When he noticed little JoAnne Ward’s Jeep in the drive, he tucked back in the shadows and waited.
His contact pulled into the parking lot, flashed his lights . . . and when Ziggy didn’t come out, he drove away.
He’d been pissed, but once he saw the sheriff walk from the bar, a man in tow, the voyeur in him came out.
Watching her pull a gun and hearing the waver in her voice when she told the guy off showered Ziggy with information.
The woman carried her gun, even in civilian clothes. Not sure why he hadn’t seen that coming. The other thing he realized was that he had her running scared. Lord knew he loved the power of a woman shaking. The thought of doing more than scaring little Miss Ward had crossed his mind more than once. Taking what she was good for would result in him having to kill her. There would be no turning back from that.
He was told, on the inside, that once a man killed someone, beating the shit out of others didn’t make sense.
Still, when she’d blown off Casanova, Ziggy just had to fuck with her.
He knew his rights and knew there wasn’t much she could do but shake a fist at him. And if she did cuff him, all the better. He wouldn’t resist . . . no way. He’d make her know just how willing he was to spread his legs to have her pat him down.
He watched her sitting in her Jeep before turning his way back to the trailer.
Only when it started to rain did Ziggy cuss out the night.
Mel stepped into the kitchen of the bed-and-breakfast, shaking the rain from her jacket. “Is it ever going to let up?”
Zoe juggled several pans full of crepes, eggs, and breakfast sausage.
“You’ve been back for over a year. You would think you’d be used to it by now.”
Mel hung her jacket on the hook by the back door. “Living in California all that time thinned my blood.”
“I didn’t have that problem in Texas. Rains there all the time.”
“That smells amazing.” Mel removed an apron from the walk-in pantry and wrapped it around her waist.
The weekend routine was starting to find its pace. The inn was close to capacity on weekends, with bookings spilling into the week.
Miss Gina hired two of the high school girls to come in and help with the housekeeping while the guests were in the dining room, enjoying breakfast.
Knowing she was the draw at this point, Zoe made sure she welcomed the guests and wasn’t opposed to showing up at the wine and cheese hour in the evenings.
It helped that Zoe had convinced Miss Gina to up her game with her selections. When Zoe had called a vineyard she especially liked in Washington State and asked if they would endorse—by means of cheaper pricing—the inn using their wine exclusively, they jumped at the opportunity. The chief sommelier himself had booked a trip to River Bend later in that week to finalize the deal.
Zoe felt good about Miss Gina changing her strategy and increasing her bottom line.
She’d set up an office in her room at the inn. Writing a cookbook was more difficult than she’d expected. Even with regular shipments of supplies, Zoe would sometimes run out of stuff she needed when sampling her own work.
The good news was the guests at the bed-and-breakfast had no problem devouring whatever she made.
“Here.” Zoe handed Mel two finished plates. “The Wong family.”
Mel put on her best waitress smile and left Zoe to finish cooking.
Chapter Thirty-Two
“Glynis, you there?”
Jo had ducked out of the rain to call into the station. It had been coming down in sheets for a steady six hours. And now that it was getting dark, the calls were coming in. So much for small town living.
“That’s a big ten-four, Sheriff.” Glynis had been studying call numbers and going completely out of her way to use them.
“I’m trying to get ahold of Luke, he isn’t answering on the ham. I have a mess out here just past Grayson’s farm. I need a tow.” More like three, but she’d take one at a time.
The radio crackled when Glynis responded. “Last I heard he was pulling Mr. Mason’s Dodge out of a ditch.”
“Well, tell him my mess is cutting us off from Waterville. The road is completely blocked and Highway Patrol informed me there is a slide on the 101, and there aren’t any reserves to send this way.”
“You got it, Sheriff. I’ll do my best.”
With cell service being spotty at best on the back road, Jo knew getting ahold of anyone would likely take a rudimentary radio.
Jo sucked in a fortifying breath and stepped back out into the rain.
Emergency lights flashed on both sides of the six-car, one-RV pileup that had resulted from a blind curve and a boulder that slid onto the road, taking out the first car.
That many vehicles on the road at one time was a rarity but easily explained when she realized the group was the same that had spread around the pool table at R&B’s. The men were caravanning back to Eugene . . . more accurately, they were wishing they’d left the night before instead of overdrinking and sleeping in the now-demolished motor home.
With water dripping off her covered sheriff’s hat and yellow slicker, Jo walked back to the middle of the mess.
Deputy Fitzpatrick from Waterville was attempting to write down names and information on a small notepad.
“It’s going to be some time before Miller’s can get here.”
Fitzpatrick turned as the only injured driver was leaving in a Waterville ambulance. “Thirty minutes on this side.”
“I hate nights like this,” Jo said.
“Yeah, nothing good ever happens when it’s coming down this hard.”
The buzz in his head matched the pounding on the thin roof of the trailer.
He had enough liquor to take him through the night, but scoring more when it rained this hard was impossible. Not unless you flat walked into a store and bought it. Which he couldn’t do.
The local store turned Sheryl away, or so the bitch told him.
Lucky for him, he’d made a couple of friends who understood his plight. Didn’t matter to Ziggy that the cost was triple what the stuff was worth. It was hard enough living in a shithole, he wasn’t going to do it sober.
One headlight beamed through the window, signaling Sheryl’s arrival.
She ran inside, shook rain from her hair.
With his eyes trained on the television, he yelled, “Shut the damn door.”
She slammed it, forcing his attention her way.
“You gotta problem?” he barked.
“The wind caught the door.”
He didn’t believe her.
“Is Zanya here?”
Ziggy shifted his eyes to hers, then back to the TV. “In her room with her crying brat.”
“Blaze is teething,” she excused the kid’s shitty behavior. Like she’d done for years when their own brats were little.
“Well, maybe if you hadn’t raised a slut, we wouldn’t be dealing with teething babies, would we?” Keeping the anger from his voice was harder when there wasn’t anyone around listening.
“I was younger than Zanya when I had Zoe.”
Damn bitch was doing it again. Telling him in her sly way that he was full of shit. He hated being talked down to. So many years of having to bend to the uniformed men on the inside, the warden that hated him.