Jackrabbit Junction Jitters (51 page)

“What about Monday?” Claire asked, amazed that the twins
were so desperate for a man they’d be willing to share Chester.

“That’s Chester Jr.’s day of rest. A man can’t live on
Viagra alone, you know.”

“Well, lookie here.” Gramps peered into the piece of pipe. “No
wonder this toilet kept backing up over the last few years.” He banged one end
of the pipe in his palm, peeked again, and then shook the pipe until a roll of
paper in a plastic bag stuck out the end. “The air vent was partially clogged.”

“What is it?” Claire hopped down off the counter, unable to
sit still any longer.

Handing her the empty pipe, Gramps pulled the roll of papers
out of the bag and smoothed them out. He whistled and offered one of them to
her.

“What’s the Copper Snake’s stock worth these days, you
think?” he asked.

Claire stared down at the paper—a Copper Snake Mining
Company stock certificate for one hundred shares made out to Joe Martino.

Ah, ha!
Here it was, Joe’s “pieces of eight,”
otherwise known as “treasure” by Long John Silver and his greedy men.

An image of Richard Rensberg waving a gun at Mac and her
flashed in her head. Were these the shares his father had sold? The reason Joe
blackmailed Bianca with those X-rated pictures?

“Who’s Will Banks?” Gramps asked.

She leaned over to see what had Gramps frowning. “Banks was
Porter’s last name.”

Claire stared down at what she guessed was Porter’s father’s
name printed on the certificate Gramps held. “This must be the ‘treasure’
Porter’s dad told him about.”

Why had Joe taken Porter’s dad’s share of the stocks? What
exactly had Joe’s relationship been with Porter’s dad? Had they had some kind
of falling out or did crooks always turn on each other over time?

She glanced back at the stock certificates in her hands and
put two and two together, whispering, “I’ll bet you Porter’s dad is the one who
took those pictures of Bianca.”

“What pictures?” Manny asked.

Chester followed with, “Who’s Bianca?”

Biting her lip, Claire struggled to figure out a way to
cover her
faux pas
. She’d forgotten they didn’t know about the blackmail
photos. If she had her way, they wouldn’t find out about them anytime soon,
either. The last thing she needed was Ruby catching wind of those pictures.

The chunk of Nazi gold that she’d stashed in the wall safe
next to that mysterious antique pocket watch of Joe’s was another story she
probably should share. But that would hold for another day or two, until she
came up with a good lie as to why she and Jess were digging around in Ruby’s
closet floor.

“Uh, it’s not important.” She ignored the squinty-eyed glare
coming from Gramps. “How many of these are there?”

Gramps fanned the pile. “If they’re legitimate, enough to
make Ruby a good-sized chunk of money.”

Claire would bet her mom’s Elvis-autographed poodle skirt
the stocks were legit. Porter’s dad had been right. There was enough here to
set someone up for a long time, especially if Porter had managed to get his
hands on Joe’s portion, too.

Poor Porter, robbed of his father’s legacy by a dead,
blackmailing scoundrel.

“Claire?” Mac stepped into the men’s room, then coughed and
covered his nose and mouth. “Christ, it reeks in—hey, what are you guys looking
at?”

Manny stepped aside so Mac could squeeze into the stall. He
took the certificate Claire held out to him, his eyes scanning down the paper.

“Holy shit!” Lowering his hand from his face, he looked at
the stack Gramps still held in his hands. “Holy goddamned shit.”

“It looks like your aunt is a rich woman.” Gramps didn’t
sound very happy about it either. He seemed to be allergic to any wealth Ruby
accumulated through her dead husband.

“Cheer up, Ford.” Chester finished off his beer and let out
another belch. “Maybe she’ll buy you a new R.V., since yours still stinks even
after that thousand dollar detail job.”

Claire looked up at Mac. “Did you need me for something?”

“Oh, yeah.” He still stared at the stocks. “It’s about your
family.”

“Jeez, what’s Mom doing now?” The woman seemed bent on
making life hell for all during her last twenty-four hours on site.

“Not your mom. Your sister,” he said distractedly. “She
called.”

“Isn’t she back from Butch’s yet?”

Chester snickered. “She didn’t crash again, did she?”

“Not Kate,” Mac said. “Veronica.”

That grabbed Gramps’s attention. “What did Ronnie want?”

Mac looked up with a slight frown. “She said she’s leaving
her husband because he’s in jail for some kind of money fraud.”

Claire gaped at him. “You’re kidding.”

“And she’s coming down to Tucson to stay with us.”

“What?!” She leaned against the stall wall, dread filling
her. “For how long?”

Anything more than a few weeks and she’d have to start
smoking again just to keep her hands busy, or they’d end up circling Ronnie’s
neck … again.

“She didn’t say.”

“Shit!” Gramps and Claire said at the same time.

Mac’s eyes narrowed. “I thought we liked Veronica.”

“Uh, yeah, we do, but …” Claire licked her lips, not sure
how to explain to Mac what he’d just done by giving Ronnie the OK to cross his
threshold with a suitcase in her hand.

“What haven’t you told me about your older sister, Claire?”

Claire grabbed his arm and led him toward the door. “Mac,
honey, remember how you said you love me, and I told you that I love you, too?”

He yanked her to a stop. “Claire.” His tone rang with
warning. “What’s wrong with your sister?”

Gulping, she shrugged and tried to smile. It felt more like
a grimace.

“Nothing her shrink can’t fix … I hope.”

The End … for now

Ann Charles is an
award-winning author who writes romantic mysteries that are splashed with humor
and whatever else she feels like throwing into the mix. When she is not
dabbling in fiction, arm-wrestling with her children, attempting to seduce her
husband, or arguing with her sassy cat, she is daydreaming of lounging poolside
at a fancy resort with a blended margarita in one hand and a great book in the
other.

Facebook (Personal Page):
www.facebook.com/ann.charles.author

Facebook (Official Author Page):
www.facebook.com/Ann-Charles

Twitter (as Ann W. Charles):
twitter.com/AnnWCharles

My Main Ann Charles Website:
www.anncharles.com

My Jackrabbit Junction Website:
www.anncharles.com/jackrabbit

I could fill a short novella with pages
thanking all of the people who have helped me in myriad ways throughout a book’s
creation and long after it is pushed out into the world, but my publisher
informs me that books full of personal thank you messages don’t sell very well.
So, I’ll keep this short and sweet.

I want to thank the following kind and
generous folks:

My husband for far too much to write down. You
help me from the first story idea through “The End” and long after.

My family for putting up with my characters
hanging out with us at the dinner table, in front of the TV, during teeth
brushing, on trips to the store, and more. The characters won’t leave us alone
anymore.

Corvallis Press for allowing me so much
freedom in my storytelling.

My agent, Mary Louise Schwartz, for all of
your support.

My brother, Charles Kunkle, for your awesome
cover art and illustrations, and for overlooking the fact that I never paid up
on that Mrs. Frisby and the
Rats of NIMH
bet.

My good friend and graphic artist, Sharon
Benton, for jumping onboard without hesitation and working hard to make my
covers for this series look amazing.
Peaches
is happy.

My publicist in the Black Hills (and mom),
Margo Taylor, for pushing as hard as you have over the last year and a half to
make my books fly high and to my brother, Dave, for making sure Margo stays fed
and rested and raring to go again. Thanks also to my aunt, Judy Routt, and her
family in Ohio for all of your publicist work around my home ground.

My advance readers, editors, and critique
helpers—Wendy Delaney, Beth Harris, Jacquie Rogers, Marcia Britton, Mary Ida
Kunkle, Paul Franklin, Jody Sherin, Renelle Wilson, Sue Stone-Douglas,
Marguerite Phipps, Denise Garlington, Stephanie Kunkle, Sharon Benton, Carol
Cabrian, and Cammie Hall.

My Beta Readers for your help finding those
final errors—Cheryl Foutz, Kathy Hunter, Betsy Helgesen, Brad Taylor, Carrie
Zito, Denise Keef, Marnia Davis, and Toni Mortensen.

My smart and talented editor, Mimi “The
Grammar Chick,” for always having my back. You keep the world from seeing my
screw-ups and then some.

My wonderful reviewers and the amazing authors
who gave their valuable time to read my books and send me quotes to help
introduce more fans to the series.

My goal buddies Gerri Russell and Joleen James
who crack the whip weekly to keep me on task.

My career coach and incredibly positive friend
Amber Scott for sharing that delightful laugh with me on several occasions. I
can’t wait to hear it again!

My coworkers who never look twice when I walk
in to work all red-eyed and crazy-haired wearing socks that don’t match. Your
support over the years has been extraordinary.

My family for putting up with my sorry ass for
so many years and helping every time I come for a visit.

My fans for all of the cheers and support.
Some of you have been there from the start, and I can’t thank you enough times.
Some are new, and I’m grateful that you gave my books a chance and joined the
party.

My brother, Clint Taylor, for letting me
convince you into taking that entertaining plunge down the rocks into the Devil’s
Bathtub. You always were such a good sport about having to ride home in the
back of the pickup because you were too wet to ride inside.