Hijack in Abstract (A Cherry Tucker Mystery) (11 page)

He squared my look. “Your Great-Gam raised five kids in that house.”

“You want me to build bunk beds for them? It was supposed to be my studio. That house has two bedrooms and one bathroom. Todd’s already living there.”

Grandpa’s lips disappeared into his mouth.

Sometimes I forget to tell myself to stop yammering.

I needed to explain that it wasn’t just Casey and Cody, but Grandma Jo’s memories that might be “cleared out” along with Shawna’s missing pictures.

However, like my delinquent mother, Grandma Jo was a taboo subject. Talk of the dead and missing were forever silenced in this house.

Before I could appeal to Grandpa’s sense of nostalgia, my phone rang. I yanked it from my pocket and glanced at the caller ID. Rupert. Not what I needed at this moment. But a customer trumped family squabbles.

“Hey, Mr. Rupert,” I said, moving toward the door. “What can I do you for?”

He broke into peals of giggles better made for a sitcom laugh track. I tapped my foot counting the seconds for him to finish while Pearl and Grandpa watched me.

“Darling,” said Rupert. “I have arrived in your lovely town to bring the contract. Halo is so quaint. Please direct me to your studio.”

I swallowed a half dozen curses picturing the degrees of nudity and foolishness that might greet him at my home. Besides the fact my studio now looked like the parlor of a redneck bachelor. I wouldn’t have been surprised if Cody had already tacked a muscle car nudie calendar on the wall. “I’m actually away from my studio at the moment.”

“Where are you, my dear? Let me come to you. I’m enjoying my provincial tour.”

“I’m at my Grandpa’s farm,” I spun my brain’s local rolodex trying to come up with a better option. “How do you feel about a Sonic drive-in?”

Rupert found that suggestion hilarious, but cut his laughter short. “A farm? Wonderful. We’ll be there in a moment. Just text me the address.”

“I don’t have a texting plan. Let me meet you somewhere else.”

“I would like to see this farm of your ancestors. If you want the contract, you’ll give me the address.”

Shit, I thought, glancing at Pearl’s expectant face. Grandpa curled his lip at the hint of visitors. The thought of Rupert Agadzinoff meeting Pearl and Grandpa was only slightly better than the thought of Rupert meeting a half-dressed Casey who would itemize his wallet and proceed with a “Capture the Sugar Daddy” campaign.

I needed the contract. Rupert would have to come to the farm.

Thirteen

I met Rupert and his driver in the farm yard, ready to defend them from errant goats. No goats appeared, nor did Miss David, for which I thanked the Lord profusely. Bad enough to suffer comments from Rupert on my “quaint and cunning bucolic lifestyle” (i.e. hick), but to also suffer the withering glances of Miss David? No, thank you.

In the farm kitchen, I served everyone a glass of tea. The driver disappeared to tour the farm or, more likely, to sleep in the car. After assessing Rupert as an obnoxious irritant, Grandpa took off to hang with his goats. Or fish. Which left Pearl, Rupert, and I. I seated Rupert at the table and watched as Pearl took it upon herself to make a real lunch.

The lunch I wanted an hour ago, not during a contract negotiation.

“I hope you didn’t come all the way to Halo to bring me my contract,” I said to Rupert, while trying to catch Pearl’s attention. She flitted between the fridge and cabinets, gathering supplies. “Pearl. We don’t need to be fed. Why don’t you scoot and continue your work on ridding the house of its history?”

“No bother, hon’,” said Pearl. “I don’t let my guests go hungry.”

“Mr. Agadzinoff, why don’t we move to the living room?” I said through gritted teeth.

“A light repast would be lovely, Miss Pearl,” said Rupert.

Pearl turned and shook a fork at me. “See? I’ll get you a nice dinner. Now if you need any help with your paperwork, just let me know. I’ve done many a contract getting my milkers sired. I can just look over the fine print for you.”

I began to regret my decision not to expose him to Casey. “Mr. Agadzinoff is a lawyer,” I said to Pearl. “We don’t need any of your milking contract expertise.”

“It’s not a milking contract,” Pearl whisked eggs into a bowl. “It’s a breeding contract for stud service. I hire a registered buck and need a contract to ensure he doesn’t shoot blanks and is free of disease when he visits. Needs a good whim-wham, too. I let them get at it, but I need to make sure I can get the buck back if my doe don’t settle. By settle, I mean...”

“Good Lord, Pearl. Mr. Agadzinoff doesn’t need the birds and bees of goats.”

“I’m paying one hundred and fifty dollars for a good rutting.” Pearl slammed her fork onto the counter. “If he’s a lawyer, he understands.”

Chuckling, Rupert held up his hands. “Yes, yes. I understand. I have signed Cherry’s contract, though. Maybe I should have had you check to make sure Cherry’s giving me a good whim-wham, Pearl.”

Pearl nodded and turned back toward the counter where she added flour and milk to her bowl.

Mortification heated my cheeks better than a BBQ smoker. I took the contracts from Rupert. “You want me to come up to Atlanta tomorrow? I can have my sister drive me.”

He shook his head. “I’ll send my chauffeur. He enjoys driving. Why don’t you just stay at my home while you’re working? Much easier than the back and forth of the long commute to Atlanta.”

“That would certainly solve some of your problems at the house,” said Pearl. “Give you some breathing room. Get out of town and away from the gossip, too.”

“The drive does not bother me in the least,” I said to Rupert followed by a sharp “mind your own business” look to Pearl.

“I do like my employees readily available, my dear,” said Rupert. “And your truck seems unsafe.”

“She’s plenty safe,” I said not wanting to cast aspersions on my poor Datsun. “I miss her. When I go out tonight, I’ll have to catch a ride.”

“Catch a ride?” Rupert leaned forward, clasping his tea. “I am curious as to what there is to do at night in the country? Surely, you don’t have clubs?”

Pearl abandoned her dumpling mixture and turned to listen. “Who are you going with? I thought you got dumped by Luke Harper. You’re not taking up with your ex-husband again, are you? That’s going to make matters worse, as far as your painting problem goes.”

If my cheeks grew any hotter, I might have set fire to the contracts. “Mr. Rupert, I assure you I do not have a painting problem.”

“Of course not,” said Rupert, patting my hand. “I would be interested if your plans ever include Maksim Avtaikin, though. I love to hear stories about my friend, so I can use them to poke him in the ribs later.”

“Oh, we love Mr. Max,” said Pearl. “He used to host bingo for us until Cherry ruined that.”

I took a deep, cleansing breath and counted to twenty.

“So Maksim is well liked in the community?” said Rupert. “But I thought he and Cherry had a rapport?”

“We have an excellent rapport,” I said, glaring at Pearl. “I have been assisting Mr. Max in getting past his legal transgressions and staying on the fair side of the law.”

“Legal transgressions?” said Rupert.

“Nothing was ever proven,” said Pearl. “Mr. Max is a sweetheart.”

“That’s true.” I didn’t want Rupert to use Max’s illicit doings as a point of good natured ribbing. It seemed ungentlemanly. “He’s never been charged with anything.”

“He never is,” said Rupert, smiling. “Good old Maks. I’m glad to hear he’s settled in such an honest and supportive community.”

“Mostly,” I grumbled, thinking of Shawna.

“Well, then,” said Rupert. “I bid you adieu and will see you tomorrow, Miss Cherry Tucker.”

We shook hands and he left to find his driver. Pearl peered through the kitchen window at the town car readying to leave.

“He didn’t stay for my chicken and dumplings,” she said.

The aroma of chicken, vegetables, and baked biscuits drifted through the kitchen. My stomach’s rumble kicked into lumberjack-killing-a-sequoia territory.

Without turning, Pearl said, “Don’t even think about it, Cherry. You’re not getting any of my fixings while your name is mud. I will not have you embarrassing your Grandpa Ed. Get your ducks sorted out and then you can sit at my table.”

I grabbed my contract and headed out the door. “It’s not your table,” I muttered.

Fourteen

When I reached the Coderres’ trailer, I found Jerell sitting on the stoop with an air rifle on his lap. He scoped out the Firebird, but seeing me alight from it, he threw the air rifle over his shoulder and climbed down the rotting steps to my vehicle. I handed him a bag of groceries and followed him inside, carrying another casserole.

“How’s your great-grandma today?” I asked him.

“About the same. We’re taking extra cautions now.” Jerell laid his gun on the stoop and from under his shirt, pulled out a key hanging on a yarn necklace. He fitted the key into the trailer door, turned the lock, and pushed the door wide.

I fixed a smile on my face, watching him replace his key and grab his BB gun. I could have kicked in that door easier than unlocking it. “Keeping watch over your great-gam? That’s good.”

“Daddy Tyrone kept us safe,” said Jerell. “Now I gotta do it.”

The way Jerell talked, they should rename the Sweetgum Estates to Little Beirut.

“That’s real grown up of you, Jerell. I’ll just go put your dinner in the fridge.”

Miss Gladys lay with her feet propped on the couch.

“How you doing, ma’am?” I asked, making my way to the kitchen.

“Not so good, sugar,” she said. “Thank you for coming.”

I left the casserole in the fridge. Jerell bumped me to the side and began stacking the groceries inside the freezer.

“Jerell, you don’t put cereal in the freezer.”

“I got to hide it from the tweaker meth-heads. They can smell sugar and they’ll go through our cupboards looking for it. This is some good stuff you brought. I like the ones with marshmallows.”

I eyed his gun and swallowed hard. “Me, too.”

Leaving Jerell to hide the groceries, I walked back to the living area and sat on the couch next to Miss Gladys. “We’re working on the funeral arrangements.”

“Thank you, baby.” She patted my hand. “I don’t know what we’re gonna do.”

“I’m going to find you a new place to live. I’d move you into my house, but it’s full up right now.”

“That’s all right, honey.” She shut her delicately veined lids.

I watched the clouding in her oxygen tube for a moment, then rose from the couch. I walked down the hall and knocked on Jerell’s door. “I’m going to talk to your neighbors to see if they know anything about Tyrone’s murder.”

Jerell yanked open his door. “You’re not too smart, are you.”

“I’m no brain surgeon, I’ll give you that, but I’ve been to college.”

Jerell gave the weary sigh of an eight-year-old who’d seen it all. “I guess I’ll go with you. I don’t like leaving my gam.”

“I’ll be fine,” I said. “She’s sleeping.”

“You got a gun?”

“I thought if I came armed, it may do me more harm than good.”

“Take my knife.” He disappeared behind his door and returned with a switchblade. “You know how to use it?”

Careful not to grimace, I shoved the knife in my back pocket. “Which neighbors do you think will be the most helpful? I’ve got this picture I want to show them.”

“Come on,” he threw his air rifle over his shoulder and marched out the door. On the stoop, he pulled out his string and locked the door. Taking a right, he hiked toward a trailer the color of a cinderblock. A feeble line of smoke rose from the roof.

Jerell followed my line of sight to the roof. “They put in their own stove.”

“They cut a hole in their roof?”

“It gets cold in the winter,” Jerell shrugged. “They don’t cook or tweak. Look at their windows.”

I looked. “They have curtains?”

Jerell pointed to another trailer down the street. “You see them, smoking in front of that house? Look at the windows.”

“They’re covered in foil.”

“Yes, ma’am. That’s a meth house. You pass by and it smells like a cat peed all over it. Also got more trash than the others. Tweakers got lots of trash. Alcohol bottles and such. And not the kind you drink. Kitty litter, but no cats. You stay away from there.”

“Got it, Jerell.” I knocked on the safe house door. The door cracked and a pair of brown eyes peered out. I held up the composite drawing of my hijacker. “Hey, I’m friends with Jerell and Miss Gladys. Have you seen this guy before?”

The man said something I couldn’t understand and shut the door. I heard the rattle of a chain and turn of a deadbolt. I looked back at Jerell.

“They don’t speak English there, but they’re nice.” Jerell pointed to the trailer across the road. “Try that one.”

I stalked across the lane, trying not to feel so white and female. This trailer also had curtains, giving me hope. I knocked.

An older woman cracked the door. “What do you want?”

“She’s cool, Miss April,” yelled Jerell.

“Who’s that?” Miss April wedged part of her immense body through the crack to see Jerell.

“That there is Cherry Tucker,” Jerell hollered from the road. “She wants to know who killed Tyrone. She’s going to show you a picture.”

I glanced down the road. The crowd in front of the meth house had grown and they watched with interest. I didn’t want to seem impolite, so I gave a small wave. A girl tossed her cigarette into the dirt and waved back.

“I guess you can come in,” said Miss April. “Excuse the mess.” She widened the door’s opening. The fetid smell of garbage and unknown substances assailed my nostrils. Various items stacked to the ceiling lined the doorway. Newspapers, magazines, books, garbage bags, clothing, and old games. More than I could itemize in my head. Miss April backed down the path leading to the door.

I held up the composite and tried to hold my breath. “Have you seen this man, ma’am?”

April took the picture and studied it. “No, never seen him before. Who is he?”

“I don’t know, but he held up a truck and Tyrone saw the robbery. He might have killed Tyrone.”

“Everyone here thinks Regis killed Tyrone.” April shook her head. “Bad news for poor Miss Gladys.”

“Who’s Regis?”

“Regis Sharp. The Sharps run the show around here. Sell their redneck heroin in Line Creek and farther out. Wouldn’t be surprised if they’re running that stuff into Atlanta.”

“Dealers?”

“More than that, honey. They also pimp and loan. They are dangerous men. Tyrone owed them money.” April crossed her heavy arms. “Lucky they leave me alone. Nobody wants to bother me, and I don’t want to bother nobody.”

“Glad to hear that,” I said. “This trailer park doesn’t seem too safe.”

“If you don’t have a dog willing to tear a leg off, you better be armed to live here.” April laughed, “Or have a booby-trapped house like me.”

“Thanks, Miss April.” My skin crawled to be out of her trailer, but I didn’t want to seem impolite. “I’m going to show this sketch to more people.”

“Nobody in Sweetgum Estates knows this man. I can tell you that. I watch who comes and goes.”

I folded the drawing and shoved it in my pocket. “Thanks for your help.”

“You watch your back,” she hooked a thumb in the direction of the trailer down the street. “Folks have been watching you. They know you’re checking on Miss Gladys and Jerell.”

I mumbled my thanks and backed out the door. Ducking my head, I hurried to where Jerell waited in the middle of the road and we hiked back to Miss Gladys’s trailer.

“I’ll be by tomorrow, Jerell. I hate leaving you here,” I handed him back his knife and squeezed his plump shoulder.

“I got to stay here. I can’t leave my Gammy alone.” He cast me a sharp look. “I ain’t going to school just yet. Someone’s got to keep an eye on things.”

“I know, baby, and it’s okay.” I threw my arms around his pudgy body and hugged. I didn’t know whether to mention the Sharps for fear of scaring the boy. I hugged him tighter instead.

He shoved me off with an eye roll. “Calm yourself, girl. Gammy and I were here before you ever showed up.”

“See you tomorrow, Jerell.”

“Bring pizza.”