“Mrs. Felch is married,” I said.
“That is usually what Mrs. means,” Silver said, patronizing me.
“Mrs. Felch is married to Mr. Felch. Nolan Felch.”
Fi got it first. “Oooooh, shit. That’s not good.”
“Wait, didn’t Tina—”
“Yeah. She did. I gotta go. Try not to scare off all the patrons.”
Fi scoffed. “They’re here for the free Bloody Mary shots we give out during Crappy Hour.”
“Whatever. Later.” Heading for the parking lot, I vowed never to come back to Honky Tonk during a Code Red.
I made it almost to my truck when Liza’s Buick rolled up. But it was Naomi’s dad, worry lines carved into his forehead, behind the wheel instead of my grandmother. Amanda was in the passenger seat, looking agitated.
“Everything all right?” I asked, reading the mood.
“Waylay is missing,” Amanda announced, a hand clutched to her heart. “She walked to the cottage to get her schoolwork together and was supposed to come straight back to Liza’s. We were going to have dinner-and-a-movie night.”
“She didn’t come back, and her bike’s gone,” Lou said gruffly. “We’re hoping Naomi had seen her.”
I swore under my breath. “Naomi’s not here. There was some trouble at the school with Way’s teacher, and she went to handle it.”
“Maybe that’s where Waylay went,” Amanda said, clutching her husband’s arm.
“That’s where I’m headed now,” I said grimly.
“You’re part of a parent-teacher conference?” Lou scoffed.
“No, but I’m sure as hell gonna have your daughter’s back when she walks into an ambush.”
I ignored the speed limit and stop signs on the short drive to the elementary school and noticed Lou did the same behind me. We pulled into adjacent parking spaces and stormed the front doors, a united front.
I hadn’t stepped foot in the school since I was a student here. It looked as though not much had changed.
“How do we know where to go?” Amanda wondered when we walked in through the front doors.
I heard raised voices coming from one of the hallways.
“My money’s on that way,” I said.
“Your sister ruined my life!”
I didn’t wait for the Witts. I headed toward the shouting at a dead run. I made it to the open door just in time to see a seething Mrs. Felch fisting her hands at her sides as she leaned into Naomi’s personal space.
I stalked into the room, but neither woman paid me any attention.
“From what you’ve told me, your husband ruined your marriage. An innocent eleven-year-old certainly isn’t to blame,” Naomi said, hands on hips, not giving the woman an inch.
She was wearing another flirty denim skirt. This one had a distressed hem with threads that skimmed her thighs. I both loved the way it looked on her and hated the fact that she was wearing it to serve beer to men who weren’t me.
“She’s got her mother’s blood, doesn’t she? There’s nothing innocent about any of you,” Mrs. Felch hissed, pointing an accusing finger in Naomi’s face.
My plans for Naomi and her tight little skirt would have to wait.
“Bullshit.”
My announcement had both women whirling around to face me.
Mrs. Felch’s eyes got big behind her glasses. I was a scary fucking guy when I wanted to be, and right now, I wanted to be downright terrifying. I took two steps forward, and she backed into her desk like a cornered rat in bifocals.
“Knox,” Naomi said through clenched teeth. “I’m so glad you’re here.” She was tilting her head and subtly pointing toward the floating wall that created a coatroom just inside the doorway.
I glanced in the direction and caught a glimpse of blonde and blue hair. Waylay, holding a jar of God knows what, gave me an embarrassed finger-wiggle of a wave from her belly on the floor.
“For fuck’s sake,” I muttered.
“There’s no need for language,” Mrs. Felch barked.
“The fuck there isn’t,” I countered, angling myself to block part of the opening to the coatroom. “And I think Waylay’s grandparents will agree.”
I jerked my head toward Lou who, until that point, had been holding Amanda back with a good grip on her summer sweater.
“Seems we’ve got ourselves a family conference,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest.
“Judging from how your daughter turned out, don’t think for a second that I’m falling for this show of familial support,” Mrs. Felch sniffed. “Waylay Witt is a juvenile delinquent, and her mother is a home-wrecking, pill-popping boil on the bottom of society.”