“I’ll tell you what I think is helpful to you and will protect you.” When I started to protest, he held up his hands. “For your own protection, you don’t want to know everything. Then you can’t be arrested as an accomplice. But I’ll tell you more than I would have ordinarily.”

That meant I had to trust him, and surprisingly, I did. “Okay.”

“So you’re agreeing to my partnership?”

I studied him for a moment. “I guess I am.”

He moved closer, his mouth pressing into a line as his eyes took on a serious expression. Usually there was a hint of threat in his gaze, but tonight I sensed a certain vulnerability there. He held out his hand. “Rose Gardner, I offer you assistance, guidance, and protection.”

I shook his hand. “And I offer you the same.”

A twinkle sparked in his eyes. “You think you can protect me?”

My eyes rose in defiance. “Don’t I already?”

He laughed and dropped my hand. “Why do I think this has bad idea written all over it?”

I winked. “Because it probably does.” And yet I knew it was one of the best decisions of my life.

“Then let’s get to work.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Skeeter turned off his car and I grabbed a blanket to set on the bed of my truck. We sat on the tailgate, listening to the silence.

“Why were you questioning Dirk Picklebie?” Skeeter’s voice held a gentleness I wasn’t used to from him.

“That’s kind of a long story.”

“Good thing I’ve got time,” he said, pulling a flask from his coat pocket. “Are you sure you don’t want to sit inside?” He motioned toward his car with his thumb.

“Nah, I like it out here.” I turned to him. “Where do your guys think you are?”

“Probably with a woman.” He winked. “And they were right.” After taking a swig from the flask, he handed it to me.

I hesitantly took it and lifted it to my nose.

“It’s my damn twenty-five-year-old whiskey you keep dolin’ out to the deviants of Fenton County. Just take a damned drink.” His tone was hard, but I knew he was teasing.

I took a swig and handed back to him, surprised that the warmness in my belly held off the bite of the cold air. “Now I see why they have those little whiskey barrels attached to those St. Bernard dogs in the Alps.”

He laughed and took another drink. “Don’t tell me you’re gonna be givin’ my whiskey to your ugly ass dog next.”

I turned to him, my mouth open.

He grinned. “Hell, yeah. I know about your dog. I know about your sister and your best friend. I even know about your boyfriend. Both of ’em.” He waggled his eyebrows. “I suspect I might know a thing or two more about them than you do.”

He was probably right, but I wasn’t ready to start digging into either of their pasts. Decoding my own history was too much on the forefront of my mind. And I wasn’t surprised or even offended Skeeter had researched me. I knew Jed had conducted his own investigation of me in the name of protecting Skeeter.

“My dog’s not ugly.”

“Okay,” he snickered. “If you say so.”

“She has her own special…charm.”

He just grinned at me.

“You think you’re so smart, Skeeter Malcolm,” I said, giving him a smug glare. “Tell me what you know about me.”

He rattled off a bunch of facts, including my birthdate, Momma and Daddy’s names, my work history. It made me realize what a wonderful resource he could turn out to be. When he finished, I grabbed his flask out of his pocket. He gave me an amused look as I took a drink.

“You got part of it wrong.” Surprise wrinkled his forehead, making me laugh. “My parentage.”

“How did I get it wrong?”

“Well.” I took another sip of the whiskey. “What I’m about to tell you is one of my deepest darkest secrets. You can’t tell a soul.”

He held up his fingers in a boy scout pledge and I burst out into laughter. “Who are you trying to fool, Skeeter Malcolm? You already told me you weren’t a boy scout.”

“I said I’m not a boy scout now. You think I was always gunnin’ to run the organized crime world of Fenton County?”

“I bet you were placin’ bets in elementary school over who brought pudding in their lunch.”

He laughed again. “You aren’t far off. Now tell me this deep dark secret of yours.”

“My momma wasn’t my birth mother.” And with that, I told him the whole sordid tale, and I was surprised by how relieved I was to share it with him. He listened to it all, showing interest but keeping quiet. It occurred to me that this was how a man like him found out things. By paying attention. He continued to drink from his flask, offering me sips until it was gone and I was fuzzy-headed.

When I finally finished talking, I waited for his reaction. It took him a full five seconds to say, “Damn.”

I sighed. “Dora died in a car accident and the police investigated and said it was an accident. But there were rumors her brake lines had been cut, and my Aunt Bessie said her death was suspicious. Joe didn’t think much of it, though, and Mason’s been too busy with other projects to do much.”

“So you decided to your own digging.”

“Only after I found out Dora used to work for Atchison Manufacturing. The factory was never reopened after it burned down in a fire, and there might have been an extortion case tied up in the whole mess of it closing.”