EVIL EYE, page 3
"I'd love to," he blurted out, his cheeks turning pink beneath his tan. "I've been wanting to go to lunch with you for a long time."
I froze with one hand in the drawer beneath the cash register, groping for my purse. "I … you … what?"
What was happening? There was no way he'd said what I thought he'd said. Or at least no way it meant what I was afraid it meant. Clearly, I was so worried about one man asking me on a date that I was conjuring up another man who … wanted to ask me on a date.
Suddenly, I was missing the pirate.
"Lucky," I began twisting my purse strap between my fingers. "It's great that you … I mean, I'm so honored … I mean—"
His face turned even more red, and he started wildly shaking his head. "Oh! Oh, no! I don't want to go to lunch with you. I'd never want to eat lunch with you just for you!" The look of horror on his face would have been funny if it weren't so insulting that I forgot I didn't want him to ask me out.
"What's wrong with me? I'm fun to eat lunch with! I was even going to offer to treat, in honor of your first month in business."
"Tess, that's not what I meant. Oh, wow. It's just—"
The silken sound of Jack's deep voice entered the conversation before I even realized he'd entered the shop. "Moving in on my girl, Lucky?"
If possible, Lucky looked even more horrified, and I suddenly had to fight back a laugh.
"No, sir. I didn't—I wouldn't—it's just—"
"Forget it," I told him, suddenly amused by the whole situation. "Let's go get some food and find out what the latest town gossip is. And once you pull your size ten out of your mouth, you can explain what you meant."
Lucky clutched his guitar case and exhaled. "Aw, Tess. I'm a clod. I didn't mean I didn't want to eat lunch with you. I just meant …" He scrubbed one hand through his hair and swallowed with an audible gulp. "I wanted to ask you about Molly."
Jack walked up between us and put one arm around my shoulders and the other around Lucky's shoulders. "Great. I'm always in for a good girl talk," said the fierce and terrifying ex-soldier, former rebel leader, tiger shifter. "Maybe we can braid each others' hair after lunch."
Poor Lucky sputtered all the way to Beau's.
4
Beau's Diner was the only eat-in establishment in Dead End, and people consumed at least as much town gossip as actual food there. When we walked in, I noticed that more people were friendly in their hellos to Jack than they had been in the past. Dead Enders didn't much like outsiders and, even though he'd grown up here, a decade away and a rep as a scary, high-level badass rebel—he'd run the rebellion against the vampires—had made most folks leery of him.
Not so much anymore, since he'd helped clean up a few town messes, I hoped.
The diner was furnished in typical diner style: tile, linoleum, and the pervasive smell of grease, and the laminated menus hadn't changed once in all the years I'd been going there, but nobody cared, because we all mostly ate whatever Lorraine told us to eat.
"It's about time you came to see me, young man," she said now, catching us just as we walked in the door and pinning her gaze on Lucky. "I think I still owe you ten dollars from the last time you mowed my lawn."
"When I was fourteen?" Lucky grinned down at her and then surprised me by gathering her up into a hug and lifting her clear off her feet. She allowed it for a few seconds and then batted him on the arm.
"Put me down, you big lump, before I have to hurt you."
He put her down, and they stood smiling at each other for a moment before she turned to Jack and put a stern expression on her face. "Get a move on, you, before I make you wash dishes again."
Jack laughed and held up his hands in surrender. Lorraine, who'd been a fixture in the diner for around half a century, had also once been mayor. She was possibly five feet tall, if you counted the lift from her orthopedic shoes, and she still scared rowdy teens in town, even in her pink-and-white starched apron. Nobody messed with Lorraine, as Jack had learned to his detriment when she once made him wash dishes all night long with his friend Dave.
She glanced at me and winked. "Take that table by the window, Tess. And I'm glad you're all healed up now. Bad stuff, that. I was sorry to hear about Felix."
I nodded. Our local toy maker had died badly, at his own son's hand, and I'd almost been one of Oskar's next victims. I still had nightmares about it sometimes.
We took one of the tables by the giant floor-to-ceiling window, me by the window, Jack next to me, and Lucky across from us. Jack promptly dumped all the sugar packets out of the rectangular ceramic holder and started stacking them in geometric structures. Lucky took one look at what Jack was doing, reached across for the bowl of foil-wrapped butter and jelly packets, and did the same.
I shook my head. "Maybe Lorraine can bring you some paper and crayons, kids."
Jack gave me a side-eyed look and grinned. "Maybe. We should ask."
Lorraine walked up just then with three glasses of water and lemonade, extra ice, for Jack. "You three want the special?"
"Sure," the boys said.
"What is it?" I asked, just to be different.
"Meat loaf, mashed potatoes, green beans, corn bread, biscuits, apple pie and caramel ice cream."
Lucky made a moaning noise. "Yes. Please. Bring me two of those."
Lorraine pushed her white curls back from her forehead and raised an eyebrow at Jack.
"Yes. Please. I'll take five."
She frowned. "What's wrong with you? Are you sick? Don't like meatloaf?"
He looked sheepish. "I had a dozen eggs for breakfast, so I'm not all that hungry."
I didn't even bat an eyelid. I was used to Jack and his tiger-shifter metabolism now. "Just a turkey sandwich for me, Lorraine, please." My jeans were feeling a little tight, which I blamed on keeping up with Jack in the eating department lately.
Two male heads swiveled to stare at me, and Lorraine frowned. "You're a growing girl, Tess, you need more than that."
"I'm twenty-six. Any more growing I do is going to be of the horizontal variety."
She tapped her pencil on the little notepad she never wrote on. "Tess."
I knew when I was beat. "Fine. I'll have the special. But no pie!"
She shrugged. "Costs the same. I'll bring it, and the boys can eat it."
Lucky and Jack started eyeing each other, no doubt planning their strategy for who would get my dessert. I waited till Lucky picked up his glass to take a drink of water, and then I pounced.
"So. Tell me about you and Molly."
He choked on his water, and I gave him an evil smile. "You deserved that after the 'I'd never want to have lunch with you, Tess' comment. Now tell me the scoop."
Jack groaned. "You know, I was kidding about braiding each other's hair. I can take my lunch to go if you two want to talk about your feelings."
"Sure, maybe if you had a wheelbarrow, Mr. Five Specials," I told him. "Be quiet and play with your sugar packets." I pointed at Lucky. "Dish."
I scanned the room while Lucky hemmed and hawed and tried to figure out how to talk to me about his crush on Molly. I knew most of the people there, of course, because this was Dead End, and I'd lived there my whole life. I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing when I saw Mr. Washington, my high school chemistry teacher, who I'd suspected of being a snake shifter. (Turns out he really was. The idea of it was so creepy I tried not to think about it. Did he order rat when he came to Beau's? Did snakes even eat meat loaf?)
"Stop staring at the poor man, you're giving him a complex," Jack murmured into my ear, and I jerked my gaze back to Lucky.
"I know, but it's just so weird," I whispered back.
"I can't really argue with that. Tigers aren't particularly fond of snakes."
Lucky glanced back between the two of us, his forehead furrowed with confusion. "Um, what? So, here's the thing. I met Molly when she was playing at the Swamp Rat, and, um, we kind of hit it off, but I didn't want … I mean, Molly's a class act, and I didn't even have a job, so—" The sentence fizzled off, and I glanced up to see that the poor guy looked like he was going to pass out.
"So now you have a business and want to ask her out?" I prompted, trying to help.
Lucky made a strangled noise in his throat but nodded. "Yes. That."
Jack closed his eyes, looking pained. I ignored Mr. Has No Problem Asking a Woman Out and smiled at Lucky. "Sure."
He blinked. "Sure? Sure, what?"
"Sure, you should ask her out. She's not dating anybody right now, she's the best person in the world, you're a really nice guy, you should totally ask her."
A spasm of what looked like either relief or indigestion crossed his face. "That's great, Tess. That's … um, you wouldn't—"
Jack aimed a sugar packet at Lucky. "Dude. No. This isn't eighth grade. Tess isn't going to ask Molly if she'll go to junior prom with you."
Lucky's eyes widened so much I was almost afraid they'd fall out of his skull, and he pointed at something over my shoulder and started making gasping noises.
"What?" I reflexively turned to look, just as Lucky managed to say "Molly."
My best friend was running down the sidewalk outside the diner. She skidded to a stop, yanked open the door, and ran across the room toward us.
"Jack. Tess. Need your help. Now." She was panting and stopped to bend over and put her hands on her thighs for a moment to catch her breath.
I jumped up out of my chair, not even knowing why, and Jack and Lucky both stood, too.
"Molly, what is it?" I put a hand on her back, which was okay, since Molly was one of the people I could touch all day and never see their deaths, like Aunt Ruby, Uncle Mike, and Shelley. "Are you okay? Is it your parents?"
"What? No. No, I'm fine. They're fine. Jack, I need to hire you. Your PI firm."
"What happened?" I demanded, a little louder this time because I was starting to worry about my best friend, who was paler than I'd ever seen her.
"It's Dice. She found John Luke Arnold dead this morning, and the sheriff just arrested her for murder."
"What?" Jack looked at me. "The coin guy?"
I nodded. "John Luke is dead? Why would the sheriff arrest Dice? What does she have to do with John Luke?"
"She was dating him," Molly said, finally catching her breath.
Lucky, who'd been silent since Molly arrived, grabbed his glass of water and handed it to her. "Maybe we want to take this outside," he said quietly, glancing around at our rapt audience.
Molly followed his gaze but then shrugged. "Everybody is going to know before long. It's Dead End, after all." She gulped down some water and wiped her mouth on her sleeve, still breathing hard. "I'm parked at the bakery. Tried there first, knowing you."
Maybe I needed to cut down on the donuts.
"Molly," Jack said. "Why does Sheriff Gonzalez suspect Dice?"
"When Dice discovered the … the body, John Luke had been stabbed to death with shards of one of her guitars."
5
I still didn't think driving out to the gator farm was necessarily the best course of action, or that it was likely to make the sheriff want to talk to us, but I'd been overruled, and I wasn't about to let Molly go out there without me. So Jack, Molly, Lucky, eight carry-out specials, and I piled into Jack's truck and headed for the scene of the crime.
We drove through downtown Dead End, an epic journey that took almost five whole minutes, and then headed south toward the outskirts of the Everglades, where swamps and alligators ruled the world.
Dead End, Florida, population maybe 5,000, was located in Black Cypress County about an hour away from Orlando, depending on traffic. If you drove another half hour or so, you arrived at the place the Arnolds called home.
Happy Time Gator Town, the Arnolds' unfortunately named establishment, was a shining example of what could happen when a terrible idea met up with rednecks inclined to drink whiskey for breakfast.
For all the "out in the boonies where the cannibals live" feel of the place, it was no more than eighty miles from I-4, the main interstate leading to Orlando and All Things Mouse. So the braver tourists, the ones who wanted to congratulate themselves on doing something "edgy," made it out here to "real" gator country.
No sanitized experiences for the Arnolds or their guests. The first thing you saw when you entered the premise was the sign that said NOT LIABLE FOR DEATH OR AMPUTATION, and it went downhill from there. The smell alone was enough to drive away any normal person.
Speaking of abnormal, I glanced past Molly at Jack. "When did you bring Shelley out here?"
His hands tightened on the steering wheel. "A few weeks ago. She met John Luke."
I bit my lip. My new kid sister had experienced enough death in her short life. I didn't look forward to telling her about this. But if I didn't, she'd hear it from somebody at school, and that would be worse.
"I'll tell her," Jack said gruffly, evidently following my thoughts.
Gratitude sent a wave of warmth through me, and I wondered yet again how such a dangerous man could also be so compassionate.
When the palm trees of central Florida gave way to mangrove and cypress, the sign we were leaving civilization behind, the sporadic bits of conversation in the truck died down.
"Turn left up there," Molly said, leaning forward and pointing. "It's easy to miss."
"I remember," Jack said, slowing for the turn.
The wooden sign with hand-painted letters read APPY IME ATOR OWN thanks to some marksman who considered himself an artist and had shot holes through the first letter in each word. Knowing the Arnolds, it had been either John Luke or Pete themselves who'd done it. Neither of them were exactly marketing experts. They might think bullet holes would attract more tourists.
I winced, realizing I'd just thought ill of the dead. Another thing to apologize in prayer for at church on Sunday, on the list with:
1) first time to church in a month (Sunday was my only day off and it was hard to wake up sometimes), and
2) I'd used the Lord's name in vain when my earless goat pooped on my shoe again.
Jack slowed for the turn, and we bumped down the dirt road a hundred yards or so toward the two sheriff's cars parked at angles in front of the gate.
"This is definitely the right place," Lucky said from the back seat, a trace of nerves underlying his voice, and I remembered that he wasn't all that fond of law enforcement after a few run-ins he'd had with the late Sheriff Lawless.
"Susan isn't like the old sheriff, Lucky. She's one of the good guys."
He shrugged, but some of the tension lines in his face faded. "Damn, it stinks out here. Is it always like this?"
"No," I told him. "In summer it's way worse."
The first thing you noticed about Happy Time Gator Town was the smell.
Also the second, third, and fourth things.
After Jack parked, well back from the police cars, we got out of the truck. I tried not breathing, but that didn't work for long, for obvious reasons.
I caught Jack slanting a look at me and grimaced. "The smell gets me."
He shrugged. "I've smelled worse."
I didn't ask. Even my curiosity had its limits, especially when it came to details of Jack's dangerous past. I had enough nightmares of my own without borrowing any of his.
Molly leaned against me, her slight body trembling, so I put an arm around her shoulders. "We'll figure this out."
"Thanks for not asking if she did it."
I'd been about to do just that. Instead, I tried to come at it from an angle. "Does she have an alibi?"
Dice was the bass guitarist for Molly's band, Scarlett's Letters. She was a talented musician with a brilliant mind for writing song lyrics and a disastrous personal life that included a not-small anger management issue, which she usually took out on men who tried to hit on her when they were playing. This was a lot of men, since Dice was gorgeous. She was also rich, with a BMW and a trust fund, and the real name of Veronica Dunstan-Smythe, so at least she'd be able to afford a lawyer.
The anger problem, though. That didn't bode well for her defense, unless she had an alibi.
Molly bit her lip. "No. She was supposed to come out here last night after band practice, but she said she just felt like driving, so she hit 95 South and headed down to Miami Beach, stopped and had a few drinks, and then turned around and came back. When she got here it was almost eleven and the place was deserted, so she went in to take a nap and wait for John Luke to get back, except she found him … she … he was dead."
Molly Chen had been my best friend since the first day of kindergarten, when she'd punched the class bully in the eye for stealing my crayons, and she'd only gotten stronger since. She was a badass who radiated fierceness in every inch of her body, from her boots to her spiky black hair to her multiple tattoos.
So, for her voice to crack like this told me she must be really worried which, probably unfairly, made me mad at Dice, who was so irresponsible that she'd think nothing of hopping in the car to drive the two hundred and fifty or so miles to Miami Beach for a drink in the middle of the night. But a round trip of five hundred miles …
"She must have gas receipts," I blurted out. "They'll prove she was on the road, not here killing anybody, so she'll have an alibi."
Molly blinked. "What?"
"Tess likes to read mysteries," Jack drawled, a hint of a smile on his face. "But she's right. Your friend would have had to get gas at some point, and the credit card receipts and gas station camera feed will show she was there, not here."
"Unless Arnold was killed right before Dice got here," Lucky said, his voice troubled. He gave Molly a sympathetic look. "It's possible that the gas receipt thing will be enough, though."
"Or maybe not," Jack said.
I followed his gaze to see Sheriff Susan Gonzalez leading a handcuffed Dice to the sheriff car. When the sheriff saw us, she paused and frowned before helping Dice into the back seat and closing the car door. Then she turned to face us, hands on hips, and the frown turned into a scowl.
