Lucky and the Falling Felon

by Emmy Grace

  His black brows draw down toward the bridge of his nose. Two thick slashes. “You think I don’t like you?”

  “Of course, that’s what I think. What would make me think otherwise? You’re rude, bossy, and condescending. You’re grouchy, and you frown constantly. Either you don’t like me or I’m not familiar with your mating rituals.”

  “Mating rituals?”

  I let my breath out in a huff. “Rrruuuh! Never mind. Just let me in this truck and take me home.”

  He relents and opens the door. Before he can pick me up and put me inside, I put my feet on the running board and jump. And I’m proud to say that I stick the landing. Maybe anger and mild poisoning are the keys to mounting this ridiculous thing.

  He shuts the door behind me. When he climbs in behind the wheel, he turns to look at me. “Mating rituals?”

  This time, I think I can actually hear the humor in his voice. Maybe Liam Dunning is just one of those people who is hard to get to know.

  “Shut up and drive.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he says, shifting into drive and hitting the gas pedal. We shoot forward like we’ve been launched from a slingshot. It reminds me of the carnival rides back in Gator Cove. I find myself smiling, despite the horror show my night has been. “Let’s get some breakfast. I haven’t eaten in hours since someone got trapped in the bathroom.”

  I’m suddenly too tired to argue. And too hungry to want to. “Swing by my place and get me a clean shirt. If I walk into the diner like this, everyone will start puking.”

  I think I hear a chuckle. Just one.

  Wonders never cease.

  I lean my head back and close my eyes.

  16

  After stopping by my house to change my shirt, Liam drives us to Ann-n-Ann’s, the best and only diner in Salty Springs. The Beasley twins, LouAnn and SueAnn, own it. The girls took it over when their parents were killed in a shrimp boat accident. That episode should’ve appeared on Deadliest Catch in my opinion.

  “Mornin’, folks,” LouAnn greets us when we walk in. Or maybe it’s SueAnn. I still can’t always tell them apart. They both have curly red hair and pale, freckled complexions, but SueAnn has darker blue eyes. Or maybe it’s LouAnn.

  To be safe, I just never call them by name. Ever. I sort of mumble the first part with an ew sound and end with “Ann.”

  “Mornin’,” Liam says as he leads me to a corner booth with a palm to my lower back. It’s a common thing for a man to do to a woman, but not necessarily a Liam. I just assumed because of his surly disposition that he had no manners to speak of. But then again, he does open the truck door for me, so maybe he’s not a total loss.

  We sit, and I immediately grab a menu and start mentally stockpiling my order. SueAnn, or maybe LouAnn, comes to take our order.

  “You two kids know what you want?”

  I don’t hesitate. “I’d like the two-egg combo with extra crispy bacon, biscuits and gravy with extra sausage, and a short stack of pancakes. Oh, and a small pot of coffee.”

  I smile and stick the menu back in the clip that’s attached to the table near the window. I fold my hands in front of me and look to Liam to order. He’s just sitting there, holding his menu in limp hands, gawking at me.

  “What?”

  “Are you gonna eat all that?”

  “Of course. Why?”

  “You don’t seem big enough to hold that much food.”

  I take that as somewhat of a compliment. “If there’s one thing I can do, it’s eat.”

  He nods. “I respect that.” He looks up at whichever one of the Anns and says, “I’ll have the same thing.”

  She raises her ginger brows and glances from Liam to me and back again. “You two must’ve worked up a mighty big appetite.”

  “We did,” I blurt before really thinking about how it sounds.

  She walks off nodding in appreciation before I can correct what she’s probably assuming.

  “It’s official. We’re a couple,” Liam says.

  “Pardon?”

  “That comment will have made its way all through town before we finish our bacon. You should probably start working on our breakup story.”

  “I don’t know why I said that.”

  “Because it’s true. It just didn’t sound very good.”

  “Sorry. I, uh, I hope it doesn’t cause any trouble for you with your…whatever kind of relationship you currently have.”

  “I don’t.”

  “No? No wife? Girlfriend?”

  “Nope. I have an ex, but no current.”

  “Wife or girlfriend?”

  The pause is ever so slight. “Girlfriend.”

  I lean in. I’m instantly interested. There must be something in the female genome that loves a juicy tale. That’s why romance novels and gossip magazines have such high sales. “What happened?”

  He gives me a look of pure disdain. “Do you really think I’m going to answer that?”

  I hike up one shoulder. “Well, if we’re dating, I need to know these things. In case an angry ex comes marching through the door before we break up this afternoon.” His look becomes more withering. If that’s possible. “What? It could happen?”

  “Sadly, you’re probably right. In this town, anything is possible.” He changes the subject, which, of course, only makes me more curious about his love life. I sense drama in the air. “So, what are your felonious plans for today?”

  “Well, since we didn’t make any headway at Trivett’s, I thought I’d try to catch up with DeLuca. Get a feel for him. See if he has an alibi for the night of the murder.”

  “How exactly did you plan to do that?”

  “I’m going to call his office and make an appointment. Pose as a potential client.”

  “You think you could pull that off?”

  I find something in his tone insulting. “What? You think I can’t pull off being smart and successful?”

  “I didn’t say that. I just can’t see you being successfully duplicitous.”

  “And why is that?” My hackles are still up.

  “You have an innocent face.”

  Anger diffused in 3…2…1… “Oh. I guess I should thank you. That’s…nice.”

  “Not if you need to be a good liar.”

  “Are you a good liar?”

  “Exceptional.”

  “So, how do I know you’re being honest with me?”

  “You don’t.”

  Well. How very unsettling.

  I take out my phone. “Watch this.” I pull up DeLuca’s website in my browser and click the little telephone icon. It dials the number and I listen as it rings.

  After four trills, I hear a female voice. “DeLuca Enterprises. How may I help you?”

  I shift into my most hoity-toity, competent female shark voice. “Yes, I need to speak with Joseph DeLuca. It’s a matter of some importance.”

  Evidently, my competent female shark is British.

  “I’m sorry, ma’am, but Mr. DeLuca was in an accident last week. He’s still in the ICU. If you’ll tell me what the problem is, I might be able to redirect your call.”

  An accident? Last week? ICU?

  “Are you saying that Mr. DeLuca has been in the hospital for a week?”

  “Yes, ma’am, but one of his partners is overseeing his affairs. He might be able to help you.”

  “Partners? I wasn’t aware he had partners.”

  “They’re silent partners, but considering the circumstances…”

  Silent partners? Interesting.

  “Just how many are there?”

  “Only the two. That I know of.”

  “I guess that will do. Yes, please give me information on both, please.”

  “I only have a contact number for one. His name is Martin Vickerman.” My mouth drops open. I don’t bother to write down the number, or tell the young woman that Vickerman is dead.

  “Thank you, deary. Would you mind giving me the name of the second partner? I’ll have joll
y luck tracking him down, I’m sure.”

  Jolly luck? I hope this girl has never been to England or I’m screwed.

  “I don’t have any information for him, not even a name. I…” She pauses, dropping her voice like she’s afraid someone will overhear her. “Honestly, I only overheard something in a meeting. That’s the only reason I know there’s another one. But since Mr. DeLuca is hurt…I know he’d want his business to go on. Maybe Mr. Vickerman can help you.”

  I seriously doubt that, but I don’t say so. I simply thank her and hang up.

  “The plot thickens,” I say to Liam when I hang up.

  “So, Martin Vickerman.”

  “You heard that?”

  “Of course.”

  He has super snark, super strength, and super hearing. Good to know.

  “Did you hear that there’s another partner? A silent third leg of the tripod?” He nods. My mind is spinning. “One killed, the other nearly killed, all within a few days of each other. Wonder where that leaves mysterious Mr. Three? Or Mistress Three?”

  “That’s the question of the day.”

  “This is all way too much to be a coincidence. Don’t you think?” Again, Liam nods. “Where do we go from here?”

  My surly cohort is quiet for a minute, eyes narrowed and lips thinned in thought. “We find the connection between them. Find number three. There has to be a thread. A friend, a client, someone on the inside. Someone knows something.”

  Then it pops into my head like a giant light bulb. “Oh, sweet Mary! I can’t believe I forgot to tell you what I heard.” I slap my forehead. “I blame the fumes.”

  “What is it?”

  “Kyle! I think he’s involved somehow.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Last night, when he came in, he was on the phone. I heard him tell someone that the cheating bastard and ‘one-eye’ got what they deserved, and that the business is ‘all ours’.”

  “That certainly sounds suspicious.” Liam leans back in the booth and crosses his arms over his chest.

  “What are the chances he could’ve been talking about two other people, one a cheater and the other having only one eye? Odds are forty bazillion to one.” I scoot up in the booth. All of a sudden, even as I’m relating these things to Liam, I can almost feel the puzzle coming together. It’s a tingle that spreads across my nerves like a warm breeze. Chills break out down my arms. “Then this morning, he called a woman. I heard her answer. He told her that they have a problem and that they need to get to ‘him’, whoever him is, but he said that it was a good thing he kept more than one plane there. You know who that ‘he’ sounds like?”

  “Sounds like Philbin.”

  “Exactly. And if that’s the case, he could be in danger.”

  “Yes, he could be.”

  “We need to do something. He’s a criminal, but we can’t let him be killed.”

  “But we don’t know that it’s Philbin. No name was used. And we can’t go off half-cocked until we do know.”

  My thoughts are still clicking along, shuffling bits of information and realigning what I already knew with what I recently found out. “There’s something about the way he talked to that woman. It was familiar. Like familiar.” I angle my head and look at him from under my lashes so he gets my meaning. “I think Kyle is involved, but I think he has a girlfriend and she is, too.”

  Liam just watches me closely. I can’t decide if he thinks I’m a lunatic or if he’s impressed. Probably neither. He probably finds my theory entertaining. Nothing more.

  “Interesting.”

  “It is. I just need to find out who she is. And if Philbin is the third man. And what the heck they were up to. I’d be willing to bet this ‘business’ that they want isn’t legal. I just need a few more details and then I can piece it all together. But where to find them…”

  “Well, as I see it, there are two options. We could follow Kyle, try to track down Philbin and question him, or…”

  “Or?”

  “There might be a quicker way. If you’re up for it.”

  “Of course, I’m up for it.”

  I say that, but I’m already dreading what it might be. I seem to have an uncanny knack for finding piles of poo to step right in the middle of.

  “Have you met Miss Haddy yet?”

  “Just once. Why?”

  “So you’ve never gone to see her? At her house?”

  “No. Was I supposed to?”

  “Not unless you need something. That’s where she does…business.”

  “Business?” Liam dips his head once. How…ominous. “What am I supposed to do, just drop by her house and ask her for the latest gossip on Kyle Trivett then slip her a fiver?”

  “No, nothing so casual. You need to let Annette know you want to meet with her. She’ll set it up.”

  “Annette? The librarian?”

  “Oh, she’s much more than a librarian. Just like Miss Haddy was much more than a librarian. These women…they trade in information.”

  “What? You’re pulling my leg.”

  “Why would I make something like this up?”

  “I don’t know. To prank the new girl?”

  “That’s not what I’m doing here. This is seriously what you need to do.”

  “Why me?”

  “Miss Haddy knows me. Let’s just say we have history that might make it more difficult for me to get information from her.”

  “You make it sound like she’s The Godfather.” When Liam doesn’t disabuse me of that notion, I laugh. It’s filled with disbelief. “You’ve got to be joking.”

  “In small towns like this, it’s all about who and what you know. Information can be used. It’s like currency. Power. Miss Haddy has all the information.”

  “And you’re not kidding?”

  “Nope. Believe me, Miss Haddy has dirt on everyone in this town. Young and old, it doesn’t matter.”

  I’m beginning to think he might be telling me the truth. My insides bubble with pleasure. I can’t stop the smile that tugs at the corners of my mouth. “This is downright ridiculous, of course, but also…” I lean in to whisper animatedly, “it’s flippin’ awesome.”

  “Criminal underground excites you?”

  “She’s an old lady who loves to gossip. I’d hardly call that criminal.”

  “Miss Haddy has orchestrated some of the most elaborate campaigns and hostile takeovers in Salty Springs’ history. She has eyes and ears everywhere around you. You just don’t realize it. She’s not one to be underestimated.”

  And this from an ex-FBI agent.

  “You’re saying that sweet old lady is a crime boss?”

  “Not a crime boss, but let’s just say that she will find a way to get what she wants when she thinks it’s best for the town. She’s very…determined.”

  “So she’s a philanthropist.”

  He laughs, but it’s a humorless bark. “Call Miss Haddy that to her face. See how she reacts.”

  “Maybe I will. Maybe I will today. I don’t believe for one second that such a lovely woman has a mean bone in her body.”

  “I didn’t say mean. I just said determined.”

  “We’ll see,” I say, leaning back as a plate is set down in front of me. When the scent of bacon and syrup hit my nose, all thought of crime goes right out of my head.

  For the moment anyway.

  17

  The instant the clock strikes nine AM, I dial the library. When Annette answers, I suddenly feel silly. I’m calling a librarian to make an appointment to see an older librarian like I’m asking an audience with the head of the Yakuza.

  And yet, I do it.

  “Hi, Annette. It’s Lucky. Lucky Boucher. I was wondering… I’d heard that I could speak to you about… I need to make an appointment…”

  “You’d like to see Miss Haddy?” she supplies.

  “Yes. I’d like to see Miss Haddy.”

  “Hold, please.” The line goes silent for almost a minut
e before Annette comes back on. “She can see you today at half past ten. Is that agreeable?”

  Half past ten. I hear that in the stuffy British accent that I used earlier. It’s all I can do not to answer in kind.

  “Sure. I can do that.”

  “You will park along the street in front of her house. Take the path that leads around the front porch to the basement door around back. Knock twice, pause, then knock once more. Don’t be late.”

  “Do I need a secret decoder ring, too?” I’m holding in a sarcastic snigger.

  “Just follow the instructions, Ms. Boucher. You’ll understand soon enough.”

  She hangs up. I take the phone from my ear to stare at it for a few seconds before I do the same. What an interesting little town this is turning out to be.

  I shower—twice—and dress in summery white shorts and a tropical sleeveless shirt that ties at the waist. It seems I’ve worn my cloak-and-dagger black for eons, and after spending the night suffocating in the world’s most disgusting bathroom, I feel the need to be light and airy. And clean. I even choose my most barely-there flip-flops to slide my feet into.

  My phone bleeps with an incoming text as I’m walking out the door. The number shows up as unknown, but I know right away who the sender is. I don’t even bother to ask how he got my number.

  LIAM: Call if you need help.

  ME: I think I’ll be fine. I can take her if she gets too frisky.

  LIAM: Okay. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

  I shake my head, still baffled and more than a little skeptical about the whole Miss Haddy, Non-criminal Crime Boss business. The Godmother of Godfathers. I follow the instructions, though, despite my doubt.

  It’s twenty-four minutes past ten when I’m descending the narrow concrete stairs that end at the basement door of Miss Haddy McGillicuddy’s house. It’s a solid wooden door, painted dark brown, with a covered rectangular slat just above eye level. I raise my hand and knock as I was told to knock.

  Within seconds, the rectangular slat slides to the left, revealing only a pair of hooded blue eyes. “Can I help you?” comes a scratchy voice.

  “I’m here to see Miss Haddy. I have an appointment.”