Page 3 of Highball Rush
“Because I knew people would assume the worst. That I was preying on a teenage girl. That we had an inappropriate relationship.” My voice rose with every word. “What did Gibson Bodine do now? Did he get her pregnant? Is he keeping her in a cabin in the woods somewhere? Did he kill her and dump her body in the lake?”
“Gibson, enough,” Jayme said.
“I didn’t do anything wrong, unless playing music with a girl is a crime.”
“Have you had any contact with her since she disappeared?” he asked.
“No. Not a word.”I thought she was dead. All this time, I didn’t think there was any hope.
The sheriff sat back in his seat and pitched his fingers together. “All right, Gibs. You’re free to go.”
Without a word, I scooped up my wallet—and the strip of photos. Jayme’s heels were already clicking their way out the door.
I paused in the doorway and glanced over my shoulder. “Sheriff?”
“Yeah?”
“Is this investigation aiming to find her? Or to bring down whoever hurt her?”
His gaze went steely and his voice was hard. “Both.”
I nodded once. “Good.”
“Let me remind you that this is a matter for law enforcement,” he said, shuffling some papers on his desk. “You need to let us handle it.”
“I know.”
I did know. But I wasn’t making any promises.
2
GIBSON
It took all of an hour before someone—Scarlett, probably—started banging on my door. I’d turned off my phone as soon as I’d left the sheriff’s office. Come straight home and contemplated barricading my driveway to keep people away.
This was the part I’d been dreading since I’d realized Misty Lynn had taken my wallet. Everyone coming at me with their nosy-ass questions. I took a deep breath and got up from the couch. If I didn’t let her in, she’d probably break a window. I figured it was better to avoid the broken glass.
“Gibs? I know you’re in there.” Scarlett’s voice carried through the door and she banged a few more times. “Don’t even think about trying to ignore me. Get your ass out here and—”
I pulled the door open and she stopped mid-sentence. Devlin was right behind her. Stepping aside, I motioned for them to come in.
My house—a sturdy log cabin—sat on three acres of sweet isolation. It wasn’t fancy, but I’d built it myself. It had two bedrooms—although one was just storage—a single bathroom, a living room with a wood stove, and a kitchen with cabinets I’d made custom.
I’d made some of the furniture, too. The table and chairs were mine, as was the cabinet under the flat screen TV on the wall. I wasn’t much for decor, but I did have a Jameson Bodine original above the fireplace—a metal sculpture of a mountain and trees. Scarlett had added a framed photo of the five of us Bodines, taken at Clay Larkin’s wedding, to the mantle. I’d gone ahead and left it there.
Scarlett stood next to the couch, arms crossed, all five-foot-nothing of her ready to fuck me up. Her red plaid sleeveless shirt was knotted at the waist and she wore a pair of old cut-offs. Devlin lowered himself into a chair and crossed an ankle over his knee. His wrinkle-free shirt and slacks were casual for him. He shrugged at me as if to say,you’re on your own.
“Well?” she asked, tapping her foot. “Sheriff Tucker takes you in for questioning and then you turn off your damn phone? Cassidy won’t tell me shit, so you better spill it. What the hell happened?”
There wasn’t anything for it but to tell her. “I had a photo of me and Callie Kendall in my wallet.”
Her eyebrows knit together. “What in the hell are you even talking about?”
I hated talking about this. It fucking hurt. And things that hurt pissed me off. “Look, we were friends. And before you lecture me about how she was a teenager and I was twenty, I know. It wasn’t like that.”
She stared at me, wide-eyed. “You were friends with Callie?”
“That’s what I just said, ain’t it? We both liked music, so we hung out sometimes. Kept it secret for obvious reasons.”
