Crime and Periodicals: Green Valley Library Book #2 Read online

  “Okay,” I said and exchanged a look with Ruby.

  “You know he’s going to call Genie,” she informed me with a huge smile on her face. She was enjoying this, the little turd.

  “Yeah, I know,” I said with a huge sigh then poked her in the side, right where she was ticklish.

  She squirmed then got up to dart across the porch with a squeal. “Well, I’m glad you said yes to Wyatt too. He’s hot. It’ll be nice to have some good eye candy to look at during holiday dinners and stuff like that.”

  “You’re a nut, Ruby.”

  “What are you going to wear? You should wear Mom’s red cowgirl boots. They’d be perfect for Genie’s Bar. I wish I could go with you. Curse my youth.” She shook her fist in the air then plopped into dad’s rocking chair.

  “I wish you could too. I could use a wing-woman. Or whatever it’s called. Basically, I wish you could come and do the talking for me. What in the heck am I going to say to people?”

  “Just try to get out of your head and not worry so much. You can talk to me and the rest of the family just fine. That proves you are capable of it. Right?”

  “I guess so.” She’d made a good point. “No, you’re right, it does prove it. I can do this.”

  Weston joined us on the porch. “Ready to go, Ruby?”

  “He’s going to drop me off at Marianne’s house. Will you tell me everything in the morning? Wait, let me rephrase—you’re gonna spill your guts in the morning.” She laughed and flounced down the porch steps to the garage.

  “Later, Aunt Sabrina,” Weston said.

  I waved goodbye as they took off, living their best teenage lives.

  Tonight, I would go live my best twenty-seven-year old life. I had missed most of my teenage life. Between my shyness—which was not as crippling as it was now—Willa running away from home, and my sister’s death, I hadn’t experienced much.

  Back then, I was shell-shocked and had holed myself up at home. I took care of Harry like he was my own baby. I held him and rocked him, and we cried for Cora together—sure, he was a newborn and I was seventeen, but we’d both needed her.

  Can a person get a second chance to come of age? I stood up as a sudden surge of bravery filled my heart.

  I was about to find out.

  Tonight would be a test of my newly gained bravery as well as my social skills.

  I would go to Genie’s Bar.

  I would find Willa and get my best friend back.

  But first I would find appropriate country-western bar attire. Blending in would help with my state of mind.

  I pulled open the door to the entry hall closet and searched the floor. Cora’s cowgirl boots were there, just where she had left them. I had always coveted these boots. They were fierce, just like Cora. They were fire engine red and had a wing motif flowing softly over the gently worn leather. The embroidered pattern made me think of Fawkes, Dumbledore’s phoenix, rising from the ashes. I used to try them on when I was a little girl and go clomping through the house pretending to be Wonder Woman, or a wizard, or whatever else had made me feel brave. Cora would laugh and encourage all of it. She would tell me I could do anything, be anything I wanted to be. She always used to say to me, “Go farther than I did, sugar pie. You deserve the world.”

  I picked up her boots and shut the closet door.

  I had gone nowhere.

  I had done nothing.

  But that was about to change.

  I crossed through the big archway into the living room and sat on the edge of the couch. The bright colors of the evening sunset shone through the wide picture windows that took up the front of the house. For the first time in forever I wanted to be out in it. I looked over to the bookshelf-lined hallway that led to my rooms and for the first time in a long time, I didn’t feel the immediate urge to retreat. I did not want to hide in there and bury my life in yet another book. I didn’t want to read about people doing things. I wanted to do the things. I wanted—I didn’t know exactly what I wanted. All I knew was that I wanted something for myself. Something mine.

  I stood up. I had to change…everything.

  But I would start with my clothes. I walked to my room in a daze, all shallow breaths and pounding heart. I opened my closet and pulled a lacy white tank top from its hanger and tossed it to my bed. I rummaged around until I found my cropped brown leather bomber jacket and tossed that too. I gently placed the boots on the chaise in the corner of my room and headed for the bathroom.

  I took a deep breath before letting it out in one big whoosh, then absentmindedly grabbed a lipstick from the tray on the counter—MAC Dare You. It made me laugh. I accept your dare, MAC lipstick. All my lipsticks were red. Red was a power color—at least that’s what Cora had always told me. She wore MAC reds too, and I had always wanted to be just like her. God, how I missed her. She would know just what to say so I wouldn’t be afraid. Or maybe she would just wrap me up in one of her hugs and make me feel better that way.

  I glanced into my eyes as I deepened the black liner from this morning and then added a smoky smudge of eyeshadow. The black and gray of my makeup made my normally hazel eyes look like sparkling steel. After a quick internal debate, I left my glasses on the counter and put in my contact lenses.

  I always wore makeup. Cora and I would spend hours in Sephora picking out pretty pallets and trying different shades. She had taught me how to create the perfect winged eye. After she died, I kept wearing it. Only it became a mask to hide behind, a barrier people wouldn’t look beyond. Bright red lips and a dark smoky eye could hide a lot of sorrow. Funny how I was wearing it now for the opposite reason. I wanted to be seen. I finally wanted to be myself, whoever that was.

  I fluffed my hair and put the lipstick in my pocket for bravery. The way I applied it, I wouldn’t need a touch up. Slipping on the tank top, I sat on the edge of my chaise, staring at Cora’s red boots with a wavering heart. She would want me to do this, to go for it. Finally, I gained enough nerve to put my feet in her shoes and leave the house.

  I pulled into one of the last open spaces in Genie’s lot. It had grown dark, but I found a space underneath a light pole. My father always said to find a well-lit parking space if it was dark outside.

  I hopped out of my Jeep, already able to hear the music from inside—it was loud. I could hear Brooks and Dunn singing about a “Neon Moon.” I could hear laughter, and fun, and people. This was nothing like the afternoon I had picked up the fried chicken. This was a different world.

  I had thought Genie’s would be slow on a weeknight. Boy, was I wrong.

  I slammed the door of the Jeep and took a small step through the gravel parking lot toward the lights of the bar. I could do this. I talked to people at the library, and Harry’s school, and sometimes at the Piggly Wiggly. I had survived the Great Winston Chicken Incident in this very bar and then invited them into my story circle for goodness sake!

  What would Sienna Diaz do?

  Sienna Diaz would go party her ass off at Genie’s Bar, dang it.

  Plus, I was wearing Cora’s badass red cowgirl boots. I was going to do this. I picked up my pace and walked straight through the front door. The volume of the music almost blew me right back outside. Moonlight from the high windows and fat-bulbed strands of lights woven through the wooden beams of the ceiling were the only illumination across the massive dance floor. The dim light along with the deafening sound from the music made me nervous. Needing a moment to collect myself, I darted off to the side by the already almost-full coat racks. I took mine off and found one of the few empty hooks left. I had my wallet, phone, and keys in my pockets, along with my lipstick. Dare You.

  I looked at my feet and inhaled a huge breath. After a mental pep talk, I carefully wove through dancers and chatty groupings and little by little made my way toward the bar.

  I came to an abrupt stop when a tall man in a black cowboy hat stepped in front me to block my path. “Baby, let’s dance,” he slurred. I looked up. It was one of the King bro
thers. I couldn’t remember which one was which. Was this Timothy or WhatsHisFace, the other one? Their a-hole qualities made them indistinguishable in my mind. Luckily, they most likely couldn’t read that well because I’d only seen them at the library a handful of times. But that handful of times consisted of creepy leering at my boobs and crude comments—about my boobs—which resulted in me running off to hide while Naomi told them off and kicked them out of the library.

  I gagged as the smell of cigarettes and whiskey breath assaulted me. His beefy hands wrapped around my upper arms, his fingers grazing the sides of my breasts. I tried to step away with a grimace, shaking my head, but he thwarted me with his grabby hands.

  “No, thank you,” I said.

  He ignored me and pulled me closer. “I’ve always wanted to get my hands on you, sexy Sabrina,” he groaned into my ear.

  I considered using the shove I employed on Michael at the Piggly Wiggly. One good push should get him off me. But I didn’t want to make a scene. Unlike the other day at the Piggly Wiggly with Michael, this place was full of people. I didn’t want anyone to know I couldn’t take care of myself in a bar. Maybe I should ‘accidentally’ step on his toes. I rejected that idea and swayed hard to one side then tried to turn away. He responded by pulling me into his chest and grabbing two handfuls of my ass.

  “Okay, dang it.” There was going to be a scene, because NOPE. “That’s enough,” I said firmly.

  “Don’t be like that, baby doll. It’s just dancing.” He grinned down at me right before he leaned his face into my neck and ground himself against me.

  I pushed at his chest. He held me so tight I was afraid I would fall if I pulled away too hard.

  “Please let me go. I don’t want to dance with you!” I shouted. He either didn’t hear me, or he did and just didn’t give a crap.

  I hadn’t planned this evening very well. I was so worried about freaking out over the crowd that I hadn’t even considered what to do about overly aggressive male attention or date rape. Or flunitrazepam or gamma-hydroxybutyric acid—freaking roofies for Filch’s sake!

  Timothy King had his hands all over my ass. This was my ass, dang it. And I had not given him permission to touch it. My breath grew shallow, and I saw white spots in my vision. I pushed on his shoulders harder, but he pulled me even closer. I could feel his…parts…against my stomach. He had a freaking boner. I was going to get date raped, and I’d never even been on a date.

  Enough. I’ve had enough of this smelly, hillbilly, motheryokel, with his grabby hands and pokey pecker. He can just eff right off.

  I stomped on his foot with the heel of my boot.

  “Now what did you go and do that for?” he hollered, drawing back.

  My angry glare turned quickly to surprise as I watched Jackson rush up behind him and yank him away from me. He shouted, “The lady doesn’t want to dance with you, Timothy! Time to go.”

  Timothy King was no longer indistinguishable. He outranked his brother now on the a-hole scale. I glared at him. I wanted to punch his stupid face off.

  Timothy King immediately grew contrite when faced with an angry Jackson James, standing there like a handsome blond hero. Wow, Jackson was hot. I can’t believe after all that time talking about Stephen King books in the library I never noticed. I guess the library was too safe; he’d never needed to step in and rescue me like a distressed damsel.

  “I’m sorry, Sabrina,” Timothy addressed me. “I’m a little drunk. I’m going to go…”

  Jackson let him go and he wandered off.

  “Are you okay, sweetheart?” Jackson addressed me.

  “I’m fine. Thank you, I—”

  Words caught in my throat as I caught sight of my long-lost best friend rushing onto the dance floor. “Miss Sabrina Louise Logan,” she drawled as she got closer.

  “So, it is you, Miss Willa Faye Hill,” I countered with a smile, the drama with Timothy almost forgotten.

  She beamed at me then grabbed my hand and pulled me after her. “Come with me.”

  “Just great…” I heard Jackson say as I followed Willa.

  I turned back. “Thank you, Jackson.” I smiled at him.

  He shook his head with a smile. “You’re welcome.”

  Willa led me to a booth in the corner, near the bar. It had ‘reserved’ printed on a card in the middle. She swiped the card and gestured for me to get in. I slid onto the smooth wooden bench and she slid in across from me. We were quiet as we looked at each other with goofy smiles on our faces.

  “Did Genie send you over there to help me?” I questioned.

  She looked at the ceiling and a sideways grin crossed her face. “Maybe she did. But, Sabrina! I can’t believe you’re here. What are you doing here by yourself? You need to know how to handle yourself in a place like this. Genie’s is usually pretty tame, but you never can tell what will happen when men get drunk, no matter what kind of place it is.” She swept her hair behind her shoulder and I saw it—a tattoo wrapped around the entire length of her arm. A mermaid with flaming red hair, her body colored in shades of blue, violet, and aqua, swimming defiantly toward the surface leaving rippling black waves in her wake. The mermaid and swirling waves did a good job hiding the wicked pink ribbon scar running jaggedly up her arm, but it would take more than ink—no matter how beautiful—for me to forget about it.

  She noticed my study of her arm. “I call her Ceto,” she said with a smirk. Of course, she did. Willa would never name her mermaid something like Ariel or Madison.

  “So…” I began but stopped when I saw the wall go up behind her eyes. I twisted my lips and tilted my head, deciding to let it go. I’d follow her lead, for now anyway.

  “So…” She tilted her head to match mine and smiled expectantly at me. “What are you doing here? Have you made drastic personality changes in the last ten years?”

  “No. I made them in the last ten days. And I don’t know if they will stick.”

  Her smile softened. “They’ll stick if you want ‘em to stick.”

  I had missed her so much. She used to know me so well. I missed being known, having someone my age to confide in, having a friend.

  I shrugged. “So, what are you doing here?”

  “Workin’. And I’ve got to get back to it.” She grinned.

  “That’s all you can say? It has been ten years. Are you still with Tommy? Did y’all ever get married?” I watched that wall slam down again and I knew whatever had happened was bad. She ran away with her boyfriend during our junior year of high school and hadn’t even left me or her family a way to contact her when she left.

  “We’re not talking about that. Not yet anyway.” She reached for my hand with a tentative smile. I let her take it. “Can we maybe talk later? Please?”

  “Okay. We can talk about something else now.” I leaned forward, elbows on the table. She tugged my hand until we were hugging across the small rectangular table of the booth. I pulled back and smiled at her. She looked almost the same, but I could see a new depth in her eyes. She’d grown up. Could she see the difference in me too?

  “I can’t talk right now. I really do have to get back to work. But I have a break soon. Will you stay? You can stay right here in this booth and I’ll come sit with you whenever I get a break. I’ll bring you a Dr. Pepper and some fried dill pickles. You still like those?”

  I nodded, appeased by her sort-of promise to talk later. “I’ll stay. And bring lots of ranch. And a real drink. Not a Dr. Pepper.”

  “Ooh wee, I’ll be right back with something real for ya.” She slid out of the booth and headed back through the door behind the bar.

  I watched her walk away, and I wasn’t the only one. Willa was something else—six feet tall and covered with freckles. She had the body of a supermodel and a face that seemed sculpted out of marble. Her eyes looked like the sky, and that light blond mermaid hair I was always jealous of flowed in a wild, wavy ponytail down her back. And my gosh, I so hoped she was back in Green Valley to stay.r />
  I looked around the bar from the safe vantage point of my booth. There had to be some ‘normal’ people that preferred to sit in the corner. I wasn’t hiding. I was here, and that would have been unheard of for me last week. I smiled to myself.

  You did it. No going back now.

  I had a date with Wyatt Saturday night. I was sitting in a bar and I might have my best friend back.

  Who was this girl?

  Willa came sashaying back to our table with a tray held aloft. She set the tray down with a flourish, placed the fried pickles and ranch down in front of me, followed by a filled pint glass and a shot, then she proceeded to light the contents of the shot glass on fire.

  “What is that?” Startled, I drew back into the booth.

  “A flamin’ Dr. Pepper,” she retorted.

  I saw no Dr. Pepper, just a pint glass full of something and a shot that was now burning like a big ol’ candle.

  I laughed. “Do I blow it out like a birthday cake?”

  “Nope, just drop the shot in the beer, the fire goes out, then chug it. Hurry.”

  My eyebrows hit my hairline. “Really?”

  She nodded with a grin.

  I returned her grin, gingerly dropped the shot into the beer, waited a beat for the flame to drown out, and then chugged it. It tasted almost exactly like a Dr. Pepper.

  I inhaled a deep breath through my mouth. “You’re still a smart-ass, Willa,” I choked. My stomach felt warm and my knees were loosening up. Nothing like a little bit of liquid courage—it couldn’t hurt.

  She passed me a glass of water. “If you get drunk, I’ll drive you home,” she promised then stuck out her pinky. I linked mine with hers. The familiar gesture made it feel like the ten years between us had disappeared. “I have to get back to work,” she said.

  I nodded and ate a pickle. My heart felt light, and it was not because of the alcohol. I looked up as Genie approached the booth. She slid me an icy drink in a tall glass.

  “Got a Dr. Pepper for you, honey. A real one.” She chuckled. “I’m glad you’re here. ‘Bout time you had some fun, girl.”