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Parker handed me a shot of whiskey and clinked my glass. With a quirked brow, she held hers up, silently signaling me to do the same. I obeyed and tossed it back, soaking in the way it burned on the way down.
Parker looked completely unfazed by her shot. Her expression was still overly bright. And suddenly, she spun on her stool and waved at a group of older men playing darts. “Can I play winner?”
They all wore leather vests and scowls, but they grumbled when she smiled at them.
Beer in hand, she wandered over and introduced herself, being sure she caught their names too.
Fascinated, I watched her work the small crowd like she had with the people of Lovewell, leading the conversation where she wanted it to go.
“I’m a writer, actually,” she said, flipping her hair over her shoulder. “Murder Mysteries. I can already tell this one is gonna be my best. It’s set in a fictional town like this one. Logging industry and all. I’m up here visiting to get inspiration.”
“We’ve got stories, cutie,” one man said, patting his lap. “Come sit, and I’ll tell you some scary shit that happens out in those woods.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Thanks for the offer, but my boyfriend over there wouldn’t like it. How about I kick your ass at darts and then I’ll listen to your stories?”
Without waiting for a response, she sauntered toward the dartboard, her tight jeans cupping her perfect ass. She had completely charmed a bunch of old bikers and was about to destroy them at darts.
* * *
How had I ever doubted her? Because there was literally nothing this woman couldn’t do—aside from pick up after herself.
Turned out that Blaze, Rubble, and Popeye were retired loggers who’d worked for a few outfits over the years. Parker bought them a round after handily defeating each of them at darts.
Although they probably all carried AARP cards, they had their fingers on the pulse of things around here.
“It’s those damn drugs,” Popeye said, rubbing the back of his neck where he had a tattoo of a skull on fire. “It’s so sad.”
No community up here was immune to the toll the opioid epidemic. My sister-in-law Hazel was working on a doctorate in public health and had devoted years of her life to studying the impact of opioids on rural communities. And everyone here seemed to feel the toll it had taken as well.
“I guess it’s easy to run drugs up here,” Parker mused, playing especially dumb. “All these unpopulated areas, lonely roads.”
“Exactly,” Blaze said. “It’s too easy. The logging roads head right to Canada, and they’re private, see. So it’s not like law enforcement is patrolling them.”
“Private? So who owns them?” she asked.
“The logging companies. Up in these parts, it’s split between four families. Hundreds of employees between ’em. Hauling logs every day down those roads,” Rubble explained. “Drove for the Clarks for twenty-one years, but my back’s shit now.”
“And no one’s caught on to it?”
The men laughed.
“People work very hard not to catch on, if you know what I mean.”
“Some stay out of it and fire anyone who touches the stuff.” This from Blaze. “Work with the cops. That kind of shit. But others turn a blind eye.”
“And some participate,” Rubble added, one brow cocked. “Pills pay much better than trees these days.”
It took everything in me to keep from jumping out of my chair, pinning him to the wall, and demanding he tell me what he knew. But I was background noise here. I had to let Parker work.
No one recognized me. Granted, I had a beard, and I was wearing a black baseball cap and a plaid shirt with a puffy vest. It was my Henri costume. But it was working. Information was flowing far more easily than I could have anticipated.
I mentally kicked myself for ever doubting Parker. Since the day she showed up in Lovewell, she had been impressing me with her skills, ingenuity, and intelligence.
It was hard not to slip into overprotective mode. Because the urge to protect her, to provide for her, and keep her happy, was shaking me to my core. I’d never been the guy who got attached, but I was long past attached to her.
Parker leaned in and lowered her voice. “Are you saying some of the loggers are involved?”
Blaze nodded. “It’s an ugly business, but some guys from the club have been involved off and on. Mostly in the northwest.”
