“So he doesn’t know they’re being used to smuggle drugs?”
Jethro made a sound in the back of his throat and shifted on his feet. “I mean, he probably guessed it. I knew, of course, even before the Order told me so. Why else would they want secret traps?”
“But on the video you start cussing them out when they tell you.”
“Because I had plausible deniability up until that point. Once they told me, and I knew for sure, I became an accomplice. That’s why I was so pissed off. If they didn’t tell me, then I could always claim ignorance.”
Jethro was good at that, claiming ignorance, shifting blame. Or he used to be, before he got himself straight.
“We need to tell Cletus,” Jethro said with a kind of certainty that gave me my first glimmer of hope. “He’ll definitely know what to do.”
***
We took turns in the downstairs bathroom wiping blood from our faces.
I walked into the kitchen once I was finished assessing the damage and rehanging fallen pictures. I found Jethro making coffee and icing his lip. Thus, after grabbing myself a bag of peas for my eye, I set to work making enough blueberry pancakes to feed a small army.
Without prompting, Jethro good-naturedly related his adventures trekking the Appalachian Trail. I was amazed how he was able to keep from fretting about the Iron Order’s blackmail attempt.
I’d been twisted up, either thinking about how to outsmart the Iron Order, or debating what to do about Jess. Or counting the hours until I could see her again. Or trying to figure out how to get her alone. Or wondering how the hell I was going to survive without her. Thus, Jethro’s tall tales were a welcome distraction.
We had to wait until Cletus emerged before approaching him. Having interrupted his quiet time earlier, I had no desire to instigate his wrath further. Cletus’s retaliation was always unanticipated and devious. He was a fan of polite revenge, knowing how to get his point across with very little fuss.
We both stilled when we heard footsteps on the stairs, and Jethro poked his head out of the doorway.
“What the hell? What happened to you?”
Recognizing Billy’s voice, my shoulders sagged and I turned back to the griddle. Jethro didn’t answer. Instead he walked back into the kitchen and reclaimed his spot at the kitchen table.
Billy entered the kitchen seconds later, his eyes moving from the bruise high on Jethro’s cheek to the cut on his lip. “Did that happen on the trail?”
“Yeah. I was assaulted by a gang of ninja raccoons.” Jethro took a sip of his coffee.
Billy gave him another long look, then turned to the coffee. But he stopped again when he saw my face and the less-than subtle swelling around my eye.
He lifted an eyebrow, glanced between the two of us, then left the kitchen without his coffee, saying as he went, “Never mind, whatever it is, I don’t want to know. But do let me know when the hotcakes are ready. And there better be a turkey today, because I already made the stuffing, and something or someone is getting stuffed.”
“Getting the turkey was Cletus’s job this year,” I called after him.
No sooner did Billy leave than Beau shuffled in, scratching his balls and yawning. “Do I smell pancakes?”
“Yes.” I nodded, then tilted my head toward Jethro. “You also smell skunk.”
Beau lazily glanced where I indicated, then did a double take when he saw our oldest brother. Beau was suddenly awake. His brow pulling low and the set of his mouth grim as he studied Jethro, perhaps trying to determine whether or not he was going to be sensible or violent. Prior to Jethro’s miraculous reformation, seeing him with a black and blue face was a normal occurrence. But since he’d changed his ways a few years ago, he hadn’t come home with more than a scratch.
“What happened to your face?” Beau finally asked, and not kindly.
“Your twin happened to my face.”
Beau nodded, his features relaxing, then crossed the kitchen to the coffee machine. “Good. Saves me the trouble of doing it myself. So what’s the plan, Duane?”
“We’re waiting for Cletus to get up.”
Beau halted his coffee pouring and glanced between me and Jethro. “I thought we weren’t going to involve him.”
“He already knows. He did the initial installations.”
“Well I’ll be…” Beau shook his head, his eyes losing focus someplace over my shoulder. Then he abruptly snapped his fingers. “That makes sense. Ain’t no way Jethro could have installed those traps. I don’t know why we didn’t figure it out earlier.”