Secrets Collide (Bluegrass Brothers)

need to clean house. I don’t know who to trust enough to call them in. I thought this one guy was clean. They’re digging deeper and fear there may be more.”
    Cy ran his hand through his hair. This was not good. “I can call in the DEA’s office, but it may be the same. What do you want me to do?” Annie asked.
    “Cy, I got it. I got a name,” Neely Grace called from where she had stalked off to talk to the judge. The wedding reception quieted down as she hurried toward him. “Liam O’Flannigan.”
    “Got him,” Cade said as he punched away on his Smartphone. “He was born in New Jersey and attended public school until he was suddenly admitted to the top private school in the state. When he was sixteen, he dropped out of school. Then reappeared at an Ivy League college where he earned a business degree and an art history degree. It says he owns an art studio in New York City now. No mention of a family with the exception of a mother—Eloise O’Flannigan, who died of a drug overdose when he was just sixteen.”
    “Wait. That name sounds familiar,” Marcy Davies said as she snapped her fingers. “She was the Mistress of Politics. It was never proven and the news didn’t make a big deal of it. They discounted it for gossip, if I recall. But when I was a young girl in college, I liked to read those gossip rags. Anyway, there was an article about a woman who had been a mistress to some of the most powerful men in politics. It was rumored she was even the mistress of the vice president.”
    “I see it,” Cade said as he read something on his phone. “The magazine was sued and they took down the story and issued an apology. No one credited it as being truthful and the reporter even pled guilty to libel.”
    “But if that were true . . .” Kenna said.
    “It would explain where he got his connections. Now, what do we do about it?” Cy asked. “My idea is to storm the place.”
    “I like that idea. But I was thinking of something with a little more finesse,” Ahmed said as he stepped forward.
     
    *     *     *
     
    Tires squealed, a horn blared, and then the sound of metal hitting metal resonated through the night. The door to the beat-up Chevy Lumina creaked open as Trey Everett stepped out.
    “Oh my God, are you okay? Someone call an ambulance! Babe, call an ambulance,” Trey called to Taylor as he rushed to the large white boat-of-a-car with a smashed front end.
    The doors opened as Miss Lily and John stepped out on wobbly legs. Miss Lily gently collapsed to the ground as Trey rushed to her side. “Look what you did. You teenagers are all willy-nilly out here like you own the place. You could've killed us.”
    “Yo, man. It wasn’t me. You were the one swerving into the lane. You old people need to get your eyes checked. You’re the hazard on the road,” Trey shouted back.
    “Hey! What’s going on here?” a man in a suit asked as he walked down the driveway from the gated house.
    “I’ll tell you what’s going on. This young whippersnapper and his lady were doing the hanky-panky in the car instead of paying attention to where they were going and crashed right into us.”
    “That’s not true,” said the cute woman in shorts so short the perfect globes of her derriere showed when she bent over . . . as she did for the guard. “These old geezers couldn’t see the road in the dark and crossed the line and hit us.” Taylor straightened back up, having picked up her purse from the ground.
    “Oh sure, so says the tart,” Miss Lily said prudishly from the ground.
    In the distance, another set of car lights rounded the corner. “That ambulance must've gotten here fast,” Taylor said as she ran the tip of her tongue over her bright red lips. “I like fast.” She dropped her voice so only the guard could hear her as Trey and Miss Lily argued. “When the cops come, you’ll say the old man hit us, right?” She ran a hand down his chest and he smiled as she gave him a clear shot of her pushed-up boobs.
    “Sure, doll. What do I get for it?” the guard asked before more tires squealed.
    “You hussy,” Edna yelled as she hurried from the car. Out poured Miss Daisy and Miss Violet with her. “What are you doing with my man?”
    “Your man? It’s not my fault if you can’t hang onto him. Maybe if you got that bunion fixed, he wouldn’t have run off in terror for someone younger.”
    Edna gasped along with Miss Daisy and Miss Violet.
    “And you called me a tart,”