Chapter Three

Monday, September 5, 2022

"All right, ladies," Violet said to the group gathered at the back of the store. "It's time to call it a night."

"Aww. Do we have to?" her cousin Sadie said with a dramatic pout.

"I'm afraid so." Violet held up the empty box that Ramona had brought over a short time ago. "We're outta cupcakes. No reason to stick around."

Laughter echoed in the store as the Monday night book club started packing up their things. It was one of three that were held there every single week. Mondays were dedicated to romance with a spicy edge, while Tuesdays were all about mysteries and thrillers, and Thursdays belonged to the fantasy fanatics.

Although Violet made a point to attend all the book club meetings whenever she had the opportunity, this was the one she loved the most.

It probably had something to do with the women who gathered to discuss the latest romance book they were reading. Back when the group first started gathering, they'd tried to go for cleaner fiction, but that had lasted all of one book. Turned out housewife porn was a real thing. And it wasn't just for housewives.

It also didn't hurt that Violet was related to the majority of the women in attendance. Most of them were her cousins, although her sister Whitney had started coming three months ago after she moved back to Coyote Ridge and in with their mother, after she had a falling out with her loser boyfriend. Violet had begged her to give it a chance, and Whitney was hooked from the jump.

The only two attendees she wasn't related to either directly or by marriage were Ramona Weber, the owner of Batter no wonder Holt needed a clean desk in another room. Papers, Post-it notes, books, pens. They were scattered all over and around the desk. So much so she couldn't even make out what color the top of the desk was. A rainbow assortment of Post-its were stuck to the side of the desk, the top, even a couple on the small banker's lamp.

She took a hesitant step into the room.

"Are those storyboards?" she asked, pointing to the walls where someone—presumably Holt—had put corkboard over almost every inch of Sheetrock.

Simon moved from one area to the next, skimming the photos and notes.

"Looks like this one," he said, pointing to the one nearest the desk, "is for his upcoming novel."

Violet wanted to look at everything so badly but forced herself not to. She looked forward to every book and feared if she saw the process of getting to the final product, she wouldn't enjoy it as much.

"And this one?" she asked, walking over to the other side of the room.

Simon came to stand beside her. "This is what he called me out here for."

Violet took it all in, frowning when she saw newspaper clippings about Kylie Walker's death. Another was a photograph from the Coyote Ridge Gazette taken at the funeral. It showed Kylie's sister, Jessie, hugging her niece.

She suddenly felt defensive. "What is this?"

Simon exhaled, his attention still on the wall of crap. "Holt believes that Meredith Prescott"—he pointed to the photograph of a young woman that looked like it could've been taken several years ago—"didn't run out on her daughters."

"Kylie and Jessie?"

"Yeah," he said absently, reading one of the articles.

"I thought she left to start a new life," Violet said.

"That's the story. Holt thinks her disappearance is related to a mob hit."

Violet took a step back. "She was killed by the mob?"

Okay. Just what the fuck was going on here?

·····

"There's no documentation that she's dead," Simon told Violet as he continued to skim the articles. "Not that Holt can find."

He was impressed by the amount of information Holt had acquired. From the looks of it, he'd done research on the Prescott family as far back as the youngest daughter's birth and moving forward.

Violet sounded both skeptical and irritated when she said, "I don't understand."

"I don't either," he admitted as he stepped back to observe from a distance. "That's why he asked me to come down here."

"You think this is a story?"

" He thinks this is a story," Simon clarified. "I only heard about it last week when he called me."

"After he pissed off my cousin?" Violet snapped back.

Simon peered over at her. "Is Travis Walker your cousin?"

She nodded.

"Then, yes," Simon recalled his conversation with Holt last Thursday. He'd been surprised to see his friend's name on his phone, so he'd answered immediately. Holt's adamance that something fishy was going on had Simon grabbing his suitcase—it was almost always packed for reasons like this—and heading down here.

Simon turned back to the wall and took it all in again. This was the first time he'd seen Holt's research. For the past few days, he'd had in-depth conversations with Holt about his theory but had to delay jumping into it until he finished the last of the podcast he was working on. Now that it was complete, he had the time to dedicate to his next project. Whatever that might be.

"I think it might be worth lookin' into more," Simon mused. "Doesn't mean I will."

"Why not?"

That was something he thought he knew the answer to before he walked in to find this. Holt had already done a lot of the initial work. From experience, he knew it had taken time for him to acquire these things. Simon and his team usually spent days, sometimes weeks, gathering enough data to form a picture. Holt had done that for him.

"I have questions," he answered. "Plus, I need to talk to the family."

"My cousin Travis?"

Simon turned to face her fully. "He really is your cousin?"

"Every Walker in this town is my cousin."

"Well, that makes sense." He recalled Holt's Rapunzel story from the other day.

"I can tell you right now," Violet stated firmly, "Travis won't like this."

"Why not?"

"Because he's sensitive to…" She fluttered her hand toward the article about Kylie's death.

That made sense. However, Simon would have to tackle it if he hoped to get the information he needed. He would have to have access to the people who knew what had happened back when Meredith left.

"Why would Holt care?" Violet asked, accusation heavy in her tone. "Kylie and Jessie are … were … whatever. They're estranged from their mother. Why bring this up now?"

Simon knew Holt believed that everything that happened to Kylie Walker had happened for a reason. The problem was Simon didn't see the correlation. There were hard and true facts about what happened to Kylie. Eyewitnesses right here in town who saw the woman who hit her with her car and then took off. There was no question in anyone's mind who was responsible for Kylie's death. And because Juliet Prince had religiously written her thoughts in a journal, the police even had her motivation written in her own words.

Yet Holt was insistent there was more to the story.

Until he could see the picture Holt was trying to paint, Simon wasn't willing to admit that. Certainly not to the people who cared about Kylie and her family.

"That's the question of the hour, I guess."

Violet took another step back, this time moving toward the door. "If you ask me, I think Holt should stick to writin' fiction and leave this"—she waved her hand toward the wall—"alone."

Simon appreciated her opinion. Oddly enough, her abrupt response only made him want to look into it more.

"You aren't gonna leave it alone, are you?" she asked, hesitating in the doorway.

He stopped directly in front of her and reached for the light switch. "I don't know."

The room went dark behind him, but Violet didn't move out of the way, so he was forced to stand there, staring at the most uniquely beautiful woman he'd ever laid eyes on. Her silky, shoulder-length hair was such a rich, dark brown he wondered if it was natural or came from a bottle. Her eyebrows were thick and perfectly shaped, and the thick fringe of her lashes accented those big, mocha-brown eyes. Her nose was narrow and adorable, as was her chin and the slight dent he saw occasionally.

But for him, the most mesmerizing was the warm, olive tone of her smooth, flawless skin and her heart-shaped lips.

As he stared, those succulent lips started to move.

"Does that mean you're not goin' back to Dallas?"

He smiled. "If I didn't know better, I'd think you were tryin' to get rid of me."

Violet crossed her arms over her chest. "I don't care one way or the other."

"No?"

She pursed her lips. "Nope. Why would I?"

He inched closer until there was hardly space between them. "I don't know. Why would you?"

Her eyes widened as her head tilted so she could hold his stare. "I wouldn't."

Simon had no idea what they were even talking about at this point. The only thing he could focus on was the soft pink of her lips and the way her tongue darted out to wet them before she swallowed.

"You don't like me, do you?" he whispered.

Her eyebrows lowered. "I don't not like you."

"If you liked me, you wouldn't be in a rush to get me outta town."

Violet's arms lowered, and she shrugged one shoulder. "I told you, it doesn't matter to me."

He let the silence linger for a moment as he studied her face, trying to memorize every detail.

"Well, I like you, Violet Anderson."

She huffed. "You don't even know me."

"If I stay for a bit, I'll have the opportunity."

Her smile was slow and devious. "It's cute that you think so."

She stepped back, spinning around, leaving him to stare after her as she made a beeline for the door. His gaze locked on the perfection of her heart-shaped ass, darting upward only when she paused near the door.

"Goodnight, Simon. I look forward to your next episode." She glanced at him over her shoulder. "Which you can do from Dallas."

He exhaled heavily, not sure why he couldn't wipe the smile off his face. It had been a long damn time since any woman had gotten under his skin the way Violet did. There was something there. Something between them. He just wasn't sure whether he should do anything about it.

Twenty minutes later, Simon was standing near the bar at Moonshiners. Holt was helping the few customers at the tables while Rafe was taking care of those sitting at the bar.

"What can I getcha?" Rafe asked.

Simon waved him off. "I'm actually just here to talk to Holt."

"Holt!" Rafe shouted over the din of conversation.

"Well, that's one way to get his attention."

Rafe flashed a grin, and Simon suspected the man hadn't done much smiling until Bailey and Holt took over his life.

Holt came over, pausing to relay a drink request to Rafe before giving Simon his full attention. Mindful of the locals sitting nearby, Simon suggested they talk somewhere private.

Turned out private was outside because that was where Holt led him.

"Do you work here full time or what?"

Holt grinned. "Let's just say I work as much as Rafe lets me. And I don't get paid."

"Now that sounds like real love right there."

"Oh, yeah."

Simon pulled the apartment key out of his pocket and held it up to Holt. As soon as he tried to pass it over, he saw the disappointment on his friend's face.

"Not interested, huh?"

"I didn't say that."

There was a glimmer of hope. "What are you saying?"

"I need to look into it a bit more. And that means bringin' Archer and Paige in on it. I've gotta get their buy-in before I can move forward, no matter what."

"You think they'll be interested?"

"It has to do with the mob. What do you think?"

"Archer's gonna jump all over that shit."

Yes. And that was what Simon was worried about. Which led him to his next request.

"I've gotta sit down with Travis. Before I can even whisper this to Archer, I need to know Travis Walker's not gonna castrate me in the middle of town."

"I'm probably not the best person to make that request," Holt told him. "Not after our sit-down the other day. I'm not his biggest fan."

"Which probably tells me all I need to know." Considering how much time had elapsed since Meredith Prescott left, Simon fully understood why some people would prefer they keep it buried. If he'd sniffed even a hint of a coverup, he would jump all over it. But as of now, they had fragments of information, and none of it added up to a crime.

"I'll find a way," Holt blurted. "Don't give up on me yet."

"Givin' up on you would be the last thing I do."

"Good. I'll need a day or so. Until then, just stick around. I'm sure you can find something to keep you busy until then."

Some one , maybe. But Simon kept that to himself.