Page 9 of Trailer Trash

Skeeter held his hand up to quiet Jed, studying me as though seeing me for the first time. A huge grin spread across his face.

“Who the hell are you, Neely Kate?”

Chapter 4

Isawno point in beating around the bush. I suspected time wasn’t on my side. “That’s why I’m here.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “Go on.”

“First I need to know that what I tell you won’t leave this room.”

He held his hands out from his sides. “Who am I going to tell?”

“Rose,” Jed said behind him. “She wants to keep it from Rose.”

Skeeter’s face hardened. “That shouldn’t be a problem since she and I are no longer working together. Not to mention I don’t go around gossiping like busybodies at that damn bingo hall you go to with your granny.” He grinned at my look of surprise. “You should know I know everything about you.” A smirk lit up his eyes. “Or I thought I did.”

“I need your help, but I don’t have any money to pay you.”

“Maybe we can work out a barter.”

That was what I was equally counting on and fearing.

I reached into my purse and pulled out the envelope. “Kate Simmons has been sending me letters.”

“Like pen pals?”

I gave him a dark look. “I’ve never responded, so no. It didn’t seem like a good idea.”

He nodded.

“The first few started out vague, suggesting she knows about my past, threatening to tell about it, but her latest . . . I need to know what she knows.” I handed him the letter. “And I need to know how she knows it.”

He took it from me, but he settled into the chair behind his desk before he opened the envelope. He glanced up at me for several seconds before he said, “Why not tell your brother?”

“I don’t want him to know about my past either.”

Skeeter leaned back in his chair. He examined the letter, shooting glances at me every few seconds.

I could see why Rose was drawn to him, although she’d never admit it out loud in a million years. James “Skeeter” Malcolm was a man who demanded attention. His over six-foot frame and bulky arms and chest, not to mention the tattoos peeking out under the sleeves of his short-sleeve shirt and at his neckline, made him an imposing presence. His dark good looks only added to the effect. But it was his confidence that held sway over most people—a cockiness that bordered on arrogance yet assured that he could deliver on a promise.

I was counting on that last trait now.

He lifted the paper to his nose. “Perfume?”

“Azaleas. The others have smelled of them, only I didn’t recognize the scent until today. She sent actual flowers with this one.” I paused. “Rose says azaleas are out of bloom. They all died out by the end of May.”

“Do you know why Kate sent you azaleas?”

I hesitated. “Yes.”

He paused. “Rose knows about the letters?”

“I mentioned them in a moment of weakness a couple of weeks ago, but she doesn’t know specifics. She found the azaleas on my desk after I got the latest letter this morning. I told her a customer had brought them in.”

“And you don’t want her to know about what Kate’s referring to?”

“No.”

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