drunk and started fighting. One of Cash’s fingers got broken—on his throwing hand. It healed, but he never threw the football quite as well after that. Cash never forgave his brother for it.”
“So, they’re still fighting it out—in the
“That’s right. But so far Bull is winning.”
“I would think so.”
“But did you hear about Cash dumping a box of mice into Bull’s restaurant.”
“What? No.”
“I’m not surprised. Bull did everything he could to keep it quiet. Even
“Until now.”
“Well, yeah. But I know
“So, what happened?”
“One of the cooks spotted several mice in the kitchen during the lunch rush, so he ran into the dining room to get Bull. When he pulled him aside and told him about the mice, Bull began to usher his customers out of the restaurant.”
“He told them about the mice?”
“Oh, no. He said he suspected a gas leak. He apologized and told them their next meal was free—including dessert.”
“Wow. That was close.”
“Yeah. If anybody had seen a mouse run across the floor, Bull would have been out of business.”
“How did he figure out it was Cash?”
“He doesn’t know for sure. But he can’t imagine who else would do that to him.”
“That’s so unethical.”
“Yeah, but it’s no big shock to me. Neither one of them have any scruples.”
Scissy had confirmed Ginger’s suspicions. Cash was indeed the kind of man who would have paid Navy to steal her recipe book.
But would Cash then
**********
Danny walked into the kitchen. “Have you seen Lacey?”
Addie pointed to the back door.
He went outside and saw Lacey with her back and one foot against the wall, taking a drag from her Virginia Slim.
“Those things will kill you,” he said as he put a Marlboro between his lips.
She continued to look straight ahead. “Not as fast as a gun.”
He took out his lighter, flipped it open, and lit his cigarette. “Look, I’m sorry. I was stupid. I shouldn’t have had the gun in the apartment.” He put the lighter back in his pocket and took a long drag.
She turned to him. “You shouldn’t have had a gun—period.”
“I know.”
Lacey punched him in the arm. “Stupid.”
He hesitated to ask. “What did you do with it?”
“What does it matter? You don’t need a gun.”
“Yeah, but you can’t just throw it away. Where is it?”
“I’ve got it in a safe place. Don’t worry about it.”
Maybe she had it on her—perhaps it was strapped inside her thigh. Or maybe he’d seen too many B movies. He scanned her body, from head to toe, and got distracted on the way down. Danny never got tired of staring at her long, sexy legs.
She didn’t seem to notice he was ogling her. “I think I convinced Ginger that I had nothing to do with Navy’s death. Hopefully she’ll convince the police.”
“Good. What about the panties? They really are yours, aren’t they?”
Lacey threw her cigarette down in disgust and snuffed it out with a violent twist of her shoe. “I’ve got to get back to work.”
He grabbed her by the arm. “I want to know.”
She just stared at him.
“I
“Okay, yes—they’re mine,” she said.
“I
“I put them in his car to make Kayla jealous. It was a stupid thing to do.”
“So, you still have a thing for him.”
“Not anymore.”
“Not anymore.” He said calmly. Then he yelled, “You mean since he’s
“I’m sorry. It’s not that I don’t love
Danny was so angry he didn’t know what to say. He was about to blurt out something he’d probably regret.
“But I know you’ll forgive me—just like I’ll forgive you…for the gun.”
“It’s not the same thing.”
“Do you want me to forgive you?”
“Yes, but—”
“—no ‘buts.’ Do you want me to forgive you or not?”
“Yes.”
“Then you have to forgive me.”
“Fine. I forgive you.”
“Good.” She gave him a peck on the cheek, took his hand, and led him back inside.
Danny wondered if he would get paid for the job. His secret employer had provided the gun. His instructions were to hide in the bushes along the back parking lot of the nursing home on Saturday morning and wait for Navy to arrive with the coffee cakes. When Navy stepped out of his car, Danny was to shoot and kill him.
But Danny didn’t like the idea of using a gun. And what did it matter now? His employer had gotten the result he wanted. Navy was dead.
Danny should get paid.
Chapter 17
Almando Monet sat in his small, but plush upstairs office waiting on a client who was late for his appointment. Almando was a self-made man, and had no patience for those who didn’t understand that time is money.
Manny, as he liked to be called, looked like a thirty-year-old Antonio Banderas. He had legally changed his last name ten years ago to that of his idol, Claude Monet. Manny had rejected the family grocery business to become an artist—just as the famous French impressionist painter had done many decades before him.
Even at the age of twenty, Manny’s oil paintings were magnificent. But nobody was willing to pay hundreds of dollars to a poor Hispanic kid. He dreamed of the day when the wealthy would commission him to paint great works of art that would be passed down from one generation to the next.
Manny had been desperate to get away from his overbearing father. So, he had written to a distant cousin who operated a small business in an East Texas town named Coreyville. He boldly asked Cousin Hosea for a job and a temporary place to live. Manny told him he would work hard and help pay the rent.
To his surprise, Hosea replied that he would be happy to give him a job, and that Manny could live with him until he could afford his own place. He even said he would hang Manny’s paintings on the walls of his business and
