The Gunny & The Jazz Singer (Birchwood Falls #1) by Jane Leopold Quinn Page B
Authors: Jane Leopold Quinn
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has all that land now
for his resort, combined with the fact that Butch can't find the complete file,
I can't help but be suspicious. I have too many questions."
"What do you know about Butch
Wilcox?"
"I went to high school with
him. We were buddies on the football team but not really good friends. He wasn't
exactly the nicest guy in school, but this is big-time supposition. I sure don't
want to accuse him, but I want to know what happened with my folks."
"And you're sure your dad
couldn't have been impaired?"
Marc looked down, sighed, and
grudgingly admitted, "No. I can't be one-hundred-percent sure, but I knew
my parents. Dad was more responsible than that, and if he'd been drunk, my
mother would never have let him drive."
Moira nodded, putting her pen down
on her legal pad. "Harold Wilcox is a pretty big guy in this town, but
personally I can't say much good about Butch." Then she stood. "Okay.
Let me make some calls, ask some questions, and get back to you. I may end up
just confirming that the information is missing though."
Marc stood and reached over the
table to shake her hand. "Anything that can help clear this up for me.
Thank you, Moira."
"No problem. And by the way,
are you going to Marietty's tonight?" She cocked her head and smiled. "Phoebe
is on again."
"She's good, isn't she?" In every way. He wasn't sure he hid a
covert smile. "I'll definitely show up."
"Good." Moira nodded
again. "I'm sure we'll see you there. Davy and I are ardent fans. Oh, and
do you remember Cindy Logan? From high school?"
He thought for a minute. "Short,
redhead, cheerleader?"
"Yup. That's Cindy."
"Sure, I remember her. She's
your sister?"
"Yes. She's married now with
two kids."
"Really? Someone from town?"
"No. She met him in college,
and they live in Des Moines."
He laughed. "I'll bet those
kids are cute if they're anything like her. Cindy was a nice girl. Tell her I
said hi next time you talk to her."
"I sure will. Well, I'll see
what info I can find on Wilcox and let you know."
"By the way, did Phoebe call
you?"
"No, why?"
"Her house was vandalized last
night."
Moira paled. "Is she all
right? Was she there? Was she hurt?"
"No, we came home afterwards.
The cops came and investigated, then she spent the night at my house."
"Oh."
The look in Moira's bugged-out eyes
was so funny. "She's all right." He could read the meaning in that "oh,"
but he wasn't going to kiss and tell.
"I'll try to call her as soon
as possible."
"Good. And thanks, Moira. I'll
probably see you tonight." With that, they left Ollie's and went their
separate ways.
Chapter Eleven
Phoebe tried to enter her house
when she got home from work but found that someone—Marc—had changed the locks
on the front and back doors. Problem was that she didn't have the new keys.
"Shit," she muttered
exhaustedly. She just wanted to climb into her bed, pull the covers up over her
head, and go to sleep. The night before had been so strange with its ups and
downs, highs and lows.
Her skin crawled at the memory of
the ruined furniture. The rental house came furnished. Now she'd have to pay to
replace it all, since she didn't have insurance. She closed her eyes,
struggling to control the fear and anger at being the target of this vandal. Could it really have been done by Butch? Is
he that crazy?
"Phoebe."
She whirled at the soft, husky
voice. Marc stood at the bottom of her porch steps.
"You look dead-tired, honey.
Come over with me and take a nap."
She gave him a wary look. He was
sweet and protective which was wonderful coming from a man like him—gorgeous,
nice, hunky, and a great kisser. And nothing like Butch Wilcox.
But she had plans for her future
and her career that didn't include getting caught up in a serious romance. Not even
heavy-duty sex or any talk of commitment. Nothing more than mild flirtation and
the understanding that she might leave at any moment for New York or Hollywood.
"Hey." He held his palms
up in surrender. "You can just
for his resort, combined with the fact that Butch can't find the complete file,
I can't help but be suspicious. I have too many questions."
"What do you know about Butch
Wilcox?"
"I went to high school with
him. We were buddies on the football team but not really good friends. He wasn't
exactly the nicest guy in school, but this is big-time supposition. I sure don't
want to accuse him, but I want to know what happened with my folks."
"And you're sure your dad
couldn't have been impaired?"
Marc looked down, sighed, and
grudgingly admitted, "No. I can't be one-hundred-percent sure, but I knew
my parents. Dad was more responsible than that, and if he'd been drunk, my
mother would never have let him drive."
Moira nodded, putting her pen down
on her legal pad. "Harold Wilcox is a pretty big guy in this town, but
personally I can't say much good about Butch." Then she stood. "Okay.
Let me make some calls, ask some questions, and get back to you. I may end up
just confirming that the information is missing though."
Marc stood and reached over the
table to shake her hand. "Anything that can help clear this up for me.
Thank you, Moira."
"No problem. And by the way,
are you going to Marietty's tonight?" She cocked her head and smiled. "Phoebe
is on again."
"She's good, isn't she?" In every way. He wasn't sure he hid a
covert smile. "I'll definitely show up."
"Good." Moira nodded
again. "I'm sure we'll see you there. Davy and I are ardent fans. Oh, and
do you remember Cindy Logan? From high school?"
He thought for a minute. "Short,
redhead, cheerleader?"
"Yup. That's Cindy."
"Sure, I remember her. She's
your sister?"
"Yes. She's married now with
two kids."
"Really? Someone from town?"
"No. She met him in college,
and they live in Des Moines."
He laughed. "I'll bet those
kids are cute if they're anything like her. Cindy was a nice girl. Tell her I
said hi next time you talk to her."
"I sure will. Well, I'll see
what info I can find on Wilcox and let you know."
"By the way, did Phoebe call
you?"
"No, why?"
"Her house was vandalized last
night."
Moira paled. "Is she all
right? Was she there? Was she hurt?"
"No, we came home afterwards.
The cops came and investigated, then she spent the night at my house."
"Oh."
The look in Moira's bugged-out eyes
was so funny. "She's all right." He could read the meaning in that "oh,"
but he wasn't going to kiss and tell.
"I'll try to call her as soon
as possible."
"Good. And thanks, Moira. I'll
probably see you tonight." With that, they left Ollie's and went their
separate ways.
Chapter Eleven
Phoebe tried to enter her house
when she got home from work but found that someone—Marc—had changed the locks
on the front and back doors. Problem was that she didn't have the new keys.
"Shit," she muttered
exhaustedly. She just wanted to climb into her bed, pull the covers up over her
head, and go to sleep. The night before had been so strange with its ups and
downs, highs and lows.
Her skin crawled at the memory of
the ruined furniture. The rental house came furnished. Now she'd have to pay to
replace it all, since she didn't have insurance. She closed her eyes,
struggling to control the fear and anger at being the target of this vandal. Could it really have been done by Butch? Is
he that crazy?
"Phoebe."
She whirled at the soft, husky
voice. Marc stood at the bottom of her porch steps.
"You look dead-tired, honey.
Come over with me and take a nap."
She gave him a wary look. He was
sweet and protective which was wonderful coming from a man like him—gorgeous,
nice, hunky, and a great kisser. And nothing like Butch Wilcox.
But she had plans for her future
and her career that didn't include getting caught up in a serious romance. Not even
heavy-duty sex or any talk of commitment. Nothing more than mild flirtation and
the understanding that she might leave at any moment for New York or Hollywood.
"Hey." He held his palms
up in surrender. "You can just
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