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HOT SOUTHERN MESS

A POSSUM CREEK NOVEL

Copyright © 2014 by Gen Griffin

All rights reserved.

ASIN: B00T9MQX7Y

ISBN 10: 1507635745

ISBN 13: 9781507635742

The uploading, scanning, and distribution of this book in any form or by any means — including but not limited to electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise — without the permission of the copyright holder is illegal and punishable by law. Permission is granted to copy or reprint portions for any noncommercial use except they may not be posted online without permission. Please purchase only authorized editions of this work, and do not participate or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

Also By Gen Griffin

The Possum Creek Series

Lord Have Mercy (Prequel Novella)

Hot Southern Mess

Hissy Fit

Hot Southern Nights

Pretty Is As Pretty Does

Give Me Some Sugar (Coming Soon)

After The Apocalypse

The Scavengers

Church of Chaos

False Idols

DEDICATION

To Stephen.

I love you always.

To Karen, Tracy and everyone else who helped with this book – you guys are awesome.

Prologue

Who did David kill for you?

Gracie narrowed her eyes at the only man who she had ever loved. David didn't kill anyone for me.

I'm not playing with you, Gracie. Cal spoke the words through gritted teeth. His thick, dark eyebrows were furrowed tight with annoyance and worry. He was clenching the steering wheel of his truck so tightly that Gracie was starting to think the wheel might actually snap in two before this conversation was over. I know you're trying to protect him, I can't help unless you tell me the truth about what happened Friday night.

I already tried to tell you the truth. You wouldn't listen. Is there even a point in talking to you? Gracie crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. You keep accusing me of having sex with David.

You were naked in his living room, Cal said. What else would the two of you have been doing naked in the living room?

I was not naked. Gracie felt incredibly tired and even more incredibly annoyed. I threw up on my shirt and so I took it off. I was still wearing my bra, my underwear and my skirt.

That itty bitty scrap of fabric you had on was not a skirt, Cal said.

Yes, it was.

No way in hell. Too short.

Ugh. You don't get a say in what I wear, Calvin. You broke up with me. I'm free to go out wearing whatever I want. I had a date and the skirt was cute.

You went on a date with David? Cal's skepticism was clear.

No, you idiot. Gracie took a deep breath and tried to steel her nerves. I went on a date with the dead guy.

Cal stopped short of whatever he'd been about to say. His mouth was hanging slightly open as he visibly tried to process this new bit of information. You went on a date with the dead guy?

He wasn't dead when the date started, Gracie clarified.

I wasn't under the impression he had been. Cal leaned his forehead against the steering wheel. Gracie, you need to tell me everything that happened. Everything.

Why? Gracie asked. You're just going to yell at me.

I'm trying to help.

If you truly wanted to help, you would have listened to what David and I were trying to tell you Friday night. You showed your ass when we tried to talk to you. Gracie blinked back an unexpected round of tears. Do you really think any of us wanted this to happen?

How the hell am I supposed to know what y'all wanted to happen? Cal demanded. Y'all don't tell me anything.

You want me to tell you something? Gracie practically shouted the words at him. I was scared to death when you saw me Friday night. I was crying. Sex was the last thing on my mind until you put it there. I'd just driven three hours in a stolen car while wondering how long Brett's body could stay in the BMW before it started to smell.

What? Cal frowned at her.

Gracie ignored him and kept talking. The entire time I was driving home to Possum Creek, I was trying to come up with a reasonable explanation as to how Brett wound up dead in the backseat of his own car. I kept worrying about what I would tell the cops if I got pulled over. I drove 55 miles an hour the whole way home because I was terrified of being stopped or wrecking. There was so much fog on the road, I could barely see 20 feet in front of the car when I was on highway 14.

Gracie-.

I was scared, Cal. More scared than I have ever been in my whole life. Brett's body was in the backseat because I wasn't strong enough to lift him into the trunk. The car smelled like blood and vomit. I had to roll all the windows down as far as they would go just so I could breathe.

Where was David? Cal asked. When you were driving down to Possum Creek with a body in the car, where was David? Why didn't he haul the body?

Why are you so fixated on David? Gracie countered.

Because he murdered someone for you, Cal sounded less certain than he had five minutes earlier.

No. He didn't, Gracie shook her head at him. Have you gone deaf or are you just so stubborn that you refuse to hear what I'm trying to tell you?

I'm waiting for you to talk to me. Cal threw his hands up into the air. What the hell has gone wrong between us, Gracie?

Everything, Gracie replied.

We've always been able to talk.

You quit listening, Gracie told him. You stopped listening to me a long time ago. We can talk all you want to, but what good does talking do when you don't listen?

I'm listening.

No, you're arguing. Gracie rolled her turquoise blue eyes at him. If you were listening, you'd be silent.

Cal opened his mouth and then closed it. He crossed his thick, muscular arms across his broad chest and waited. His annoyance was plain in the way he drummed the fingers of his right hand against the flesh of his left arm. If Gracie hadn't been so mad at him, she would have laughed.

Are you really going to listen to me?

Cal nodded. His lips were pressed tightly together.

Gracie took a deep breath. You said you wanted to know everything that happened, right?

He nodded again.

Gracie closed her eyes and tried to pull herself together. She needed to be able to think coherently if she was going to be able to explain to Cal how her entire life had gone to hell in her Granny Pearl's proverbial hand-basket. I went on a date last Friday night. It didn't end well.

Cal raised on eyebrow at her skeptically. Didn't end well is kind of an understatement, don't you think?

I thought you were going to shut up and listen?

Fine. Fine. I'm listening. Tell me how your date wound up dead in the trunk of his own car.

Friday night, I went out on a date with this guy named Brett...

Chapter 1

Five Days Earlier

You're a real bitch, you know that? Brett Parker scowled at Gracie across the dimly lit interior of his overpriced BMW.

And? Gracie didn't feel the least bit sorry.

You didn't need to hit me. He stuck his fingertips in his mouth and sucked on them.

When a girl tells you to stop trying to stick your hand up her skirt, you should stop trying to stick your hand up her skirt. She wasn't surprised his hand hurt. Gracie's own thigh stung where she'd smacked her heavy leather purse down on top of Brett's creepy crawly fingers. He'd been trying to slip his hand under the hemline of her skirt without her noticing. Her reaction had been instinctive.

Tonight was supposed to be magical. You aren't letting the magic between us happen. Brett shot her another baleful, disapproving glare.

Magic? Gracie couldn't help laughing. We're at Take-A-Taco. In the drive-thru.

What's wrong with Take-A-Taco? Brett appeared genuinely insulted.

Nothing. Unless you think it’s magical. The only thing magical about a .29-cent taco special is that they managed to put any meat in the tortilla for that price. Gracie considered explaining her thoughts but then decided Brett Parker wasn't worth the effort. She twisted her long blonde hair up into a ponytail. She no longer cared if she messed up the delicate curls she'd spent two hours and a whole can of cheap hairspray creating. You promised to take me out for a nice dinner. Take-A-Taco is pretty much the opposite of a nice dinner.

You're just mad I asked you to pay for your own food. Brett reached for her arm and attempted to stroke her shoulder. She leaned closer to the door to avoid him. The car just wasn't wide enough. His fingers were clammy when they brushed against her arm. She didn't like the feel of his hands on her overexposed skin.

Gracie regretted letting Kelsey, her roommate, humiliate her into ditching her favorite tight jeans and paisley print halter top for the too short, too tight black skirt and silky black spaghetti strap top with a plunging neckline that left nothing about her b-cups to the imagination. Kelsey said Gracie needed to look sexy if she wanted to impress Brett. Gracie thought she looked like Hooker Barbie. Apparently, Brett thought so too. He had been shamelessly trying to grope her since they had left campus.

Refusing to pay for my taco definitely isn't helping your cause. The car inched forward through the drive-thru lane. Gracie shook Brett's caressing hand off of her arm and gritted her molars together.

I thought girls liked being viewed as equals? Brett asked. A lot of the girls I've met don't want me to open doors for them or pay for their food. You telling me you aren't one of those liberated chicks?

Not really, Gracie said. Asking a girl out to dinner and then telling her she has to pay for her own $3 meal is rude.

A lot of girls only want to date me because I have money. Brett admired his own reflection in the rear-view mirror. Making girls pay for their own shit is my way of weeding out all the gold diggers, you know?

I honestly just think you're a cheap pervert.

A pervert? Brett glared at her. Don't act like you're doing me a favor by being here. There are plenty of other girls on campus who would be more than willing to do anything I asked them to do. You didn't have to come out with me.

And I wouldn't have agreed to go out with you if I had known that dinner and dancing at The Lounge would turn into driving in circles and Take-A-Taco. Gracie tried to remember why she had thought going on a date with State University's most notorious playboy would be fun.

What can I do to make you want me? Brett put his hand back on her thigh. His fingertips brushed against the hem of her skirt. Gracie picked his hand up and shoved it back into his own lap.

Nothing. Gracie had never actually wanted Brett. She'd agreed to go on a date with him because she knew it would make Kelsey stupidly jealous.

Calvin Walker was the only guy Gracie ever wanted. Cal could sit behind the wheel of his truck and give her that come-on-over-here grin he'd been using since Little League, knowing that she'd practically melt into the ripped cloth seats of his jacked-up Chevy 1500. Brett wasn't in Cal's league. He wasn't even playing in the same ballpark.

Nothing? Brett's car moved ahead in the drive-thru lane by a single car-length. He pulled his hand back off of her thigh and began fidgeting restlessly with the collar on his $350 baby blue golf shirt. His phone chimed in his pocket.

You're a liar and a pervert. Gracie said. Not to mention that the girlfriend you promised me you didn't have has been texting you all night.

You're a bitch. I'm thinking maybe I should give Susanna another chance. Brett smirked as he replied to the text message he'd just received.

Maybe that's a good idea. Gracie wrinkled her nose at him in disgust. It doesn't bother her you're a drug dealer?

Brett's head jerked up and he nearly dropped the phone. Hey, I am not-.

Save your breath. Gracie waved one hand in the air dismissively. I have ears. You promised to get someone a bottle of Lortabs and a two month supply of Viagra less than 10 minutes ago.

I have connections. Brett didn't have the decency to look ashamed of himself. It’s good pocket money.

I didn't think you needed the money? The smell of greasy meat wafting through the air was making Gracie vaguely nauseous.

You know, I can give you a little something to improve your mood, Brett told her with a bold smile. I have a bottle full of little white pills that will have you screaming my name in ecstasy before the end of the night.

Thanks, but no thanks. Gracie didn't try to hide her disgust. You can keep the date rape drugs to yourself. I'm done.

Done? Brett repeated the word as a question as he drummed his fingers against the custom leather steering wheel cover.

Done. She double checked her purse to make sure her wallet and keys hadn't spilled out during the drive.

You're not done until I say you're done. Brett reached out and grabbed her wrist.

Go to hell. She reached for the door handle as his phone chirped to announce the arrival of yet another text message.

I don't think you understand how this works. Brett's gaze flickered over her. She could see the irritation in his eyes as she reached for the handle on the door. He made another attempt to get hold of her wrist. You aren't in charge here.

Have a nice night, Brett. I'll find my own way back to the dorm from here. She tugged on the door handle. Nothing happened. It took her a minute to process that the car had automatically locking doors. She pressed the unlock button on the armrest. Nothing happened. She pressed the button again. Still nothing. She turned back to Brett. Why won't this door open?

It’s locked. The only one who locks and unlocks the doors on my car is me. Sorry. Brett didn't look at all sorry.

Not funny, Brett. Let me out. Gracie wondered if manually unlocking the door would override whatever he'd had done to keep her from being able to open it. She wished she didn't bite her nails as she examined the locking mechanism on the door.

I can't let you out here. This neighborhood isn't safe. You're going to get mugged and raped if you try to walk through this neighborhood alone at night. Brett rubbed her wrist as he pretended to genuinely care about her safety.

I'll take my chances. Gracie snatched her arm away from his manipulative caressing.

The car inched ahead in the drive-thru line on its own accord, nearly running into the bumper of the Ford truck ahead of them. Brett remembered to press the brake pedal with a quarter of an inch to spare.

His phone went off again. He looked down at the display on his phone and hurriedly put it back in his pocket.

Gracie wedged her fingers under the lock and pull it to the unlocked position. She tried the door handle again. Nothing happened.

You're not getting out unless I decide to let you out. Brett laughed.

Look, you have about thirty seconds to unlock this door. Gracie was beyond aggravated.

Or what? Brett taunted her.

Or I'm going to scream bloody murder and say I'm being kidnapped when you pull up to the window to pay for your food. She gestured at the window that was a mere two cars away. I'm sure your uncle's campaign manager would love to explain why the governor's nephew is kidnapping girls. That backpack full of pills in the back seat is perfectly legal, right?

Brett's hazy blue eyes got wide. You wouldn't.

Try and stick your hand up my skirt one more time. See if I don't. Gracie kept one hand on the door handle as she spoke. She fully intended to bolt the moment the door unlocked. She'd take her chances with the imaginary muggers and rapists on the streets.

The truck in front of them pulled up to the window to pay. Brett didn't follow it. Instead he sat in the driver's seat staring daggers at her. The people in the truck in front of them received their food and pulled away from the drive-through window. Brett's BMW was now the only car in the line.

You want to go back to school? Brett glared at her furiously. You got it.

He hit the accelerator with enough force to knock Gracie backwards into the passenger seat. He squealed his tires as he drove past the pick-up window without stopping to pay or picking up his food.

Gracie cursed under her breath as Brett's car slid sideways on the pavement and barreled out onto the main road, heading the opposite direction from campus.

Chapter 2

Kerry Longwood was nearly overwhelmed by an impending sense of doom as he stared at the short, squat brick building that was home to the Callahan County Sheriff's Department. A tarnished CCSD badge sat in his left hand like a lead weight.

I reckon it’s official. We get two weeks to prove ourselves, huh? Ian McIntyre leaned against the side of his battered S10 pickup truck and studied his own dull, second-hand sheriff's deputy's badge. He was rubbing at it with the hem of a Breedlove Automotive t-shirt in an attempt to knock some of the rust off.

Two weeks. Kerry glanced down at his cell phone to check the time. He wondered why he continued to pay the phone bill. No one had called Kerry in weeks.

I bet you ain't nervous. Ian raked his fingers through his strawberry blonde hair and shrugged his slim shoulders. You're way better qualified for this job than I am. You've got a bunch of degrees, right?

Kerry looked up at Ian in surprise. He hadn't expected the Sheriff's favorite job candidate to acknowledge his own credentials. I have a bachelor’s degree in Criminology and a master’s in Criminal Law. I've passed all the state police certifications as well as basic firefighter and EMT courses. If I were anywhere but Callahan County, the certificates might be worth more than the paper they're printed on.

What do you mean? Ian looked baffled.

I mean that it's total bullshit that the Sheriff has put us both on a two-week trial period. I've busted my butt educating myself to become a law enforcement officer. What qualifications do you have?

All I have is the basic law enforcement certificate from Callahan County Community College. Ian stared at his badge regretfully.

And yet, Sheriff Chasson considers us equal candidates for this job? Kerry could hear the bitter resignation in his own voice. I was halfway through law school when I had to move back to Possum Creek.

Yeah. I'd heard that. I'm sorry about your Dad. Ian kicked at the gravel in the parking lot. His scuffed, battered boots created a sharp contrast to Kerry's own stiff, shiny loafers.

Don't be, Kerry said. He was so drunk he probably never saw the bridge that killed him.

Still. He was your Dad. My Dad died when I was 15. I still miss him. Ian's sympathy appeared to be genuine but Kerry didn't want his competition's sympathy. You moved back to take care of your Mom, didn't you?

Didn't have a choice, Kerry admitted. Mom has been bedridden since I was eight. We tried to put her in a nursing home but she screamed until her throat bled every time her sedatives wore off. The psychiatrist says she's developed a phobia about leaving the house.

That's too bad. Ian probably meant it. Kerry's return to Possum Creek meant Ian didn't stand a prayer of hanging on to the badge he was holding.

It’s life. Kerry frowned down at the tassels on his loafers and fought the urge to tell Ian to go away. He didn't want to cause unnecessary hard feelings. Ian was the only member of the CCSD who treated him like a human being. He was going to have to work