Temporarily out of Luck

by Vicki Batman

  Oops. Wonder what Mom would think about that?

  ****

  In my car and on my way to work, I crammed the rest of donut number two in my mouth and chomped, washing all down with a healthy swallow of low-fat milk. I used both hands to maneuver a right-handed turn. I didn’t want to be late for work. Once settled at a traffic light, I glanced to my left. A cop car with two police officers inside had stopped next to me. They stabbed fingers my way and laughed.

  Jerks. Bet they’re friends of Allan’s. I'll show them. Removing donut number three ever-so deliberately from the bag, I very slowly and deliberately teethed a bite, then ran my tongue very slowly and deliberately along my lips with my eyes mostly shuttered, all the while watching them from the corner of my eye. From the look on their faces and the one they shared, realization punched them. The moment the light changed, they made a fast u-turn in the direction of Dee’s.

  He-he-he. The power of donuts. If I did visit Dee’s more often, I should negotiate for a percentage from the new business she garnered. I shoved a chunk in my mouth, drank, and fished my hand in the bag for a clean napkin.

  I parked my car a few rows back from Wedding Wonderland’s entrance. I carried the now-empty bag between my teeth. Before exiting, I grabbed my almost-empty milk container and my handbag. With a glance at my watch, I bumped the door with my hip. Three minutes to spare.

  Inside the store, I dropped my things at reception, dumped the trash in the can, and pulled out the credenza drawer. “I’m here, Miss A.”

  “Good morning, Hattie,” she called from the fitting area.

  I stuffed my handbag inside the drawer. “Morning.”

  “I’m such a klutz, dearie.”

  I took a few steps in her direction, noticing her bent over. “Oh?”

  “Yes, well”—with her hand on her lower back, she straightened—“I dropped a container of straight pins.”

  “Which could happen to anybody.”

  “Still frustrating. I have no explanation. The box exploded, sending pins everywhere.”

  “Need help?”

  “No, thank you,” Miss A. said. “I am mostly done. I wouldn’t want anyone to step on one accidentally. I’ll run the vacuum to be sure.”

  Returning to my desk, I set my morning diet cola caffeine-fix next to the monitor.

  Miss A. plugged in and turned on the sweeper.

  I hit the computer’s power button, hearing the hums and beeps resurrect it to life. After a few more clicks, I found today’s updates and forwarded reminders to the soon-to-be brides.

  The vacuum shut off.

  Miss A. had finished retrieving the pins and joined me, leaning terribly close to my shoulder, obviously monitoring my tasks. I could smell the coffee she drank on her breath. Popping the soda tab, I imbibed a reviving swallow. As I raised the can to my lips for a second shot, my phone dinged.

  I checked. Dee’s name popped up. I nearly danced a jig and opened her message. “Just sent security camera link.” I shuttered my phone. “Yay.”

  Miss A. straightened the business cards for Wedding Wonderland in the silver-plated tray on the desk. “Good news?”

  “I think so. My parents are frantic because my sister was once married to Jonson Leggett. The police have questioned her and not in a good way.”

  “Oh my. Of course, your family is upset. The police talk to everyone.” Miss A.’s hands fluttered. “No sister of yours could perform such a heinous act.”

  Maybe I could share the rest of my news with Miss A. “My grade school friend owns Dee’s Delicious Donuts across the street from Super Saver Grocery. I wanted to talk to Dee about her security cameras and if they might have recorded something.” I shrugged. “You never know.”

  “A sound plan.”

  “My friend sent me the security video.”

  “Great news.” Miss A. rested her hand on my shoulder. “I’m sure you’re eager to look.”

  “Do you mind?” I opened my phone. “It won’t take long.”

  A shake of her head sent her tight curls bouncing. “Not at all. Can I peek over your shoulder?”

  “Absolutely.” I rotated the device where she could see, too.

  I swiped back to the home screen and found my email icon, pressed the button, and my messages appeared. I scrolled to Dee’s name and opened her note.

  Dee wrote, Here’s the link, Hattie. I hope it helps.

  I muttered a small prayer something miraculous would materialize, and even better, a view of someone in the vicinity of Jonson and his car parked in the Super Saver lot. Now or never, and bam, the video link opened to what I identified as coming from the front entrance of the donut store. I observed many customers who passed into and out of Dee’s Delicious Donuts.

  “I don’t see anyone near Jonson,” Miss A. said.

  “Me neither. Wish I could zoom in.” Pensive, I twisted my mouth to one side. “I believe this image is from the front entry and customers.”

  Miss A tapped the screen. “Could she have sent the wrong link?”

  I turned off the video. “You know, Dee did mention something about having a second camera, one aimed at the parking lot. I want to check my emails one more time to be positive.”

  I glided my finger over the Back To Mail words in the upper left-hand corner, which took me to the list of emails. I eyed them, looking for a second email from Dee, but no, nothing. Nada. Zip. Not a thing.

  “Rats.”

  Miss A. set her finger on her chin. “Ask your friend for the other view. She probably sent the first one without looking.”

  “All great minds, Miss A… I’ll do so and then get back to work.”

  “I’d like to see it, too, if you don’t mind, just in case I can help.” She straightened, sending her gaze to the front door. “It’s nearly ten. Time to open Wonderland.”

  “Almost done.” I concentrated hard on composing the email, hit Send, and waited for a moment while my message winged its way to Dee.

  I tossed my phone in my handbag, which I locked in the credenza drawer and pocketed the key. Waiting is hell. I tapped my toes. Come on, Dee. Situations like this tried my patience.

  ****

  Wedding Wonderland was super busy all day. And the popularity thrilled Miss A. More prospective brides and friends and family investigated the store. From their comments, Miss A. would have a huge success on her hands—a good thing.

  After the shop closed and in my car, I took off my shoes for the drive home. My feet hurt badly, especially the toes. I ached to massage them. Once parked in the apartment lot, I put on my heels to stagger to my door and inside, kicked them off. Then I let loose and plopped my body on the khaki sofa, propping my feet on the coffee table. Funny how a little elevation made them feel better. Grabbing my toes, I rubbed. I closed my eyes. Catching a few winks sounded like a superb idea.

  “Hey.” Jenny shut the door I hadn’t closed properly. “You're home on time.”

  I cracked open one eye. “For what?”

  Moving to stand in front of me, she stuck her hands on her hips. “Dinner’s ready.”

  Both of my eyes went wide. “You…cooked?”

  “Don’t act so surprised.”

  “Let me get this straight. You cooked by yourself. No one helped you. No delivery. No takeout.”

  Jenny pointed a spatula at me. “Give the girl a Kewpie doll.”

  I scrunched my nose. “You know what a Kewpie doll is?”

  “I get around.”

  “Where did you hide my friend?” I slid deeper in the couch cushions and let my eyelids shutter. I mumbled, “I’m pretty hungry. Better be good.”

  “It’s awesome.” Her shoes clacked as she walked to the kitchen and did the same when she returned. “Dig in.”

  Jenny set a plate laden with homemade enchiladas on the coffee table. A napkin fell in my lap, and she stuck silverware in my fist.

  Reluctantly, I roused and moved my feet off the furniture. “Do you want to feed me too?”

&n
bsp; “Lordy, no.”

  The tantalizing aroma of cheese and chili sent me to Mexican food heaven. I hovered the fork over the food while deciding where to dive in. Cheese or chili? Chili or cheese? As I shoveled a bite in my mouth, I caught Jenny watching.

  Her light laugh trailed her back to the kitchen. She returned, carrying a pitcher filled with a pale green liquid and two glasses containing limes and crushed ice, the rims coated with salt. “I prescribe margaritas on the rocks. You need it.”

  “You’re a saint.” Never one to turn down a good cocktail, I took what she proffered. “Pour away.”

  Jenny filled my glass.

  I squeezed the lime, stirring the juice with the end of my fork. After licking the liquid off the handle, I imbibed deeply. “Great food takes the edge off a long day.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  I squeezed my eyes into thin slits. “I swear you’ve been listening to Allan Wellborn too much. He utilizes the ‘tell me about it’ phrase all the time.”

  “You’ve made that comment before, and like before, I don’t consciously mean to copy him.” Jenny waved her glass. “So, are you eatin’?”

  I plowed my fork into the enchilada a second time, scooping all the melty cheese, onion, and chili. What I tasted exploded delightfully with delectable deliciousness in my mouth. I took a third bite. “Really yummy, Jenny. You’ve surpassed yourself.”

  “Yup, the family recipe. Never fails.”

  “Since your family’s from the country, shouldn’t you fix the traditional fare—cornbread and beans? Fried bologna sandwiches?”

  “I’ve never eaten fried bologna and don’t plan on it either.” Jenny studied the bite she’d forked. “If’n I’m eatin’ calories, they’d better be good ones.” She slid the food in her mouth and shut her eyes. “What was the best thing about today?”

  “Word is getting out about Wedding Wonderland. Business is growing—a lot. I’ve never worked so hard. Like Christmas time at Tucker's.” I patted my mouth with a corner of the napkin. “Changing the subject… This morning, I had an idea about checking the security cameras at Dee’s to see if she had footage of Super Saver’s lot and Jonson’s car. Dee told me one of her cameras points that way.”

  Jenny took another mouthful. “Why haven’t the police talked with Dee?”

  I shrugged. “Don’t know. Dee said no one contacted her. Maybe SPD needs manpower. They seem to be behind. Anyway, she sent me a link, but from what I could tell, the camera’s aimed at the door, not the one looking at the lot.”

  Jenny scraped her plate for the last bit of food. “Emailed her back?”

  “Yes.” I drank from my cocktail. “No answer—yet.”

  She dropped her silver on the cleared plate. “Sometimes, no news isn’t good news. Dee’s probably sleeping by now.”

  “Undoubtedly. I think she’s at the shop by the ungodly hour of four a.m.”

  “Ick. Early mornings are against my constitution.” Jenny motioned to my plate. “Finished?”

  “No, one more little…bit.” I ate the last speck and let the utensil clatter on top of an almost spotless surface. “Done, and thank you.”

  “More for tomorrow.” Jenny set my plate on the coffee table and reclined in her chair. “You get to do dishes.”

  I nodded. “Fair trade.”

  Jenny sipped her margarita until nothing remained but cubes. She held the glass to the light, looking for more to drink. “Hattie, does Allan know about Dee’s footage?”

  “Not from me.”

  My statement got me The Look—a sideways glance lined with skepticism. She plopped the empty glass on the coffee table.

  “Seriously, Jenny. Wipe the ‘you’re gonna be in trouble’ off your face. Like I told you, Dee told me no one from the Sommerville PD has called. She said if Allan asks, she’ll send him a link, too. I just happened to be first. I want to update my family.”

  Jenny pleated her forehead with her forefinger and thumb. “We need some good news for Tracey.”

  “Finding good news for Tracey also means good news for Jonson by identifying his killer.” I tilted my head. “I might try Little Egypt, the pizza joint next door to Dee’s—”

  “Isn’t it funny a pizza store is named Little Egypt?”

  “A local legend about the second owner not wanting to spend money on a new sign—something about him being a tightwad. I can say so with all honesty since I've known them before babyhood. The current owner is a longtime family friend. I doubt they have cameras.”

  Jenny’s cellphone beeped. As she read the text, a long gradual smile shaped her mouth.

  My friend is in love. A large hollow space in my chest formed. I envied how her boyfriend captured her heart and soul. I missed what she experienced. I wanted what she experienced.

  I licked the rim of my glass before swallowing the last lime-y drop. I studied the depths. “Mr. Who-Uses-All-The-Hot-Water?”

  “Maybe.” Jenny rose, giving me an enigmatic grin. As she made her way to the kitchen, she said over her shoulder, “Maybe a fifty-gallon water heater would be a good idea.”

  I swung my feet to the floor and stood, gathering the plates. She didn’t hear me mumble softly, “Especially if he’s a permanent roomie.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Somewhere in sleepy time, a tiny “ding” roused me. Grappling for my phone charging on my night table, I looked at it—not Mom. Thank God, and I let my head drop on my pillow.

  What seemed like a little while later, but in reality was four hours later, the phone’s alarm sounded. I stretched wide my eyes. I stood and lifted my arms overhead. On autopilot, I shed my nightie as I slogged my way to the shower. The prickling pinpoints of water stirred me to life, and by the time I finished the soap and hot rinse cycle, I resurrected like Frankenstein, only cleaner and not grungy green with bizarre hardware implanted on my body.

  I blasted my hair into a sleek ’do and shaped the ends with a curling iron. After slapping on war paint, I stepped into a slim black skirt and matching jacket with black heels. I deemed a fiery red handbag with scalloped trim to be the perfect accessory.

  While standing at the island and eating toast, I checked on the email ding and found a new message from Dee. She’d written “Number 2” in the subject line. I clicked on the link and boom! Super Saver’s lot filled the entire screen. Jonson’s luxury SUV sat front and center. I studied the video longer until what appeared to be a woman approached his car. She wore a white jacket with a matching skirt and sported a short haircut—

  The video buzzed into an alternative universe. I clicked a button on my phone. Nothing. I played “the wait it out” game. Eventually, the static-y thing disappeared, and I could refocus on the woman.

  Jenny shuffled into the kitchen and poured a cup of freshly perked coffee. She sipped with her eyes closed.

  “Morning,” I said. “Late night?”

  Looking up, she took another drink. “Finished a book around one.”

  An excellent read captivated me, too—glorious and worthwhile. “Must’ve been an extraordinary book. I treasure the feeling.”

  “I read the ending twice. Only done that once in my short lifetime.” Jenny smiled. “Whatcha doing?”

  “I got Dee’s second video.”

  She lifted her brows. “And?”

  “Annnd a woman in a white coat stopped at Jonson’s vehicle.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “That’s all?”

  “Yes, but I can’t tell who the person is—”

  “Can’t see who it is?”

  “Not really. White jacket. Short hair. Heels. Then the recording drops.”

  Jenny lifted her cup. “It does sorta sound like Tracey. She has a white suit. Short hair. Wears high heels.”

  “It does. But lots of people wear white.” I crooked my mouth. “Surely, I schooled Tracey better in clothing choices. So not the correct color for this time of year.”

  “Totally. Did Trace wear hers the day Jonson was murdered?”
>
  I frowned, shifted my stance, and crossed my arms. “She did. She said none of her other clothes were clean. Filthy greasy grime streaked the chest—according to Tracey. You know, from where Jonson yanked her against his car.”

  “I’m surprised he let his car get dirty.”

  “Me, too.” I rose and stuffed a granola bar in my handbag, then added a second one and a diet drink.

  Jenny sampled her brew. “Now, where are you going?”

  “I think I’ll go see Mr. Ryan, the owner of Little Egypt, to ask about a video. He plays tennis with Dad. He acts like a penny pincher, yet nowadays, everyone has a security camera. He’s…careful.” I dropped my voice. “The long-time Sommerville rumor is he’s connected to the Mafia.”

  “Like in The Mafia Mafia?” Her eyebrows morphed into peaked rooftops. She looked over each shoulder like a bad dude lurked behind her. “In Sommerville?”

  “I guess so. That's why it's a rumor.”

  Shaking her head, Jenny strolled toward the hallway toward her room, drinking more of the reviving brew. “Those small-town connections…”

  I shouldered my bag and walked to the front door. “Maybe I'll score a pizza.”

  “One with cholesterol?”

  “Would I buy any other kind?”

  ****

  Lunch ran late at work because every bride-to-be visited the store during the noon hour. Around two, when the furor subsided, I took a break to drive to Little Egypt to ask about the video. Without a doubt, Mr. Ryan would help his long-time family friend.

  Sommervillians believed Little Egypt’s thin crispy pizza comparable to the kind found in Italy. The perfect amount of house-made sauce on top and covered in my favorite toppings, usually Canadian bacon and bacon.

  After the founding patriarch passed to the Italian cathedral in the great beyond, Mr. Ryan, the son, took over the business. When younger, he oversaw a pricey French restaurant in the nearby big city and relocated back to Sommerville to care for his mother, the widow. Very early every Saturday morning, he played tennis with my dad and his cronies.

  Mrs. Ryan sat on the Sommerville Library Board with Mom and Mrs. Wellborn.

  Since no other cars had parked in the spaces in front of Little Egypt, I found a slot easily. Dee had already closed her shop because her hours were from six A.M. to two P.M., which meant I couldn’t thank her in person for her help nor snag a few more donut treats. I was a worthy cause for all things in the donut leftover category.