Meanwhile, she was ignoring him.
Silence mounted, growing heavy, and still he waited.
As elucidating as the last five minutes had been, I couldn’t spare any more time as a bystander. Plus I didn’t have any popcorn to eat while I gawked. I had things that needed doing and not enough time to do them.
“Well,” I said suddenly, making Shelly jump just a hair. “I’m sure I’ll see you again between now and your trip, but if I forget to say so, safe travels, Shelly.”
I turned and I left, making a mental note to clear the air with Beau as soon as possible, inform the man I had no interest in Ms. Sullivan.
Consequently, his interest in Shelly—willingly or not—was excellent news. Not only would it be good for business, but she would also be good for Beau. She was unique in many ways, not the least of which was her imperviousness to his charm.
I couldn’t wait to meddle.
***
Shelly left the shop.
Then Beau left the shop five minutes later.
I ignored the transparently suspicious timing. I needed to set my own affairs in order, and that meant calling Claire McClure about her house.
She didn’t pick up her phone, so I left a message, told her I’d be stopping by her place and would let myself in. I knew where she kept the spare key as Jethro and I had been maintaining the place since she’d left town.
I’d just left the office to lock up the garage when I heard footsteps, gravel crunching under shoes. I turned and spotted Kip Sylvester in his suit, approaching from the parking lot.
Instinctively, I straightened my spine. I had no business with Kip Sylvester. He had his family’s BMWs maintained by the dealer. That meant he paid retail on all repairs and only a fool paid retail.
“Evening, Cletus.” He stopped at the edge of the garage, giving me a practiced smile. “Long time no see.”
“Mr. Sylvester.” I nodded once, somberly. “What brings you out to the shop tonight?”
“Oh, I was just in the area and thought I’d stop by.”
“I see.”
He was quiet as he glanced around the shop, the tools lining the walls, various toolboxes and machinery. Then his eyes lit on the car to my left.
“Holy smokes, is that a—”
“Yes, sir. It is. A 1956 Jaguar.”
“Whoa. That thing’s a beauty. Are you working on it for somebody?”
“Yes. I’m working on it for me.” That was a falsehood. It was a wedding present for Sienna, but he didn’t need to know that. Kip Sylvester had once made an idiot of himself in front of my future sister-in-law. He was beyond star-struck whenever he spotted her.
“For you?” he questioned, like he found this information remarkably surprising.
“Yes.”
The man looked between my automobile and me. He was confused, that was clear. What wasn’t clear was why he was here. I didn’t want to guess.
“Why are you here?” I asked with a hard voice and gave him a hard look. Chitchatting with banal Kip Sylvester was like being interrupted by a pack of diuretic dogs.
“Oh, you know, just . . .” he started, stopped, sighed, smiled and shrugged like he gave up. “I’m here because of Jennifer.”
My eyebrows lifted on their own accord, without my consent. “Jennifer. Your daughter, Jennifer?”
“That’s right. I heard about what happened . . . the other night.”
Schooling my expression into an affable mask of bemusement, I scratched the back of my neck. “You’ll have to be more specific.”
He sighed again. “I was afraid of that. Look, Cletus, you’re a nice boy.”
I’m not. I’m really, really not.
“Thank you, Mr. Sylvester.”
He continued as though I hadn’t spoken, clearly having rehearsed a speech prior to his arrival. “But Diane and I, we have big plans for our daughter. You know she has over one million followers on the Instagram? And lots more on the other social media sites.”
I knew this. Even so, I said, “I did not know it was so many.”
“Well, she does. That little girl carries a lot of star power, and her momma has worked real hard to make her what she is and to keep her reputation spotless. You understand, we can’t be having her acting recklessly, and getting involved where no good can come of it.”
I stood straighter at his implied insult. Now usually I don’t bother getting offended by people as pointless as Kip Sylvester. But, despite being bland as unflavored oats, Kip wasn’t quite pointless anymore. He was Jenn’s daddy. She thought she owed him love and respect, and unfortunately that made him somebody.
I took my time deliberating while he watched me with a tepid smile.
Then he said, “You understand,” and nodded like things were settled. He turned to go.
Before I could catch myself, I asked, “You don’t like Jennifer associating with me?”
He glanced over his shoulder, his eyes wide like my blunt words concerned him. Kip lifted his hands between us, like he might do with an angry dog.