The Worst Best Friend: A Small Town Romance

My throat locks like I’ve swallowed a rock.

I can’t lie to him—especially about her safety—but I need to know what’s happening first.

“The motion sensors in the private area of the house, you mean? I know you’re pretty full with people here for the car show, so it shouldn’t be that weird if the after-hours shit in the main living area went off.” Those are the only sensors I know at Amelia’s.

“Yep. We’re ninety percent filled up thanks to the show, but none of the guests have access to the private area...that’s what tripped. The doors were locked when we brought Grandpa’s cars home. I checked ’em myself.” He pauses, giving me a slow, assessing look. “So is she here? Was she at Gram’s last night?”

“Yes,” I answer slowly. “She’s inside, Marty, and no...she hasn’t been back to Thelma’s.”

“I don’t like it,” Marty says quickly.

My spine turns to steel.

“A damn mouse or the odd raccoon coming through a window wouldn’t set the system off. It’s set up to detect human motion,” he continues. “It’s gotta be bigger than that.”

My tension eases. He’s all caught up in the security system pinging and not the fact that Shel spent the night with me.

I wonder if it’s dawned on him yet.

“Yeah, that’s what Faulk told me. He said the newer ones are all set up that way when we installed the new system for Aunt Faye. Hey, where’s your buddy, Hudson?”

“That’s where my mind went, too,” he replies, scratching at his neck. “There’s still something about that dude I don’t like...but he was at the show while the sensors were going off. I saw him myself.”

“And that other asshole? Muddy Boots? Is he still showing up for work?”

“Yeahhh,” Marty exhales. “I finally had a chance to dig into him and tried to chat a couple times when our shifts overlapped. He’s a real surly asshole—barely makes eye contact when you talk to him. His name’s Remington, or Rem for short. His work records look solid, and a couple other guys mentioned him hanging out at the Bobcat most nights. He drinks and smokes like a chimney with a dogshit personality, but can’t say there’s much evidence he’s a professional crook.”

“What about last night? Anybody see him?” I stop just short of mentioning how Shel thought she spotted him.

“Unfortunately,” Marty grumbles. “I checked on that this morning too. Guess he was at the show with Carolina Dibs before they stopped off at the Bobcat for a nightcap. They left together. If he was drunk and warming her bed, then he probably wasn’t out sneaking around Amelia’s.”

I wince when he mentions Carolina the town skank. A walking headcase of bad decisions who sets her heart on guys who’d rather be celibate than pick her. The only dudes who match up with her are travelers who don’t know any better—and usually the type who are bad news.

“Was anything missing? Out of place?” I ask.

“Nothing. I think I’m gonna hit up Faulk myself and have some indoor cameras set up where it won’t infringe on anybody’s privacy.” Marty runs a hand through his hair. “What we have always worked well enough, but lately, with too many little intrusions happening around town, I’m freaked.”

I nod, trying not to let my frustration show.

We still have two flawed suspects and no smoking gun. What are we missing?

“So, uh...” Marty looks at me quickly and then gestures at the house. “You and Shelly finally hooked up, huh?”

“Hooked up?” I echo, frozen and glaring.

He doubles over with laughter.

“Come on, man. I’m your best friend and her big brother. Do you think I haven’t seen the kissy faces you’ve been making at each other since the day she saved Herc’s bacon?”

Goddamn.

He would notice—or we’re just that hopelessly obvious.

“Think you gave her a reason to stay home instead of running off to D.C.?” he asks, wagging a brow.

“Hell no,” I say too quickly. “Not in a million years. That job is her dream.”

He shrugs. “Maybe it was her dream, West. Either way, it’s not my place to figure it out.”