Pretty Reckless (Entangled Ignite) (17 page)

Boomer shrugged, tossing his arms out at his side.

“Give me a break, Laney. Can’t a guy have the right to clear his head sometimes?”

I was crabby, and if he didn’t back off, I might find it necessary to kick his wobbly legs out from underneath him. It wasn’t like the louse didn’t have it coming. I wagged a finger in his bloated face and said, “You need to get your act together, Boomer Copley. Do you ever think of anything but that goddamn whiskey?”

Boomer stared at me in shock.

Nathan pulled at my arm. “Laney, ease up a little.”

I ripped my arm out of his hand and spun around, glaring back at my fiancé. “He’s drunk, again. And unless he shapes up, he’ll die drunk, too.”

“However true that is, get into it some other time. I’m cold, and we’re late for the funeral,” Nathan stated and started walking back to the truck. “Are y’all coming?” he hollered over his shoulder at us.

…

The double gargoyles rose above the hill as Nathan drove down the dirt path leading into Crestview Cemetery. Long rows of weather-beaten tombstones sprawled the treeless space. A few plots were still fresh and adorned with baby’s breath wreaths. To the left of the chapel hung the weeping willow that Gunner had carved our names into when my Aunt Faye had passed. He’d sworn that day to never leave my side.

While I waited next to my door for Nathan, I glanced around the grounds, finally stumbling across Gunner slouched against the trunk underneath our willow tree. His black cowboy hat hung low, hiding his dangerous brown eyes. I found myself staring at him, daring him to take notice. It wasn’t automatic, but eventually, his eyes locked in on mine. He casually lifted his chin at me, then winked before sauntering inside the chapel.

Inside, a musty odor filled the dense air. The mint green carpet looked like it had been thrown up all over the foyer, along with the twelve dozen birthworts placed in every flipping corner. I made my way over to the knotty pine table in the center of the room and flipped the guest book open—one name was scribbled inside, Selma Martinez, Bosley’s maid. I jotted my name down and went to find a seat.

Pistol Rock’s elders had packed the back rows, oxygen tanks in hand. Boomer was lounged back, snoring away next to old man Wexler, who was hacking up a lung. I spotted Nathan sliding into a pew three rows back from the casket and walked down the aisle to join him. Scooting in next to him, I tried my damnedest not to gawk at Gunner’s toned, muscled arms slung across the back of a pew.

“This outta be entertaining,” Nathan said, startling me, “All these fools paying their respects to that murdering motherfucker.”

“Nathan,” I gasped.

“Laney, come on. We all know Bosley killed Pacey.”

“Like hell we do.”

Nathan shrugged, relaxing his arm across my shoulders. “Whatever,” he said, brushing me off by turning to watch Hilda Dixon tune the organ.

For a man who’d chosen every opportunity to flaunt his wealth, Bosley Conrad’s funeral was a pathetic testament to the former depth of his pocketbook. A simple, black coffin housed his corpse with a single bouquet of yellow roses placed on top. Sadly, no one was shedding a tear for the coldhearted bastard. They were here for the “show”, such as it might be.

I was fiddling with the hem of my skirt when Reverend Daniels approached the podium and cleared his throat. The last time I’d seen the reverend was when he’d caught me skinny dipping with Gunner in the baptismal. Effectively, that little incident had cost me the part of the Virgin Mary in the church Christmas pageant when I was fifteen.

“Welcome, everyone.” Reverend Daniels opened his hymnal. “Please turn to hymn number one hundred and ten,” he said and waved us all to our feet.

We all obeyed like sheep flocking to the shepherd and began to sing in numerous off key notes. I could hear my mother’s voice, screeching from the front as she strained her tonsils, and everybody else’s ears, with the horrible sounds excreted from her lungs. I looked three rows forward. Her newly dyed, canary yellow hair bounced up and down as she sang.

Reverend Daniels wrapped up the hymn and began the ceremony. “I know how all y’all enjoyed Bosley’s company,” he stated, not sounding particularly convincing.

There were a few sniffles, but mostly the tiny chapel was filled with a cold silence. I caught Gunner staring at me from across the room. He slipped me a wink then cut his eyes over at Nathan, who returned Gunner’s glare with a scowl. “Would anyone like to pay their respects by saying a few words?” Reverend Daniels asked.

We all looked around at each other, and I couldn’t help but wonder if one of these fine citizens was the one who’d sent that van out to kill Bosley. I saw Luke Wagner stand up in the back and look like he might want to say something, but thought better of it when Miss Steven’s shot him a devil-eyed glare. Instead of re-seating himself, Luke shrugged and left. The cop instincts that I was only beginning to develop crawled with unease at the sight of him, but I figured that might also be due to our history together rather than the three murders and the assault on my person that I needed to finish investigating.

Nodding with satisfaction over her triumph, Miss Steven’s turned her glare on Reverend Daniels. “Are you done now? ’Cause some of us have better ways to fill up our day,” she barked.

Clearly, she addressed the feelings of most the funeral guests because, as though on cue, hymnals began to crash to the floor and people shuffled erect or scooted their butts out of the narrow pews.

I held Nathan’s hand as he ushered me into the foyer. Gunner was two strides behind us, making my hair stand on end.

“I’ve got to go speak with Mr. Michaels,” Nathan said, letting go of my hand. “It’ll only be a second.” He pecked my cheek and left my side, heading back inside the chapel.

I weaved through the crowd and perched next to the food and beverage table, picking up a shortbread cookie and snipping off a piece. Glancing around, I smiled when I saw Gunner getting caught in the crosshairs of our sixty-year-old school nurse’s long-winded chats. She had him barricaded at the wall and was taking every chance she got to rub his tattoo poking out from underneath the rolled-up sleeve of his black suit jacket. I snickered under my breath and grabbed two more cookies, then moseyed over to Dobbs, who’d distanced himself from the general hubbub in the far corner of the room.

“How’s everything going?” I asked, stuffing a cookie into my mouth.

The normally loquacious sheriff simply snorted. “Fine.”

I narrowed my eyes, sensing that things weren’t “fine”, then shook off the sensation. So Dobbs was keeping a tight lip for a change. No biggy. Besides, maybe it was the place and the company. If so, I could deal with that. I nudged his arm, coaxing him to relax. “Come on, something’s bothering you.”

“Back off, Laney,” he spat and stalked off.

Okay, so Dobbs was a little grumpy. Everyone had their days, and maybe this just happened to be his time of the month. I watched him head back into the chapel and disappear behind the organ.

“Are you dodging me?”

I almost jumped out my heels. I spun around to find Gunner slouched against the wall, giving me a sinful grin. “Sort of,” I said.

He reached out and snatched a cookie from my hand. He took a bite and said, “You might want to try harder.”

“Count on it.”

He moved in and ran a finger along the neckline of my silk blouse. I blushed involuntarily.

“Hey, there are people around,” I said, slapping at his hand.

Gunner’s grin widened as he took a single step back. “That blouse of yours is causing me all kinds of pain in all the right places.”

I gave my blouse a once over and quickly decided that there was nothing wrong with the dang thing. “Then maybe you should go back to your motel room, grab a towel, and do something about it,” I told him.

He wrapped a callused hand around my face and tipped my chin up. Our mouths were way too close. “I could use the help of a good-looking lady.”

“Well, this one’s engaged,” I said, pulling my chin out of his hand and stepping back. “You keep looking, though.”

He shrugged. “I would if I thought it would do any good. By the way, if you haven’t noticed, that fiancé of yours has a bug up his ass.”

I couldn’t deny it. “That’s because Nathan hates your guts.”

“Figured that much,” he sighed and pressed his shoulders back against the wall.

I fell in next to him. He slanted a glance down at me, and the hard line of his mouth faded. His dark brown eyes melted into his face, and I felt something inside me melting, too. It was just that kind of knee-weakening look.

“This is crazy, right?” he said. “Us beating around the bush like this.”

“Irresponsible even,” I agreed, before quickly looking away.

“Why the hell are you marrying him?” he asked suddenly, sounding almost plaintive.

I let out a resigned sigh. “Nathan never broke my heart.”

If I was discounting yesterday, my relationship with Nathan had always been picture perfect. But I’ll be the first to admit that I’m slow to figure out that perfection can be a dangerous path to walk down. It’s hard to outrun the past.

Gunner gave me a sad-eyed look. “You could have let me try to fix that.”

“We would’ve never worked.” This time when he reached for my hand, I was quick, tucking it out of the way behind my back. “I should go find Nathan.”

I turned on my heels and left him standing alone. How could sticking to my guns cause me so much heartache?

Maybe because I was sticking to the wrong guns?

The thought disturbed me, and I picked up my pace to get away from it. As I was passing by the hallway toward the bathroom, a hand reached out and pulled me into the dark corridor. I didn’t start to panic until that same hand covered my mouth and slammed me into the wall. I raised a heel and kicked it straight into a shin.

“Shit, Laney,” Boomer yelped and hopped to his other leg. “I need to talk.”

I peeled his hand off my mouth. “What the hell, Boomer?”

He lifted two fingers to his lips. “Shush, please be quiet.”

“Fine,” I mumbled and crossed my arms over my chest. “So what’s so damn important that you had to scare the shit out of me?”

Boomer’s eyes darted down the length of the hallway then back to me. He leaned in, breathing stale whiskey fumes into my face. “I remember where I was that night,” he whispered.

I pushed him back and moved out from underneath his arms. “What are you talking about?” I asked.

He gulped. “Laney, I wasn’t at Rusty’s Saloon that night I forgot where I was.” He wiped the sweat from his brow. “I was out on Bosley’s Ranch.”

I stared at him. Boomer wasn’t always the best source for reliable information, even about himself. “What exactly are you telling me?” I asked. “That you saw the murder?”

Boomer hesitated. “Yes...”

I gave him a punitive stare. “Well, spit it out. We don’t have all day.”

“Laney, you’re not going to like this…”

“Just cough it up.”

Boomer lowered his eyes and ran a hand through is tangled, red mop. “Luke Wagner.”

I was speechless. Luke Wagner? No way…

But then I remembered what he’d said to me when he’d come to my place to offer his condolences about Hank.
“Hand to God, I swear. I had nothing to do with Hank.”
And then his note with the daisies:
Took care of your little problem…
Crap. Anything was possible when it came to that bastard.

I narrowed my eyes on Boomer. “Have you told anybody?”

“Just you.”

I jerked at his arm. “That’s the way we’re going to keep it,” I vehemently ordered.

Boomer swallowed hard. “You mean I can’t tell Gunner?”

I eyed him sharply, wondering why he’d want to. Gunner could be almost as untrustworthy as Luke on a good day. “Damn straight that’s what I mean.”

I took him by the arm and dragged him out of the chapel, deciding that the first thing I was going to do was lock Boomer up inside my house with a bottle of Jack for safekeeping. That would keep his lips sealed for at least four or five hours, solving one of my problems. I was going to have to have my wits about me when I hightailed it over to Four Spurs, demanding an answer about who’d killed…well hell, all of them: Pacey, Skinny, Bosley, and Hank.

I pushed open the double doors and stepped outside with Boomer glued to my side. All the vehicles were gone except for Nathan’s red Dodge Ram. He was sulking next to the bumper, clearly unhappy that I hadn’t been the one waiting for him. I tugged at Boomer’s hand and marched across the gravel drive to the truck.

Nathan lifted his chin and straightened when I approached the driver’s side of the truck. “Where have you been?” he asked, opening the door.

I grabbed the overhead handle, hopped into the truck, and stared at his perturbed face. “Looking for you,” I lied.

…

As Nathan turned into my driveway, I decided to check on Boomer to see how he was holding up. Sitting there in the extended cab’s back seat, he had the look of a man who knew he was in over his head. In all fairness, it was killing him, my not letting him run straight to Gunner with his secret, but hell, for the idiot’s own safety, I had a right to demand his silence. Besides, he was sleeping in my house because he was afraid someone was watching him. Given what he’d just told me about Luke, there might be a real reason for his drunken paranoia.

Nathan stopped the truck and started to unbuckle his seatbelt.

I placed a hand on his lap. “I’ll walk Boomer inside,” I said and jumped out. “It’ll only take a minute.”

Chilly air hit my lungs. The storm had snuck upon us the way a fox pounces on its prey. I stuffed my hands in my jacket pockets, hunkered into my collar, and followed Boomer. When he took a seat on the porch step, I hovered on the porch above him, teeth chattering.

Tilting his eyes skyward he said, “Nice weather, don’t you think?” I tried to crawl deeper into my jacket. “It’s freezing.”

“Feels good,” he said dreamily, “Like the calm before the storm.”

I nodded, trying to hide my gloomy expression. Yesterday’s heat was something I could deal with. Cold belonged anywhere but here. “Boomer, do you really think Luke had something to do with Pacey’s death?”