Real Sexy (Real Dirty Duet #2)(62)

He takes the paper and his eyes move back and forth as he reads the words. "How can you hide the truth behind someone else's eyes? That part doesn't make sense to me either."

"I have no idea. It doesn't-" I cut myself off. "Wait. Willie. Willie Nelson. There's a picture of him in the bar. What if . . . what if this really is about my mama, and she hid something behind it?" I know I sound crazy, but my suggestion isn't that much crazier than these lyrics.

"Behind the picture? Really? You think she would have?"

"I don't know, but if she were going to hide something, that wouldn't be a bad place. It's not like anyone would look. Those things are screwed to the wall. No one ever moves them, and nothing has been added since Mama died. She was the one who put them all in frames and hung them herself."

Boone sits down on the couch next to me. "You really want to dig into this?"

Part of me wants to say no, because I've just accepted an opportunity that's going to completely change my future. But a bigger part says now is the time to put the past to rest so I can let it go.

"This has been hanging over my head for two-thirds of my life. It's always been the unanswered question, and I feel like I need closure. Maybe then I could move on and focus on the future."

Boone nods. "All right. So, what do you want to do?"

"I think I need to go to the Fishbowl."





41





Boone





Going back to the Fishbowl wasn't on my list of things to do today, but there's no way I'm letting Ripley go by herself. Last we heard, Ripley's dad hasn't been arrested or charged based on the video evidence that had gotten the charges against me dropped. I suspect it's because the cops want to put the case behind them rather than getting involved in proceedings that will constantly highlight the fact that they screwed up. 

Even so, Brandy knows Ripley turned the tape in, and I'm not taking a chance of Brandy getting a shot at her. On top of that, I don't care if we're talking about a twenty-year-old cold case, the murderer is still out there.

"Can you pull up the security feeds on my laptop? See if there's anyone there?"

Ripley's eyebrows shoot up. "That's a good idea."

"Have a few of those now and again."

She rises on her toes to press a kiss to my lips. "How about you have an awesome idea later when we're naked?"

"Deal."

She flips open the laptop and pulls up the website. Except instead of seeing the inside of the bar like I did the last time she pulled up this page, it's just black. Ripley hits a couple of keys and nothing happens.

"Dammit. They must have disabled the cameras after the cops confronted Brandy with the video."

Shit. "So that means we're going in blind."

Ripley nods, but there's a new apprehension in the set of her shoulders. "If we can get in at all. What if they changed the locks?"

"I guess we're about to find out."

We load up in the truck and head downtown.



* * *



The Fishbowl looks completely empty from the outside. No cars out front, and no one parked in the back.

When Ripley reaches for her door handle of the truck, I put a hand on her thigh. "If your cousin is inside, I doubt she's going to be happy to see us."

With a grimace, she replies. "True. If she's inside, then we bail, and I move on and leave this for the PI to handle."

"You sure?"

She bites her lip. "I really want her not to be there."

"Then let's go." I hold out my hand. "Keys?"

She drops the keys in my palm.

"All right. If we do run into her, you're telling her you left something behind and had to come back and get it. She doesn't need to know anything else."

"I agree. I could be coming back for that ring. The one you left in the bar. That you got for Amber. It's still here. I hid it so Brandy wouldn't find it and hock it. I wanted to get it anyway. There's no point in leaving it here."

That engagement ring is basically the last thing I ever want back, but if we need an excuse, it'll work.

"Fine, but we're unloading it immediately. I don't want it around."

"That's fair. We could sell it and donate the proceeds to charity."

"Deal. Now, let's get in there and get out."

I climb out of the truck, shut the door, and walk around the front. Ripley's beside me when I shove the key in the lock and turn.

Click. It opens.

"Oh good," Ripley whispers as she follows me inside the bar. It's dark and quiet, much like it was the day of the birdnapping. Ripley pulls a penlight from her pocket and flips it on.

"Really?"

She shrugs. "Seemed like a good idea so we don't have to turn on all the lights." She heads directly for the center of the wall across from the bar, zeroing in on the photograph of Willie Nelson. "Damn. I didn't bring a screwdriver. There's a toolbox in the office." She steps away from the picture, but I pull out my pocketknife.