On Pins and Needles. Victoria Pade

it wasn’t going to happen again, she told herself firmly.

      Josh Brimley was not just some nice guy she’d met in passing. In a way he was the enemy and she’d better not lose sight of that fact.

      She’d better not lose sight of what kind of man he was.

      Because while she might have faith that she could win over Elk Creek’s citizens to the benefits of acupuncture, she knew better than to put any effort whatsoever into trying to convince a man who viewed her as an oddity that that wasn’t what she was. And when that man also suspected her parents of a horrible crime on top of it, she really knew he was someone to stay away from.

      The trouble was, loitering around the edges of her mind was the last view she’d had of Josh Brimley walking out the door.

      The view of a rear end to die for.

      And no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t shake off her appreciation of that….

      Chapter 3

      “WHEN’RE YOU GONNA DO somethin’ ’bout them allergies, boy?”

      Josh held up his hand in acknowledgement of his mother speaking to him as he sneezed three more times. Merely walking into the kitchen the next morning and being in the proximity of the mudroom where his brothers hung their work coats was enough to send him into a paroxysm of sneezing.

      When it finally subsided, he said, “I don’t have the time to do some thing about it now.”

      He hadn’t told even his mother about his appointment the previous day with Megan Bailey and her needles. And certainly now there were more important issues that needed to be dealt with.

      “You got in awful late last night and you’re up even earlier than usual this mornin’,” Junebug observed then, as Josh poured himself a cup of coffee. She sat at the kitchen table with her own mug and the romance novel she read a few pages of each day since she was up before the news pa per arrived.

      “Something’s happened,” Josh answered as he joined her. Then he went on to explain the discovery of the grave on Megan Bailey’s property.

      When he’d given his mother all the details—except for the fact that he’d been about to undergo acupuncture when Burt Connor had found him—Josh said, “Anything you remember about the Baileys from way back?”

      Apparently there was, because Junebug turned down the corner of one page in her book and closed it as if she knew she wasn’t going to be reading any more of it.

      “Not likely to forget those people,” she told Josh then. “They weren’t like anybody else around these parts.”

      “I know they’re environmentalists,” he supplied.

      “If that’s what you call it. Most folks called it rabble-rousin’ and trouble-makin’ and worse. They turned that farm of theirs into one of them communes for a while before they had kids. There were rumors of free love and drug-takin’ and who knows what all goin’ on.”

      “Really?” Josh said, interested to hear what his mother was saying. “What happened after they had kids?”

      “No more communal livin’ with the slew of long-haired, smelly sorts they had there before. But even after that they’d let just any passerby into their house. It’s one thing to be neighborly and friendly and hospitable to folks if you know ’em or if you know somebody else who knows ’em. But the Baileys, they’d take in vagabonds and riffraff, anybody.”

      “Do you remember anyone like that in particular? Around eighteen years ago?”

      Josh’s mother was an enormous woman—six feet tall and three hundred pounds. Her hair was pure white and she wore it pulled into a bun on the top of her head, leaving every inch of her meaty face exposed for the look she gave her son that said he was out of his mind.

      “Do I remember who might have been hangin’ around the Bailey place eighteen years ago? ’Course not. It wasn’t like I visited with ’em. They alienated them selves from folks around here.”

      “How did they do that?”

      “Mostly by not eatin’ meat.”

      “A lot of people don’t eat meat,” Josh pointed out, suppressing a smile at his mother’s horror at the very notion.

      “Not back when they were around. But even then nobody woulda cared what they ate or didn’t eat except that they made it known that they objected to the raisin’ of animals for food. That didn’t make ’em popular in ranch country. Plus they picketed around town and made more’n one scene at Margie Wilson’s Café and over at the Dairy King. Then there was some vandalizing of the slaughter house that every body knew had to be them even though the sheriff at the time couldn’t prove it.”

      Junebug paused a moment, as if some thing had just occurred to her.

      Amidst more sneezing, Josh hoped for a breakthrough, some flash of memory about someone or something that had gone on at the Bailey place eighteen years ago.

      But that wasn’t what he got. Instead his mother said, “Come to think of it, it doesn’t really fit that they’d be involved in hurtin’ a person when they were so set against any harm comin’ to any livin’ thing. They thought eatin’ an egg was a crime against nature.”

      “That’s what their daughter says about them, too.”

      “Pretty girls, those Bailey daughters. I saw ’em in town the other day. Which of ’em were you talkin’ to?”

      “Megan. The one Scott knows.”

      “The acupuncture one?”

      “Yeah.”

      That’s all he said—yeah. And some thing about it was enough to raise his mother’s bushy white eyebrows.

      “What about the other one? Did you do any talkin’ to her?” Junebug asked as if she were testing him.

      “I didn’t meet the other one. She didn’t come home the whole time I was at their place overseeing the removal of the evidence.”

      “But you liked the acupuncture one well enough.”

      It was a statement of fact, not a question, and even though Josh was a grown man his mother still surprised him with how easily she could see through him.

      “I didn’t find anything to dislike about her,” he answered, making sure to sound completely noncommittal. “But my job isn’t to like or dislike her. My job is to find out how and why someone was buried in her backyard eighteen years ago, the same month her family moved out of Elk Creek.”

      A slow, knowing grin spread across Junebug’s face. “Oh, you liked ’er all right.”

      Josh just rolled his eyes and forced the subject back to the matters at hand. “What about anybody around here disappearing suddenly, eighteen years ago? Do you remember anything like that? Maybe someone connected with the slaughter house? Or to some thing else the Baileys were opposed to?”

      “Nah.” Junebug confirmed what Millie had told him the night before about the lack of missing persons cases in town. “Besides, if somethin’ like that had ever happened ’round here there’d still be talk and you’d of heard it already yourself.”

      That was true enough. Stories in Elk Creek were told over and over through generations.

      “But if the Baileys took in passers-by,” Josh reasoned, “there could have been someone there who no one else knew or took notice of. Or would have thought twice about when they weren’t around anymore.”

      “S’pose so. Here today, gone tomorrow, there were a lot of folks like that with the Baileys. But then there’s always been ranch hands or crop-pickers who’ve come in and left again without much ado. It’s just that the Baileys were the only ones to open their doors to even the disreputable