Thirty-Two and a Half Complications
Page 101

“How the hell am I not supposed to tense up when there’s a good chance someone is still gonna try to kill me?”
“Skeeter,” I hissed. “Jed’s got your back, quite literally. Now let me do this.”
He took a deep breath, then looked at my veil.
I closed my eyes, forcing myself to settle down. The vision appeared within seconds, playing out identically to the first two.
“Someone’s gonna kill you while you’re bidding.”
He jerked his hand from mine. “Again?” He shook his shoulders. “Son of a bitch!”
Several people turned around to stare at us.
“Skeeter,” I said in a low voice. “Maybe you should leave and let Jed or Merv bid for you.”
He shook his head, his face red with anger. “That’s not how this works. I want the power. I have to bid. I told you that it’s all about appearances.”
“And you’re making a fine impression throwing a fit like a five-year-old.”
His eyes narrowed and I knew I’d gone too far. But he forced his shoulders down and took a deep breath. “You’re right.”
Jed’s mouth dropped open like a trap door.
The auctioneer climbed a small stage and banged a gavel on the podium. “Attention. We’re about to start the bidding. The rules are simple. We accept bids until there’s a winner. The winner will come immediately to the stage and pay with cash. If he doesn’t have enough, he forfeits and the second-highest bidder will be the winner.” He cleared his throat. “The winner procures all territorial rights previously belonging to Daniel Crocker along with his land and greenhouse. This does not include Weston’s Garage. Are there any questions?”
No one spoke, but the room filled with nervous tension.
“If there are no questions, we’ll let the bidding begin.”
Skeeter leaned in close to me. “Do you see him yet?”
My stomach twisted with anxiety. “No.” I glanced at my phone to check the time and saw Bruce Wayne had sent me a text.
Merrill, the PW asst manager is hanging around outside.
I gasped and Skeeter turned toward me. “What?”
Bids were being made, but they were still low, lingering around five thousand dollars.
“Bruce Wayne says the Piggly Wiggly assistant manager is hanging around outside.”
Skeeter flicked his finger to Merv. “Take care of it.”
I grabbed Skeeter’s arm. “What’s he going to do?”
Skeeter rolled his eyes. “Take care of it.”
I couldn’t shake the thought of what Merv might be doing to take care of it. What if I was wrong? “I’m not giving you another piece of information unless you promise me you won’t kill any of the men I tell you about.” I couldn’t live with that on my conscience.
“It’s a dog-eat-dog world, Lady. And if you step into this ring, you have to accept that. Besides, I already told you that you can’t trust my word.”
I moved close enough to him so that he could see my face. “Skeeter Malcolm, I won’t help you with another blessed thing unless you promise me right now that you won’t kill these men. And if you don’t hold true to your word, I’ll find your great-grandmother, Idabelle, and tell her you lied to me.”
His mouth gaped. “Grandma Idabelle?”
“You may be a malcontent, but I hear your great-grandmother has quite the temper, so I bet she can still cut a switch to tan your hide. Didn’t she start the family business with moonshine during Prohibition, back when all business deals were made with handshakes?” I knew the first part was true. I was counting on the second.
His face darkened. “Times have changed.”
“Maybe so, but we need to be able to trust each other, and if I find out you haven’t lived up to your word, I’ll tell Idabelle.”
“Fine,” he growled, looking over his shoulder at Jed. “Call Merv and tell him the new rules.”
Jed looked like Skeeter had told him go cuddle puppies.
Skeeter’s gaze turned back to the podium. “You don’t see anyone else who could be involved?”
This wasn’t going well. “No.”
“Keep searching. The bid is at twelve thousand, and we have until twenty-one or so.”
He didn’t have to tell me that, but it obviously made him feel better to say it.
“They might not all be here,” I said. “It would only take two of them to do this. One to bid and the other…”
“To kill me,” he finished. “You said there’s two possible guys here. Jenkins and Davidson. If Jenkins is bidding, that leaves Davidson.” He glanced at the place where we’d last seen Eric. “Where is he?”
Sure enough, he was gone. “I don’t know.” But the more I thought about Merrill and Mr. Sullivan being part of this mess, the more it made sense that Eric Davidson was likely involved too. He must have been the guy whose vision I’d experienced at church. That only left Mick and the man from the fertilizer plant unaccounted for.
“I sent Merv to take care of the grocery store manager, but I can’t send Jed away.” He sounded worried.
“Surely Big Bad Jed can take care of a scrawny thing like Eric Davidson.”
“He can, but…”
“Twenty thousand!” the auctioneer shouted. “Do I hear twenty-one?”
No one responded.