Chapter 5
Justine was still dawdling through her makeshift lunch and booze, and wondering what Brendan “Hotshot” Pope thought when he found the note she’d left on his door. In her mind, she was imagining him worried, or maybe even scared. But the biggest error in that was assuming he would react the way she might react, should the situation be reversed. She’d threatened men before and been rewarded for it. What she didn’t yet realize was that threatening any Pope was a dangerous thing to do. It meant threatening the whole family, something that should not be taken lightly.
She pulled up a TikTok reel and watched it three times, laughing hysterically and already buzzed as she drank the last of her spiked cola. After a few minutes, she tired of social media, threw her phone down on the sofa, carried what was left of her sandwich to the kitchen and dumped it in the garbage, poured another shot of whisky in her glass and chugged it like medicine. The liquor burned all the way down, but she felt good. All warm and just the tiniest bit fuzzy. Fuzzy enough to make another rash decision as she headed for her room to change.
She came out a short while later dressed in black Lycra pants that clung to every crevice of her ass, a pink clingy sweater, and a white fur jacket and boots. After a swipe of her reddest lipstick, and leaving her long blond hair in a long, messy mane, she was good to go. She was itching to party and whatever came with it. There was a whole town full of strangers she didn’t know and would never see again. If she was lucky, she’d get laid. She didn’t care where it happened, whether in the back seat of a car on a lonely road, or wherever the dude was staying.
But she needed transportation to get where she wanted to go, and went looking for her father’s car keys. She found them on top of his dresser, left the hotel without leaving a note or a text to let him know where she was going, and headed for Trapper’s Bar and Grill on the strip. The parking lot at the bar was only half-full. A little early for the lunchtime crowd to begin arriving, but never too early for a drink at the bar. She parked, got out, and walked into the place like she owned it.
***
Louis Glass, the bartender at Trapper’s Bar and Grill, was drawing a beer for a customer at the bar when he saw the woman walk in. He knew the moment he saw her she was going to be trouble, because she paused a few steps inside the entrance, scanning the room like a buzzard looking for roadkill, and then headed for the bar. When she chose the only empty stool between three men to her right, and two to her left, she’d marked herself as product. They’d either look, or they’d buy. It didn’t matter to her as long as she got noticed.
Then she shrugged out of her fur jacket and draped it across the back of the barstool, making the lack of a bra under the pink sweater immediately obvious to the five men she’d surrounded herself with.
“Be right with you, ma’am,” Louis said.
Justine tossed her head and flashed a big smile. “Take your time. I’m not going anywhere,” she drawled.
One of the men on her left leaned toward her.
“Buy you a drink, sugar?” he asked.
Justine shrugged. “Sure, why not? Whiskey. Neat.”
Louis heard her and frowned. He’d been a bartender long enough to know this one came to drown something. She was either mad as hell at someone, or she’d been let down in some way, and he would have put his money on anger. Unaware she was already riding an alcohol high, he made a mental note to keep track of her drinks.
***
Oblivious to the bartender’s hawk-eye attention to her drinks, Justine launched into her Dallas barhopping behavior and turned into the life of the party.
But the man who’d bought her first drink soon figured out she was more than he wanted to deal with, paid his bar tab, and left while she was downing shots with a guy who played backup guitar at one of the music venues.
That man two-stepped her around the little dance floor until she was dizzy, at which point she excused herself, claiming she needed to powder her nose, and staggered off to the ladies’ room, while diners began coming in for lunch.
By the time Justine returned, business was booming. Tables and booths were filling up. Background music was all fiddles and guitars, but muted enough for private conversations among the diners. Servers were hustling between the kitchen and the tables, taking orders, delivering orders, and refilling drink glasses.
It was a typical day at the Bar and Grill until Justine came back, only to find her guitar man gone. She giggled, then shouted out as she slapped the bar for attention.
“Hey! Bartender! Where’d the guy go I was dancin’ with?”
Louis frowned. Her laughter was shrill and forced and she was slurring her words.
“He probably left to get ready for the afternoon show,” Louis said.
“Wha’ever,” Justine mumbled. “I need a drink.”
Louis shook his head. “I’m sorry, miss, but you’re over your limit. How about a cup of coffee instead?”
The smile slid off Justine’s face. “I don’ wanna cup a’ coffee. I want a drink, dammit!”
Louis shook his head. “Sorry, but I can’t do that.”
Justine started cursing, and the room went quiet.
Everyone was staring at the woman at the bar.
Mike, the bouncer, was already at her elbow to escort her out when Louis shook his head. “She’s too drunk to drive,” he said, and reached for the phone.
The moment the bartender turned his back, Justine grabbed a bottle of beer from a man at the bar and threw it at the back of Louis’s head. It shattered, cutting his head, leaving glass embedded in his hair and scalp, and spilling beer all over the back of his shirt.
The pain was abrupt and unexpected, but Louis didn’t hesitate as he called the police. The dispatcher answered.
“Jubilee Police. What is your emergency?”
“This is Louis Glass at Trapper’s Bar and Grill. I have a drunk and disorderly I need picked up, and make it quick,” he said, then disconnected.
Mike the bouncer had her in a light restraining hold when all of a sudden, she twisted out of his grasp, then turned and clawed the sides of his face with her nails, and made a run for the door. But the floor was tilting, and the room was beginning to spin.
Instead of moving forward, she went sideways, fell across a table full of diners, knocked two of them out of their chairs, and upset the food. The meal they’d been eating was on the floor, and both women who’d fallen out of their chairs were crying. One woman was screaming about the pain in her arm, another was holding on to her side and crying.
Justine was in the act of trying to escape when she slipped in a puddle of ketchup and sat down on a basket of french fries.
“Shit,” Louis muttered, and turned around and made a second call for an ambulance.
The dispatcher sent out the call, and as luck would have it, Officers Pope and Leedy were in the act of passing the bar and grill when the call went out.
Wiley Pope hit the lights and siren, made a quick U-turn, and pulled into the parking lot as Doug Leedy was calling in their response. They began hearing screams inside the bar the moment they got out of the cruiser, and took off running.
But once inside, it was hard to figure out where to look first—at all the blood on the bouncer’s face, the people in the floor, a half-dozen other diners standing around them and food all over the place, or Louis, who was coming toward them holding a bloody bar towel on the back of his head.
“What the hell happened here?” Wiley said.
Louis pointed to the woman in black Lycra who was sitting in the floor.
“She happened. I quit serving her drinks. She had a fit, threw a beer bottle at the back of my head, clawed Mark’s face to shreds, and made a run for the door, then fell into the table of diners before we could catch her. I’ve already called for an ambulance, but not for her. The women she knocked out of their chairs are injured. The drunk blond in the floor is the only one of all of us who isn’t injured. That red stuff all over her face and hands isn’t blood, it’s ketchup. She slipped in it and sat down in a basket of fries.”
Wiley blinked. “Do you know who she is?”
Louis shrugged. “She introduced herself to every man at the bar as Justine Beaumont. She ran up a bar tab, and I will be pressing charges for assault on me and my employee, for personal injury of my customers, and for destruction of property and the unpaid bar tab. Can’t speak for the ones she injured, whether they will sue her for personal damages.”
A slow grin spread across Wiley’s face. “Justine Beaumont? The hell you say. Hey, Doug, since that’s ketchup and not blood, we don’t have to wait for the EMTs before we move her. Help me get her up and out of here before she does any more damage.”
“I’ll cuff her, then you get her out of the fries,” Doug said.
Aaron Pope was entering the bar with a trio of other officers, with the EMTs right behind them. When Aaron saw his brother and partner in the thick of it, trying to get a drunk cuffed and up off the floor, he headed toward them.
Justine was screaming and crying, claiming someone had pushed her and she didn’t deserve this, when Wiley stepped into her line of vision. All she saw was a familiar face and started begging.
“Brendan! Help me. I’m sorry. Help me!”
And then Aaron appeared, and she groaned. “I don’t feel so good. I’m seeing double,” she mumbled.
Now that she was cuffed, Wiley pulled her upright. “I’m not Brendan. And you’re not seeing double. We’re his brothers, and you’re going to jail for assault, drunk and disorderly, and destruction of property.”
“Noooooo,” Justine wailed. “Daddy will kill me.”
“I wouldn’t blame him,” Wiley muttered as he and Doug escorted her out of the bar and transported her to booking, leaving Aaron and the other officers to police the area as the medics transported the injured women.
After that, one of the waiters took over behind the bar, while staff began cleaning up the area.
Waylon Parker, the bar manager, had been in the bank when he got the call. He arrived on the scene and began apologizing profusely to the diners, then comped dessert for everyone on the premises.
Mike, the bouncer, drove himself and Louis to ER for treatment, and chaos in Trapper’s Bar and Grill finally came to an end.
But not for Justine. Her troubles were just beginning. She was booked into jail pending her arraignment and was still begging for mercy when they closed the cell doors. At that point, her tears dried up, and she shifted to curses and threats, until she realized there was no one around to hear her, then flopped down on the bunk and passed out.
***
Liz Devon was in the storeroom checking out the recent arrival of part of the shipment for Josie Fallin’s event when one of her staff came in running, wide-eyed and breathless.
“You will not believe what just happened,” he said. “Jezebel Justine just got herself arrested in Trapper’s Bar and Grill!”
Liz gasped. “What in the world did she do? How do you know?”
“My wife is a waitress there, remember? She said Justine was drunk. Louis wouldn’t serve her any more liquor. Tried to offer her coffee. She started raising hell. He went to call the police and she threw a beer bottle at the back of his head. He’s bleeding, and she turns on the bouncer, scratches his face into bloody rows, and tries to make a run for it. But she’s so drunk that she staggers and falls onto a table of diners, knocks two women out of their seats. They’re both injured, and then she’s still trying to get away, slips in spilled ketchup and sits down in a basket of fries. I kid you not.”
“Oh my God!” Liz mumbled. “Does Larry know?”
He shrugged. “I’m not gonna tell him, that’s for sure. Oh…and here’s the irony. When Wiley Pope and his partner arrested her, she thought Wiley was Brendan.”
Liz was in shock. “This is a mess, and it could affect the hotel’s reputation. Like it or not, Larry has to know. Just lock the storeroom up for me. I’ll come back later to finish inventory.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said.
Liz grabbed her clipboard and bolted, calling Larry’s office cell as she went.
***
It was just after lunch when Larry went to the penthouse to check on Justine. But she was nowhere to be found and his car keys were missing. He tried calling her, but it kept going to voicemail. He was going down in the elevator, cursing beneath his breath, when his phone rang. He answered without bothering to look at caller ID, hoping it was her, but it was Liz.
“Larry, it’s Liz. Have you spoken to Justine recently?”
His gut knotted. “No. Why?”
She sighed. “We have a situation. She got drunk in Trapper’s Bar and Grill, and to make a long, ugly story short, she assaulted the bartender and the bouncer and left them bleeding, fell into a table of diners, injured two women seated there, broke furniture, and was booked into jail. I have no idea how many charges will be filed against her, but this doesn’t just affect you and her. A scene like this affects this hotel’s reputation, as well, once it gets out who she is and where she lives. We’re going to suffer repercussions. You need to get a lawyer down there ASAP and deal with this.”
“Oh my God,” he muttered, and broke out in a cold sweat. “One more day, and I would have had her on a plane to Dallas. Do you have to tell Ray?”
“Of course, I have to tell him. This hotel is his business, not yours,” Liz said, and disconnected.
“Well, that explains why she isn’t answering her phone and where my car is,” Larry muttered. He rode the elevator down to the lobby, went to the concierge desk and asked for the shuttle van to be brought around, and had the driver drop him off at the police station.
He entered the lobby area, walked up to the desk, and introduced himself.
“I’m Larry Beaumont. I believe my daughter, Justine Beaumont, was recently arrested. Is she in jail?”
Sergeant Winter checked the computer. “Yes, she is.”
Larry sighed. “She has the keys to my car in her personal effects. She took the car without my knowledge or permission, and I wonder if I might retrieve them, please?”
“Have a seat,” Winter said, and then called the chief’s office.
Chief Sonny Warren was talking to Wiley and Doug when his desk phone rang. “Just a sec,” he said, and answered. “What’s up, Walter?”
“Justine Beaumont’s father is in the lobby. He says his daughter took his car without his knowledge and is wondering if he might have his car keys back.”
Sonny glanced up at Doug and Wiley. “Bring him back to my office. We need to have a conversation.”
“Yes, sir,” Walter said. “I’ll walk him back myself.”
Sonny hung up. “Justine Beaumont’s father came looking for his car keys. Didn’t ask a damn thing about his daughter’s welfare. I wonder how many times he’s had to do this before.”
“She has some priors, but they’re minor compared to this,” Doug said.
“Was there a set of car keys on her when she was booked into jail?” Sonny asked.
“Yes, sir,” Doug said.
“I need you to go get them. The car belongs to her father. We haven’t towed it yet, have we?” Sonny asked.
“No, sir. It’s still in the parking lot at Trapper’s. Do I need to notify the tow service?” Wiley asked.
“No, her father can retrieve it without issue. It’s not part of her arrest. What I want you to do is compare the fingerprints on the note your brother brought in against the prints we just took off Miss Beaumont. If they match, please call me to let me know.”
Wiley stood. “On it, sir,” he replied, and was walking out of the office when Walter and Larry walked in.
Larry paused, staring at Wiley in disbelief. “Brendan?”
“Brother,” Wiley said, and kept walking.
Larry was stunned. “The resemblance is remarkable,” he muttered.
“Brendan has three older brothers. They all look alike,” Walter said, then introduced him. “Chief, this is Mr. Beaumont,” Walter said, and closed the door behind him as he left.
Sonny eyed the man, thinking he looked soft and spent too much time behind a desk, and then shrugged it off. These days, the same could be said of him.
“Take a seat, Mr. Beaumont. Your daughter is in a lot of trouble.”
Larry’s face was already flushed from embarrassment. “My daughter has been nothing but trouble since the day she started first grade. But she’s no longer a child. She’s twenty-four years old, and whatever she’s done is on her. All I want are the keys to my car that she took without asking.”
“I sent one of my men to get them. Do you want to talk to her?” Sonny asked.
“No, sir, I do not. As for lawyers, she can get a court-appointed one, just like every other indigent. She has never worked a day in her indulged life. She didn’t want my advice, ever, and only wanted my help when she was in trouble. And that’s not happening. Not this time.”
There was a knock at the door, and then Doug popped in and laid the keys on Sonny’s desk, and walked out again. Before Sonny could pick them up, his phone rang. It was Wiley.
“Yes?”
“Perfect match, sir,” Wiley said.
“Thank you,” Sonny said, and hung up.
“That was one of my officers. It appears that your daughter’s prints match the ones found on a note that was turned in to us when Brendan Pope reported a threatening note left on his front door. It will now be up to him as to whether or not he files charges for sexual harassment and stalking.”
Larry moaned beneath his breath. “When did this happen?”
“Previous to today is all you need to know,” Sonny said. “You have your keys. You don’t wish to speak with your daughter. Do you intend to post bail after her arraignment?”
“Hell no,” Larry said.
Chief Warren nodded. “We will notify her about her rights to a court-appointed lawyer. Right now, she’s passed out drunk in a holding cell. If you will please follow me, I’ll walk you out,” Sonny said, and dropped the keys in Larry’s hands, then exited his office with Larry scurrying behind him to keep up. When they reached the front entrance, he paused.
“Which direction do I go from here to get to Trapper’s Bar and Grill?”
Sonny pointed. “Take a left as you leave and start walking. It’s on the strip. You can’t miss it.”
“Thank you,” Larry said, and glanced up.
Clouds were moving across the sun. He should have worn his overcoat, but he was so rarely outside of the hotel that he forgot it was still winter. He began walking at a rapid pace to keep warm, only to realize he was out of shape and soon out of breath. When he finally reached the parking lot, it didn’t take long for him to spot his car.
As soon as he got in, he breathed a sigh of relief that he was in out of the cold and then headed back to the hotel. And all the while he was driving, he kept wishing he could just drive out of Jubilee and never look back.
Instead, he called his wife.
Karen answered on the second ring. “What?”
“Your daughter is in jail for drunk and disorderly, assault, destruction of private property, injuring two diners in a local bar and grill, and on a separate charge to that incident, a report was filed on her a few days ago for stalking and leaving a threatening note on the person’s front door.”
Karen gasped. “Oh my God, what did you do to cause all that?”
“Me? What did we do would be the better question. I know she needed consequences for every misdeed she ever committed and never got them. I know you personally bought her out of shoplifting charges and slept with somebody to make the DUI go away.”
“How did you know about—” Karen cried, and then realized she’d just admitted to cheating on him and changed the subject. “What are you going to do?”
“Nothing. Absolutely nothing. I’m probably going to lose my job because of her. To hell with her. To hell with you. I’m sorry I ever met you. I’m sorry she was ever born,” he said, then disconnected and drove back to the hotel.
Karen was in hysterics. She kept calling and calling, but he didn’t pick up, and Justine was still passed out, unaware that she’d just been abandoned to her fate.
***
Wiley sent Brendan a text.
Your nemesis is in jail for wrecking Trapper’s Bar and Grill. Call me.
But Brendan was decorating a special-order cake for a birthday celebration scheduled for this evening and focused on finishing it. The daughter of one of the families staying at the hotel was turning sixteen, and her birthday wish had been a trip to Jubilee to see Josie Fallin in concert. He was going out of his way to make it everything they’d asked for. Creating joy for people from things he baked was why he’d chosen this career.
He had his phone set on vibrate and was so focused on making the icing on top of the cake look like snowdrifts, and blowing gold dust onto the peaks, that he didn’t even notice an incoming text.
It wasn’t until he’d finished and put the cake into the cooler to set that he stopped to check his messages. When he saw the one from Wiley, a sense of relief washed over him. Justine Beaumont had way too many problems to be chasing him anymore.
Karma.
He slipped the phone back in his pocket and returned to his workstation. Anthony, his sous-chef, was already cleaning up the area and cleaning Brendan’s equipment, taking care to put it back in the places he kept it.
“Good job,” Brendan said as he walked past the area.
“Thank you, Chef,” Anthony said.
“I’m going to take a quick break. Has that last batch of dough proofed yet?” Brendan asked.
“Another fifteen minutes to go, Chef.”
“I’ll be back before then and we’ll get the rolls worked up and in the oven. Last batch of the day can’t come too soon, right?”
The young man grinned. “Yes, Chef.”
Brendan took off his chef’s cap, stepped out of the kitchens, rode the staff elevator down to the back entrance, and walked out of the building. The cold air against his skin was welcome as he pulled out his phone and returned Wiley’s call. The phone rang twice and then Wiley answered.
“I take it you read my text,” he drawled.
“What the hell?” Brendan asked, and Wiley told him.
“What I need to know from you is, now that you know for sure that Justine Beaumont left that note on your door, do you want to press charges?” he asked.
Brendan didn’t hesitate. “I think, considering the big mess she’s already in, I’m gonna let it ride.”
“Your call, Brother. I’ll make the report and leave the complaint pending,” Wiley said.
“Thanks for your trouble,” Brendan said.
Wiley chuckled. “Not trouble. Just part of the job,” he said. “Take care. Talk to you soon.”
They ended the call and Brendan went back to work. By the time his day was coming to an end, the last batch of rolls were out of the oven. The dessert carts were full for the evening rush, and one sparkly-as-snow birthday cake was waiting for him to deliver to the girl who had turned sweet sixteen.
He stayed at the hotel past his quitting time so he could personally present the cake. Once it was time, they lit the silver sparkler candles on the cake, causing a stir of excitement among the diners as the elaborate cake was being wheeled through the dining room toward a table for twelve.
The birthday girl was a cute little redhead, wearing a very grown-up party dress and heels. When she saw the cake, she began laughing and pointing and clapping her hands, and when Brendan stopped at their table, he spoke first to the father.
“Sir, if I may?” Brendan asked, and took the girl’s hand.
Her father was beaming and nodded.
“For you, pretty girl, your sparkly-as-snow cake,” Brendan said, and kissed the back of her hand. “Enjoy your special day. My sous-chef will remove the sparklers and serve the cake after you’ve made your wish.”
Then he nodded at the family before heading back to the kitchen, oblivious to the admiring looks he was getting from other diners.
***
Something banged just outside the door to the cellblock, startling Justine awake. Her head was throbbing, her belly rolling, and even before she opened her eyes, she smelled a faint scent of urine.
What the hell? Did I pee the bed?
And then she opened her eyes, saw the bars on the cell, and remembered.
“Oh shit,” she muttered, then began shouting and calling out for the jailer.
The jailer heard her, but instead of responding, he picked up the phone and called the chief.
Sonny Warren was in the middle of writing up a report when the call came through. He answered without taking his eyes off the screen.
“Chief Warren speaking.”
“Chief, it’s me, Randy. You told me to let you know when Justine Beaumont woke up. She’s awake and shouting.”
“Thanks, Randy. I’ll be right there,” Sonny said, hung up the phone, and hit Save on his report, then left his office.
He walked through the building, winding his way toward the cellblock in the back. Before he was even halfway there, he could hear her, and was thinking she was going to have way more to shout about after their talk. When he got to the jailer’s desk just outside the cellblock, Randy looked up.
“You want me to go in with you, Chief?” Randy asked.
“Are the security cameras working?” Sonny asked.
“Yes, sir,” Randy said.
“Then we’re good here,” Sonny said, knowing they would be his backup if he was ever accused of impropriety. He opened the door to the cell block and walked in.
Justine was right in the middle of a hissy fit when she saw a cop walk in. “It’s about fucking time!” she cried, wiping tears from her face. “I should report you to the chief of police!”
“I’m the police chief. Chief Warren. You’ve had your rights read to you. You are being charged with drunk and disorderly, two accounts of assault, property damage, and bodily injury to two women who were eating there. One has a broken arm. The other, cracked ribs. Your father has already reclaimed the keys to his car and has advised that he will not be calling a lawyer on your behalf.”
Justine was already reeling from the reality of her situation when she heard those last words. She let out a scream of despair that would have put a howling wolf to shame.
“He can’t do that!” she wailed.
“Oh, yes, ma’am. He can and did. You are not a child, you are a twenty-four-year-old adult woman, and in the eyes of the law, he does not owe you shelter or support. You can call a lawyer for yourself, or a court-ordered attorney will be furnished for you. You will be arraigned sometime within the next twenty-four hours, and I assume bail will be set. You also need to know your father has no intention of putting up bail money. I’m allowing you a phone call. Think carefully who that might be before you waste it begging for something you’re not going to get.”
All the while the chief had been talking, Justine had been backing up all the way to the farthest wall of the cell, as if trying to get away from the truth of her situation. She was pale and shaking, and her stomach was rolling. All of a sudden, she dropped to her knees, wrapped her arms around the toilet bowl, and threw up until she was gasping for breath. When there was nothing left to come up, she dragged herself to the bunk and sat staring at the floor, unaware the police chief was still there.
“Do you want to make a call?” he asked.
She jerked, startled at the sound of his voice. “Mama. I want to call my mama,” she whispered.
“Do you know her number?” Sonny asked.
Justine nodded.
“Wait here,” Sonny said, and went to get Randy. “I’m giving her time to make her phone call. Bring the cuffs,” he said.
Randy opened the cell, cuffed her, and then he and the chief escorted her to a phone and gave her a little space to make the call.
Justine was shaking. “Don’t I get any privacy?” she asked.
“The only privacy you have left in this situation is what passes between you and your lawyer,” Sonny said.
Justine’s hands were trembling as she made the call to her mother, praying as she counted the unanswered rings and scared it was going to go to voicemail. Then just at the last moment, the call picked up.
“Hello.”
Justine started crying. “Mama…Mommy…I am in so much trouble and I’m so sorry. Daddy has washed his hands of me. Will you help?”
Karen sighed. “I know. He called me. What do you need?”
“I will be arraigned sometime within the next twenty-four hours and bail will be set. But there’s no one to put up bail money, and I don’t know how much it will be. Will you come? I won’t be allowed to leave Jubilee until this is over, and I’m pretty sure Daddy won’t let me back in the penthouse, either. I don’t know what to do.” Then she broke down sobbing.
Karen succumbed to resignation. She’d run out on Justine once. She couldn’t live with herself if she did it again.
“Yes, I’ll come, and I’ll find a bondsman to post your bail. We’ll figure the rest out after I’m there, and I’ll talk to your father. We’ll figure something out.”
“Thank you, Mama. I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry,” Justine said.
“I know you’re sorry you’re in jail,” Karen said. “But I wonder how sorry you are about what you’ve done to other people. I’ll see you soon,” Karen said.
“I love you, Mama,” Justine said, but her mother had already disconnected. “Bitch,” she muttered, and went quietly back to the cell, then lay back down on the bunk and turned her face to the wall.