I filled up and went inside to get drinks for the drive back to St. Ignatius. No need for snacks: we still had that covered with Dixie’s magician’s bag of bottomless junk food. The convenience store had a coffee machine that made cappuccinos. The pictures of coffee drinks looked good, but the concept seemed a little iffy to me. I opened the cooler, picked out a couple of bottled waters, and took them up front to pay.
The counter around the cash register was jammed with plastic buckets of impulse buys. I am a merchandiser’s dream customer. I picked out a postcard with a pig in red galoshes, a fudge cow patty (If you don’t know what a cow patty is, you should look that up.), and a black and white pen that mooed when you clicked it. Quite a haul.
As I walked out to get in the Jeep, I noticed a gray van parked across the street at a place called the The Dive. What were the odds? There couldn’t be two vans in that kind of shape, could there?
The Dive appeared to be a bar. One whose owner called it like it was. The van was one of only a few cars parked on the street and there didn’t seem to be anyone around. I waved to Dixie trying to get her attention but she was on her phone.
I decided that approaching the vehicle didn’t fit the description for “dangerous.” As long as all I did was get close enough to read the license plate number, I was perfectly safe. I would write it down and walk away. I would be in no danger at all.
I tried one last time to get Dixie’s attention and then walked slowly across the street. Stepping over the grass that grew up between the cracks of the sidewalk, I approached the van until I was close enough to read the license plate.
Just as I did the bar’s door opened and out walked JoJo the AWOL waitress.
Yes, that JoJo. The one who had bailed on Toy after she advanced her a week’s wages. No notice at all and then poof the girl had just disappeared.
Outraged on Toy’s behalf, I was ready to give the girl a piece of my mind. Toy had been sure the money went to a family in need but here was evidence it had simply gone for booze. She didn’t see me, but I continued across the street toward her.
When she was even with the van she stopped. Then she opened the passenger door of the van and got in.
What the what?
No sooner had I processed that, or tried to anyway, than the bar’s door swung open again and out walked the big guy with the knife tattoo.
Oops. Now I was in the danger zone.
Quickly turning away, I held my handbag in front of my face like a bright red Kate Spade mask, and I scurried back to the Jeep.
I could hear the engine rev and peeked from behind my car to see. As the van sped away I got a good look at the license plate. I pulled out the cow pen I’d just purchased, and wrote it down on the pig postcard.
“Moooo,” it said as I yanked open the door and hopped into the Jeep.
“What was that?” Dixie asked.
“My cow pen,” I answered. “Did you see the van?”
“What van?” Dixie looked around.
“It’s gone now.” I handed her one of the bottled waters. “I tried to get your attention but you were looking at your phone.”
Twisting open the other water and taking a drink, I tossed the rest of my purchases in the back seat. We headed out of town. I couldn’t wait to get back to St. Ignatius and give the sheriff the license number.
Who knew what the connection was between JoJo and the guy with the knife tattoo was, but whatever it was, it involved Kenny Farmer. And, come to think of it, JoJo had been at the Looking Pretty party and had disappeared after the police showed up. We’d all just thought she was a flake, but maybe there was a reason she’d suddenly shown up in town.
Chapter Twenty-One
As soon as we arrived back at the shop, we called Sheriff Terry. He listened carefully and took down the information I’d given him.
Dixie was still skeptical about this being a big breakthrough, but I was convinced there was more to JoJo being at the Looking Pretty party and then disappearing from town than just coincidence.
She and Moto waved good-bye while I was still on the phone. Earlier she’d mentioned a big family birthday party for her niece. Her niece was majorly into dogs and so this was a canine-friendly event. There were pupcakes as well as cupcakes planned for the guests. Dixie, of course, had baked and needed to stop at home and pick them up.
I had waited for an opening to ask her about her Aunt Bertie’s comment about her and Sheriff Terry being an item and had failed to find one. I was going to have to get bolder if I was going to solve that mystery.
* * * *
When I pulled into the parking lot behind the building the next morning, it looked like Dixie had just arrived as well. She got out of her pickup and stood. A Jameson County Sheriff’s Department vehicle blocked the entrance to our building.
I felt my heart sink. Now what?
Had there been another murder? Had Bertie gone missing again? The possibilities zipped through my head as I put the Jeep in park and got out.
Dixie and I approached the back door which stood open. A deputy stood just inside.
“Can you wait here a minute, ma’am?” He was polite but firm.
The sheriff soon joined him. “You’ve had a break-in.”
He motioned for us to follow him.
As I turned the corner into the office, my heart sank. All of the papers I’d painstakingly sorted into piles of recipes for the various sections had been tossed on the floor. It looked like some of them had been wadded up and walked on. Every drawer in the desk had been pulled out and the contents dumped on the floor. The file cabinet where I’d put the historic pictures was tipped on its side.
“How bad is the kitchen?” Dixie asked quietly.
“Pretty bad, I’m afraid,” Sheriff Terry answered.
I linked arms with Dixie and took a deep breath. “Let’s get it over with.”
The sheriff was right, it was bad.
Glass dishes had been smashed on the floor. Flour and sugar had been thrown everywhere. Butter smeared on the counter and on the front window.
Unbelievable.
I was at once angry and broken-hearted.
“How you know?” Dixie asked. “Who called you?”
“A jogger noticed the door open and went to close it and saw the mess,” Terry answered.
The one saving grace was that Max’s photos from the shoot weren’t there. They were with him.
He showed up just as the Jameson County Sheriff’s Office people were leaving.
“What happened here?” he asked.
“We had a break-in.” I could feel my throat tightening and I fought to keep the tears at bay.
His laser blue gaze searched my face. “Anything taken?”
“Not that we can tell.” I shrugged. “But it’s a real mess.” I pointed to the doorway. “Take a look inside.”
Max walked through the backdoor and I could hear him exclaim as he got a good look at the destruction.
I used my cell phone and called our insurance company. The agent was just across the square and he said he’d stop by in a few minutes.
Dixie came outside shaking her head. She walked to where I stood and I told her I’d called about what we needed to do to file an insurance claim.
“He said to be sure and get pictures.” The sheriff’s deputy had taken a bunch of pictures already, but if we needed them for insurance, maybe we also needed to take some.
She leaned against the side of my car. “We are a week away from going into full production. I don’t see how we can make it.”
“We’ll make it.” I tucked my phone away and straightened my shoulders. “I don’t know who did this or why they would target us, but we are not going to let them win. We’ll make it.”
“All right then.” She linked her arm through mine. “Let’s get started.”
&n
bsp; Heading back inside, I realized I wasn’t sure where to start.
Max stepped over a jar of pineapple that had been smashed in the doorway between the kitchen and my office. “If you can give me a few minutes before you start cleaning, I’ll take photos.” His expression was grim. “I’m sure you’ll need them for insurance purposes.”
“I’ve already called, and you’re right. We will.”
“Okay, it won’t take me long.” He went back to the Land Rover for his camera and re-entered the building.
Our insurance agent had arrived and after a brief conversation with him, he did a walk-through. When he came out he looked a little shell-shocked.
“Worse than I thought.” He wiped his shoes in the grass. “I talked to Max Windsor while I was in there and gave him my card. He’ll send the photos directly to me and we’ll get a claim filed.”
I thanked him and once he’d gone, started making a list of supplies we were going to need for the clean-up. Top of the list was garbage bags. A lot of garbage bags. Hardly any of the perishables would be salvageable.
Max stepped outside and walked to where I stood in the shade. “I’m done. I’ll send these to your insurance agent right away.”
“Thank you, Max.” I touched his arm. “We appreciate your help.”
He walked toward his vehicle and I headed to the store with my list.
When I got back Max had commandeered a couple of large rolling trash cans from one of the neighboring shops and he and Dixie were already carrying out one large bag of trash. I waded into the fray.
Dixie had propped open the front door to get some circulation going as it was hot work. As usual the activity collected a crowd and I finally had to put up a sign so that people didn’t walk in on the slippery floor and get hurt.
By noon we had the floors cleared and had begun the process of trying to save paperwork that had been trashed. I set up some boxes and labeled them to make it easier to sort. The intruder had poured cleaning solution on my computer and I couldn’t get it to turn on. I wiped it down and carried it outside to my car. I’d have to take it to someone who knew more than I did to see if it could be saved. And if it couldn’t, if any of the files on my hard drive could be.
I tried to fish my keys out of my pocket in order to open the cargo area of the Jeep to set the computer inside and fumbled to balance it.
A voice spoke from behind me. “Here, let me get that.”
It was Sheriff Terry. I almost didn’t recognize him out of uniform. Without the trappings of the office, he looked younger and somehow less serious. In jeans and a T-shirt, I could picture the high school heartthrob he might have been back in the day when he and Dixie were an item. In spite of the warmth of the day, he wore a light jacket so I assumed he was still armed even though he was off duty.
He took the computer from me and I opened the back. Setting it carefully on the blanket, I said a little prayer that the liquid cleaner hadn’t totally destroyed the last several months’ work.
“I brought you guys something to eat and some water.” He picked up a bag he’d put down in order to help me. “Looks like it’s been a long day already.”
“It has.” I agreed.
“Come on in, Sheriff.” I headed back into the shop. “Dixie needs to take a break and maybe I can convince her if there’s food involved.”
“Let’s make it Terry since I’m off duty.” He grinned. “I’d like to help with the cleanup.”
“I think I can get you inside the door with the food, but I’m not sure Dixie will tolerate any more than that. She won’t bite, but I can’t say that she won’t bark.”
“And I can’t say that I’m not scared.”
Dixie had piled her auburn curls on top of her head and was pushing a pile of broken glass into a dust bin.
Tears ran down her face.
“Jerks.” She wiped her cheek with the arm of her shirt. A shirt which had started out the day white but was now covered in so many stains it looked like one of Disco’s tie-dyes. “It wasn’t enough to make an unholy mess of things, they had to break my grandma’s mixing bowls.”
“I’m so sorry, hon.” I put my arm around her shoulder. “Let’s take a little break. We’ve been going at this since we got here. Terry here brought us some water and, uhm…”
“Sandwiches,” he finished for me. “Nothing fancy, just some sandwiches.”
I could feel her tense, but to her credit she didn’t lash out at him. It could be the woman was so darn exhausted she couldn’t, but I was going with that she was taking the high road.
“Come on, let’s wash up.” I steered her to the lavatory at the back.
We looked at each other in the mirror over the sink.
“We look scary,” she said.
“No,” I countered. “We look fierce.”
When we got back out front, Terry had finished sweeping up the broken crockery from Dixie’s grandmother’s mixing bowls and the debris was out of sight.
Sliding onto one of the stools, Dixie pulled the bag Terry had brought toward her and pulled out a bottle of water. She handed one to me and then looked around.
“Where’s Max?” she asked.
“I think he’s still working in the storage room.” I headed in that direction. “Let me look.”
I found him moving supplies that were still useable to the top shelf and tossing others into a box he’d fashioned as a trash can.
“I can’t believe you’re still here.” I was so thankful for the help he’d provided. “You sure didn’t need to give up your day.”
He shrugged. “I had it blocked out anyway, because we were going to go over the photos today.”
“Now that we can’t, what will that do to your schedule?”
“We’ll work it out.”
I sure hoped so. I’d been worried about losing support for the project. I’d been concerned that the details wouldn’t come together. I sure as shooting did not see this coming.
“You’re a peach.” I smiled at him. “Take a break. The sheriff has stopped by with some food and I’ve talked Dixie into taking a break.”
“You didn’t leave them alone in there did you?” Max raised a brow.
“You’ve noticed the tension too, huh?”
“Hard to miss it.”
When we walked into the outer area, there seemed to be a cease fire. They weren’t exactly chummy with each other but they were talking.
“The deputy who responded this morning said it was a high school kid out for a run who noticed the door standing open. When he stopped to close it, he noticed the mess. He didn’t go in but called 911 on his cell. The deputy checked things out carefully before entering but the vandals were long gone.”
“I hope you catch them.” Dixie tore into the submarine. “They’d better hope you find them before I do. Why make such a mess?”
Max grabbed a sandwich and sat down. I brushed off my jeans and did the same.
“We don’t keep any money on the premises.” I peeled back the wrapper.
“They were probably looking for money and when they didn’t find any decided to trash the place.” Dixie took a swig from her water.
“Have you noticed anything at all missing?” Max asked.
“Not a thing so far.” I looked around at the shop that had been so cheery yesterday.
I finished my food and stood, ready to get back to work. The others soon followed. Max headed back to the storage room, and Dixie went back to sweeping up flour, sugar, and broken glass. And Terry took the other broom and headed to the opposite side of the room from Dixie.
The next hour, I picked up papers. Sorted and organized. Saved what I could. It wasn’t as hopeless as it had at first seemed. My mind worked as I sorted. Who had done this and why?
I knew the sheriff’s office had talked to surrounding business own
ers, but they’d been busy with the teen who’d called in the break-in. And then crowd control as word got out. They seemed certain it was part of the wave of vandalism, but I wondered. Maybe.
But why us? Everyone knew we didn’t keep money in the shop. Maybe someone from one of the stores close by had seen something.
It wouldn’t hurt to take a short break and ask around. I decided to start with Disco.
* * * *
The neon Flashback sign in the window of Disco’s shop was only half lit so it looked like the name of the store was Flash.
I approached the counter where Disco leaned forward on both elbows. Today his attire was authentic 1970s polyester. I didn’t know where he found the stuff he wore, or if it was his own well-preserved personal collection, but this was the most awful powder blue leisure suit. (Make a note, we should pass laws that prohibit this trend from ever coming back into vogue.)
“Hey, Disco,” I said. “Your ‘back’ is out.”
“Whoa, how did you know?” He straightened carefully rubbing his lower back. “You must be psychic. I’ve been unpacking a new shipment of Trolls and I think I hurt myself.”
“No,” I laughed. “Your sign.” I pointed at the window. “The ‘back’ part is out.”
“Wow.” He rubbed his head with a hand that sported multiple mood rings. “That too.”
“I wondered if the guy who’d come in asking about Kenny ever came back.” I leaned against the counter trying to see if he had been doing any packing for shipping.
“No, that dude didn’t come back, but a girl came in asking the same thing.”
“Shorter than me, dark hair, tattoo here?” I pointed at my neck.
“Wow man, you really are psychic.” He blinked and wiped a hand over his face. “How did you know?”
“I saw her with the guy today.”
“So you’re not psychic.” His shoulders dropped in disappointment.
“No,” I sighed. “If I were I’d figure out who really killed Elsie and Kenny Farmer.”
“So, you don’t think it was Tina?” His eyebrows shot up. “Everybody thinks it was Tina.”
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