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“Who’s asking?”
“Miranda Sweet.”
“Why do you want to know?”
Belligerent was so not the tone to take with her right now, not when her stress level was at the breaking point. Miranda opened her mouth to blast the jailer, but then closed it before she could give Farley a what-for. The information was what was important. She just needed to hear the word no, and then she’d know the whole thing was a crazy rumor being peddled by old farts at The Kitchen Sink hopped up on Ruby Sue’s sweet tea.
“Look, it’s public information. Is he there or not?” Her cell phone buzzed in her purse. She jammed the landline receiver between her ear and shoulder and dug it out.
“Yep, he’s here.”
Miranda flinched, squeezed her eyes shut, and pictured Logan with his hair tousled and eyes sleepy when he’d kissed her goodbye this morning. Her cell phone vibrated in her hand. Like a dog with its head hidden under the bed, she wanted to pretend everything was fine. But she couldn’t. The phone vibrated again. She cracked her eyelids open. A red circle with a white number one glowed next to the text message icon on her cell phone screen. Holding her breath, she clicked it.
Tried your work phone but it’s busy. Break in your case. Made arrest. Please call. Patrolman Warner.
“If that’s all—”
“What’s the charge you are holding Logan on?” Miranda tried to keep it together, but the words squeaked out.
“Assault and battery.” Well, trying to run her off the road would sure count as that.
She hung up the phone, too numb to utter good-bye or thank you, and stared at the framed dollar bill hanging on the wall opposite her desk. It wasn’t the first dollar from the first sale at Sweet Salvation Brewery. No, that would be too normal for her family. It was the first dollar her grandfather had made from bootlegging liquor decades before the brewery was even built. Logan’s cell at the county jail probably had PawPaw’s initials carved into the cinderblock walls.
Sean cleared his throat. “You okay?”
“No.” Even if she could elaborate about the vast queasy mess inside her, she figured Mr. No Public Emotions would not be the one to spill her guts to. She had fallen for the same asshole not once, but twice. The first time, her reputation had ended up in shreds. This time, it was her career and sisters that would pay the price.
She picked up the phone receiver again to call the state trooper, but she couldn’t force her fingers to dial. She locked her jaw and hung up the phone. She already knew everything she needed about Logan’s betrayal. A Martin’s duplicity was a tale as old as time; why wallow in the details of the latest example?
Natalie burst into the office, her eyes wide and her fingers twisted in her pearl necklace. “Have you heard about the meeting? What are we going to do?”
Glad to focus on something that didn’t involve her obliterated heart, Miranda plastered on her best I-can-fix-anything smile and cracked her knuckles. “Show Salvation just how good a Sweet can be.”
Logan paced the eight-feet-by-eight-feet jail cell, making his way from the bars to the window set high in the cinderblock walls. They’d taken his wallet and his belt, but at least he wasn’t in an orange jumpsuit. He stopped when his toes hit the wall, and not for the first time in the past two hours, he noticed the word Sweet scraped into the wall and wondered if Miranda’s people had carved it.
His gut tightened at the thought of her. As soon as he made bail, he had to find her and explain what had happened. How he hadn’t planned to punch Carl in the face, but the asshole deserved what he’d gotten. He’d meant to tell her what had happened and how he’d gotten Carl to confess last night, but after her kamikaze attack with the gnome and everything that followed, it just didn’t seem as important at first, and then he figured he’d have more time. Logan pivoted and headed back in the other direction. The swish of automatic doors sliding open halte
d his pacing. A deputy strode through and made his way to a desk in the far corner.
Finally. Logan rushed to the bars. “Is my dad here yet to post bail?”
“He came, but I sent him home. You can’t make bail if it hasn’t been set. Only Judge Carter can do that, and he’s gone home for the day.”
Using utmost care, Logan pressed his forehead against the cool bars, but what he really wanted to do was bang his head against them until he blacked out from the pain. “Gone home?”
The deputy nodded. “Yep, something about accompanying his wife to the county council meeting.”
“What meeting?” He asked the question, but deep inside he already knew the answer. Unable to stand still any longer, he prowled the cell like a caged animal.
“What am I, the damn newspaper?”
Logan jerked to a stop in the middle of the cell and spun around. Remembering the stories about people in high stress situations who lifted cars off babies, he eyeballed the cell bars. Something on his face must have startled the deputy, because his eyes widened and he took a step back.
Putting every ounce of menace he could muster into his face, Logan stalked to the front of the cell. “What meeting?”
The deputy flushed. “Someone’s got their panties in a twist and called a meeting to vote on banning alcohol production. Oh, and taking over the Sweet Salvation Brewery.”
And here he was stuck in a cell in the basement of the Hamilton County Courthouse, one block away from the county council chambers. He wanted to scream his frustration or, better yet, go all Hulk and smash through the walls. Neither of which was an option, all of which had dried up like the Red Oak Creek during a drought.
