Jimbo took a bite of beans right over the table, dropping one on his oversize Salt Life T-shirt. He smudged it with a napkin, picking off the bean and popping it into his mouth. Jimbo was the only one of Gran’s kids who had remained single. He’d had some girlfriends here and there, but they never managed to stick. Eating beans off his shirt might have explained that. He smacked a few times in satisfaction and then leveled me with a stare. “You know, you really should talk to Ed Earl. He needs to say his piece.”
“And you need to mind your own business, Jimbo. If he wanted to say his piece, he could have said it to the judge over two years ago when I was being unfairly accused.”
“You could have told them where you got the stuff. You didn’t.”
Yeah, I could have. I had kept my mouth shut during my arrest and trial when I should have squealed like a piggy. Ed Earl and his stupid ring of drug dealers would have gone to prison, and I would have gotten slapped with probation for being a rat. And it’s not like I hadn’t wanted to send my deserving uncle up the river. I had. But Gran might have gone down, too. Ed Earl and some other lowlifes had been making meth in her old trailer on land she owned. He’d even stored the meth in Gran’s outside freezer and given her tainted money, making her an accessory. As much as I wanted to nail my uncle, I couldn’t put Gran at risk. So I became the sacrificial lamb, just as my uncle had intended. He knew I wouldn’t talk and that I wouldn’t get much time for the crime. His selfishness knew no bounds, but according to Juke, he’d gotten enough of a warning from some guys in a cartel that he’d ceased his operations. So at least he’d gotten out of the game.
The result of Ed Earl’s betrayal was Gran refusing him any contact with the family until he cleared his shit out and straightened the hell up. Ed Earl was probably still involved in something illegal—that was his nature—but if he was, he was very quiet about it. Gran ran this family. And family was everything.
All the Balthazars knew that.
Even me.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I said, smacking a spoonful of potato salad onto my paper plate and walking away. I headed toward the side yard where the kids were zipping around and saw Griffin standing by himself, tapping on his phone. Ah, that’s what Madison was looking at.
I went and stood beside him because no one would mess with me when Griff was around.
He looked up. “Oh, you came.”
“It’s Gran’s birthday.”
He grunted and shoved his phone in his back pocket. “Yeah, well, it’s a command performance. Saw your boss lady a week back. She was seeing Juke.”
“Yeah,” I said, trying the potato salad. Wasn’t bad. Lots of mustard, the way I liked it.
“Not sure she’ll get much out of him. Juke’s on the bottle. Has been for months.”
I eyed Juke, who stood silently, leaning on one of the trucks, beer in his hand. “He told me that he was fine.”
Griff glanced at me with what I assumed to be disbelief. Hard to tell with Griff. He wasn’t generous with his emotions.
I sighed. “Look, Juke needs a break. Even if he’s drinking too much, he wouldn’t do it on the job. He was a good cop.”
Griff grunted. And that was his answer. But I also found it amusing that he’d brought up Cricket. I had never been super close to Griff, but I was as close to him as anyone. He was an enigma in our family—not only smart but principled and ambitious. He’d never caused any trouble—keeping his nose clean, getting a degree at the local community college in business, all the while working in a garage for tuition money. He was a neat freak who was impossibly handsome and often quiet, and he had a soft heart beneath his sometimes-scary demeanor. And it seemed he might have an interest in bouncy blondes with cheating husbands.
As that amusing thought struck me, I caught sight of Dakota Roberts.
What the hell?
Shit.
“Huh?” Griff asked.
“What?” I said.
“You said ‘shit’ like something was wrong.” Griff cracked his knuckles and gave pregnant Madison, who was watching him like a dieter watches a lonely piece of pie, a dissuasive glare. Hey, I got it. Madison might have been pregnant with my other cousin’s kid, but Griffin was a prime piece, if one were going to compare a man to, say, filet mignon.
“Uh, I forgot I had something to do today. Something important. I’m probably going to take off,” I said, trying not to sound panicky.
Griffin shrugged. “Cool.”
“Tell Gran I had to go. Tell her I love her.” I looked over to where my grandmother sat, waving her veined hands, no doubt telling a tall tale. Her scruffy gray hair stuck up, and her new glasses made her eyes look adorably big. My heart swelled even as my gut roiled at the thought of facing Dak’s disdain or having to run from whatever Ed Earl wanted with me.
I didn’t stick around for Griffin to agree or not. Luckily, I had worn sneakers, and my car keys were in the small crossbody strung across my torso. Free to move about the family compound.
I snuck around the side along the nandinas that sheltered the daylilies that had yet to bud and walked around to the front of the house, only pausing to hurl the football that had bounced my way back to Cousin Derrick’s oldest. I had parked my Honda at the end of the road, angled for an easy getaway. Hey, if I had learned anything from my family, it was how to make a quick departure. Unfortunately, they hadn’t taught me the art of not getting caught.
Which proved to be true as footsteps sounded behind me.
I hurried my own pace, hoping I could escape before I had any more awkward encounters. I still had to endure a night of pinched toes and people I didn’t know. Could this day be any more torturous?
I got my answer when I reached my car.
Dak had been following me, an odd look on his face.
I didn’t want to talk to him any more than I had Ed Earl. My past wasn’t just knocking; it was a swarm of Vikings with a battering ram. Sliding into the Honda, I jabbed my key into the ignition and pulled the door closed, locking it for good measure, though I knew Dak wasn’t the kind of guy to jerk it open without my permission. I turned the key, and my car did its normal grrring as the engine attempted to turn over. But didn’t. I turned the key again. Click. Again. Click.
Damn it.
I looked at my steering wheel, wishing I had asked Griff to take a look at it last week when I had visited Juke. It had been acting reluctant to start for a few weeks. Perfect timing to die. Story of my life.
Dak stood outside my window and yelled, “Sounds like your alternator!”
I opened the door. “How would you even know?”
His mouth flatlined. “Want me to take a look under the hood?”
“Do you know what you’re looking for?” I asked, feeling prickly. Why was this happening? My plan had been simple—show up, give Gran her gift, and get out without any entanglements.
“Not really.” Dak looked like he always did—like something I wanted to wrap my arms about, and at the same time something I wanted to erase from my life forever only because he reminded me of every stupid thing I had ever done. “But I can give you a lift back in town. I was on my way out.”
“What are you doing here anyway?” I asked.