Just Keep Sweet (The Compound Series) (9 page)

“I, uh.” I turned to Holly. “I think the less you know, the better, quite honestly.”

“How am I supposed to help you if I don’t know anything?”

“You know some of the details. You know the prophet is trying to silence Aspen. For now, that’s all we can tell you, I’m afraid. Just know that there is a group of gentiles involved . . . if and when the time comes, we’ll fill you in on the rest of the details. That’s just how it has to be for now. It’s safer for you and for Aspen if you don’t know too much.”

“I understand.” Her face didn’t match her words, but I didn’t care. It was time to construct our plan.

“Speaking of gentiles, I think that’s our next step in all of this—making contact with some of the prophet’s . . . customers. Now, obviously, this is something I’ll handle alone. You two would give us away in about a half a second.”

I chuckled and the two women looked at one another before Holly laughed and Aspen cracked an understanding smile.

I opened the laptop and retrieved one of the records. “Maybe if I can get one of them to crack. Like this guy here . . . Jim Penowsky. He’s been arrested half a dozen times for alcohol-related incidents . . . a few times at the same bar in town.”

“So?” Aspen looked confused.

“So, I’ll check him out . . . maybe buy him a drink . . . see if I can dig up any information.”

“You think that’ll work? That someone will talk so easily?”

“I take it you don’t spend a lot of time around drunks,” I teased, giving her a playful wink and nudging her forearm.

“We’re allowed to drink, but I don’t know anyone who does. We’re a dry home, except when we have weddings at the house. Paul doesn’t approve of alcohol.” She turned to Holly. “Do you?”

“Clarence does,” Holly said. “He loves white wine. He and Janine drink quite often.”

“Interesting, I would’ve thought it’d be banned.”

“Standard LDS aren’t supposed to drink, but we have different rules. We can have caffeine, too. I have coffee every morning.”

“You’d think it’d be the other way around,” I said, moving my hands back and forth. “I mean, seriously, I’d think you guys would be under more restrictions.”

Both women simply shrugged and I raised both eyebrows in surprise. Elizabeth was raised in a traditional Mormon household and was not allowed to drink caffeine or alcohol. However, once in college she indulged in both and her Diet Coke addiction was still going strong after more than a decade. She often blamed her strict upbringing for causing her to rebel, and I’d tease her that to most people, Diet Coke wasn’t exactly a rebellion.

Different strokes for different folks.

“Anyway, didn’t mean to digress, but back to Penowsky. I don’t know what kind of guy he is . . . other than the fact that when he gets drunk, he fights . . . a lot. So, maybe he also gets wordy.”

“So, you’re going to talk to him?” Aspen asked, narrowing her eyes.

“Yep. I’ll be casual about it, don’t worry. I’ll see what I can find out.”

“And what should
we
do?” Aspen asked, impatience hovering in her sharp voice. “Idle hands are the devil’s workshop.”

“They won’t stay idle, I promise. Just keep sweet for now. I’ll let you know what our next step is as soon as I figure it out.”

Holly nodded with a decisive smile, but Aspen’s face was filled with conflict.

“That doesn’t sit well with me. The clock is ticking, Jonathan. I have to keep him from Ruthie.”

“Give me a couple weeks, Aspen, that’s all I need to pursue Penowsky. After that, we’ll regroup and decide our next step. And if you think of something on your end, text me. Shit, that reminds me.”

I reached into my pocket and grabbed the burner phone I picked up the night before. “I want you to use this phone whenever you need to get a hold of me.”

“Oh.” Relief swept across Aspen’s features. The hard lines of her face were softened and the beauty I’d known the past few months returned. “Thank you.”

“Use the other one to contact your husband, your sister wives. Just not me. I already programmed my number in.” I turned to Holly, attempting to make light of our unique situation. “Obviously, I didn’t think to get you one since we just met an hour ago, but I can get one for you if you think it’s necessary.”

“That’s all right, Clarence barely notices me.” She smiled. “And for the first time, I’m grateful. But when I get home he might ask about your reaction to the letter. What should I tell him?”

“Tell him you delivered it and left immediately . . . that you didn’t get a chance to read my reaction,” I instructed. “Don’t feed into his games.”

“No,” Aspen said. “Tell him Jonathan looked nervous, scared.”

I turned to Aspen with a knitted brow, not understanding what that would accomplish and for the first time since Holly entered my office, she smiled. “We’ll beat him at his own game. Make him think he’s affecting you . . . that he’s getting under our skin.”

Holly’s face lit up like a lightbulb. “I’m
more
than happy to do that.”

I tilted my head to the side, mesmerized by the wheels constantly spinning inside Aspen’s head. “You never cease to amaze me. You know, I think you’re onto something, Little House.”

“Little House?” Holly asked.

“It’s a long story,” Aspen answered Holly, but her eyes never left mine. “A very long story.”

I swear I wanted to drop to my knees. The mounting power this woman had over my emotions was no joke. Right then and there I knew I had to take my own advice.

Just keep sweet, you lovestruck moron.

“I’d better get back before Clarence wonders why I stayed so long.”

“Good idea,” Aspen agreed. “I’ll leave in a little while, so we’re not seen together.”

“Thank you for trusting me,” Holly said.

“You’re welcome,” I replied, but Aspen stayed silent, offering Holly nothing but a curt nod. I’d always considered myself a jaded human being—after the hundreds of cases I’d worked on and the horrors I’d seen—but when it came to making others earn trust, Aspen had me beat . . . beat by a long shot. One of the many things I admired about this dainty yet fierce woman.

After an all-too-exciting dinner of Chinese takeout in front of the television set, I ventured out to the Broken Oar bar about thirty minutes from my apartment. It was a dive, a real shithole with several lights burned out on the marquee, cigarette butts strewn across the entrance, and a billowing cloud of smoke that greeted you upon arrival. “Sweet Home Alabama” spewed from the speakers. I’d been lucky enough during my time with the force to avoid this establishment, so tonight was my introduction.

Lucky me.

Crossing the rotting wood floor, my eyes were peeled, taking in the atmosphere. Wood paneling lined the walls and stuffed fish hung on faded plaques. A woman who was clearly stuck in the ’80s with her ratted mullet hair and bright blue eyeshadow was straddling a hefty guy a few feet from the entrance. She ran her hands through the hair he had left on his receding hairline as he puffed his cigar.

Classy joint.

After scanning the seating area, I turned my attention to the main bar. It was at least ten feet long with several empty wooden stools. Without appearing obvious, I examined the guys at the bar.

Show your face, Penowsky.

“What can I get ya?” a tall and surprisingly cute young woman asked from behind the bar. With a towel draped over her shoulder and her hair tied up in a loose bun, she was the one person in the entire establishment who didn’t depress the shit out of me.

What in God’s name are you doing here, gorgeous?

“I’ll take a beer. What do you have on tap?”

“Just about anything you can imagine, sugar.”

“Surprise me,” I said, appreciating the flirtation.

“You got it.” She placed a glass under the tap, tilting it back and filling it to the top. She placed it in front of me and wiped her hands on her towel. “Never seen you here before. Just passing through?”

Go with it.

“Yep,” I said, tilting my forehead. “How’d you know?”

“Well, you don’t exactly fit in with this crowd. I’m guessing if you lived in town, you’d probably steer clear of this place.”

I wiggled my eyebrows as I swallowed my first sip of beer. “Or maybe I just like living dangerously.”

She shook her head and laughed.

“No, seriously, where do you think I’m from?”

A gruff voice boomed from behind me. “You look like a city guy. I’m guessing Phoenix.”

Penowsky.

He looked just like his mugshot. He was a tall guy with a large gut, salt-and-pepper hair, full beard, and deep-set dark eyes. Not the kind of guy you wanted to mess with. His presence was intimidating, and I didn’t intimidate easily.

“Took the words out of my mouth, Jim,” the bartender said, but her eyes didn’t match her words. She was playing along. I guessed she was quite used to his temper in the past and didn’t want to piss him off. Or she wanted a nice tip.

“How’d you guess?” I asked, winking at the bartender.

“I’m just smart, I guess,” Jim said, wiping his nose with the back of his sleeve. “Fill ‘er up, would ya, sweetheart? I just drained the snake; I could use a topping off.”

Nice.

She pressed her lips into a thin line, then tilted them up. I knew she was being polite, but I could feel the anger radiating from her skin. She replaced his beer with another, then tapped the wood in front of my glass. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“Thanks . . .” I tilted my head toward her, hoping for a name. She deserved to be treated like a human being.

She sighed and relief filled her pretty face. “Linda Jean.”

“Pretty name,” I said, popping a peanut into my mouth and regretting it instantly.

You don’t eat out of a peanut bowl at a place like this, you dumb shit.

I winked, trying to hide my disgust at the filthy peanut in my mouth. “Thanks, L.J.”

She giggled under her breath, wiped her hands on her towel again, and walked to the other end of the bar.

“So, Phoenix, huh? What brought you to Colorado City, land of the Mormons?”

“Business,” I answered. “Big construction project down near the valley.”

He nodded, digging his hands into the peanut bowl. I swallowed hard when I noticed the filth on his fingers. “Ahh, you’re in the game, huh?”

“Yes, indeed. Normally I stay in Phoenix, but it was a contract I couldn’t pass up.”

“I hear that.” He drained the rest of his beer. “You married?”

“Yeah. You?”

Penowsky nodded and enunciated his syllables. “Unfortunately.”

Play along, fuel his fire.

“I hear that. Thank God my wife’s back in Phoenix. I needed a fucking break.”

“How long you in town?”

“Only a few months.” I tipped back my beer. “May have to try to extend it, though. Or ask for a divorce.” I chuckled and Penowsky joined in, clinking his empty glass with mine.

“Can I get you another?” he asked, his voice showing a hint of a slur.

“Nah, I’m good.”

“C’mon, live a little,” he said, slapping me on the back. “What’s your name, kid?”

“Kid? I’m forty-two years old, who you calling a kid?”

“Sorry,” he said, scratching the back of his head. “Once you hit fifty, everybody looks like a damn teenager. Forty-two, really?”

“I eat a lot of fruit,” I said with a laugh.

“One of them health nuts, huh?”

“Not really.” I smiled before extending my hand. “The name’s Roger. Roger Thorp.”

“That’s a professor name.” He chuckled, shaking my hand.

“I hear that a lot.”

“Jim.” He smiled. “Let me buy you a beer, professor.”

“All right. I don’t have to be at work too early tomorrow. Why not?”

“Sweetheart, two more over here.”

When Linda Jean didn’t respond, he pounded his fist on the bar. “Eh! You hear me? I said two beers.”

Linda Jean turned to face us, looking sheepish. I nodded to her and gave her the most comforting smile I could offer.

“Hey,” I said, waving him down, “it’s all good, man. She’ll get to us.”

“God, she’s got a delicious ass,” Penowsky said. “I just wanna bite it.”

“A little young, don’t you think?” I said with a laugh before taking a sip of my beer to wash down the offending peanut.

Penowsky scoffed. “Not in the slightest. In fact . . .” He narrowed his eyes, then licked his lips. “Ah, never mind.”

He’s opened the door, Cooke. Walk on through.

“Hell, what am I talking about? The younger, the better. Anyone who doesn’t remind me of that bitch back home.”

“Fuck yeah.”

Linda Jean delivered our glasses of beer. “Here you go, guys. Sorry for the wait, Jim.”

“Oh, you know I’m just messing with ya, sexy mama.”

“Appreciate it, L.J.”

“You know, Jim, you seem like . . . Well, you seem like someone who I can trust to be . . . discreet,” I said.

He paused mid-sip, placing his glass down. “What does that mean?”

“I was hoping to, uh . . . well, to get some companionship, if you know what I mean.”

“Can’t help you with that. Although miss Linda here seems sweet on ya.”