Page 35 of Family Jewels

“And . . .” Mable looked nervous. “Whatever you do, don’t tell Homer you were lookin’ for anything. Or mention the jewelry at all.”

Neely Kate’s smile faded. “I won’t—wewon’t. We’ll get out of your hair now,” she added, and I eagerly followed her out the door.

We were almost to the truck, having taken a wide arc to stay out of the angry dog’s reach, when a beat-up black Jeep with a white front fender pulled in behind the truck and stopped.

“Well, crap,” Neely Kate mumbled. “I didn’t expect to see Homer. Last I heard, he was workin’ the second shift at the aluminum plant up in Columbia County.”

“So this is a bad thing?” I asked as my heart picked up speed.

“Let’s just say it’s not good. He’s got a bit of a temper, so let me do the talkin’.” Then she stepped in front of me. “Hello, Mr. Dyer. I haven’t seen you since I was in middle school. It’s me, Neely Kate Rivers.”

The older man walked toward us with a hard expression in his eyes. He wore jeans, a T-shirt, and a pair of dirty work boots. Stubble covered his face and his salt-and-pepper hair looked in need of a trim. His dark, cold eyes were what scared me the most. He looked like he was capable of killing us both and tossing our bodies to the dog for dinner.

How long had we been here? Long enough for Jed to make his way here and save us if we needed help?

“What are you doin’ here?” he asked in a low growl.

“We stopped by to see Miss Mable,” Neely Kate said in a bright and cheery voice as though she was having a chat with Maeve. “My grannie’s dying for her apple crisp recipe, and Grannie’s birthday’s comin’ up, so I thought I’d make another effort to get it. But Miss Mable’s got that recipe locked up tighter than the gold at Fort Knox.”

Homer Dyer’s expression said he didn’t believe her story for a minute. He stopped in front of us, purposely blocking our path. “You’re not welcome here. Mable let you in?”

Crap.

“No,” I said, lying to protect her. “We kind of forced our way in.”

“So you’re trespassers?” he asked, making it sound like a trespasser was akin to a serial murderer.

“Not really,” Neely Kate said. “It’s not trespassin’ if you’re visiting an old friend.”

Homer moved closer, practically chest-to-chest with Neely Kate, his face turning red. “You’re no friend of my wife’s.”

“Okay,” Neely Kate conceded, holding his gaze, his face only inches above hers. “More like acquaintances, but friendly enough to stop by and say hello. We’ve missed her at church.”

His eyes darkened. “She don’t go to church no more.” From his tone, I had to wonder if that was his doing or hers.

But Neely Kate wasn’t backing down. She glared at him. “Which is why we miss her. Because she hasn’t been.”

“You gettin’ sassy with me, little girl?” Homer asked, grabbing Neely Kate’s arm.

“Are you bein’ anasshole, Homer Dyer?”

“Nobody talks to me with disrespect and gets away with it,” he said, lifting his hand as if to hit her, when Jed’s voice called out, “Is there a problem here, Dyer?”

Homer’s grip tightened on Neely Kate’s arm, and he glanced back at Jed, who was now standing beside my truck. “What the hell are you doin’ here, Carlisle?”

Jed ignored the question as he took several steps forward, pointing a gun at Homer. “I suggest you get your grimy hand off her now, or you’ll live the very short remainder of your life with a lot of regret.”

Squatting for a brief second, Homer pulled a hunting knife from his boot, still holding Neely Kate’s arm. “I wanna know what you’re doin’ here. Are you lookin’ for it too?”

What did Homer think Jed was looking for? Did he know about the necklace?

“The only thing I’m lookin’ for is these two girls, so I suggest you drop your hold on Neely Kate, or you’re as good as dead.”

Homer pushed Neely Kate away as though her skin burned his hand. “Get the hell off my land.”

Keeping his gaze on Homer, Jed said in an icy cold voice, “Rose, Neely Kate, walk behind me, get in the truck, and wait for me.”

Neely Kate put a good ten feet between her and Homer before she pulled her revolver from the back of her jeans and pointed it at Homer. “Not yet.”

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