Those competitive feelings are pitiful, I know. Particularly when you’re talking about the man you love despite everyone’s wishes.
But if word got out to Josiah the police were interested in his Halloween mugging, he’d probably kill our deal and push Halo’s town zoning commission one step closer to me. And sic animal control on poor Tater.
Going forward, I’d have to stop talking to Luke about this treasure hunt.
Before hopping into my Datsun to do due diligence on Sterling Childs, I ambled to the area where said Sterling had taken a nap in his Porsche on the fateful eve. Probably because of the car’s make and model, he had parked a short hike from the building, two spots from the golf cart path entrance. The car’s position had been concealed from the front doors by a half-wall hiding the service entrance. The wall itself had been camouflaged by stacked hay bales, scarecrows, and an array of pumpkins.
A good spot for a post-party sleep-off-the-booze before driving home. Or for using Josiah’s stolen lightsaber to play Star Wars with a cat. Hopefully, Sterling had the lightsaber and could clear up some of this nuttiness.
I spied a trashcan secured to the fence next to the cart path. I noted the beer and Coke after-golf flotsam accumulated there and poked around in the yuck. No broken lightsabers or jeweled codpieces. However, an envelope containing an invite to the club’s Halloween party had been ripped in half and tossed.
I snagged the torn envelope and headed home to look up Sterling Childs. And Christopher Bozen, who had been invited to the party and torn up his invitation near Sterling’s car.
* * *
AT THE LIBRARY—God bless libraries for those of us who can’t afford a fancy cable and internet package because our work is seasonal, artistic, and/or suppressed by small town patriarchs—I wandered past the horror book display to the computer carrels. Sterling Childs, easily found. Christopher Bozen, not so much.
However, a Christopher Dozen of Line Creek owned the city’s sports bar, Honkers. I had never visited this particular establishment but knew it as a popular destination for those who smirk at the site of a cartoon goose in a well-filled bikini getting her tail feathers nipped by a gander.
Probably why I’d never been to Honkers.
Unfortunately, Sterling couldn’t meet me until the next morning. Christopher Dozen’s personal number was unlisted, and Honkers put me on hold long enough to not deem the hostess trustworthy for message taking. I would get my dinner at Honkers.
The whole thing seemed like a wild goose chase, in any case.
* * *
TWO SIX-FOOT GEESE—both appearing as if they stuffed socks in particular areas on their male and female persons—had been seasonally dressed as vampires. Inside Honkers, the Halloween theme continued with ads for an upcoming Love Potion party and hanging black cat and bat dye-cuts. Owls were noticeably absent. Waitresses in regulation Daisy Dukes and tank tops wore Groucho Marx glasses. Most patrons’ gazes were glued to the six zillion flat screens covering every spare inch of wall and ceiling space. The place was scented with my favorite kind of grease but too loud to hear yourself think.
Plus, there was a pole on a small stage in the middle of the floor. And no firehouse on the floor above.
“Welcome to...” The hostess squeezed the bulb of a horn, offering an onomatopoeia greeting. “How many in your party?”
“Tonight, I party alone.” I smiled. “Actually, I’m looking for your boss, Christopher Dozen. Is he in tonight?”
The woman shook her head. The fake glasses slid down her nose and she shoved them back. “Is Chris expecting you?”
I shook my head. “I hoped to catch him here.”
She lifted her glasses to give me the once over. “I can get you an application, but I’ll give you a tip before talking to Chris. You’re going to need to use tissues or something to go up at least a cup size and it wouldn’t hurt to add some padding below.”
I gaped. “Are you serious?”
“Are you?”
“I don’t want a job. I want to ask him about a Halloween party at Line Creek Country Club. Do you have a cell number for him?”
“Can’t give that out.” She dropped her glasses back on her nose and rummaged beneath her podium, bringing out a pen and notepad. “Leave your name and number. And what was it you wanted to know about the party? That he was there?”
“I’m looking for someone at the party he might know.” I scribbled the information. “You think he’ll get back to me tomorrow? It’s urgent.”
“I’ll stick it on his office door. Were you at the party?”
“No. A friend was.”
“Did you want to eat or just leave the message?”
I glanced around at the mostly middle-aged, male clientele watching football when they weren’t watching tail feathers. “Not really my crowd. Thanks anyway.”
Slipping past the fake spider webs outlining the entrance, I stopped before a Love Potion poster, Honkers’ sponsored Halloween party. I wedged some seasonal business cards—I’d sadly gone from portraitist to “Professional Artist Designed Costumes and Accessories”—next to the tack and walked back to my truck.
When you own a failed small business, never stop marketing.
As I pulled out of my parking space, I recognized the truck across the street, arrow blinking, ready to turn into Honkers. A jacked-up, black Raptor pickup. Luke Harper’s personal vehicle. Not that Luke couldn’t go to Honkers if he wanted, but a twinge of something bitter worked my nerves seeing that truck waiting to make the turn. Not liking the feeling, I chose to avoid him and drove around the restaurant to exit onto the back street.
On the back stoop of Honkers, a young man in checked cook’s pants and a stained apron spoke with another guy in a hoodie and skull cap. They both shoved their hands in their pockets and turned their heads as I drove past.
Maybe Luke was after those two, doing undercover drug surveillance. I watched them in my rearview before making my turn.
Except Honkers was in Line Creek, which had their own city police.
I made a U-ey and drove around the restaurant. Parked alongside and crept up behind the giant geese.
There he was, my Deputy McHottie, escorting some chick—not a goose, although they shared some Honker endowments in common—into the restaurant. I felt a pressure mounting, steam combined with curdling bile, and debated following the pair inside.
He could be working undercover.
Or seeing someone on the side.
They could be working together. She could be another deputy, a Line Creek cop, or even some kind of Fed.
Or some tramp he picked up and took to places like Honkers.
I worried my lip and thought about my Remington Wingmaster in my bedroom closet. Then shook off that thought and found myself stomping back toward Honkers.
FOUR
THE RECEPTION STAND honked as I entered the foyer. I froze in the doorway. Then hoped Luke would spot me. Then hoped he wouldn’t.
Stupid men making me stupid.
The Groucho Marx hostess spoke. I flattened to the foyer wall and tuned my ear.
“Hey, Katty. Looking good, girl.”
Groucho Marx knew the tramp.
I mean, the unidentified young woman accompanying my deputy.
“Interested in the Love Potion party?” said Katty, the alleged floozy.
“Maybe,” said Luke. “We’ll see.”
“You bet we’ll see,” I muttered beneath my breath and ripped my business cards from beneath the poster’s tack. Also ripped the poster.
I waited, giving the hostess time to find them a table, then edged toward the cobwebbed entrance. Through the pulled cotton threads, I saw Luke and his coworker/slutty date settle into a table at the far end, chairs pointed toward a flat screen. Satisfied he wouldn’t notice, I slipped around the cobweb.
The hostess raised her horn. “Welcome to...”
I dove for the horn and took out the hostess at the same time. The horn landed between us
with a flaccid “wonk.”
“Sorry,” I whispered, handing her back the big nose glasses. “I slipped.”
She gave me a look that spoke of her true feelings about certain customers and pulled herself to standing. “Did you forget something?”
From my floor crouch, I shook my head and peered between table legs. Luke had glanced at the hostess stand but hadn’t spotted me. He turned back to his office romance/work meeting. I slid up the side of the hostess stand, bent my knees, and peeked over the top ledge. Not hard to do when you’re only five foot and one-half inch.
“Did you change your mind about eating?” said the faux-nosed hostess.
“To be honest, I lost my appetite in your parking lot. That’s saying something for me.”
“If you’re not here to eat or drink, you need to leave.” Miss Hostess folded her arms.
“Give me a minute and I’ll get.”
She waved a hand. Three fake-nosed waitresses appeared. All bigger than me. Particularly in certain areas.
“Fine.” I swatted through the cobwebs before Luke could see my commotion and stomped through the parking lot.
Kicked a goose on my way to my truck. They are made of cement, by the way.
* * *
A NOTICE HAD been stuck in my mailbox. A notice inviting me to the next town council meeting where the topic of discussion would be small business zoning.
Nothing about goats. Yet.
I crumpled the notification, smoothed it, then shoved it in the drawer of my roll-top oak desk where I kept my painting supplies. Poured feed in a bucket and walked out to the backyard.
Tater trotted from his recline beneath my sweet gum tree to accept his dinner.
“Looks like we’re both going to get kicked out if I don’t find this codpiece.” I bent over the fence to rub the old goat’s horns. “Of course, if you’d just go back to the farm, that’d solve one problem.”
He cocked his head, gave me the stink eye, and backed away.
“Stop being such a baby. Where’s your grit? You’re letting other goats steal your girl.”
We studied each other.
“Dangit. You’re right. But have you seen Luke? Women speed in this town so he’ll pull them over. He’s got the best ticket rate in Forks County.”
Tater yawned and turned back to the sweet gum.
“In college, he was a total dog. This Honkers girl is probably a badge bunny. Maybe he’s getting tired of me. I can be difficult at times.” I chewed my thumbnail. “But I can’t let Luke know I was at Honkers. He’s already suspicious of my hunt for Catwoman.”
Tater stood up, turned a tight circle, and plopped down with his back to me.
“Fine.” I pulled my phone from my back pocket and dialed Luke. “What are you doing?”
“Working. Can’t really talk now.” He hung up.
“Yeah, well I’m working, too.” I snapped my phone shut and refrained from throwing it against the house.
Tater swung his head back to study me.
“I am working. Got two leads to chase tomorrow.” I heaved a sigh. “You got room under that tree for me?”
He made a show of flopping over and spreading out.
FIVE
AS STERLING CHILDS sought a relationship and I wasn’t (not yet anyway), I asked to meet at a Waffle Hut. Generally, Waffle Hut did not give off “looking for a date” vibes. Which had been a good idea because he mistook my “hearing about him” at the party for another kind of “hearing about him.”
Sterling was newly divorced and not yet subtle in his attempts to get a date. But he did have the lightsaber. The country club had tossed it in his car before sending Sterling home by cab.
“I’m such an idiot,” he confided in me when learning about my hunt for Catwoman. “I met her, too.”
“Did you get her name and number? A description?”
“No name or number. She was...” Sterling’s smile flickered. “Shapely? The costume was tight. And she wore a mask that covered her hair. It had ears. A nice smile?” He shrugged.
Great. I hunted a woman with breasts and a smile. That narrowed it down. And made sense how she nabbed two men in one night.
“I didn’t think I had that much to drink, but I guess my performance in the car ended in me passing out.”
I skipped the performance bit. Josiah Sweeton had already left enough for my imagination. “Were you missing anything? She robbed my friend.”
“Just my keys.”
“And your Porsche wasn’t stolen?”
“Not my car fob.” Crimson crept up his neck and stained his cheeks. “That was still in the ignition when I woke up. Just the house keys. And money from my wallet.”
“You want to report it?”
“Lord, no. It’s humiliating enough. I’m in the middle of divorce proceedings and if my ex finds out I lost the keys to our beach house...”
I refrained from slapping my forehead. “Did you mention to this Catwoman that you had a beach house?”
His face flushed into an unbecoming puce. “I’m going to Hilton Head this weekend. I asked if she’d join me.”
“You asked someone you didn’t know to go to Hilton Head?”
“She seemed very amenable to...dating.” Sterling stared at his coffee.
I pulled in a deep breath through my nose. “How would she even know that key was for your beach house?”
“By the palm tree keychain. She liked the monkey hanging on it.”
I could barely hear him over his stupidity.
“And I might have shown her the keys earlier at the party. As a...” His voice dropped to a microscopic level. “Pickup line.”
I thought by middle age that men like Sterling and Josiah should’ve gained some wisdom.
“Call a locksmith to change out the keys.”
He mumbled over his coffee. “Already done.”
* * *
I CAN BE the bigger person. Sometimes. I invited Luke to breakfast at Waffle Hut.
As soon as Sterling Childs left, of course.
I eyeballed Luke over my pecan waffle. “Late night?”
He nodded, focused on biscuits and gravy and not my slitty-eyed stare.
“What kind of case has you working day and night? You getting help with Line Creek PD? Or some kind of bureau?”
He shook his head, forked a piece of dripping sausage, then looked up. “Why?”
I shoved a golf ball-sized chunk of waffle in my mouth and shrugged.
Luke set down the fork, slid back in his seat, and cocked his head. Reminding me of Tater. “How’s your search for Catwoman going?”
I smiled, pointed at my chewing mouth and gave him the thumbs up.
“Your neighbor. Was he Josiah Sweeton, by chance? I heard he’s got a bum leg. Hurt himself at the country club the other night. Halloween party.”
I gasped and a hunk of waffle lodged in my throat.
Luke rose from his seat, but I waved him back.
Tears streaming, I hammered my chest. “My neighbor Josiah Sweeton does have a broken leg,” I spoke between gasps. “Took him a casserole and a painting.”
“How’d he break his leg? Any assault I should know about?”
“Stepped on his cape, tripped, and fell down the club’s front steps. I think you saw it on the video feed.” I grabbed a water and choked it down.
“Right. Darth Vader. Which is why he’s missing a lightsaber.”
“I believe he was Darth Maul.” I stuttered a breath and wiped my eyes. “Wasting your time, trying to figure out if there’s a crime to solve. Who cares about a missing lightsaber, right? I keep telling you my victim does not want to press charges. Anyway, aren’t you working a big case?”
“Why do you think I’m working a big case?”
“You’re so busy. Like last night when you couldn’t talk.” I laid a hand on my chest. To press my point and calm my speeding heart. Also, there was a hunk of waffle still lodged somewhere around my breastbone. “You and your ne
w partner, what’s her name?”
“I don’t have a new partner.” Luke folded his arms. “What’s going on with you?”
“I’m helping a patron find someone.”
“Your patrons usually want a painting, not missing persons assistance.”
“A girl’s got to make a living somehow.” I smiled. Then wiped the snot and tears still welling. “Let’s talk about something else. Like what you’ve been doing.”
Luke glanced at his watch and balled his napkin. “Gotta go. Good luck with your missing cat lady. Did your earlier breakfast date know her, too?”
I allowed him to kiss me on the cheek. It made it easier to sniff for perfume and lipstick.
I hoped Luke thought Sterling Childs really was a breakfast date. Serve him right.
* * *
MY GETTING INVOLVED in neighborhood affairs never bothered Luke in the past. Not much anyway. As long as it didn’t interfere with Forks County Sheriff’s Department investigations.
Hold those horses.
What current sheriff’s investigation toes could I blindly be treading upon? I turned my rusty Datsun pickup from homeward to Forks County Sheriff’s Department bound. Stopped by the Lickety Pig. And rolled into the parking lot of the brick building housing the county’s finest. Inside, I moseyed to the bulletproof window where Tamara, receptionist and backup dispatcher, eyeballed me.
“What’re you doing here?” Tamara liked me fine as long as I wasn’t dating a deputy or involving myself in sheriff’s department affairs. Therefore, I was currently on her horse hockey list.
“Is Uncle Will in?” I held up a bag of barbecue.
Tamara shook her head, making her beaded braids clatter. As it was fall, the beads bore the red, black, and white of the University of Georgia. In the spring, she’d switch to Braves’ colors. During the winter, she wore her hair unbraided. I admired her fashion consistency. “What do you want with the sheriff?”
The Vigilante Vignette Page 2