Page 88 of Moonshine Kiss
I leaned over the conference table, putting my fingertips on it. “I don’t know where you’re from, but around here we like to believe that everyone is innocent until proven guilty and that the sins of the father don’t automatically get handed down to the next generation.”
He rose from his chair and mirrored my stance. “Think about how old those Bodine boys were when she disappeared. What’s to say they didn’t know what their father was up to? Or what’s to say it wasn’t one of them? Any one of them could have come across her on her way home that night. Maybe their father didn’t do it. Maybe his alibi was real. Maybe it was one of those boys that decided to have a little fun with a pretty girl. You should think real hard about how well you think you know them. ‘Cause to me, the apple usually doesn’t fall far from the tree.”
The conference room door opened. My dad was dressed in what I thought of as his civilian uniform of jeans and flannel with a ballcap. It was his day off. Through the window, I saw Bex wringing her hands near the water cooler and Fanny Sue pretending to be engrossed in the screen saver on her monitor.
“There a problem?” my father asked, cool as a bucket of ice water.
Connelly shot me a smug look.Look whose daddy came to bail her out.
“No, sir,” I said.
I gave Connelly a curt nod and walked out of the conference room.
I wanted to punch something. Something like Connelly’s face. But I wouldn’t give that turd in the punchbowl the satisfaction of seeing me in a temper. Nope. I was cold as the iceberg that sunk theTitanic. He’d accused me of being a nepotistic moron incapable of doing her job and insinuated that any one of the Bodines could have made Callie disappear.
What was I supposed to do? Report him to my supervisor? I’d just be proving his point.
The man made it clear. He was going to take great pleasure in ruining my career.
I needed to steer very clear of Bowie.
42
Cassidy
“Knock knock,” I called, elbowing my way through my parents’ front door. I was lugging a slow cooker full of creamed corn. All I wanted tonight was some good food and some relaxing time with my family so I could forget about the clusterfuck that was my life.
My father and I had gradually made a tentative peace. In all honesty, I only had so much anger to go around. And right now, Connelly was sucking it all up quicker than I could manufacture it.
“Back here,” my mother called from the kitchen.
Every other weekend we gathered around my parent’s table for a home-cooked meal and catch up conversation. I wasn’t keen on catching anyone up on my current status. I didn’t want to tell Mom and June about my problems at work. I sure as hell couldn’t tell Dad about the night of debauchery earlier this week that ended with his wife and two daughters behind bars. And there was no way I’d talk to any of them about Bowie. The less I said that man’s name, the better. I didn’t need any connections between me and him or else Connelly would have my badge.
I would talk about my cats, I decided. Cats were cute. Funny. A safe topic of conversation.
The kitchen smelled like pot roast and horseradish, and my stomach growled in anticipation.
June was frowning down at the carrots she was dicing with surgical precision, and my mother was pouring wine. “Want a glass?” she offered.
My stomach lurched, this week’s hangover still fresh in my memory. “No, thanks. I’m still—”
Dad strolled into the kitchen and pressed a kiss to my mom’s cheek. “Smells good in here,” he said, popping the top on a beer and grabbing the spaghetti squash halves out of the refrigerator. My father’s contribution to the dinner table was always something grilled. Burgers. Portobellos. Vegetables.
He was an expert outdoor cooker. But put him in the kitchen and he couldn’t work the can opener.
“Y’all want to set the table?” Mom asked, shoving plates at me and utensils at June.
“I’m busy dicing,” June said.
“You gave me an extra,” I told Mom.
“Hmm?” Mom hummed, looking extra innocent. “Oh, we have another guest coming.”
Ugh. I’d been looking forward to family time. You know, burp after the meal, make inappropriate jokes about cutting cheese family time. I couldn’t do that around non-family.
In a snit, I doled out the plates around the lace-covered table. It must be some town bigwig to rate an actual tablecloth, I noted. That made me even more mad at the mystery guest. I must have one bad case of the karma the way things were going this week.
The doorbell rang.
