How to Fetch a Felon

by Cat Clayton

  We gathered the pups and walked back toward the shop. The discussion revolved around Stoney’s strange baby gifts, Pop’s arrest, Lloyd in the hospital, and the wild experience we had serving the Santas at Baker’s Bliss.

  The tone of this holiday season in Buckleville bordered on outrageous mayhem, not exactly the festive atmosphere one thought about at Christmastime.

  LATE THE FOLLOWING afternoon, I offered to drive Gertie to pickleball practice. Pop and Stoney were still working on reinstating peace between them at the house. It would do them good to have some quiet time to talk, just the two of them. The hospital had kept Lloyd for observation an additional twenty-four hours. We’d finished our grooming appointments for the day, so Daniel, Gertie, the dogs, and me loaded into my car.

  “We gotta pick up Peters though. He doesn’t drive well anymore, same as me,” Gertie said.

  “No problem. Do we need to pick up your practice clothes and racket?” I asked.

  “It’s all in the bag I dragged in earlier and left in your office. Danny Boy, did you know they have funnel cake and popcorn at the concession stand?”

  “I do not keep my slim figure by eating funnel cake, Gigi. But I love me some hot, buttered popcorn!” Daniel replied.

  I slid the Bug into a parking spot in front of Buckleville Hardware to pick up Mr. Peters.

  “Gertie, can you get in the back with Daniel and the pups? I don’t want Mr. Peters to have to crawl back there,” I said.

  “Yeah, sure. But lay on the horn. Peters has a habit of making us late to practice.”

  I tapped the horn as she pushed the front seat forward and climbed in next to Daniel.

  Mr. Peters stuck his hand out the store door, showing us five fingers.

  “See, told ya. That means five minutes, maybe more,” Gertie said.

  I chuckled. “I really hope he doesn’t bring Patrice. I’m not sure I’m comfortable with that.”

  Gertie blew a raspberry in the backseat. “Don’t worry about it. The pickleball officials and coaches banned Peters’s shotgun from practice.”

  “Thank goodness.”

  Jackson’s number scrolled across the radio screen as my phone rang. I pushed the talk button on the steering wheel.

  “Hello?”

  “What’s up, buttercup?” his voice came through the speakers.

  Daniel and Gertie giggled.

  “Are we not alone?” Jackson asked.

  “We’re in the car waiting on Mr. Peters, then we’re headed to pickleball practice at the park, and you’re on speakerphone.”

  “Cool. Tell Mr. Peters thanks. I looked at the game cam images he emailed the station. It’s definitely raccoons in the vacant house.”

  At first, I drew a blank. Vacant house? Raccoons? Oh, the COW meeting and Sadie’s report. “I’ll tell him.”

  “Yeah, huge monsters. We called in animal control from Brenham to help. The other reason I’m calling is that I’m off duty and headed home to change my clothes. I’ll meet you at the courts.”

  “Sounds good. See you soon.”

  We disconnected, and as I did, I noticed the herd of Red Suits cutting across the parking lot behind the car. I watched them in the rearview mirror. Daniel and Gertie yacked and were clueless. Mr. Peters came out the front door of the hardware store, glaring at the group in red. He mumbled something and locked the door. When he sat down in the seat beside me, I inquired about his response to them.

  His eyes grew wide, and he pursed his lips. “I think one of those guys shoplifted from me today.” He turned around in his seat as the group wandered into Buckleville Foods.

  “One of the Santas?” I asked.

  “A shoplifting Santa,” Gertie said.

  “No way!” Daniel added.

  Mr. Peters strapped in his seat belt. “Well, I can’t prove anything, but a few of them came in earlier this afternoon, asking about Christmas decorations.”

  “How fitting,” I mumbled.

  “So, I showed them the aisle and left ‘em alone. I figure I can trust anyone who looks like Santa Claus, right?”

  “Right,” we all agreed.

  Well, except the one, I thought and pulled out onto Main Street.

  “When they got up to the register, they brought up all my Christmas yard signs, you know the ones on yard stakes with phrases like Merry Christmas, Y’all! and It’s a Holly Jolly Christmas! They said they were attending the Reindeer Stampede here and wanted to show their support for the marathon runners.”

  “Did they pay for them?” I asked.

  “Yeah,” Mr. Peters said.

  Am I missing something? “Mr. Peters, what makes you think one of them shoplifted from your store?”

  “Because there was one of them who didn’t bring up a sign, and he drifted up to the front with the rest but from a different direction. He bought nothing. But he gave me a bad feeling, like he’d done something wrong.”

  “Did he have a cranky expression?” I asked.

  “And a strap-on?” Gertie asked.

  Daniel exploded into a fit of hysterics.

  Gertie walloped him in the shoulder. “I meant a strap-on beard! You have a one-track mind, Danny Boy!”

  We lost the joke on Mr. Peters, as he didn’t even crack a smile. “He was cantankerous, that much I know. He was the last one out, and when I thanked them for coming in and wished them a Merry Christmas, he turned and said, ‘Bah humbug!’”

  “When we see Jackson, you can tell him your suspicions. We’ll see if he knows if the Red Suits are staying in town and where. As Citizens on the Watch, it’s our civic duty to pay attention to these things,” I said. “Oh, and I almost forgot, he said thank you for emailing the images of the raccoons. They’re calling in someone to trap the little beasts.”

  “Ain’t nothing little about them. I’m sure I saw one lift the lid on the dumpster the other night.” He chuckled to himself.

  I pulled into the busy parking lot. Mr. Peters and Gertie, dressed in sweatpants and hoodies, took their equipment and headed for the courts. The rest of us wandered over to the concession stand to grab snacks.

  Chiquita, I got the munchies. Can Taffy and I split a corn dog?

  I peered down at my happy dog. How could I say no to that face? With him feeling better, the word no wasn’t in my vocabulary.

  Okay, then can we go down by the pond and chase the birds?

  No.

  I thought you said no was not in your vocabulary, Chiquita.

  I can’t watch y’all and Gertie at the same time. You can chase birds when I’m not on Gertie duty.

  I ordered a corn dog for the pups and a large buttered popcorn for me and Daniel. By the time we reached the stands, Jackson was waiting for us. I kissed him hello.

  “So, I talked to Lloyd Madden yesterday in the hospital. He agreed to stop seeing Stoney and denied having anything to do with the strange Christmas gifts left for her.”

  “What about peeking in her window?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, he denied that too. I believe him, which means there’s still someone out there stalking my sister. I promised Pop we’d figure out who it is. If we don’t, I’m not sure he’ll cooperate with Chief Becker. I think he’s at his wit's end.”

  “Can’t say I blame him,” Jackson said.

  Gertie and Mr. Peters practiced together on the court. They both were good at the sport. There were about twenty players, most of them older. The game seemed competitive and reminded me of tennis, but with a Wiffle Ball, and played on a smaller court. We watched them hit the ball back and forth.

  I handed the box of popcorn to Daniel and he dug in.

  “Tell him about the Santas at Baker’s Bliss,” Daniel said with his mouth full.

  I recited the story about the Red Suits at Baker’s Bliss from the day before. I also mentioned the group who went shopping at the hardware store, including the one Mr. Peters thought shoplifted.

  “Why didn’t he call it in?” Jackson asked.

  I shrugged. �
�He said he didn’t see anything, but it was more of a feeling. I’m sure I know which one he’s talking about. He’s not like the rest. Wears a fake beard and isn’t friendly.”

  “Yeah, I’d hate to hire a Santa for a party and have that guy show up,” Daniel said, shoveling a handful of popcorn into his mouth.

  Cuff sat on the bleacher and barked as the players batted the ball. His little head bounced back and forth as he watched. I bet I could catch the ball, Chiquita!

  I bet you could too!

  “You’re off tomorrow, right?” I asked Jackson.

  He nodded. “Yep. I figure we’ll get one last practice run in, maybe two, before the stampede.”

  Seeing as how I’m not cut out to be a runner, I had decided to walk in the marathon. My asthma hadn’t been cooperating. But at least I didn’t give up entirely.

  “Can we train in the morning? I’m almost positive they’re releasing Lloyd tomorrow, and I offered to supervise a meet-up between Lloyd and Stoney. I’m hoping you will join us. We can meet at Orsack’s for lunch if he gets out by then.”

  Jackson twisted his head, giving me a curious expression. “You sure it’s a good idea?”

  “I had a serious sit-down with Pop earlier. I truly believe Lloyd wants what’s best for Stoney, but he wants to speak with her before backing out of the picture. It’d be good for Stoney to hear it from him. It took some convincing, but Pop finally agreed.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  I had the sudden urge to find the ladies' restroom. “I need to run to the bathroom. I’ll be back in a few minutes.” I pointed at Cuff and Taffy. “Keep an eye on the pups. Cuff wanted to chase birds. I told him no.”

  Jackson raised an eyebrow at me.

  “Really,” I said and made my way down the bleachers one at a time.

  I located the facilities and was on my way out when I crashed into a lumberjack-of-a-guy in a grungy black, leather coat. He spun on me fast, pinning me against the brick wall, reeking of alcohol.

  “I hear you was askin’ about me,” the guy said, spraying spittle on my face.

  I tried reaching for my cell phone from the pocket of my jeans.

  He pressed harder. “Nice try. But you ain’t going nowhere until I’m finished with you.”

  I tried to call out for help, but he mashed his hand against my mouth, silencing my scream.

  Chapter 13

  “I don’t even know who you are!” I said, my words stifled behind his hand.

  His scruffy, unkempt face scrunched up and dark eyebrows stabbed in toward the bridge of his nose. “You’re lying. One of my guys heard you askin’ Dickie about me at the bar the other day. Why?”

  As if I didn’t understand the gravity of the situation, he leaned in with all his weight, crushing me into the wall. I took notice of his slick, dark hair, black eyes, and an uneven, inch-long scar on his left cheek. I paid close attention to the peculiarity of the scar and how it pulled his lip to the upper left as he spoke.

  I turned my head and thrust against his weight, not making one bit of difference.

  “Ms. Lamarr, is that you?” a male voice said from somewhere behind the guy.

  Help me! I thought and cried out, my efforts muffled.

  The grungy guy shoved me hard and stalked off.

  “Are you all right? Should I call the police?” the kind passerby asked.

  Too stunned to make eye contact, I leaned against the wall, trying to catch my breath and a glimpse of my attacker through a blurry wall of tears. Black leather. Dark jeans. Dark, maybe black boots.

  “I’ll call them. Thank you so much,” I said, my voice scratchy.

  I dialed Jackson’s number.

  “What’s wrong?” he answered.

  “Meet me by the restrooms. Hurry.” I disconnected and slumped against the concrete, slipping to the ground. I sat there, frozen. Seconds later, Jackson knelt next to me, listening to the story of my encounter.

  Jackson searched for the guy, never finding him. He called for backup. Even though I felt assaulted, the guy caused no bodily harm, save for some emotional trauma. Luckily for me, the passerby who turned out to be Mr. Walton, one of Scrubadub’s clients, stuck around and answered questions to both the officer on duty and Jackson. I remained in shock. Jackson insisted Daniel stay with the dogs and wait for Gertie and Mr. Peters to finish. He didn’t tell him what had happened, only that something had detained us.

  By this time, it was a little after 6:30 PM as I sat on a bench near the concession stand. I waited for Jackson to finish with the officer who responded to his call. I checked Daniel’s texts he’d sent while I recovered from shock.

  What’s going on???

  Jackson just took off without an explanation!

  Please text me back!

  I know something’s wrong!

  I replied to his last message. What makes you think something’s wrong?

  I can see y’all from the bleachers. There’s a cop standing by Jackson. Gertie’s done. We’re coming.

  Jackson checked in with me as we waited for the others. I knew there was no way to keep them out of this mess. To my surprise, both Daniel and Gertie stayed calm and collected.

  My pup, not so much.

  Chiquita! I was so worried about you! I was too far away to hear everything, but I knew you were in trouble! I tried to tell Daniel, but he did not understand! Cuff leaped into my lap and showered me with slobbery kisses, his tail wagging frantically.

  “The little stinker tried ripping my pant leg!” Daniel said, shaking a finger at Cuff. “I thought he had to find a tree or something, but now I see, he only wanted you.”

  I wrapped my arms around Cuff and held him close to my chest. “I’m okay, little buddy.”

  Oh, Chiquita. I do not know what I would do without you.

  “What happened?” Gertie asked.

  “Anybody want anything from the concession stand?” Mr. Peters asked. He seemed oblivious, but the stream of sweat racing down the side of his face and the blank stare in his eyes told me otherwise. Something bothered him.

  “No, Peters. Can’t you see Steely had some trouble?” Gertie pointed at the other police officer talking on his phone. Without giving him a chance to reply, she set her sights on me. “Now, does anyone want to tell us why Bolivar was chatting with a cop?”

  Jackson remained silent, staring at me. He gave me a nonchalant head shake, implying he would not be the one to answer her.

  Mr. Peters kicked pebbles with the toe of his tennis shoe.

  “Yeah. How dare you keep us in the dark!” Daniel said.

  “It isn’t a big deal. Some guy shoved me and sort of threatened me,” I said, attempting to gather my wits.

  “Did he hurt you?” Gertie asked, pursing her lips. She had her mama hen wings ruffled and ready for a fight.

  Chiquita, let me at him. I will get him! Trembling in my arms, Cuff growled.

  Slow down, little buddy. He’s long gone.

  “He didn’t really have time. Thankfully, Mr. Walton passed by and interrupted him. I think he may be that Kramer guy I mentioned to you, Jackson.”

  Mr. Peters coughed and cleared his throat. “I’m getting a hotdog.” He scurried toward the concession stand.

  Ah ha. The name Kramer made him uneasy. Back in July, when the bank robber shot at me as he fled the bank, Mr. Peters had shown up at the scene and avoided the intense situation like the plague. He knew the bank robbery and his friend Samson’s murder were connected, but he feared for his own life. Not only had Mr. Peters witnessed Samson’s murder, but the killer threatened him, intimidating him into silence. His reaction moments ago proved he knew something about Kramer, and I intended to find out what.

  “Well, he couldn’t have gotten far. Let me go check and see if they found anything yet.” Jackson retreated from our group, probably escaping the wrath of Gertrude.

  “Kramer?” Gertie slapped her hands on her hips. “And how do you know that thug?”

  “I may ha
ve asked about him over at Dickie’s Bar.” I prepared myself for Gertie’s over-the-top reaction.

  Her lower jaw dropped, her faded blue eyes narrowed, and one wiry gray brow hiked to her hairline. I waited for the onslaught of verbal bashing, which I rightly deserved for going in Dickie’s alone.

  “You may have?” she asked, sarcasm dripping from her words.

  “Well, I for one, think it was stupid for you to go on your own,” Daniel said, crossing his arms over his chest. “If no one else will say it, I will.”

  “I know,” I said, glancing over at Jackson. He and the other officer had their heads together, studying Jackson’s phone. “It was dumb. And I regret it.”

  “Steely Sue, I have the notion to put your red-headed butt across my knee.” Gertie pointed a finger at me. “Do you know the low-life that hangs out at Dickies? Huh?”

  “Yeah, but—”

  “Don’t you yeah but me anything! Wait until I tell your father,” she snapped.

  I stood up from the bench. “Gertie, I don’t think there’s any reason to involve Pop. He’s got enough on his hands with Stoney’s issues,” I said as Jackson sauntered up to us.

  “Exactly my point. He’s about to have double the trouble on his hands if you don’t keep yourself out of harm’s way. Dickie’s Bar is a bad place. Nothing good ever happens there. I should know,” she said.

  “I second that, Steely,” Jackson said.

  “I’ll third it,” Daniel said.

  Mr. Peters, who had rejoined our group, spoke up in agreement. “And I’ll fourth it. Dickie’s Bar, and anyone who hangs out there, is bad news.”

  “Mr. Peters, do you know something about Kramer?” I asked.

  He nodded, avoiding eye contact with me.

  “Peters, speak up if you know something,” Gertie said.

  Inspecting his hotdog, he said, “Just the other day I was in Dickie’s, debating on whether I should hit the tables upstairs. Thank the good Lord I didn’t. But I saw Ziggy’s brother, the one here to shut down the used car lot, arguing with two guys. One pulled a gun on Ziggy’s brother. I heard the brother call him Kramer.” He shoved one end of the relish-loaded hotdog in his mouth.