Truth or Beard (Winston Brothers #1)(60)
Author: Penny Reid

Cletus took three bites, making us all wait in suspense, and then asked, “What I want to know is, why didn’t you come to me in the first place? And also, how do you get these to be so darn fluffy? It’s like eating a blueberry flavored cloud of awesome.”

“We didn’t tell you because we didn’t want to make you an accomplice, just in case we had to follow through,” Beau answered for me.

“I see. Thank you. I appreciate your thoughtfulness and concern for my wellbeing,” he said, using his most formal tone. Then added, “But that was really stupid of y’all.”

“So what are we going to do, Cletus?” Jethro got right to the point, giving our brother a charming smile despite his split lip.

“Nothing to do.” Cletus shrugged, sipped his coffee, and then set it down.

Beau and I exchanged looks of despair. If Cletus didn’t have a plan then we were going to have to rely on Tina.

Cletus must’ve seen our expressions and understood what they meant, because he added, “Let me clarify that last statement. There’s nothing to do because it’s already been done. In these cases, federal law requires the installer to inform local law enforcement when traps are suspected of being used for illegal purposes. The police have already been informed about those secret compartments because I informed them years ago, when I first installed the traps.”

Now Beau and I exchanged looks of astonishment. I don’t think either of us were capable of speech at that moment.

However, Jethro narrowed his eyes on Cletus and sounded half insulted. “What do you mean the police already know? Did you rat me out?”

Cletus tsked at Jethro and scrunched his nose like my oldest brother smelled badly. “No. Well…” His eyes moved up and to the right, as though reconsidering his answer. “Not in the way you mean. I informed the police when I installed the traps, because I suspected they’d be used for illegal purposes. Whether or not the police actually know about the traps is a different matter entirely.”

I was too tired for Cletus’s riddles. “Cletus, would you just speak plainly? What did you do? And what does it mean for us? Should we be worried about the Iron Order?”

“I’ll answer your questions in reverse. First, you do not need to worry about the Iron Order. They have no power over you, Jethro, or me, or Beau for that matter. In fact we are in a position to blackmail them, should we so choose.”

“Well, thank heavens.” Beau sat back in his chair and heaved a loud sigh of obvious relief.

“Second, what this means for ‘us’,” Cletus used air quotes around the word us, “is that we should—the four of us—go to the Dragon Biker Bar and meet with Repo, or even Razor himself. One of us will need to explain the situation, i.e. the Winston boys are immune to their threats, so they’ll quit their harassing and stay on their side of the school yard.”

“You want to talk to Razor?” Jethro asked like Cletus was certifiable.

Razor was the Iron Order’s president and one truly dangerous motherfucker.

“No. I did not say that. I said one of ‘us’.” Again, he used air quotes around us, but this time his eyes slid to me and he looked at me with meaning.

“What?” I asked, shaking my head. “You can’t mean me?”

Now all three of them were looking at me, and they were nodding.

“It makes sense,” Beau said encouragingly. I was not encouraged.

“It does,” Jethro agreed. “Razor hates my guts already, because of…well, the past. He doesn’t know Beau, but he can spot a bullshitter a mile away.”

“Are you calling me a bullshitter?” Beau frowned at Jethro.

“Yes. Yes, I am,” Jethro admitted smoothly.

“Okay. Just making sure. Carry on.” Beau’s smile was back and he looked quite satisfied, likely because it took one to know one.

“And Cletus…well, no offense, Cletus, but Razor won’t respond well to your style, either.”

“Agreed.” Cletus nodded once and took another bite of my cold pancakes. When he spoke next, he spoke around a full mouth. “It has to be Duane. He’s abrupt, irritable, and those charlatans don’t scare him any. He’s perfect.”

It was my turn to exhale loudly, shaking my head, but not willing to argue the point just yet. We’d have plenty of time to debate this later. Right now I wanted answers. “So, what did you do, Cletus? How did you inform the police without them knowing?”

“You know how I help with those mail sorter machines at the police stations and the central office? I maintain them for three counties. Just one of the many ways I spend my time helping the citizens of Tennessee.”

“Yes. We know,” Jethro answered for all of us.

“Well, funny thing about those machines. Letters get stuck and unstuck all the time. When a machine breaks and needs fixing, I sometimes find letters that are years old.”

Beau and I quickly shared a glance. “Are you telling me that you planted a letter in one of those machines? Down at the station?” he asked.

Cletus shook his head. “No. Of course not. I didn’t plant anything in any of the machines. But I did slip a certified letter in with a stack of old mail, mail found in one of those machines during a service call, and then subsequently placed into storage unopened. I even know the box and shelf number where it’s kept. I believe I even have the receipt for the certified letter upstairs someplace.”

Again, Beau and I were rendered speechless. And this time Jethro was as well. The three of us sat in stunned silence for several seconds, watching Cletus eat my pancakes like he didn’t have a care in the world.

Jethro stirred from our trance first. “Well then, I guess Duane will just explain to Razor that the police have a certified letter in their possession detailing the existence of the traps…?”

“That’s right,” Cletus agreed. “I included pictures of the cars, their VIN numbers, and the traps. As well, I described the sequence for opening the compartments. I have a copy of the documentation in my room…someplace.”

Beau shook his head and barked a laugh. “I can’t believe you, Cletus.”

“Believe me, Beau. But there is one more thing,” Cletus said grimly, moving his eyes to me. “You never answered my original question.”

“Yes, I did. We didn’t tell you because—”

“Not that one.” He waved his hand in the air as though swatting my words away. “The pancakes. How do you get them to be so light? It’s amazing.”

I shook my head at my eccentric older brother and answered honestly because I was so tired. “Egg whites.”

“What?”

I stood and stacked the plates. “It’s egg whites. I keep them separate. Then I whip them ’til they’re stiff, and fold them in at the end. It makes the pancakes super light.”

“Oh…” Also standing, he nodded, as though deep in thought. But then unexpectedly asked, “Why do you look like that, Duane?”

“Like what, Cletus?”

“Like your heart is diseased. I told you, we’re in the clear. No need to worry any longer. And your egg white secret is safe with me.”

“I know.” I nodded, but didn’t respond further because I had nothing to say. I wasn’t going to whine about Jessica. I was going to suck it up and move on…eventually. In about thirty years.

Unfortunately, Beau liked to gossip. “He’s upset because Jessica James just inherited a mountain of money from her aunt and now she’s leaving.”

I glared at my twin, promising retribution at a later date. He gave me a sympathetic look in exchange, which only fueled my ire. I didn’t want pity.

“Miss James is leaving? In the middle of the school year?” Cletus appeared to be genuinely distressed. “But we were just getting to integrals.”

I shrugged. “I don’t rightly know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know? Jackass James pulled us over, told us both a week ago.” Beau pressed the point while Jethro raised an eyebrow and glanced between the two of us.

“Jessica James…” Jethro said her name thoughtfully, as though trying to recall her image. “Didn’t she wait tables at Daisy’s Nut House? You’ve had a thing for her since I can remember.”

“Thanks for the reminder, Jethro.” I gave him a hard look and set the plates back on the table in front of him. The Iron Order blackmail problem might be close to solved, but I was still feeling very little charity where my oldest brother was concerned.

“Well, is she leaving, or not? Because we have a test next week and I feel pretty good about the material,” Cletus pressed.

I stuffed my hands in my pockets and shook my head. “I don’t know. She said she doesn’t have any plans to leave immediately, but she doesn’t have any reason to stay.”

Cletus and Beau’s frowns were severe.

“No reason to stay? What kind of swill is that? What are you—pig liver? What a heartless doxy.”

I huffed, not liking Cletus’s uncharitable assessment, because, if memory served, I was pretty sure “doxy” meant the same thing as floozy. I was also growing impatient and needed this conversation to end.