just in time to see Bob—or rather he assumed it was Bob—wheel a huge pallet in from the back.
“This ought to set you up for a while.” Bob dusted his hands as he dropped the pallet next to Darrell’s feet.
Newland couldn’t see everything that was on it, but it looked to be mostly Mason jars and sugar.
He remembered a documentary he had seen once a long time ago, about NASCAR racing and how it got its origins in moonshine running. Of course in order to talk about moonshine running, the narrator talked a lot about moonshine.
There was only one reason Newland could think of for somebody to need that much sugar and that many Mason jars. And it didn’t have anything to do with pie.
Chapter Eight
Natalie let herself in the front door at her aunt’s house ready to relax and just enjoy a little bit of downtime. But as she entered, that was the last thing it seemed was in store for her this evening.
A loud yowl rang through the foyer followed by barks. The next thing she knew, Oskar came scrambling down the hallway, his toenails scraping against the wood floor. Behind him, in a rage, was the fluffy Mr. Piddles, running full speed. Well, it was fast for an overweight, extremely stocky cat.
Fortunately, Oskar could outrun Mr. Piddles. The pooch flew straight toward her and jumped into her arms just in time. Just in time for him, anyway, but Natalie wasn’t so lucky. Mr. Piddles tried to stop himself and instead slid into Natalie. He anchored himself with his claws.
“Ow!” she cried. “Aunt Bitty! Get your cat, please!” Her leg stung like the dickens, but she couldn’t stop to look at it. She had her hands full of trembling, scared-witless Oskar.
“Aunt Bitty?” Where was her aunt now? It was Thursday, not a day she typically went out. But that didn’t mean anything in the world of Bitty Duncan. The woman figured that since she was eighty-five she could do whatever the hell she wanted to and whenever the hell she wanted to do it. And nothing could stop her either way. Case and point …
“Did you call?”
Tran stood at the doorway to the kitchen. He had on a tool belt, hammer slung in the side of it, and little pouches bulging with nails and who knew what else a guy thought he needed when he built something. “I need somebody to get Mr. Piddles. And to make sure I don’t have any claws still stuck in my leg.”
Newland hurried over to her, scooping up the cat who promptly started to purr. It seemed that Mr. Piddles completely forgot about terrorizing Oskar whenever Newland was within ten feet of them.
“That looks bad. Come on. I’ll help you get it disinfected.”
“It’s fine,” Natalie said, though she could feel blood trickling into her shoe. She needed to do something quick before it ruined them.
“Quit being so stubborn and let me help you. He took Mr. Piddles into the parlor and shut the door behind him. Then he turned back to Natalie and took Oskar from her. Wrapping one hand around the dog and one around her arm, he steered her up the stairs.
Newland set Oskar down on the second floor landing and directed her into the bathroom.
It wasn’t the largest bathroom in the house. She should’ve protested, but going into Aunt Bitty’s master suite wasn’t exactly an option either. Somehow it felt like trespassing, though Natalie could never figure out why.
He lifted her up before she could protest and plopped her down on the edge of the cabinet. With gentle hands, he picked up her leg and braced it against his thigh, slipping off her shoe and wincing as he noticed a little bit of blood inside. “You want to take care of that?”
She nodded and he handed her a cotton ball and some peroxide. “What’s this for?”
He shrugged. “I worked at a vet’s office for a while. If you use peroxide, it’ll get the blood out without any problems.”
“A vet’s office?”
Newland nodded. “Yeah, sometime after journalism school and before I went to work at
I Spy
.”
“Why would you
“This ought to set you up for a while.” Bob dusted his hands as he dropped the pallet next to Darrell’s feet.
Newland couldn’t see everything that was on it, but it looked to be mostly Mason jars and sugar.
He remembered a documentary he had seen once a long time ago, about NASCAR racing and how it got its origins in moonshine running. Of course in order to talk about moonshine running, the narrator talked a lot about moonshine.
There was only one reason Newland could think of for somebody to need that much sugar and that many Mason jars. And it didn’t have anything to do with pie.
Chapter Eight
Natalie let herself in the front door at her aunt’s house ready to relax and just enjoy a little bit of downtime. But as she entered, that was the last thing it seemed was in store for her this evening.
A loud yowl rang through the foyer followed by barks. The next thing she knew, Oskar came scrambling down the hallway, his toenails scraping against the wood floor. Behind him, in a rage, was the fluffy Mr. Piddles, running full speed. Well, it was fast for an overweight, extremely stocky cat.
Fortunately, Oskar could outrun Mr. Piddles. The pooch flew straight toward her and jumped into her arms just in time. Just in time for him, anyway, but Natalie wasn’t so lucky. Mr. Piddles tried to stop himself and instead slid into Natalie. He anchored himself with his claws.
“Ow!” she cried. “Aunt Bitty! Get your cat, please!” Her leg stung like the dickens, but she couldn’t stop to look at it. She had her hands full of trembling, scared-witless Oskar.
“Aunt Bitty?” Where was her aunt now? It was Thursday, not a day she typically went out. But that didn’t mean anything in the world of Bitty Duncan. The woman figured that since she was eighty-five she could do whatever the hell she wanted to and whenever the hell she wanted to do it. And nothing could stop her either way. Case and point …
“Did you call?”
Tran stood at the doorway to the kitchen. He had on a tool belt, hammer slung in the side of it, and little pouches bulging with nails and who knew what else a guy thought he needed when he built something. “I need somebody to get Mr. Piddles. And to make sure I don’t have any claws still stuck in my leg.”
Newland hurried over to her, scooping up the cat who promptly started to purr. It seemed that Mr. Piddles completely forgot about terrorizing Oskar whenever Newland was within ten feet of them.
“That looks bad. Come on. I’ll help you get it disinfected.”
“It’s fine,” Natalie said, though she could feel blood trickling into her shoe. She needed to do something quick before it ruined them.
“Quit being so stubborn and let me help you. He took Mr. Piddles into the parlor and shut the door behind him. Then he turned back to Natalie and took Oskar from her. Wrapping one hand around the dog and one around her arm, he steered her up the stairs.
Newland set Oskar down on the second floor landing and directed her into the bathroom.
It wasn’t the largest bathroom in the house. She should’ve protested, but going into Aunt Bitty’s master suite wasn’t exactly an option either. Somehow it felt like trespassing, though Natalie could never figure out why.
He lifted her up before she could protest and plopped her down on the edge of the cabinet. With gentle hands, he picked up her leg and braced it against his thigh, slipping off her shoe and wincing as he noticed a little bit of blood inside. “You want to take care of that?”
She nodded and he handed her a cotton ball and some peroxide. “What’s this for?”
He shrugged. “I worked at a vet’s office for a while. If you use peroxide, it’ll get the blood out without any problems.”
“A vet’s office?”
Newland nodded. “Yeah, sometime after journalism school and before I went to work at
I Spy
.”
“Why would you
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