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“I can’t. No time. So don’t blame me if Champ wanders off.”
Champ was as well-balanced as Butch could’ve hoped to be, and Butch wanted to be sure his son never met up with anyone or anything to change that. “You’d better watch him.”
“I try to. But if you want the house clean and the laundry done and the meals prepared, someone’s got to do it. And that someone is always me.”
“Bring him in when you’re in the house. And quit acting like you have it so damn rough.”
She muttered under her breath. He couldn’t tell exactly what she’d said, but he noticed that she was careful not to let her irritation go too far. Somehow, she still loved him. That realization brought a flood of relief because he had to ask her a difficult question.
Lowering his voice so no one else in the household would hear him, he spoke over the rim of his coffee cup. “Where’d you put those panties you found in my jockey box?”
She checked the mudroom behind her as if she feared Dean might be hiding there. Her brother seemed to overhear everything, to be right where they didn’t want him to be all the time. If it wasn’t for the old folks and the fact that this was their place, Butch would’ve kicked him out long ago. Dean didn’t have an outside job, so he didn’t contribute financially. He didn’t do much around the house, either. Occasionally, he volunteered to watch Champ, but Butch wouldn’t allow him to babysit without supervision. He understood better than most the damage a twisted adult could wreak on a young mind. Except for a few hours a day spent answering phones, filing, filling out invoices or accepting deliveries in the yard, Dean was a total waste of space. Mostly, he rambled aimlessly around town, bothering people who’d rather be left alone.
“I don’t know where they are,” she said. “Unlike you, I’m not attracted to other women’s underwear.”
When he ignored that, she backed off a bit, grew less combative. “Why?” she asked, now sulky.
“I can’t find them,” he admitted.
Her eyes narrowed. “Why do you want to find them? So you can jerk off while you remember?”
“Because we can’t afford to have them floating around, that’s why!”
The color drained from her face. “So they do belong to the Bonner woman.”
“No.” April had worn the ugliest old-lady panties he’d ever seen, probably because she’d never planned on getting naked with him. Her underwear had been as practical and unattractive as he’d found her, once they met. Like so many others, she’d posted a far more flattering picture of herself on the Internet. Maybe Butch occasionally lied about his name and his exact location, but he was truthful about everything else. He wished the women he met were that honest.
“Then why are you worried?” Paris wanted to know.
Because the sexy leopard-print panties Paris had brought into the yard last night connected him to someone else entirely. Someone he’d promised Paris he’d never mention again. “I’m afraid that Moretti woman got hold of them. That she’ll try to make more of them than she should.”
“How could she do that?”
He preferred not to go into detail. Paris was already a nervous wreck. And that hang-up call last night certainly hadn’t helped. “She’s convinced I’m guilty. She might even try to say they belonged to April.”
“That can be proven one way or another. If they were ever worn, there’s DNA on those panties, like in the movies, right?”
“That’s why I’ve got to get them back.” He’d said more than he wanted to, so he concentrated on stirring his coffee.
“What if she has them? She was inside the yard while we were arguing. She could’ve heard about the panties, decided to steal them.”
If she’d heard about the panties, she could also have heard Julia’s name…. “You would’ve had to drop them for that to happen. Did you?”
She blinked rapidly as she struggled to remember. “I don’t know. I was so upset. I—I wasn’t worried that someone might find them. I—”
“When’s the last time you saw them?” He broke in to keep her focused so she wouldn’t fall apart.
“In your office.”
“I checked there.”
Nonplussed, she shook her head. “Then they have to be in the yard.”
“Son of a bitch.” Setting his cup aside, Butch grabbed his truck keys off the hook.
“Where are you going?” she asked.
“I need to take care of some business.”
