Somebody to Love(53)
The rest of the afternoon passed quietly. By two o’clock, Parker found herself wondering what James was doing. If he was doing it without his shirt. No, no, that’s right. He wasn’t at the house today. She’d given him the day off. Ordered him to take the day off, more like it.
They’d been skirting each other the past few days…polite, pleasant, but not intimate. Not since that first dinner on the dock, when he’d taken her hand. Since he’d almost kissed her, and she’d almost let him.
But there was something about James. The memory of his hard, na**d body against hers at Esme’s wedding—that tawdry, smokin’-hot, p**n o memory, yes, that was something indeed. He’d done incredible things with the cottage—that was for sure—a steady and hard worker, completely uncomplaining about the amount there was to do. But there was something else. Something quiet. Something a little bit sad, maybe.
Today was the first day they’d been apart since he arrived. And let’s face it. It wasn’t because he deserved a day off—which he absolutely did. It was because if she had to keep seeing him shirtless, her thin resolve not to climb him like a tree might crumble, after all.
Just then, the bells rang out in alarm as the door was jerked open, and there he was, Dan Jacobs, her customer du jour. “That’s her,” he said, his face florid.
“Is there a problem?” Parker said. Holy crap, was that a cop with him? It was.
Dan pointed. “She’s the one. The one who sold me the drugs.”
“What?” she yelped, getting an answering yelp from Beauty. “I did not!”
“Ma’am, you have the right to remain silent,” the cop began.
“What? Why? What did I do?”
The Harry-clone jammed his fists on his hips. “You sold me a marijuana plant! For my mother, no less!”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
“I DIDN’T KNOW it was marijuana!” Parker protested for the fifth time as the cop led her inside the police station.
“You probably don’t want to say anything till your lawyer gets here,” the cop said. His nameplate said Bottoms.
“Are you related to Billy Bottoms?” Parker asked, her voice a little tremulous. Because hell, she was handcuffed! And she was being processed! Holy halos, they were pressing her fingers into ink! For fingerprinting!
“He’s my father,” the cop replied. “I’m Young Billy.”
She took the wipe he offered and cleaned her hands. “He’s nice. Your dad.” Please let that show that I’m a good person!
“Ayuh. Hold this number and look up.”
“Why? Are you taking a mug shot? I don’t need—” The bulb flashed. Her mug shot had been taken. The cop put the cuffs back on—This is horrifying! the female Holy Rollers whimpered. What’s happened to you?—and led her across the room to the curious stare of the secretary, a middle-aged woman who was talking on the phone.
“Listen, Billy—”
“I go by Young Billy, actually.”
“Oh, okay. Well, um, Young Billy, I’m a mother. I would never sell drugs, I swear.”
“Welp, you sold a marijuana plant, sweetheart. I’d say that’s selling drugs, mother or not. It’s a little hard to believe you don’t know what pot looks like. Haven’t you ever seen a Bob Marley T-shirt?”
“I thought it was bonsai or something!”
“Ayuh. Well. Come on down here, watch your head.” He led her down a set of medieval-looking stone steps into a dank cellar, lit by a flickering fluorescent light. “In you go. You sit tight. No need to worry.”
No need to worry? She was in jail. The clanking of a cell door…not a sound she was likely to forget.
Little Pup whimpered as the cage slammed closed behind him. Note to self: must not poop on the Evil King’s yard.
Speaking of little pups… “Young Billy?” she called.
His head appeared around the door. “What is it, sweetheart?”
At least he was nice. “My dog’s still at the flower shop.”
Billy frowned. “Anyone you could call to come get her?”
Parker thought for a second. “Maggie Beaumont, maybe? She runs the diner.”
“I know who she is,” he said. “Sure, I’ll swing by, ask her.”
“Do you have to tell her? About this? Is it public record?”
“It’s probably all over town by now.”
Great. “When can I make my phone call? I get a phone call, right?”
“Ayuh. We have to process the contents of your purse, then we’ll be right in.” He disappeared again.
She was alone. In a cell. In a basement. Like the place Hannibal Lecter was kept.
“‘Half a league, half a league, half a league onward.’”
The flat monotone voice echoed off the stone walls, and Parker jumped, squeaking, hands fluttering. Oh, God. She wasn’t alone! That was much worse! Someone was in the cell with her—no, no, the cell next to her. Parker looked over, her heart convulsing in her chest. A man. A criminal, staring at her through the bars.
She looked away, and fast.
“‘Half a league, half a league, half a league onward.’”
She should not be here. She didn’t know it was pot! Oh, and speaking of pot, Lavinia was growing it! Where was she, huh? Being shtupped by a hirsute man with hidden talents and not available to clear up this misunderstanding! Because if anyone should be in jail, it should be Lavinia.