Under the Gun

by Kelsey Browning

  They worked out a system where Sera and Maggie pulled out one casket, and while they moved on to the next, Abby Ruth cracked that bad boy open and went through it looking for her guns. “Aha! This has the Remington 12-gauge and 9mm Kurz in it.”

  “Is that all?” Maggie groused. “Why couldn’t they all be together?”

  “Obviously, this isn’t as efficient an operation as it could be.”

  By the time she’d pawed through half a dozen, with what they’d found last time, it meant only one was still missing. Abby Ruth checked her watch. Still a little time. “Only one more, girls. We can do it.”

  Maggie rose to her feet and slapped at her knees to dust them off. “That’s it. Those are the only vaults with easy access.”

  Abby Ruth eyed the row just out of reach. “There has to be at least one more.”

  “You’re crazy. We don’t have the equipment to get up there. And even if we did, we’d get caught for sure.”

  “Dammit, that gun is one of my favorites.”

  “I’m sorry,” Sera said to Abby Ruth, “but Maggie is right. I know you love that gun, but we’ve been here long enough as it is.”

  Fine, she knew when she’d been outvoted. And she was damn lucky to have her hands back on most of her precious arsenal.

  When they were on the main level, pushing the gun baby toward the exit, Sera said, “Is the security guard’s uniform a different color?”

  Although she’d known he wasn’t the same guard who’d busted them under Michael’s wingspan, Abby Ruth hadn’t given him a thorough looking at. In fact, she hadn’t had eyes for any man since Red had dropped back into her life. But what caught her attention now wasn’t whether or not his pants were gray, blue, or pink polka dot. It was what he had on his belt. She’d know that original black grip anywhere.

  She skidded to a stop. “Damn him, that man has my Jo-Lo-Ar pistol.”

  Maggie turned toward Abby Ruth and Sera. “And that’s not the guard we saw earlier.”

  “Well, hell,” Abby Ruth said. “Something’s up.”

  “Think we need to call Teague?”

  She absolutely did, but damned if she wanted to risk the opportunity to retrieve her pistol. “Why don’t you two take the stroller and I’ll—”

  “No!” they both said.

  Sera grabbed the stroller with one hand and Abby Ruth’s arm with the other, urging them both behind a huge potted palm, where Maggie joined them. “If you think we’re going to leave you alone with that security guard, you’re sorely mistaken.”

  “He won’t hurt me. It’ll only take me a minute to—”

  Maggie clenched her fists. “We’re less worried about you than we are him. Last thing we need is for Teague and the other cops to show up and find a dead body at the entranceway. Murder was not on our agenda today. Or ever.”

  Abby Ruth huffed. “I won’t kill him. Lord, it’s like you don’t think I have any finesse whatsoever.” By the look on their faces, she’d hit their opinions of her right on. “Fine. Then how do you want to play this?”

  “We’ll have Sera stay here and keep an eye on the fake guard,” Maggie said. “Meanwhile, you and I can take the guns out to the truck and put a call in to Teague.”

  “Works for me,” Sera said cheerfully.

  Abby Ruth cast one last covetous look toward the security guard’s hip. “If I don’t get that gun back, I will expect a pistol-shaped package on my next birthday.” Then she and Maggie headed for the door on the opposite side of the building. But when Maggie pushed on it, the thing wouldn’t budge.

  “Let me try.” Abby Ruth put all her weight behind it with the same result. “What’s going on?”

  “I don’t—oh!” Maggie jabbed her finger in the direction of the elevator. “That’s exactly how Lil described Rosemary Myrtle.” A woman dressed in a royal blue tailored suit and matching hat stepped onto the elevator.

  “I’ll be damned. Back at the scene of the crime. That woman is something else.” Abby Ruth reluctantly admired her enterprising nature, but didn’t she have something better to do, like play with her grandkids? Obviously, the woman needed a new hobby.

  “She’s smart and tenacious, I’ll give her that.”

  “Text Teague,” Abby Ruth ordered, then pointed the stroller toward the door to the stairwell.

  “What are you doing?”

  “We can’t let that woman out of our sight. If we’re not careful, she could slip through the police’s fingers. And we promised Lil we’d wrap this up.”

  Maggie hurried behind her, rapidly tapping on her phone. Da-da-beep went the sound of an outgoing text. The next sound was angrier, like a nest of hornets batted around like a piñata. “Abby Ruth, what does WTF mean?”

  “It means our boy Teague is less than thrilled that we’re here.”

  They each grabbed one end of the stroller so it wouldn’t bump down the stairs and carried it to the bottom landing for Abby Ruth to ease open the door to the basement level. “Coast is clear. Let’s stash Gun Baby in the bathroom while we get a handle on what’s going on here.”

  Once they had the stroller safe and sound in a stall, Abby Ruth and Maggie crept down the hallway toward Rosemary Myrtle’s family alcove.

  “How many more?” A rough male voice echoed down the corridor, causing Abby Ruth and Maggie to dart into another inset of vaults.

  “Another dozen at least,” a woman said back. “You need to hurry it up.”

  “She’s not very nice, is she?” Maggie whispered to Abby Ruth.

  “What was your first clue—the fact that her little entourage took off with my guns or that she poisoned your best friend?”

  “If they make off with all those guns before the police get here, how will they prove that woman is a criminal?”

  “We have to make sure the cops can track down these bottom feeders. Give me your phone.”

  Maggie handed it over, and Abby Ruth poked around on it. “There we go.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “We need to make it to the loading dock.” Abby Ruth peeked around the corner and waved Maggie out of the alcove. “Go to the right and take the long way around.”

  They scurried down the hallway and around two more corners. Abby Ruth checked the last hallway and found it clear. “C’mon. Quick.” She pulled Maggie into the storage room. With a fast stride, she headed toward the cargo van backed up to the loading dock and tossed Maggie’s phone inside.

  “Hey, that phone was a present from my son.”

  “It’s also the way the cops are going to find these guns. Besides, it’s probably time for an upgrade anyway.”

  Voices came from the hallway outside. Damn, damn, damn. Next time they were chasing down a bunch of lowlifes, it would be nice for it to happen someplace with more camouflage. Abby Ruth and Maggie ducked behind a trio of standing flower sprays and wreaths.

  “Are those real flowers?” Maggie wheezed.

  Abby Ruth glanced up to find the daisies and lilies brown and crunchy, which meant they weren’t plastic.

  Maggie’s chest started an erratic rise and fall. “Oh, oh…”

  “Don’t you dare sneeze.” Abby Ruth pinched Maggie’s nose between her thumb and forefinger, pressing her nostrils tightly closed.

  Like a fish someone had tossed onto the bank, Maggie sucked air in through her mouth.

  From near the truck, Rosemary said, “I’ll expect my normal percentage on top of what you’ve already paid for the guns.”

  “It’s gonna be hard to move this many units.”

  She tapped his face—hard—with the flat of her palm. “I have faith in you.”

  Rosemary watched the truck pull out of the bay, and Abby Ruth wanted to slap away her smile of smug satisfaction. Someone needed to put that woman in her place. Teague and the others would hopefully see she was tossed in a cell, but the cavalry still hadn’t arrived so far as Abby Ruth could tell. No sound of sirens or screeching tires.

  The woman strolled back towar
d the interior hallway like she was the Queen of the Universe. No, ma’am. That wouldn’t do at all.

  “We have to follow her,” she said to Maggie.

  They made it into the hallway in time to see Rosemary Myrtle push through the ladies’ room door. Perfect. Only one way in and no way out. Abby Ruth smiled to herself. She and Maggie tiptoed into the bathroom and silently backed the stroller out of its stall. Abby Ruth held a finger to her lips and wheeled it over to the other closed stall. Once she had it wedged under the door handle, she jerked her head toward the anteroom as a request for Maggie to follow her.

  Abby Ruth whispered, “That stroller won’t hold her for long. Help me move some of this furniture in there.”

  “Are you sure you should be lifting something this heavy?”

  “Probably not, but this is an emergency.”

  They hefted the couch, and the effort did pull at Abby Ruth’s still dissolving stitches, but she breathed through the discomfort. Just a few more feet. She nudged the stroller out of the way with a well-placed kick, and they let the couch drop to the tile floor.

  “Who’s there?” Rosemary called out.

  Neither Abby Ruth nor Maggie answered but went back for another load of furniture. When they returned with a chair, the stall’s doorknob was twisting back and forth frantically.

  “Let me out of here!” Rosemary’s voice was full of command, but it was edged with panic, warming Abby Ruth’s insides.

  She lifted her chin, and Maggie took the hint. Once they had three chairs plopped on top of the couch, they stood outside and listened to Rosemary screech for a minute or two.

  “Who are you? I demand you open this stall. Do you know who I am? I could sue you for—”

  “Somehow,” Abby Ruth drawled, “I don’t think you want to be threatening legal action of any type, Ms. Gunrunner.”

  “Excuse me?” she said, her voice full of offended arrogance. Lord, this woman could give Lil a run for her money in a haughtier-than-thou contest.

  “I’m not sure why you’re acting all offended when you’re the one who’s been busy not only stealing, but also poisoning innocent people.”

  “What in the world…why would you think… You have me mistaken for someone else. Let me out of here and we’ll pretend this never happened.”

  While Abby Ruth taunted Rosemary, Maggie made several more trips back and forth to the anteroom, each time bringing another piece of furniture. Unless Rosemary had the ability to transform into the Incredible Hulk, she wouldn’t get out of that stall without police help.

  “Just like Lillian Fairview is supposed to pretend you never fed her pokeweed sandwiches and tea?”

  “Lillian is de—”

  “Dead? Nah, Lillian will be right as rain in a few days. You, on the other hand, will be feeling pretty sick. I hear that happens when they put you behind bars. In fact, you won’t have the luxury of a pretty private potty. In prison, they have those stainless steel jobs where everyone can see you poop.”

  “That’s uncivilized.”

  “Sugar, that’s justice.”

  When Maggie returned with the fake flower arrangement from the other room, she was grinning from one side of her round face to the other. She carefully balanced the vase on top of a side table. Then she and Abby Ruth high-fived, grabbed the gun baby, and headed for the door.

  Now all they had to do was get her last gun back.

  When they made it back to the entryway where they’d left Sera, they found her sidled up to the fake security guard, chatting with him like she’d known him for years. That girl was an asset. It would be a real blow if she moved back to California.

  Sera caught sight of them and slid her eyes to the side. That’s when Abby Ruth realized not only had Sera gotten close to the man, but she’d somehow relieved him of her Jo-Lo-Ar.

  Abby Ruth pushed the stroller forward and said, “Sera, we’ve got Momma and Daddy all set with new flowers. Say goodbye to your new friend. We need to get home for the latest episode of How to Get Away with Murder.”

  “Marvin, it was so nice to meet you. Hopefully, I’ll see you here again sometime.” Sera squeezed his arm and gave the guy a sexy smile that would have his head whirling for weeks. As Abby Ruth pushed the stroller past, Sera dropped the gun into the blanket folds.

  The three of them filed out the front door just in time to see police cars swarm all over the parking lot. Abby Ruth veered sharply toward her truck but wasn’t able to make a clean getaway.

  Teague cut them off and forced them to walk parallel to him for several steps. In a low tone, he said, “I don’t know what the hell happened here, but I can promise you we will talk about it later.”

  Abby Ruth smiled to herself, because she’d expect nothing less.

  * * *

  Later that afternoon, Sera was still a bit frazzled from all the excitement at the mausoleum and the run-in with Teague outside. But oh, the relief at having Abby Ruth’s guns back was like having someone take an elephant out of your backpack.

  And Marcus’s sweet request for another date had re-centered her as well as yoga ever did. She and Marcus drove around Summer Shoals, finally stopping at a little shop called A Charmed Life.

  Sera meandered through the store, a warren of rooms holding specialty items that would’ve been right at home in a big-city boutique catering to high-maintenance women. Along the top of display cases, glittery black wrought iron swooped in a curlicue, giving the store an elegant look. A half-empty wall of cubbies held expensive handbags. It appeared the Hollywood folks had found A Charmed Life.

  “This is the cutest shop. You must be Brandi Brittain.” Sera extended her hand to the adorable young woman with pixie-cut hair and big green eyes. “I’ve heard so many nice things about you and your selection of gifts.”

  Brandi flashed a smile and a curious glance toward Marcus, who was settling in on a lovely settee. “Is that Marcus Johannesson?” she whispered. Sera smiled and the girl mouthed Oh. My. God.

  Inside the display case, a three-stranded ribbon bracelet caught Sera’s eye.

  “I can personalize those,” Brandi said. “And stamp charms while you wait. Are you buying something for you or maybe your daughter?”

  “Hardly.” From across the room, Marcus laughed. “More like grannies.”

  Sera flashed him a watch-it-buster look. “You mean the best friends ever.”

  “Fine,” Marcus laughed. “Hot, sexy, smart, kick-butt grannies.”

  “I like what I’m hearing,” Brandi said. “How many do you need?”

  “Five.” She couldn’t leave Jenny out. She might not be a granny, but boy she was one of them.

  Brandi showed Sera the different charms and helped her match them to the colored bracelets for each of her friends. Then she disappeared into the back and returned carrying the beautiful pieces of jewelry.

  “They’re perfect.” Sera turned to Marcus, who was already walking her way to take a look.

  “Very pretty.” He draped the ribbon around her wrist and latched the lobster claw through the shiny metal ring.

  “I think the girls will love them.”

  “You really love those women,” Marcus said, his tone musing. “And Summer Shoals. You’re alive here. At first I resented that, but after being here for a while, I understand. There’s something grounded and real about this little town.”

  “Totally different from Los Angeles.” She hurried to add, “Not that LA isn’t great too.”

  “But it isn’t your place anymore.”

  “Marcus, I—”

  “After you finish up here, I want to show you something,” he said.

  Sera paid for the bracelets and thanked Brandi before following Marcus outside. He took her hand and strolled down the sidewalk toward a bench in front of the old cotton gin.

  “What are we—”

  “Stay here.” He dashed back to the car and popped the trunk. When he returned and perched on the other end of the bench, he was holding one of the guita
rs she’d found. Shame about her earlier suspicions swarmed over Sera. How in the world could she have ever believed he would do something like take Abby Ruth’s guns?

  Sera’s heart sped up—both out of anticipation and dread. Marcus was a horrible musician. And a worse singer.

  Then he started to strum, a light, almost Caribbean melody. It was simple but beautiful. Maybe he would just play—

  He opened his mouth and sang. And she recognized the tune immediately. “I’m Yours” by Jason Mraz. The lyrics—about freedom, the shortness of time, and love—hit Sera as though they’d been written especially for her. And her husband’s voice was true and beautiful as he crooned to her.

  By the time he wrapped up the final “I’m yours,” Sera’s chest was tight and tears spilled down her cheeks. He was hers and she was his.

  They always had been. They just needed to find their way back to each other.

  “You’re not the only one who has made mistakes, Sera. I finally understand what you were talking about when you said you felt like a bracelet,” he said. “I guess since you were from California, I thought LA always felt like home to you the way it did for me. But now, seeing you here in Georgia, you’re different. Happy.”

  “It’s not—”

  “Let me get this out.” He turned toward her, brought their joined hands toward his face, and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “Please.”

  Something about his affection felt different today. Easy instead of full of tension and expectation. “Okay.”

  “Hollywood’s been my world for as long as I can remember, but that doesn’t mean it has to be yours. These days, plenty of married couples live and work in different cities. What if I told you I still plan to make movies but I don’t expect you to share that dream? That I want you to build your own dream.”

  Sera’s tummy turned like a carnival ride. “Are you telling me you really do want a divorce?”