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

  I clutched the bag of chicken to my chest and stood there gaping like a fish. My brain cells had ceased to function.

  “Whoa, I’m sorry. Are you okay?” I looked up at the sound of the voice and all those rolling biscuits got buttered, because holy crap how much more could I take before my head exploded?

  I had crashed right into Jethro Winston. Of course I did. I had inadvertently interrupted a Winston brother bonding session at Genie’s Country Western Bar. But the embarrassment from crashing into him was not enough. Dreams also had to die. Jethro had married Sienna Diaz a few years ago. I love Sienna Diaz. My secret bravery mantra was born because of Sienna Diaz’s inspirational badassery. Now, she was going to find out what a klutzy, bumbling idiot I am. My dreams of someday running into her around town, getting over my ridiculous shyness and becoming her new BFF were ruined. I mean, I crashed into her husband. I may have injured him, perhaps even grievously. What if I left permanent damage on his chest from the hot biscuits?

  “What would Sienna Diaz do?” I couldn’t help but think it. That mantra got me through a lot of crap in my life.

  “She’d probably make a joke, like—what do you call a teacher who never farts in the library?” Jethro said to me with a huge smile.

  I stared up at him with big eyes. Holy crap, I had said my secret bravery mantra out loud instead of in my brain. I inhaled a huge breath. Now she would know I’m a klutzy, bumbling idiot who almost killed her husband with biscuits and add me to her potential stalker list. I shut my eyes. I was a hopeless mess. I should go home and take up permanent residence under my bed, like a freaking troll, and never come out.

  “What?” Harry shouted from the floor, his hands full of the murderous biscuits. “What do you call the teacher who never farts in the library, mister?” Harry loved jokes, and if the joke involved farting or butts, he’d be your best friend forever.

  “A private tutor,” Jethro answered him with a big beautiful grin.

  Harry burst out laughing. “Hey, hey, hey, mister, hey—how do you make a witch itch?” he said through his giggles.

  “How?” Jethro asked Harry.

  “Take away the W.” Harry let the biscuits fall out of his hands, clutched his stomach, and cracked up.

  “Good one, little man.” Jethro chuckled.

  I made myself laugh at the jokes, but it came out nervous and I probably sounded insane. I took a step back and braced myself. There were probably Winston brothers hiding in every crevice of this bar. I shoved my glasses up the bridge of my nose and looked around. I tried to do it surreptitiously. But I was sure I had crazy eyes.

  “Take a deep breath.” I turned my head to the sound of the voice. Sweet merciful McGonagall, it was Drew Runous talking to me. Did people really swoon? Because I felt like I was gonna do it right now. Drew was married—my hopeless crush had long since died—but he was still so pretty to look at. Instead of swooning, I did what he said and took a deep breath. It helped, a tiny bit.

  I looked around the bar—Winston brothers were everywhere—helping Harry collect the killer biscuits and throw them in the trash. Scooping mashed potatoes and gravy up into napkins and cleaning up my mess.

  Beau led me to a chair and handed me a glass of water. He seemed oddly understanding, and as nice as he always was whenever I dropped my Jeep off at his shop. “Sit down, Sabrina. You’ll be fine,” he said.

  “Thanks,” I murmured.

  He smiled and waded into the mess to help. My father always said those Winston brothers were good folk. And everyone in the library missed their momma like crazy.

  “Willa!” Genie shouted. “Bring another number two out front, darlin’. Minus the chicken. And grab the mop.”

  Willa?

  Could it be?

  My Willa?

  I caught a glimpse of wild blond hair and a familiar profile before she placed a bag on the bar and disappeared back through the swinging door to the kitchen.

  “Here you go. Bless your heart, honey. You’re just a mess, ain’t you?” Genie said as she headed my way and placed the bag with the new number two on the table next to me.

  I shut my eyes. God, I was. I was such a mess. And why couldn’t the food have been in a bag the first dang time? “I’m so sorry, Miss Genie. Please let me pay you for the replacements.”

  “No need, darlin’. Accidents happen. Plus, your daddy replaced my momma’s hip! I’m gonna replace your side dishes. It’s the least I could do. You make sure to say hello to your daddy for me.”

  I nodded at her. “I will.” I looked around for Harry.

  He was just fine, busy high-fiving multiple Winston brothers and one smiling Viking named Drew and thankfully not bothered at all by my distress about the mess I had made.

  “Thank you, Miss Genie.” I hesitated before I blurted, “Is that Willa Hill working in the kitchen?”

  Genie gave me a sly look. “It sure is, honey. But I’m not supposed to say anything about that yet.”

  “Oh.” I was torn between just getting the heck out of here and waiting around to see Willa when she came back out front with a mop. I’d met Willa when we were kids. She was my very best friend in the world until she ran away from home. She knew my secrets and dreams; she knew my heart and I knew hers. She’d been gone for almost ten years and this was the first glimpse I’d had of her in all this time.

  “She’s on nights the rest of the week, sugar. If you want to come back later.”

  I decided to come back without Harry. “Thanks.”

  “Harry. Ready to go?” I said weakly and stood up. Then, because I had been raised to have good manners—I thanked them all—every last Winston in the bar, plus Drew Runous. I didn’t look at them when I did it, but I did it all the same. It still totally counted.

  Harry ran to my side, and we were finally ready to go home.

  Finally.

  Chapter Six

  Sabrina

  I reached up and clicked the gate opener on my sun visor. The black iron “Logan Ranch” gate slowly slid to the sides. I drove through and onto the long meandering gravel path that led to the house. Logans didn’t raise horses anymore, but we still had the land—and the money. My family had always been wealthy and my father kept that wealth prospering through his stock market hobby and career as a renowned orthopedic surgeon.

  I drove over a small hill and smiled with relief when I saw my father’s car parked in front of the house. He had been working out of town all week. He held an advisory position at the University of Tennessee Medical Center, consulted with various sports teams in Nashville, and had an office here in Green Valley. He was semi-retired and I doubted he would ever fully stop working.

  “Pop is home. There’s his car. It’s home time, homey, homey home time.” Harry sang and laughed from the back seat. “Can I get out and run?” he asked.

  “Sure, you can. But wait for me on the swing while I park in the garage,” I instructed.

  “Okay, Riri. I’ll swing ten times. I bet you can’t park before I’m done swinging.”

  “You’re on.” I watched as Harry made a dash for the tire swing hanging from the big red maple in the center of the front yard. I sighed happily and felt the tension leave my body as I got closer to the grand old farmhouse. With its red brick wraparound porch, white siding, and tall columns, the house stood out like a beacon against the rolling green of the grass that surrounded it. Just beyond the house you could see the colorful trees that dotted the mountains of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park that bordered our property.

  My family believed in intergenerational living. This house had always been full of Logans. When I was a child my grandparents from both sides lived with us until they died. But now it was just my father, my late sister Cora’s kids—Weston, Ruby, and Harry—and me.

  I stopped my Jeep as Harry jumped from the swing and ran toward the porch. I continued around the half-circle driveway to the detached six-car garage that sat perpendicular to the house. Weston’s car wasn’t in there ye
t. But Ruby’s was, just waiting for her to pass the test and get her driver’s license. I got out and grabbed the food and Harry’s backpack. I slammed the door shut and headed for the house.

  “I swung ten times!” Harry yelled, “I beat you, Riri!”

  “Oh, well,” I said with pretend disappointment and laughed as he made the ‘nanny nanny boo boo’ face at me.

  “Come on, Riri, I want to see Pop.”

  I unlocked the door, and we went inside. “Don’t forget to take off your shoes!” I yelled.

  My mother hated germs. She refused to allow anyone into the house with their shoes on. She passed away when I was five, yet my father still enforced most of her rules. Harry kicked his red Chucks off and threw them into the giant pile of shoes at the side of the entryway. He took off in search of my father. I sat on the tiny bench by the door and removed my boots, stretching my feet in the process. I almost always wore heels, and every pair I owned made me over six feet tall. I could look over the heads of most people. It made it harder for them to notice my lack of eye contact. People got weird when you didn’t look them in the eye. But looking people in the eye made me get weird, so I always employed various life hacks to hide it.

  I headed for the dining room. A housekeeper came once a week for deep cleaning, and she always set the big table in the dining room with my mother’s fancy dishes for our weekly family dinners. It was nice to eat on them. It made me feel close to her in a weird way. I wished I could remember her better, other than the random feelings of longing that arose from time to time.

  Those vague memories of my mother were nothing like how I missed Cora. I missed my big sister with an excruciating ache whenever I allowed myself to remember her. I was five when our mother died, and Cora was seventeen. Cora took care of me like our mother had. She was more than just a big sister—she was always everything I ever needed. I was seventeen when Cora died, and I vowed to always take care of her kids like she took care of me. I glanced at the big framed picture hanging above the fireplace at the end of the dining room. Cora was sitting under the red maple tree out front, hugging little Weston and Ruby to her chest with that sweet smile that used to light up our lives. There were no pictures of her with Harry. She was hit by a car in front of her doctor’s office and it put her into early labor. It was a hit-and-run, and they never caught the driver. She died in the hospital while giving birth to Harry. I had held Cora’s hand and tried to make her hold on, but she slipped away just as we heard Harry cry for the first time.

  We all looked alike, with wavy black hair, big hazel eyes, and freckles on our noses. I quickly looked away from her smiling face. I’d had a strange day. I didn’t need to add sad memories to it. I could walk by pictures of my mother and Cora every day without seeing them. But something about that picture caught my eye today and wouldn’t let it go. Deciding sometimes it was necessary to feel a little sadness to remember the happy, I walked over to the fireplace and studied their smiling faces.

  You’d be proud of Harry today, Cora.

  I sighed and turned back to the table, filling the platters and covered bowls with my contributions from Genie’s. I lifted a lid and saw that my father had already added the fancy mac and cheese from the Front Porch to the table. The Front Porch was a ritzy steak house in town—a great date night place, or so I’d heard. But what I really wanted was dessert. I was hoping for banana cake from the Donner Bakery. With fingers crossed, I turned to the buffet to sneak a peek under the covered cake stand. Yes! Cake! My father’s voice stopped me before I could swipe my finger through the frosting.

  “I should hide it next time.” I whirled around from the buffet at the sound of his laughing voice—busted.

  “Dad!” I beamed.

  My father was standing in the doorway with Harry clinging to his back like a little spider monkey. “Hey, sweet pea.” His tall frame and smiling face filled the room and his hazel eyes twinkled underneath white eyebrows. “Where are Weston and Ruby? Dinner will get cold.”

  “I don’t know,” I answered.

  We jumped when we heard the front door slam, followed by shoes hitting the floor, and the sound of rapidly running feet.

  “Pop.” Ruby darted into the room and skidded on her socks to crash into me. I grabbed onto her arms to steady her. “Weston is so pissed—I mean, angry. We saw Dad at the Piggly Wiggly and now Weston is outside punching the heavy bag in the garage. I mean, it’s better than punching Dad’s face, which he almost did. I could barely make him stop. We didn’t get your Dr. Pepper. I’m sorry.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa, it’s okay. Don’t worry about the Dr. Pepper—” Dad said, but I was already running outside to the garage.

  Poor Weston. The kids’ father was the worst. Why my sister put up with him for so long, I did not know. Well, I could guess. He was very good looking, and he didn’t start off being an a-hole, he eased into it and tricked us all. Cora had a soft spot for that jerk for years. They were always on and off. They had been childhood sweethearts. He used to be good to her, to all of us. He kept getting her hopes up he would change—then he would cheat on her, run up gambling debts, get back into drinking and drugs, and smash those hopes right back down again. She wanted her kids to have a father like we had. Hope sprung eternal for Cora, I guess. Luckily, after she died, my father gained custody of the kids so they could continue living here at the ranch with us, and not have to move in with a father they barely knew.

  “Weston!” I called as I entered the garage and flipped on the lights. Weston had set up a gym on one side of the garage and was busy pounding the crap out of the heavy bag hanging in the corner.

  “I don’t want to talk!” he shouted between punches. “I hate him. I wish he was dead.”

  “What happened?”

  “Come on inside, Weston,” my father said from the open door. “Let’s not allow him to ruin our dinner. A tradition maintained is good for the soul.”

  Weston stopped and stood there, jaw tense and rage radiating from him like a storm cloud. I rushed over and took his hand in both of mine. He’d gotten so handsome in the last few years. He looked like a man now. He was a senior at Green Valley High School and the quarterback on the football team.

  “Come on. Let’s have dinner and talk,” I said.

  Weston nodded, pulled away from me, and jogged toward the house. I exchanged a look with my father before he turned and followed Weston inside. I stood there for a second wondering just what in the heck was going on with this crazy day. I stepped outside the garage to find Ruby opening the back of Weston’s Jeep.

  “Hey, Aunt Sabrina. You look extra stressy tonight. What happened?” Unlike Weston, Ruby seemed to be fine after their run-in with their father.

  “Ugh,” I answered and looked at the sky.

  “That bad, huh?” she said sympathetically.

  “I ran into some of the Winston brothers at Genie’s when I was picking up the chicken.”

  “Which ones?” she asked.

  I leaned against the side of the Jeep. “I don’t know. All of them, I think. And I mean that literally. I crashed into two of them. Gravy—it was everywhere, like a brown nightmare,” I grumbled.

  She laughed and patted my shoulder before standing straight with a start. “Oh! Winstons! That reminds me. I need to talk to Cletus. Don’t let me forget to text him after dinner. I got the interview he wanted for the podcast. But it has to happen tomorrow.” She reached in the Jeep’s cargo area, grabbed her huge backpack, and slipped it over her shoulder. Ruby was basically the sixteen-year-old girl version of Chandler Bing. She was beautiful, but disgruntled. She had a genius IQ, was the first chair clarinet in the Green Valley High School band, president of the debate team and the audio-visual club, and she’d recently started producing podcasts in her spare time. The biggest one being Green Valley Views and News, hosted by Cletus Winston—one of the illustrious and ever-present Winston brothers. She was very active at school and in the community. I envied her gregarious nature, especially becau
se she tempered it with her quick-witted sarcasm.

  Thanks to Ruby, Cletus Winston’s podcast, plus my father’s senior center gossip sources, I was able to keep up on the news around town without having to spend any actual time in town.

  “I’ll try to remember,” I answered her and reached for one of the Piggly Wiggly bags. “Even though the mere mention of a Winston will probably scar me for life after I embarrassed myself in front of them today. Whatever you do, don’t mention Cletus at the table—it’ll get Dad started on the whole shuffleboard thing.” Cletus was a regular at the senior center and my father’s shuffleboard nemesis.

  “Lord, have mercy, Sabrina. Cletus doesn’t cheat at shuffleboard. If anything, he lets Pop win sometimes.” Ruby rolled her eyes. “We stopped at Grandma Essie’s before we saw Dad. They couldn’t come tonight, but she made a batch of her soup for Harry.”

  I took one of the bags from her. She grinned and passed me another. “Tell me what happened at the Piggly Wiggly?” I prodded.

  “Dad said he wants to visit us. He also wants us to talk with Pop about us eventually moving in with him. He thinks we can convince Pop to pay him child support. You know how he is, Sabrina. It was his usual bull crap—money, money, money. Ever since Weston and I started high school…every few months, it’s something with him. I ignored him, like usual. But Weston blew his top—like usual.” She took the last bag from the back then slammed the rear door shut with a gusto that betrayed her nonchalant attitude. “Weston told Dad he would make his life a living hell if he refused to sign Harry’s adoption papers. Heads up though, I’m pretty sure Dad was high again.” I watched her eyebrows raise and her lips purse in disgust.

  “Crap. I’ll tell Dad to call the attorney after dinner. And, drugs? I’m sorry you had to deal with him. I’ll do what I can.”

  She shrugged. “It is what it is,” she said and started stalking toward the house. I watched her walk away. She was more upset about the run-in with her father than she was letting on.