Chapter Seventeen

Thursday, September 15, 2022

"Have you invited Simon to the wedding ?"

"Not yet," Violet leaned against the counter, phone to her ear, staring out at the park while she talked to Elana.

"Are you goin' to?"

"Yes. Maybe."

Elana chuckled. "Girl, just give in already. You like him. He likes you. Stop overthinkin' this."

"I can't," she droned. "All I can think about is how much I like him and that stupid curse—"

"Forget the curse," Elana demanded. "Pretend for a minute it doesn't exist."

"But it—"

"What did I say?"

Violet laughed. She loved when Elana got all bossy. It didn't happen often, but when it did, most people—herself included—tended to sit down and shut up.

"Okay. I'll pretend it doesn't exist. For a—oh, shit. It's Simon. I've gotta go."

"Ask him," Elana said before the call ended.

She tucked her phone under the counter and watched him enter the store, holding his phone to his ear the same way she had a moment ago.

"Yes. I heard you. I know," he said, his voice preceding the bells jingling but only by a fraction.

Did the man wake up looking as good as he does? Granted, his casual attire spoke of someone with money to spend on designer stuff. The navy-blue polo, those jeans that deserved a hats-off to the designer because, man, whoever was responsible for creating them knew how to make a man's ass look fantastic. Even the brown lace-up boots on his feet were likely designer.

She stared at him as the door closed behind him, his smile instant as soon as he looked her way. Of course, her smile was pretty damn quick too. That happened whenever she saw him, no matter how long it had been since the last time. Would that ever wear off? Would the butterflies go away eventually? Or was Simon the man who would light up her world whenever he walked into the room, no matter the day, week, month, or year?

Now she was thinking about the day he would leave, just like she'd been doing nearly every minute for the past couple of days. Ever since he said he would have a difficult time going home. It was inevitable, though. He would be going home.

Violet forced the thought aside because now was not the time to give in to worries or fears. Yeah. Simon was leaving. She'd known that all along. In a day or a week, she didn't know, but he would be hopping in his fancy car and hightailing it out of Coyote Ridge for good.

So until that time came, she was going to take advantage of every second she got to spend with him. In a perfect world, she would've come to that conclusion last night before she came up with the stupid idea of sleeping without him. Turned out she really liked having him in her bed.

"I know," he said, his voice as addictive as it was every time she heard it. "Archer's already lookin' into it. We'll give you an update as soon as we have one."

He watched her as he spoke, and for whatever reason, that caused a swarm of butterflies to riot in her belly.

"Monday. Yes." He sighed. "I need to go. I've got a girl to take to dinner."

She couldn't hear what was being said on the other end of the phone, but Violet laughed when Simon rolled his eyes and pointed at the phone.

"Okay. We'll talk then." He ended the call and tucked the phone in his pocket. "I thought I'd be done before I walked over here."

"Everything good?"

"Just sponsor bullshit," Simon confirmed. "They wanna know when we'll be underway with the first episode. I figure with the wedding, I'll give the family a couple of days before I start askin' questions."

"Speakin' of wedding," she said, feeling her cheeks warm.

Simon moved closer, his eyes scanning the room.

"There's a customer in the back," she whispered.

"Gotcha." He looked her way. "What about the wedding?"

Violet took a deep breath. She'd spent the last few days trying to talk herself into asking him to go with her. He already said he would, but she wanted to make it official.

Simon leaned in and stole a quick kiss. "Spit it out, Vi."

"I was gonna see if you'd like to go with me."

His smile was radiant. "I'd love to."

"You'll need a suit."

"Got it covered."

She cocked an eyebrow. "You knew I was gonna ask?"

"I hoped."

Since she'd freaked out the other night when she nearly spilled the beans that she was in love with him, things had been a little tense between them. Thankfully, Simon was letting her save face by pretending she wanted to slow things down. She didn't, but she wasn't sure what else she could do. If they kept to the pace they were going, there was a better-than-good chance she was going to have a broken heart in the very near future.

Not that she would tell him that. She was doing well to remind herself that this was a temporary fling. Simon would be going back to Dallas at some point, and she would likely never see him again.

But she refused to worry about that now.

"You mentioned takin' a girl to dinner," she prompted Simon.

"Yes, ma'am. Just name the place."

"I'm good with the diner if you are."

"Works for me."

"Did you walk over?"

"I did. Figured we could take your car. You can drop me off when we're done."

Drop him off. Not invite him over.

Yeah, she was pretty sure she'd screwed things up good with him. He wasn't the type to push, which meant she would have to change the rules if she wanted more. And she did. But playing it safe was the smart thing to do. Right?

Simon waited for her while she finished closing things up. They went out the back door because she'd parked in the one dedicated space in the alley.

"I thought I saw you earlier today," she said casually, closing the door and starting the car.

He jerked his chin in the direction of the second floor. "I came over with Paige. We worked for a couple of hours."

Why did the mere mention of Paige cause her stomach to twist into a knot? Simon had already told her nothing had ever happened between them. Yet still, the green-eyed monster reared its ugly head whenever she thought about the two of them together. Especially now that she'd been formally introduced to the woman who worked closely with Simon. Not to mention, the introduction had been made by Archer during their fast and dirty tour of the town yesterday. That was how he'd described quickly showing Paige the hot spots before they got to work.

While Violet appreciated Archer making the effort, she couldn't help thinking there was a reason Simon hadn't done it. Like maybe he didn't want them to meet.

Not that she would bring it up now.

Instead, she said, "Have y'all started workin' on the case?"

She pulled out of the alley and turned toward the diner.

"We have. More so organizin' what Holt found than anything else. I've started a list of people I need to talk to in order to get an idea of where Meredith Prescott might've gone."

"You should talk to JJ," Violet suggested as she pulled into the diner parking lot. "Not until after the wedding, of course, but she's a good one to go to for the low-down on people in this town."

"JJ?"

"Jessica James."

"The woman who works on the task force?"

They got out, meeting at the back of her car. "Yeah. She's Elana's boss."

"Your best friend?"

Violet nodded. She knew Simon and Elana had briefly interacted at Moonshiners that first day he was in town, but she had yet to introduce them formally. It would have to happen sooner or later. She wasn't sure how long Simon was going to be in town—he didn't seem to have a firm answer—and she would need someone to talk to about him when he was gone.

Then again, he'd likely meet pretty much everyone at the wedding, which was just two days away.

"So what comes next? Once you decide to do a story? Is there a process? Or do you just wing it?"

"There's a process," he said, chuckling softly. "Definitely a process. As with any story you're tellin', you've got to have a beginning, a middle, and an end. We'll develop the arc. Decide what we want to lay in so we can get that information."

"Lay in? You mean like interviews?"

"Yeah. Paige is already pullin' up all the public records and tryin' to get her hands on interrogation and interview notes. We'll need to talk to the family. Problem is, this won't work unless I've got someone who can give me insight."

"Like the police?"

Simon was quiet for a moment. "I was thinkin' more along the lines of Max Adorite."

Violet's head snapped over. "The mobster? Why? Why do you need to talk to him?"

"You've listened to a podcast, right?"

"Well, yeah." She felt her cheeks warm. "Yours, anyway."

"Okay. What part of my podcast intrigues you?"

"The depth of inside information," she said without thinking. "And the soundbites that tie it all together. Oh. Right. And to get that, you need to go to a murdering psychopath."

Simon laughed, then took her hand and opened the restaurant door, letting her go in first.

Violet walked inside, a little shaken by the idea that Simon was going to talk to an infamous mob boss.

"I can assure you, Max Adorite is not a psychopath."

Funny how he didn't dispute the murderer part.

"How do you know?"

"Nothin' in his profile leads anyone to believe he's not exactly who he portrays himself to be. An enigmatic, charming businessman."

"Can you call him a businessman if his businesses are illegal?" she retorted.

"You can."

"Table for two, please," Violet told the waitress, her mind still thinking about Simon being in the same room with someone as … as … she wasn't even sure what Max Adorite was. She only knew what she'd seen on the news. And yes, from what she'd heard from the rumors that swirled around these parts at one time. She knew her cousin Travis was friends with the man, and because of that relationship, gossip had ensued.

She'd also heard—though, like everything else, it was unsubstantiated—that Max Adorite had sent a hitman after Juliet Prince. So maybe the guy didn't get his hands dirty, but that didn't mean he wasn't as guilty as the guy who offed her.

Violet looked around, trying to ground herself in the present. The diner was relatively empty, though it wasn't all that surprising since it was Thursday.

Once seated, the waitress took their drink order and gave them time to look at the menu.

Violet didn't need time. She knew what she wanted so she took the opportunity to pry more information from Simon. "So what happens if you approach Max Adorite and he doesn't agree to talk to you?"

Simon looked up at her. "He will."

"How do you know? What if he gets offended and kills you? Then dumps you in the river with cement shoes. To sleep with the fishes."

Simon chuckled. "I think you've read one too many gangster books."

Maybe. But still.

"I think I'm safe from Max's wrath," Simon continued. "I'm not lookin' to take him down. I'd rather tell his side of the story. The authorities can figure out the rest."

"His side? About how he killed Meredith Prescott?" she asked, keeping her voice low.

"There's nothin' to say she's dead."

"Yeah, well." Violet huffed. "He probably fed her body to a trash compactor, so we'll never know."

Simon chuckled, then reached across the table. "It's important not to blur the lines between fact and fiction."

"You don't know it's not fact," she quipped before exhaling heavily. "You're right. I know. I just…"

"You just what?"

"I don't like the idea of you talkin' to a mobster. You should have Archer do it." Simon could likely hold his own with most people. He wasn't a small man. But Archer … yeah, Archer was a beast.

"Trust me, Archer's already chompin' at the bit to talk to him."

"Good."

Simon leaned in. "I have to be the one to talk to Max. If he's gonna open up about anything, it'll be to me, not Archer."

She knew that. She did. She'd listened to enough seasons of his podcast to understand his format. Simon was very hands-on when it came to telling the stories that he investigated. It was the reason his podcast was so popular.

"Are you worried about me, Violet?" His tone was teasing, but his eyes were not.

Thankfully, the waitress returned to take their order, which gave Violet a chance to compose herself. If she weren't careful, Simon would figure out right quick just how worried she was. And since this was supposed to be a temporary fling, it wouldn't do either of them any good for that information to become public.

·····

After dinner, Simon didn't argue when Violet said she would drop him off at the B and B. He'd expected no less.

Since their conversation the other night at her house, she'd been putting distance between them. Despite wanting to push her to let him in, Simon knew he had to tread lightly with Violet. Pushing her would likely stamp a permanent end date on what they had, and the thought of losing her was far worse than having to spend a little time apart. When she was ready, he would be right there.

Except now she seemed put off by his needing to interview Max Adorite, the boss of the Adorite Crime Family, a.k.a. the Southern Boy Mafia. If he thought for a second that backing out of this story before it got underway would make a difference, there was a good chance he would do it. That was a first for him. He'd never met a woman who could get under his skin so easily. He wanted to make Violet happy, and if that meant altering what he did or how he did it, he would.

However, he was convinced Violet was trying to keep him at arm's length, and this was just another reason to add to her arsenal. Because she was starting to feel something, and that scared her.

He understood. It scared him, too.

"Hey, man," Holt greeted when Simon walked in the door. "Figured you'd be out for a while."

"Not tonight," he said, unable to hide his disappointment.

"Trouble in paradise?"

"No." And he believed it when he said it. He'd seen the way Violet's eyes lit up when he walked into the store earlier. She missed him when he wasn't around. The same way he missed her. He just needed to slow things down some. Take this at her pace.

"You like her, huh?"

"A little bit, yeah." He couldn't stop the smile from forming. "She asked me to go to her cousin's wedding."

"That's a good start."

Simon hoped so, but he wasn't so sure.

When he and Violet were together, the rest of the world ceased to exist. And when he was buried balls deep inside her, it was even more intense. But for some reason, the invitation to the wedding felt like a test. One he wasn't sure he could pass even if he had the answers.

"Mind if I join you?"

Holt nodded toward the couch. "Pull up a seat."

"What're you watchin'?" he asked, taking a seat in the recliner on the other end of the couch.

"The … uh …" Holt pointed at the television. "That."

"The commercial for…" Simon read the screen. "A psoriasis medication?" He looked at Holt. "So you're not payin' attention, but you're not readin' either. What's up?"

Holt shook his head. "I'm trying to get in the right headspace for this book I'm working on. It's giving me problems."

Simon didn't have traditional writer's block, but he knew all about coming up against a brick wall. It happened to him often.

"I meant to tell you, Bailey might have a room early Sunday. In case you're tired of bunking with Archer."

Simon nodded. Sharing a room with Archer wasn't his favorite thing, but the man had taken it upon himself to sleep on the floor, despite what he told Violet, so it wasn't too bad. Yet.

If all went well, hopefully, he'd be spending another night in Violet's bed soon.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, the television holding their attention, although, like Holt, Simon had no clue what was on the screen. His thoughts were all over the map. He needed to dedicate time and effort to outlining his plan for the next season of his podcast. The story was intriguing, but it would require a significant amount of investigation. Identifying a thread was the key to figuring out how to start it.

As though summoned by his thoughts, the bells over the door clanged when someone opened the door. From his spot on the couch, Simon couldn't see who it was.

A second later, that thread he needed to pull … it walked right into the bed and breakfast.

·····

Travis Walker stepped into the bed and breakfast, closing the door behind him.

He shouldn't be here. In fact, he'd told his husband he would not, under any circumstance, entertain the idea of working with Simon Jennings. According to Gage, the cost was too high. Gage believed they were finally finding a sense of normalcy after Kylie's death, and their only goal should be to focus on that.

Maybe he was right.

Maybe he was wrong.

Either way, Travis had lied to the man he loved.

But he had his reasons. And if Gage truly loved him, he would forgive him. Or maybe he was pushing things too far, and Gage would get tired of his bullshit. He prayed his husband didn't boot him out of the house, but he honestly wouldn't blame him if he did. They'd been through a lot, and Travis continued to heap more and more shit on top of them.

Because. He. Could. Not. Let. It. Go.

As for what it was, he didn't know. Not yet. But something was drawing him toward this. Hope, probably. Although he wasn't sure what the fuck he was hoping for. The worst possible thing had already happened. Nothing would change that.

Yet here he was, following this inexplicable pull.

"Travis," Holt Callahan greeted as he walked into the foyer, his forehead creased with confusion. "Are you lookin' for Bailey? She's upstairs, but I can get her."

Travis shook his head, then tilted his chin in the direction of the man sitting in a recliner in front of a television.

Holt peered over his shoulder. "Simon."

Simon looked hesitant. Then again, Travis didn't know the man, so it could very well be his normal expression. Travis already knew that Simon Jennings wasn't the sort of man he could sway to his way of thinking. The fact that the journalist had pushed back so hard had earned Travis's respect.

And that was the real reason he was there. The man had balls, and if there was anyone who could pursue a story like this one, it would be him.

"Can we talk?" Travis prompted when Simon walked into the foyer.

"Yeah." Simon looked at Holt. "We're gonna get some air."

A look passed between the two men.

"Take this," Holt said, walking over to the box that held keys. He pulled one off the hook and brought it over to Simon.

"You sure?" Simon asked.

"Yeah."

Travis narrowed his eyes on Holt. "Sure about what?"

"Simon can fill you in."

He had yet to decide how he felt about Holt Callahan. Their first official meeting was a sit-down that Travis interrupted between the fiction writer and the sheriff. To say his first impression was biased was an understatement. Holt had taken it upon himself to dig into Travis's personal life and then had the audacity to enlighten him about what he'd found as though Travis had no fucking clue.

Never mind the fact he'd had no fucking clue . That wasn't the point.

Or maybe it was.

Regardless, Travis didn't care for busybodies.

"You mind walkin'?" Simon asked, opening the door and stepping out on the porch.

"Depends on where we're goin'."

Simon pointed toward the downtown businesses on the other side of the park.

Travis swallowed hard, coming to a stop before descending the steps. Since his wife's death, Travis found it nearly impossible to be on that street. Whenever he was there, all he saw was the carnage left behind after Juliet Prince ran down Kylie.

"I'd prefer a different direction."

Simon looked across the way and then back. "We won't be over there long. I wanna show you somethin' in the apartment on the second floor."

Travis took a deep breath.

"I think you'll want to see it, Travis."

"Fine," he grumbled.

"I guess I should ask why you came to see me," Simon stated.

"I need answers."

"About?"

"Every goddamn thing."

Simon didn't respond and Travis was grateful. His anger was at himself, yet for the past year and a half, he'd been taking it out on others. They didn't deserve his wrath, his indifference, or his desire to shut the entire world out. He'd been spinning uncontrollably since Kylie's death. He knew that. Yet, he pretended otherwise and expected his family and friends to let him be.

"What's up here?" Travis asked when they were walking up the back stairs leading to the second floor.

"After Rafe moved in with them, Holt took over the lease. He uses it so he can write when he needs quiet."

There was only one business that had space up here. His cousin Violet owned this building—a deal she made with Travis's father back when she was looking to open a bookstore—and she leased it out as a means to make money. The real estate office leased part of it, she'd converted another section into an apartment, one section was used as storage, and the other was empty. Or maybe it was used for storage, too. If she were smart, she'd invest her money in fixing that one up, too. Passive income was never a bad thing.

"And why would I be interested in his writing space?"

"He's been doin' research."

Travis didn't need Simon to clarify what Holt had been researching. It was obvious it pertained to whatever theory the man believed tied his wife's mother to the mafia.

Travis waited while Simon unlocked the door. He followed him inside and scoped the place in three seconds. It was clean and neat, but he wasn't sure what he'd been expecting.

"His research is in there," Simon said, motioning toward a door. "On the right."

"The bedroom?"

"There's not a bed in there," Simon noted with a smirk.

Taking another deep breath, Travis put one foot in front of the other and walked toward the room. He pushed the door open, reached to find the switch. The room brightened, highlighting a desk cluttered with papers and books on the left, a large leather chair pushed haphazardly out of the way. He stepped deeper into the room and turned his attention to the right.

That all too familiar tightness in his chest returned as soon as he saw the articles that were pinned to the wall. Several had photographs of Kylie; some had pictures of his children. And there was the one of Jessie and Kate that had made headlines after the funeral.

He swallowed past the knot in his throat and moved closer, skimming the various bits of information pinned to the corkboard squares. Most of what pertained to Kylie or his family, he'd seen before. He'd been obsessed after her death, trying to find reason for it all. It didn't help; it only pushed him closer and closer to the edge.

Travis noticed there was one section dedicated to Max Adorite.

"I've started collecting information on him," Simon said from somewhere behind him. "I think he'll be the key to the story."

"Good luck with that. I know Max. He won't talk."

"He won't want to talk," Simon clarified. "I'm good at my job, Travis."

"Why does anyone care what happened to Meredith Prescott?" He flipped one of the newspaper pages. "The woman raised her kids and then bolted. It was a shit move, sure, but it's more than some kids get."

"I—"

"Who in the world gives a shit where she is? Her family has moved on. Dredging this up is only gonna bring back bad memories for Jessie and her father."

Simon's forehead creased. "What?"

Travis turned to face the man. "That's what the story is, right? It's about the disappearance of Kylie's mother because she supposedly witnessed somethin' she shouldn't have? So fuckin' what? She's probably livin' on some private island somewhere, drinkin' pi?a coladas with her pool boy."

"You think so?"

No, he didn't. But he also didn't care what happened to Meredith. Kylie had believed her mother had left them for greener pastures. There was nothing to make anyone think otherwise.

"It doesn't matter what I think. Let's assume Holt's on to somethin'. If Meredith went into hidin' so she didn't have to testify against Max, that's her prerogative. Why would you care about a story that might be a dead end?"

Simon frowned. "I thought Holt told you."

"Told me what?"

Simon canted his head. "Travis, Holt believes there's a good chance nothing is as it seems. Not just Meredith Prescott's whereabouts."

"How so?"

"He's convinced it's a conspiracy."

"By whom?"

"The FBI."

"You think the FBI's conspirin' to take down the Southern Boy Mafia? That's their job, isn't it?"

"We don't think it's a sanctioned case."

"So you've got rogue FBI agents?"

Simon didn't respond, but Travis could see it in his eyes.

"To what end?"

"We don't know yet. That's why I'm lookin' into this." Simon gestured toward the wall of information. "We've got a long way to go, but honestly, I think this goes much deeper than it appears."

Travis had a feeling he was going to say that.