Lucky and the Axed Accountant

by Emmy Grace

  Lucky and the Axed Accountant

  Emmy Grace

  EG Books

  Copyright © 2019 by Emmy Grace

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Cover by Mallory Rock Rock Solid Cover Design

  Created with Vellum

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  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Lucky and the Banged-up Ballerina

  Lucky and the Banged-up Ballerina

  Thank you

  Connect with me

  About the Author

  Also by Emmy Grace

  1

  “You just put these little patches on whatever muscle might be sore and hook up the wires, and when the sensors pick up increasing inflammation, the stimulator will turn on automatically to work that muscle.”

  I stare at my best friend and boss, Regina. I feel a lot like she just recited a poem to me all in Greek. “So, I don’t have to, like, move around or exercise or anything?”

  “No,” my best friend growls at me. She does that when she’s getting frustrated. “Lucky, didn’t you read the packet that came with it?”

  “I…scanned it. Briefly,” I confess, sheepish.

  “In other words, you have no idea what you’re doing?”

  “Not entirely, but when has it ever not worked out just fine?”

  “You want a list?” She rolls her eyes toward the ceiling of my little carriage house kitchen and starts ticking off items on her fingers. “Most recently, the tooth whitening paste. The glow-in-the-dark underwear. Before that, the ice box oven mitts. The acupressure slippers. Before that, the—”

  “Okay, fine. You can stop. You’ve made your point.”

  “Yes, I have, but why do I feel like this won’t make a difference?”

  I smile broadly. “Probably because it won’t. Figuring it out on the fly is half the fun.”

  “Do you want me to list the times when you’ve called me, fussing, when it wasn’t fun?”

  I start slapping sticky patches on my shoulder. It is a little sore from my recent aircraft cabin scuffle with a diabolical criminal.

  “How about I just put these on and go about my day?”

  Regina shakes her head. “It’s what you’re gonna do anyway.”

  I hook up the wires to the small box that I think is supposed to attach to my waistband. Good thing I’m wearing real pants today instead of something with a stretched-out piece of elastic at the top. I slide the clip on and hit the button to turn the machine on. “It’ll be fine. Just you wait.”

  My head snaps up, Regina’s at the same time. There’s a short pause, like our brains are syncing up, then we both launch into our best guttural British accents as we sing the chorus of the famous My Fair Lady song about “’Enry ’Iggins.”

  We link arms and start to swing around in a goofy dance that would make barnyard square dancers proud, but right in the middle of it, a zing of electricity streaks through my shoulder and my left arm flies straight up in the air.

  “Yeow!” I yelp.

  Regina stops to stare at me. “What the heck was that all about?”

  “I don’t know. I just got a little shock in my shoulder.” As we’re standing in my kitchen, pondering the wisdom of the device that’s now strapped to my body, my arm shoots up again. I manage to keep my surprise to a muted eek this time, but it’s still enough to excite the wild kingdom.

  From the bedroom, where all my creatures are still sleeping, comes the startled bark of Mr. Jingles, my French bulldog. Regina slaps her hands over her ears just before the rest of the animal orchestra gets going. I hear the warning growl of Lucy-fur, my temperamental black cat, followed by the snort of my new pig, Gumbo (that’s the newest addition to the cascade of excitement). The squeak of Gator on the hamster’s wheel starts up next, which always scares my rescue parrot, Squishy, into his panicked parroting.

  “Carnegie Hall! Carnegie Hall!” squawks my strange bird.

  I start laughing, and Regina takes her hands away from her ears.

  “What are you laughing at?”

  “Listen to Squishy. He must think we sound pretty good. Like Carnegie Hall good.”

  We listen in amusement for a few seconds before I go to remove Lucy from the mix. Most often, putting her outside will cause them all to settle down. Sometimes I have to put Mr. Jingles outside, too. Just depends. But usually, it’s Lucy that puts the fear of God in the rest of the critters. She can be as terrifying as her shiny black coat and name suggest.

  I march into the bedroom and, sure enough, Lucy is on Gator’s cage and he’s running fiercely on his wheel. There’s a towel draped over the top of my hamster’s little jailhouse (it’s made of bars, hello?). He can’t see the cat up there, but when she lands on it, it startles him and this is how he reacts.

  I reach for her just as my left arm streaks up into the air again. I give a squeak that causes Lucy to drop to her belly and pin her ears back. I curl her up in my right arm and hurry back through to the front door, where I deposit her outside until things can settle down.

  “I don’t know if I should wear this thing out, Regina. It—”

  Right on cue, it sends another bolt of electrical stimulation to my muscles and my arm rockets up like I’m raising my hand to go to the bathroom in Mrs. Arnold’s third grade classroom.

  Regina grins. “No, I think you need to wear it for a little while longer. If you’d read the instructions, you’d know that it takes a few minutes for the machine to properly gauge the muscle and the inflammation. It’ll settle down. Don’t you worry.”

  There’s a glimmer in her eyes, something I’ve seen before.

  “You’re lying. You just want me to walk around town today with an arm I can’t control.”

  She narrows her chocolate eyes on me. “I don’t know. Am I? The only way to know for sure is either test it or read the material. Oh wait, that’s right. You don’t have time to do one of those things right now, do you?”

  I glare at her. “You and Lucy-fur belong together. Do you know that? Evil. Both of you.”

  She tosses back her head and gives me a maniacal laugh.

  When she stops, I give her my most dubious look. “You finished?”

  She throws her head back and does it again. Which, of course, causes us both to laugh.

  “We’re insane, you know that, right?” I ask.

  She shrugs. “Eh, it’s part of our charm.” She clears her throat. “So, all joking aside, you’re meeting with Mayor Dunning
today, right?”

  I groan. “Yes.”

  “Lucky, it’s a huge compliment that he wants to thank you for your help on the Vickerman case. How many people are called to Town Hall to meet with the mayor?”

  I shrug. “I don’t know. This is a small town. Everybody?”

  “I doubt that. You’re making a name for yourself. I’m proud of you.”

  Her words send a burst of warm pleasure flooding through my heart. That’s why I respond with levity. I’ve never really known how to take compliments well, so I usually play them off with something humorous.

  “Oooo, I’m making a name for myself? Which one should I choose? How about Helga? That sounds kind of fierce, don’t you think? I could braid my hair and start wearing lederhosen.”

  Regina’s expression is withering to say the least. “You can’t even spell lederhosen.”

  “I can’t spell bustier, but I still wear one of those occasionally.”

  “When? When do you wear a bustier?”

  “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact, I would. When have you ever in your life worn a bustier?”

  “I enjoy a little cosplay on the weekends. Must you ruin everything?”

  I watch Regina’s face crumple up as she folds over in laughter. “My God, you’re a mess.”

  “But an adorable one, right?”

  “Without a doubt.” When she straightens, her lips curve into a different kind of smile. I know this expression, too. “Speaking of bustiers and cosplay, have you spoken to Tasty Cakes since all the stuff at the airfield?”

  “Yes, I saw him at the bulldog run. So did you, O Ye Who Needs Gingko Biloba.”

  “Besides that. You know what I mean. Don’t play coy with me, young lady.”

  Young lady, she says, like we aren’t exactly the same age. Twenty-nine, with seven months between us.

  “I’m not. That was the last time I saw him. Why would I have seen him since?”

  She twitches one shoulder. “I don’t know. I thought there were sparks.”

  “There were no sparks.”

  “There were sparks, Lucky. Trust me. Even LouAnn said he was flirting with you at the diner.”

  “Liam Dunning was not flirting with me. And even if he was, I’m not interested.”

  “Lies. All lies.”

  “Not a lie. I’m not interested.”

  “You can’t tell me you don’t think he’s the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen.”

  “He’s good looking, yes, but he’s a complete jerk.”

  “A jerk who has had your back numerous times. Admit it, you like him.”

  “I like him in the way I’m supposed to like people. That’s it. You know how these things turn out for me in the love department, Regina. I can’t afford to start up with a man that lives here.”

  “Have you stopped to consider that maybe Liam is different?”

  “I can’t afford to do that either.”

  “Maybe you should. He’s the only guy you’ve met in years who wasn’t immediately smitten. Maybe that’s because he’s the one. Like the one.”

  I sigh. “Honestly, I’d just rather not think about it. I’m happy here, Regina. We can have a good life. Let’s not ruin it.”

  “I’m not trying to ruin it. I’m trying to find us both Mr. Rights so we can have babies before our lady parts dry up like a bag of last year’s prunes.”

  I wrinkle my nose. “That’s a nice visual.”

  She giggles. “Sorry. It just popped out.”

  I glance at the clock over the stove. “Well, as stimulating as this conversation has been…” I snort. “See what I did there?”

  As if to punctuate my play on words, my arm spikes up over my head.

  “Oh, I see what you did there. And so will everyone else in town.”

  “Do I really have to do this? Now? Today?”

  “You’re the one who put off this product for a couple of days. Not my fault that now you’re on a short deadline.”

  She’s holding in laughter.

  “Yeah, I can see you’re all broken up about it.” I sigh. “Fine. Let’s go. Might as well get this over with.”

  We head to the door and Regina moves around to my right side. I give her a questioning look. “What? You think I’m going to walk on your left side with your arm doing Heil Hitler every few minutes?”

  Even as I lock my front door behind me, I can hear her sniggering all the way to the car.

  A few minutes later, Regina parks along Main Street, a couple of blocks from Town Hall. “It’s a pretty morning. It won’t hurt us to walk a little way. Get some exercise. Maybe we’ll even get to see the handsome Liam Dunning.”

  My eyes widen and I feel the look of horror slide down over my face. “Why would you even say that before I have to go in and see the mayor?”

  “Say what? Liam Dunning?”

  “No. Exercise.” I shudder. It’s never high on my list of things to do on any given day. I know one day I’ll need to do more, but right now I’m content to work my brain instead.

  She laughs as we exit her car and start up the street. I don’t tell her this, but Regina was right. It’s a beautiful morning for a walk, especially along Main Street. Each storefront on both sides of the road is painted a different color. Starting at the bottom, near the intersection of Main and Broad, they go from pink and yellow and work their way up through the pastels. Then at the intersection of Main and West, they start with darker shades of those same colors. Dark goldenrod, deep crimson, navy blue. As far as downtown beautification, Salty Springs could probably win a national prize for its efforts. They even poured new sidewalks when they got decorative streetlamps so that there was a square of soil at the base of each, perfect for seasonal flowerbeds. Yes, if nothing else, this small town is as gorgeous as it is quaint.

  “Did I tell you Salty Springs is now a famous town?”

  “Famous?”

  “Yep. I was watching Wanted on television last night and we’re on the map because of a criminal.”

  “Which one?”

  She waves me off. “Oh, not the one that you helped catch, if that’s what you’re asking. No, this was about a possible hiding place for the cartel. Right here in our little town.”

  “Hiding place?”

  “Yeah. To hide evidence or people of crime or something.” She pauses, her brow furrowing. “I probably should’ve paid more attention.”

  “Well, lucky for us, I’m going to meet with the mayor. Maybe he’ll fill me in.”

  She snorts. “Not likely.”

  “It could happen.”

  I hear a clattering sound as we pass under the shingle for Andrew Ames, the one and only accountant in all of Salty Springs. The door to his office is slightly ajar and I see a flash of movement as I look inside.

  “Did you hear that?”

  Regina turns a frown on me. “Hear what?”

  “Never mind.” We walk on, but something niggles at me to go back. I’ve learned that I should never just write off a gut feeling. Yes, that gut has gotten me in heaps of trouble before, but it’s also saved lives. Like everything else in life, it’s a mixture of good and bad. I just choose to focus on the good and do my best to ignore the bad.

  I stop, mid-step, and pivot. “Let me stick my head in and introduce myself to Mr. Ames. Might as well since we’re right here.”

  Before Regina can argue, I’m already back at his door, pushing my way inside. Like every other business in town, there’s a little bell over the door that rings when someone enters. It’s a light, delicate, cheerful sound.

  That’s extremely incongruous with the dead body slumped over the desk inside. The one with an axe sticking out of his back.

  2

  The body belongs to a tall, lean man, presumably Mr. Ames. He’s dressed in a dark suit and must’ve been standing at his desk when it happened. It’s like he just fell face-first onto his desk, arms splayed out to the sides, torso draped over the top.
His face is turned away, which is probably good, but I have an excellent view of the bald spot that’s developing near the crown of his head. The brown hair is frightfully thin there. Makes him look like Friar Tuck, poor guy.

  I know the instant that Regina comes in behind me. I hear a gasp followed by this sort of gurgling noise. I know it well. It’s the sound she makes in the back of her throat when she’s about to hurl.

  Regina has never had a strong stomach. She likes to think she does, but she doesn’t. We can’t even watch a good slasher movie without her turning a little green under her smooth caramel skin. She’s just in denial.

  She’s been to some of the crime scenes I’ve investigated, but until Vickerman, none were active. And by active, I mean fresh. The worst thing I had were pictures from the crime scene (usually questionably obtained), and even then she excused herself to the bathroom. But this…this is worse. She’s never actually seen a real dead body.

  “Oh my God, is he…”

  She doesn’t give me time to answer. I hear her stumble over the planter that’s sitting in an odd place right near the door as she rushes to get away.

  With the muffled sound of Regina on the sidewalk outside, puking up her guts, I slip my phone out of my pocket and dial Chief Sheriff Clive Sally’s number.

  After the Falling Felon debacle, when I got the runaround from Ruthie, the 911 operator and police station receptionist and Clive’s niece, Clive gave me the direct line to the phone that sits on his desk. It isn’t Clive who answers, though; it’s Petey, his assistant. Ginger Creep, as we call him. He’s got red hair and, well, he’s creepy.