Secrets for Sale

by Jerri Kay Lincoln

  “I want one exactly like that.” I didn’t know what a hammer was, or a nail—if it had to do with guns—but I knew I liked it the way it was.

  “Are you sure, Lorry? The one without the hammer won’t be as likely to get caught on something in your purse.”

  “No worries about that, Billy,” said Martin. “The concealed carry purses have a zippered compartment that keeps the gun separate.”

  “Yeah, we need to get the purse!” I started walking over to the purses. Billy followed.

  When we got there, Billy said, “Lorry, give Martin your driver’s license so he can run it. You don’t have any felonies that you never told me about, do you?”

  “He’s kidding,” I said, not taking my eyes off the beautiful, stylish purses. “At least I think he’s kidding. Aren’t you, Billy? Anyway, it’s out in the car with my purse.”

  “Oh, Lorry! That’s right, you told me that. I’ll go get it. Martin, give her the official tour of the purses, will you?”

  Before Martin got to me, I noticed the different purses: suede, red leather, and a beautiful one with conchos and a western look. That one was perfect.

  “I see you already have one picked out, but let me show you these others.” He walked around to the other side of the rack. “I don’t know if you’d be interested in anything like this, but—” He held out a bright purse that looked like the American flag.

  “Ah,” I said, “not really my style.” Not that I have anything against the American flag, I don’t. In fact I love it. Just not on a purse.

  “Camo?” he asked.

  “Ah, no.”

  “Is this one bright enough for you?” He held up a hideous orange and green paisley purse that might have been perfect for a day at the beach.

  Most of the purses were stylish, but on this side of the aisle, they were in poor taste. Then again, I have high standards. I can’t help it. It’s genetic. I shook my head no to the paisley purse.

  Martin held up a beautiful brown leather trimmed in fake animal fur. “How ‘bout this one, Lorry? It comes with a matching gun!”

  My eyes got wide. I reached for it as Billy came through the door. “I’ll take this one and the gun to match!”

  “Oh,” said Billy. “You changed your mind on the Lady Smith?”

  “No. I want them both.” I held up both the western purse and the fake animal fur purse.

  “You mean both purses, then?” asked Billy, handing Martin my driver’s license.

  “Well, yes. But I mean both purses and both guns.”

  Billy laughed. “You’re quite the salesman, aren’t you, Martin? She didn’t even want one gun when we came in here, and now you’re sending her home with two!”

  As Martin typed away at the keys on the computer, he said, “Billy, the second gun is a Walther CCP 9mm. That okay with you?”

  “That should have more recoil, but she can handle it. Yeah, wrap ‘em both up, and some ammo, too. And Martin, while you’re typing, can you tell Lorry when you started your son on guns and why?”

  “Sure.” Martin nodded toward me and continued. “I started him on airsoft guns when he was three. When he handled those properly, I moved him on. At six, he could break down and disarm a weapon.” He shrugged and continued. “My philosophy is give them guns to kill their curiosity about them. Knowing how to handle a gun is as important as learning how to swim. They can both kill ya.” Martin finished typing and looked up. “I probably don’t need to ask you this, Billy, but does she have her permit yet?”

  “Driver’s?” I asked, innocently, though I knew he didn’t mean that.

  “No, concealed carry,” he said to me. And then to Martin, “Not yet. I’ll either give her the class myself after I finish this case, or I’ll bring her to your next one. I’ll let you know.” Then he turned back to me, “Lorry, you keep this purse and gun with you!”

  “Yes, sir,” I said as I saluted with the hand that wasn’t admiring the feel of my beautiful new purses.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  BILLY KISSED ME goodbye and drove off back to work. He said he didn’t think he’d be home for dinner, so I was on my own. And I knew exactly where I would go.

  Bingo and I entered the back door of the historical society and walked up to the front. Petra was typing away on her keyboard.

  “Everything all right, Petra? Want to see my new purses?”

  “I thought you went to buy a gun?” she asked without turning around. And it sounded like she didn’t slow down her typing, either.

  “I did, but I needed a purse to carry it in. It’s called a concealed carry purse. Want to see it? Well, two of them.”

  “No, that’s okay. I’m good. Purses aren’t my thing, you know.”

  “How about the guns? Want to see the guns? They’re pretty, too.”

  “A pretty gun? No, I don’t think so. I’ve never considered a gun pretty, and I don’t think I’ve been missing out on anything. Thanks for offering, though.”

  “Hey, Petra. You want to go out to dinner tonight? Billy has to work.”

  “Thanks, Lorry, but I’m going back to the bed and breakfast. There are some guests from England, so I should be there. Thanks for asking.”

  “I can bring pizza,” I tempted.

  “No, Hugo left some stuff for me.”

  “All right,” I said and walked into my office. I tried. Petra did seem a little better today. Almost back to her old self. If she had insulted me, that would be just about there.

  It was almost time to leave for the day—not that I had been there much, but with the sale still threatening, what difference did it make? After turning off my computer and gathering up my new purses and my dog, I was ready to take off when Petra raced by me.

  “Want a ride home to pick up some stuff? Then I can drop you at Martha’s.”

  “No, thanks. I have everything I need, and the walk will do me good.”

  It was only a few blocks walk to Martha’s, but I would have accepted a ride. Maybe that was why Petra was so thin you could almost see through her, and I was, well, I just wasn’t—you know, thin. “Okay, bye! See you tomorrow!”

  “Bye. See ya,” then she was out the door and striding down the street with her long legs.

  “Bingo, what d’ya say we blow this pop stand?” Bingo put his two front feet up on my lap. “Let’s get outa here!” I gathered him up in my arms, locked the front door, and rambled down the hallway toward my car.

  The back door to the historical society locked by itself. Billy had that fixed after we had a problem or two with the back door. Bingo and I jumped into my car, and we were off. “Bingo,” I said, “we’re not going home yet. You have to wait on your dinner. I hope you can adjust.” He wagged, so I took that as assent.

  Which bar would rich Douglas Gates be at? The nicer one? No, that would be too logical, and nothing about this case was logical. So I drove to Petey’s Bar, a cesspool of a place where no respectable drunk would be caught dead. Drunk? Yes. Dead? No. Wait a minute. Grizelda’s, another nicer bar in town also served food that wasn’t half bad. We ate there sometimes. My gut feeling was that Douglas Gates wouldn’t be there. Petey’s was a total dump. Petra’s alcoholic father hung out there, and I hoped that I wouldn’t run into him on this mission.

  The bar, located at the end of Commercial Street and way too close to the school—Aiden’s school—to suit me, needed painting. I snagged a parking place right in front—convenient in case I needed to make a quick getaway. After kissing Bingo on the top of his head, I grabbed my new concealed carry purse, even though I didn’t even know how to load the gun yet. Billy said he’d show me when he got home tonight.

  Petey’s was a dive, and if I got into trouble, even waving the gun around might save me some grief—or worse. It wouldn’t reflect very good on Billy to have his newly wedded wife waving a gun around in the worst bar in Rutledge. But right now, the only thing on my mind was finding the murderer.

  And that might be Douglas Gates. So I opened
the door to Petey’s Bar and looked around the room. It didn’t take long to find him. He sat at the counter on the end seat and leaned against the wall. If he was already drunk, then I wouldn’t be able to get much out of him. On the other hand, if he was drunk enough, he might confide in me about his part in the murder. Think positive! He would spill!

  I glided across the floor toward Douglas—as if hanging out in bars was something I did all the time—and plunked myself down in the empty seat next to him. “Hello, Douglas,” I said, trying to sound innocent and unassuming. Then, trying to play my part correctly, I held up a finger to the bartender.

  Since I wasn’t a barfly and hadn’t ever spent much time in a bar before, I didn’t know how to act. But I thought holding up a finger was the way to do it. Since I didn’t know what to order, I ordered the only thing I could think of, which came from some movie I once saw. I couldn’t remember which one. “Martini, please. Shaken not stirred.” The bartender looked at me with a weird expression on his face and grabbed a bottle. What he did with it, I didn’t know, because it was then that Douglas spoke.

  “So what are you doing in this God forsaken place, Lorry? That’s your name, isn’t it? Lorry Lockharte? You’re the one who made a spectacle of yourself at that meeting. That was you, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, and that, kind sir, is why I need a drink!” The bartender put the drink down in front of me, and I handed him a ten. He tried to give me change, but I indicated he should keep it. He tipped a pretend hat to me and smiled. Bob is what his name tag said, and he had pimples all over his face. It was probably syphilis or something. I hoped he washed his hands before washing the glasses. I pretended to take a sip of my drink and then wiped the liquid off my lip so I wouldn’t ingest any.

  Douglas moved from the wall and leaned up against me, drowning me with his alcoholic breath. “So who do you think did it? You know, the murder, I mean.” He took a gulp of his drink.

  “You!” I said, looking him as much in the eye as I could with him leaning against me. I might as well speak my mind, because he was too drunk to remember anything I said, anyway.

  He laughed and alcohol burbled out of his mouth. With no napkin before him, he wiped it on the sleeve of his very expensive looking suit. “I couldn’t have done it! I don’t have a gun!” And he took another gulp, then laughed again, so the liquid came out his nose. He wiped this new impropriety on his other sleeve.

  Douglas had said it so matter-of-factly, that it took me aback. That would be a prerequisite, wouldn’t it? Although, after what Martin had said about those guns being stolen, Douglas could have easily done it and gotten rid of the evidence afterward. “All right then,” I said. “Where were you at the time?”

  “Just outside the front door, behind a bush so I couldn’t be seen.”

  I turned toward him and his head slid off my shoulder where it had been resting. He almost fell over, but caught himself in time. With his comment, my mind had gone to the toilet, literally. “Why did you have to take a leak outside behind a bush? Was the men’s bathroom busy?”

  “No, silly! For this!” And he reached into his inside pocket and pulled out a stainless steel flask of alcohol. After holding it up for me to see, he returned it to his pocket, finished his drink, and ordered another one. “And another for the lady, too.” He motioned toward me.

  Douglas hadn’t noticed that I hadn’t drank any of the martini in front of me, which was a good thing, but the bartender did. He looked at me, and I discreetly shook my head. When he brought Douglas his drink and no other, Douglas did notice that. “I said, bring her another drink! Can’t you hear, boy?”

  Bob shrugged, and made and handed me another martini. I assumed it was also shaken and not stirred, but I didn’t ask.

  As far out as it seemed, I believed Douglas. He could be faking the whole thing, except that he didn’t know I’d be visiting him tonight, and he was already leaning against the wall before I even sat down beside him. And that alcoholic breath of his wasn’t from just one or two drinks. No, I thought he was the first one that I could officially take off my list. Excited at the thought, I was about to stand up and take my leave, but Douglas leaned back over.

  “You know what, missy? Everybody in town thinks that I’m related to Bill Gates. I don’t know where they’d ever get that idea.” He raised his eyebrows and glanced briefly away before leaning in again. “Just a rumor.” In that moment and in that one comment, I knew without his saying another word that he had started that rumor. Some things are obvious.

  Then he continued, “You know where I made all my money?” He turned his mouth so he could whisper in my ear with his drunken breath. “High end mobile home parks. I have two of them in Oregon. You know, taxes. I’ve made a fortune off those.” He pulled away from me and looked concerned. “You won’t tell anyone, will you? I mean, I prefer the rumor!”

  That was when I stood up. “No, Douglas. I won’t tell a soul.” Except maybe the Rutledge weekly newspaper. “Goodbye!” And I shimmied my big butt straight out the door and into the waiting paws of my boy, Bingo.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  COLOR ME SLIMED. At least that’s how I felt. Being in that crummy bar, and Bob the bartender handing me a drink washed with possibly dirty hands, and finally Douglas’s alcoholic breath all over me. If there was a cleaners still open in Rutledge—there wasn’t—but if there was, I would drive over there right now, rip my clothes off, and drive home naked. Okay, okay, I wouldn’t do that, but you get how gross I felt at that moment.

  When I arrived home, I put Bingo in the backyard to do his business, tore my clothes off, and stuffed them in a plastic bag for transportation to the cleaners in the morning. Then I showered and scrubbed myself hard enough to make my skin red. After toweling off and letting Bingo in, I put on a warm robe and put some leftover frozen pizza in the microwave. A few minutes later, I was enjoying pizza and feeling relatively clean. The only thing that still felt dirty about me were thoughts about that horrible place. So I let it go and called Aiden.

  After going through both Willow, Sam’s daughter, and Sage, Sam’s son, I finally had Aiden on the phone. “Hi, sweetie, are you having a good time? . . . Good, I’m glad you enjoy each other’s company . . . Yes, I know he’s smart, and you are, too . . . You talk about science? That is very cool. . . . Stay for the whole weekend? Are you sure it’s okay with Sage’s folks? . . . Oh, sorry, you’re right. I should have known you wouldn’t have asked unless you already had permission. . . . I love you, too, Aiden. And of course you can stay there. . . . All right, give me a call sometime. Love you.”

  During the whole conversation, I resisted the urge to ask him if the gun was unloaded. I deserve a pat on the back! Either that or a slap in the face for not trusting Billy and his conversation with Sage’s parents. And not to mention the lock on the gun.

  Walking toward my bedroom, I noticed Billy had dropped off more empty boxes. He had my whole evening planned. Since I didn’t know how soon we were moving into the new house, I didn’t know if I should pack our dresser or not. Who knew how long it would take for Billy to catch the murderer and for Martha and Hugo to return home? Little did I know how soon it would be.

  Instead of working in the bedroom, I started packing the books and drawers in the office. By the time Billy arrived home hours later, I had filled all the boxes and fallen asleep with my butt on the floor and my head on the office chair. When I awoke, Billy had knelt down beside me, and I could feel the warmth of his hands on my face.

  “Hey, Babe, you did a lot of work tonight. You must be tired.” He tactfully ignored how he found me sleeping on the floor. I nodded.

  “We need to get these boxes to the new house. If you see Mason around tomorrow, ask him if he could help. My truck will be here, just have him load them in there.”

  “Ok.” I struggled to get the sleep from my tired brain. “When are we moving in? Don’t you have to catch the guy, first?”

  “I’m getting closer. It shouldn’t b
e long now.” He stood up and offered me his hand. “Come on, let’s get you to bed before you fall back to sleep on the floor.”

  “No! You said you’d show me how to load the guns!”

  Billy pulled me to my feet and put his arms around me. “For someone who didn’t even want a gun, you’re getting into this gun thing. First, you buy two instead of one, and now you’re eager to learn how to load them, even though you’re about to fall asleep on your feet!”

  “I’m not that tired!” I argued, though I could feel Billy half holding me up.

  “How ’bout a compromise?” he asked. “I’ll show you how to load one of the guns tonight. How ’bout that?”

  I nodded and rested my head on Billy’s shoulder. “Ok.”

  Billy put his arm around me and kept me upright while we walked into the living room. He eased me down onto the couch, and I sank right in. “I’ll get the gun and the ammo. Wait here, and try not to fall asleep,” he said as he headed back down the hall toward the bedroom where I had left the guns.

  When he returned a minute later, I felt more wide awake. “Did you bring both guns? Because I’m feeling a lot more awake now.”

  “You agreed to one. I brought the Lady Smith. Your fancy Cheetah CCP has a magazine. It’s easy to load.” Billy sat down beside me with the gun in his hand. I didn’t see the bullets. “Before we begin, just a brief gun safety lesson. Are you awake enough to retain the information?”

  I frowned and sighed. “I’m awake enough for a ten-question quiz. Now get on with it, Billy.” Maybe I did feel more tired than I thought, because I usually didn’t talk to Billy like that.

  Billy narrowed his eyes but said nothing about my curt response. He knew how tired I was, too. “First, always treat every gun like it’s loaded. Don’t ever pick it up and wave it around “pretending” to shoot someone. More people have been shot by unloaded guns—guns they thought were unloaded—than you would believe.”