me, dressed in a faded gray t-shirt and jeans with a leather apron over the top. He held a small hammer in one hand, and his other was covered with a thick glove. It didn’t seem like he’d heard me knock—he didn’t turn around.