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The hum of the sheriff’s office returning to normal function filled the now awkward silence between me and my brother. I let it linger long enough that we both shifted uncomfortably on our feet.
“Is he under arrest?” I jutted my chin toward the holding cells.
“No.” He sighed, “But his rental car is at the county impound lot.”
“Was that necessary?”
“It made me smile.” He led the way back to the holding cells, twirling his key ring like a jailer in an old-school TV western.
I steeled myself for the worst; it wasn’t enough.
Wilson lay sprawled on the thin jailhouse cot, his bare feet hanging off the end, an arm over his face. His sophisticated LA clothes were wrinkled and askew. I checked the time on an enormous clock on the wall across from the cell. In five hours, he had to be camera-ready, or Kate would kick both our asses. After yesterday’s dressing down, she scared me more than a pissed-off rattlesnake.
Colton shoved a key in the lock, and the loud click of it opening elicited a rumbling grunt-snore from Wilson. The unmistakable cinnamon scent of fireball and vomit permeated the space. I felt for him and wished I could do more to fix this than spring him from jail, give him a Gatorade, and tell him to shower. If only I had the patent on a secret hangover cure that sold for $500 a dose.
“Did he really take a swing at you?”
My brother cackled and shook his head. “You of all people know better than to listen to Elmer gossip. He just passed out in my car. This,” he waved at Wilson, “was all the bunco ladies’ doing. They’d already wrecked him when I arrived.”
“You could have taken him to his house to sleep it off.”
“He needed to be taught a lesson. Me, Grandma, the whole town? We’re looking out for you.”
“I wish you’d stop helping... all of you. I’m a full-grown adult human. I’ve successfully raised a daughter to adulthood. I’m at the top of my career. I pay a mortgage. What else do I need to do to prove it?”
“Doesn’t matter. You could cure cancer, get elected president, and win the lottery. It wouldn’t change a thing. We all love you and Bailey, so we’re going to keep interfering. It’s a fact of living in Elmer.” He pulled the door wide. Wilson was lost in oblivion and didn’t even twitch at the squealing hinges.
Shaking my head, I debated between screaming in frustration and crying. “I wish everyone would dial it back. I’ve got this.”
I shouldered past my brother and into the cell. My loud cough garnered zero response from Wilson.
“Hey bunco champ, time to get up.” I shook his shoulder. He pulled the thin pillow over his face and grumbled something that sounded likecan’t make me.
“Need some help?” Damn, my brother wore smug like a second skin.
I waved a hand at the lump of man that was formerly Wilson Phillips. “What did Grandma do to him?”
“She drank him under the bunco table.” Colton tipped his coffee mug to his lips and drained it.
“That only works because her drinks are apple juice.” It wasn’t the first time Grandma had laid someone low with this ruse. She poured her shots from a flask of juice while the other person tried to keep up by doing shots of the real thing. The results were predictably tragic for the victim.
My brother chuckled. “I love the mayor.”
He walked to the small porcelain sink hanging on the wall and turned on the cold water tap, filling his empty mug to the top. Before I could intervene, he ripped the pillow off Wilson’s head and dashed the icy water directly in his face.
“Son of a bitch! I’m up.” Wilson bolted upright on the small bed. Its springs creaked in protest. Water ran down his chest. He drew an arm over his bloodshot eyes, drying his face on the once-white sleeve of his shirt. He turned this way and that, searching the room like he’d forgotten where he’d passed out. His face turned pale, then green in seconds.
“These new vomit buckets in the drunk tank were Jethro’s idea.” My brother pushed a bright red bucket into Wilson’s lap seconds before the middle-aged man started vomiting like something I’d seen once in a space alien movie.
“He’s got good aim—better than most of the drunks in this town. I’ll go get his personal effects. It’s a good thing my feet are bigger than his or I’d keep those boots for myself.” Whistling and twirling his key ring, my brother sauntered off.
Chapter 25
Wilson
Iwasgoingtodie. At least I wouldn’t be alone. Cameron would be there to ease me into the afterlife.
I clutched a clean red vomit bucket with the words Property of Elmer Sheriff’s Department stenciled on it tight as Cameron whipped her SUV around another curve. I should have rented a house in town; these hills were a special kind of hell. My stomach flipped. I closed my eyes and whimpered. The bucket in my lap was pointless; all I had left were dry heaves.
