She pulls Hux in and lands a slobbering kiss over his mouth with so much vigor I’m half-convinced she’s about to gnaw off his face.
Gross.
Gag me.
I’d rather stomp out a bag of poop on fire than watch my brother make out with anybody.
Instead, I sway my hips into the crowd until I wiggle my way into the sweaty nexus and come upon Juni and Macy battling it out for Bates Barlow’s attention.
Incoming. He winks my way and a nervous laugh expels from me. This one’s hotter than them both. And why does she look familiar? His shoulders bounce. I’ve probably entertained her a time or two in my trailer. With all the bourbon I’ve been plying myself with ever since we got to this blip on the map, I can hardly remember a thing.
Great.
I glower over at him a moment while trying my best to groove to Sinatra.
Just my luck. The potentially last witness to see Heather Kent alive has a memory of a goldfish swimming in a bourbon bowl.
I swing my hips right up to him.
“I’m getting thirsty!” I shout up over the music and both Juni and Macy do their best to block him from me. “For bourbon!” I roar to no one in particular, but Bates peeks over at me from above Macy’s shoulder and nods for me to follow him as he leads the way to the bar.
Macy keeps pace alongside me. “Now look what you’ve done.”
Juni shoves her elbow into my sister’s side. “Never you mind. Dancing is dandy, but liquor is quicker, if you know what I mean. I might get lucky and not even have to leave the premises to do it.”
Macy shakes her head at the thought. “I have a strict no public restrooms, dark hallways, or senior centers policy when it comes to romance. I’ll have to make sure he doesn’t exceed my two drink maximum. I’ll need him conscious in order to get his explicit consent for the things I have planned for him.”
I race ahead of the two of them before they each grab one of his limbs and begin to pull. I have a feeling things are about to get messy, and I need him intact for at least fifteen more minutes.
I catch his eye with a wave.
“Bizzy Baker,” I say just a notch above the music. “I work at the inn.”
He tips his head back with a mild look of disappointment etched on his face.
“That’s right. You’re in charge of the s’mores.”
“Something like that. How about I buy you a drink?” I have a feeling his currency consists of either booze or a mattress, but I’m not interested in the latter. And I sort of wish neither was Juni or Macy. But there is a certain appeal to Bates and that baby fresh face of his.
“Sounds like a plan.” He orders up a shot of bourbon and I order a ginger ale as we land next to one another at the bar.
He’s out of breath, sweat beading along his upper lip as he unbuttons his shirt a few notches.
“How do you like the club?” I try to sound enthused about it, but with a sign advertising milk of magnesia less than five inches from me, it’s hard to get too excited.
“It’s good. I think with a little work it could be a very happening place. Heather and I were supposed to come out that night to check it out before it opened.” He shrugs as the bartender lands our drinks before us.
“Heather Kent?” I ask, amused. “The night of her murder?”
“That’s right.” He knocks the amber liquor in his shot glass back like a hero and shudders. “The guy who owns the place wanted me to check it out, invest in it. I thought Heather might get a kick out of it. I asked her to join me.” He shakes his head. “She may have thought I was about to propose. She blew a gasket.”
Could this be the argument Darby overheard?
“Wow,” I muse. “She must have thought the two of you were getting pretty serious to think that.”
“We weren’t.” He shakes his head as if he were puzzled. “She had a phobia of commitment. She said she had a habit of hurting those she cared about. It was easier to live unattached. And believe me, I get it. Not the hurting people part, but the part about wanting to live unattached. No offense to Heather, but I’m not the marrying type myself.”
She wanted to live unattached. I mull it over in my mind.
A phobia of relationships?
She had a habit of hurting those she cared about… Odd.
It sounds as if it all stemmed from some deep-seated pain that had the time to take root in her life. And considering she wasn’t all that old, it probably struck while she was a child—in high school maybe.
Rachel circles back to the forefront of my mind.
“Hey, Bates?” I lean in until we’re shoulder to shoulder. “Did she ever mention that she had been to the cove before? As a bridesmaid, maybe?”
His eyes widen a moment. There was some odd rambling about a drinking contest—about controlling people the only way she knew how, with liquor. Something
