CHAPTER 2
HELEN
“Here’s your renewed registration and receipt, Mrs. Martin,” I chirp as I hand the papers over to the grandmother of the current president of the Saint’s Outlaws Motorcycle Club.
Even if she wasn’t a grandmother with an outlaw connection, I wouldn’t want to mess with Mrs. Martin. She’s the kind of grandmother who can be nice and sweet one moment and turn into a tyrant in the next. I learned using my manners gets me the farthest with her. But the woman does not do fake.
It’s kind of refreshing.
And terrifying.
The smile she gives me is kind and I relax slightly.
But then her eyes sharpen and the hair on the back of my neck stands on end.
“Now, girlie, I’m not one to gossip,” she starts and I have to bite my lip to stop myself from smiling, “but if you’ve heard anything from your father about that dog fighting nonsense, I’d like to know about it. ”
I’m not surprised she’s asking and she hasn’t been the first person. My father doesn’t discuss business with me though. He barely tolerates me working at the county clerk’s office.
If I involved myself in the duties of the mayoral office? If I got involved in politics? Or stuck my nose in the Sheriff’s investigation? His head would explode.
With a shake of my head, I assure her, “I’m sorry, my dad doesn’t talk to me about things like that.”
I swear her eyes become slits as she studies me to the point I’m not even sure how she can still see me. But I know she can because I can feel her judgement and her disappointment as she takes me in.
“Surely, you’ve overheard something. A resourceful girl like you?”
She’s not wrong. I’m just not about to share what I know with an octogenarian. Especially not one whose grandson is the president of a motorcycle club with a dubious reputation and whose son is the former president. Talk about a family tree I’m not getting involved in.
If I wanted to kill my dad, I’d consider it, but since it’s not something I’m looking to do, I tend to keep my distance.
There’s no proof of what the SOMC does or doesn’t do in town. When the dog fighting ring was found months ago in Monroe County, Sheriff Lyons spent a lot of time looking at the club. And I know my father encouraged him to do so.
Nothing was found, and I’m pretty sure all it did was piss off the guys wearing the Saint’s Outlaws patches on their leather cuts. You can’t grow up in this town, where the roar of motorcycles filling the air has the same familiarity as cicadas, and not learn a thing or two about how it all runs.
But it’s not like my family is one that has any association with the club. Quite the opposite in fact. The rift between my family, really just my father, and the club, broke my little sister’s heart once upon a time. I’m not sure she’s gotten over it even now.
Honestly, I don’t think she ever will. There’s nothing I can do to help her and I hate it.
Even though I was only two when she was born, I’ve always felt a sense of responsibility when it comes to Jessi. I was four when my parents got divorced, my mom married again to start a new family almost immediately. Afterwards, no one could tell me Jessi wasn’t mine to take care of.
Someone had to do it.
Thankfully, there were enough women around us, since mom wasn’t an option by her own choice, to help and give us the basics of what we needed to know. First periods? Yeah, it wasn’t dad who stepped up.
It was the school nurse. She knew we were kind of floating out there on our own for certain things. At least we had someone at our back and a more clinical approach worked for me.
Mrs. Martin, though, she wasn’t exactly a woman in my corner. I get it since dad never hid his disdain for the club, regardless of which generation of her family wore the president patch.
“There hasn’t been a lot of talk about it, and everyone is frustrated,” I tell her honestly.
As much as I wish I knew more, I don’t. Knowing people were abusing dogs so close almost killed me. Dad wants people to think he cares about it, but I wish he was more concerned. When I bring it up, he brushes me off, but I also know he’s called Sheriff Lyons repeatedly about the issue.
Dad loves the optics of any given situation and is intent on spinning things his way, no matter what. It makes him a good politician, but it doesn’t make him a great father. Even at 30, I can still feel the sting of it.
“Okay,” Mrs. Martin concedes and knocks on the counter. “If anything were to change,” she speaks like she’s expecting to be swept away by James Bond or something, and I have to fight a giggle, “then you let me know.”
“Of course,” I agree, my face solemn.
When she winks, I can’t help but smile. I’ve never earned a wink from her before. Maybe things are looking up, and I won’t be judged by my father for the rest of my life, good or bad. Maybe Jessi won’t either.
After dealing with a few mail-in renewals for their car registration, I get ready to take my break and skitter out of the office.
I head away from the square in the middle of town and down the block toward Bunz Out.
It’s the perfect place for my break because a sweet treat has definitely been earned today.
As much as I’ve tried to shake off my conversation with Mrs. Martin, it’s not easy.
I hate that damn dog fighting ring. The pictures in the paper of the dogs being rescued were horrible.
My heart was broken. The worst part was the conditions of the dogs left behind.
Some didn’t make it and the rest would need time to heal and recover.
Not that I was home enough for a dog. At least, it’s what I told myself whenever I wanted to head to the shelter and give an animal a good home. It wouldn’t be fair to a dog to just give them a bigger cage to roam.
Maybe one day a dog will be in the cards, but not today.
I don’t realize how mad I am until I stomp into Bunz Out and Lara, the owner, looks up at me with wide eyes. Her voice is teasing with a hint of curiosity, “What’s gotten you so mad, Helen? Don’t tell me it’s another issue with the printer,” she huffs.
Even though I’m still pissed about the dog fighting situation, I find myself laughing.
The printer. Don’t even get me started. Between the paper jams and how it seems to always need ink, the thing is a menace; if the county could afford a new one, I would personally smash the one we have with a bat.
Lara has heard me complain about the printer more times than I can count.
And she’s relatively new to town, which should tell you something about the whole issue.
She moved to Dogwood Ridge about a year ago now and didn’t waste a lot of time in opening up her bakery. I love coming in here because it’s girly, smells amazing, and sometimes I catch Lara’s ten-year-old daughter, Vanessa, when I stop in.
Vanessa is a sweet girl who has a love for make-up and baking next to her mama. It’s sweet and she always puts a smile on my face when I see her.
“No,” I assure Lara, “the printer was working last time I needed it.” I screw up my face and knock on the wooden countertop which has Lara giggling. “Hopefully my luck will hold strong.”
“I’m sure it will now,” she teases me while looking at the butcherblock countertop. “Taking a break?”
“Yeah,” I sigh as my eyes snag on her lemon bars.
They’re delicious and I can already taste the sweet zing on my tongue just by looking at them. I don’t even have to say anything. Lara is there to pull one out and put it on a plate for me. Then she’s getting a cup of tea ready for me.
My sigh of contentment has her grinning from ear to ear. Sure, I might be predictable when it comes to my snacks, but I’m okay with it.
“You’re amazing,” I breathe out as she puts the deliciousness in front of me.
“I know,” she chirps and we share a laugh together.
When the bell above her door chimes, I turn hoping to see Vanessa, but am just as thrilled to see my sister, Jessi.
She’s not alone though. She walks through the door of Bunz Out while laughing with Ezra Lyons.
She was in the same grade with Jessi. We would be shoved together more often than not because Ezra is the only daughter of Sheriff Lyons, a position he’s held for as long as I can remember, and we’re the daughters of the mayor.
“Sister,” Jessi shouts and rushes over to me to engulf me in a hug.
I can’t help but giggle as I hug her back. She rocks me back and forth like we haven’t seen each other in ages instead of a matter of days. But I’m not going to tell her to stop.
When she releases me, I smile at Ezra and greet her, “Hi, Ezra.” I glance down at her shirt because you do not miss seeing Ezra’s shirt if you can help it.
While Jessi teaches English at the high school, Ezra teaches history. And loves it. Clearly.
Today her shirt has a man holding a dance pose while dressed in a Russian folk outfit with the words ‘Dancing with the Tzars’ above him and ‘Peter and Catherine were great, but Ivan was terrible’ underneath.
I choke on spit and sputter out a laugh. She giggles and shrugs, her voice bright, “Hi, Helen.”
I croak, “Your shirt is amazing.”
She flounces as she approaches us at the counter and flips her blonde hair over her shoulder. “I know,” she chirps while her eyes sparkle with amusement.
“What are you doing here?” Jessi pulls my attention back to her.
“I think I should be asking you the same question,” I shoot back at her considering it’s the middle of the day and she’s supposed to be molding teenage minds. Which could never be me, by the way. “I’m taking a little break for a treat and then heading back.”
“It’s a half day today,” she explains, “and we snuck out for a treat of our own before we go back for some meeting or training or whatever it is on our agenda this afternoon.”
She waves her hand dismissively, but I know the truth.
My sister loves her job. It’s her mission to share her love for books.
I’m not saying she doesn’t care about the performance of her students when it comes to grades, but if she can spark a love for escaping into books and the way those stories connect us, then she’s happy. Test scores be damned.
Since we’re the only ones in the bakery at the moment, I don’t waste another moment and take a big bite of the lemon square. If I moan around the bite, everyone has the decency to ignore it.
When Jessi and Ezra have their own snacks, we stay right where we are and Lara’s grin widens. She turns toward me, “What are you plans this weekend, Helen?”
I can’t help but cringe. What is anyone’s weekend plans around here?
“Laundry and cleaning because I absolutely do not keep up with it daily.” I hate to admit how boring my plans are.
Lara shoots me a look, her voice full of sass, “That doesn’t sound very exciting.”
“Oh really? And what, exactly, do you have planned this weekend?” I can’t help but give the question right back to her with a smile on my face.
Lara pauses for a long moment before her shoulders slump. “Fine,” she holds out the word and whines slightly. “I have laundry to do as well, but it’s mostly Vanessa’s clothes this weekend,” she grumbles.
“We should find a time and go out for a girl’s night,” Jessi exclaims.
Her enthusiasm is contagious and I find myself nodding even though it’ll probably be a nightmare.
Because the only bar option in town worth going to is On Wasted Ridge, but it’s owned by the club. I tend to avoid those businesses. The only one I’ve regretted is the tattoo shop because I would love to get one, but I’m not entirely sure I’d be welcome.
Ezra groans, “Are you sure it’s a good idea to go out?”
Jessi looks at Ezra for a moment before taking in the uncertainty written all over Lara’s face before glancing my way. “Yeah,” she breathes out, “I get what you’re asking. I just wanted to, you know, have a night.”
“What about a wine night at my place?” I can’t help but offer and my sister’s eyes light up again.
“Oh,” Ezra gushes, “charcuterie board.”
“And brownies,” Lara throws in.
My phone beeps and I cringe. “I gotta go. We need to pick a date and I’m ready.”
I share a look with Jessi because sooner rather than later Dad is going to summon us for a family dinner. I’m not sure if he does it because he believes people are peeking around their curtains and making a note of how often we go back home or what the reasoning is.
I’ll have to stop by Dad’s office this afternoon. Maybe if I stop by and talk him into lunch then I can put off a dinner which Jessi will be forced to attend. You’d think he would be proud of her for being a teacher, but he’s never been happy with any choice she’s ever made. It’s ridiculous.
He’s always been softer with me. It doesn’t make any sense, but if it means I can protect my sister’s peace, even if only a little bit, I’ll do what needs to be done.
Who knows, maybe I’ll hear something about whoever is behind the dog fighting rings. It’s a longshot, but it’s worth a little sleuthing.
At the very least, Dad will pay for lunch which has to count for something. Maybe.