Lucky and the Axed Accountant

by Emmy Grace

  This is the secure room that was entered.

  I punch in the numbers Felonious sent. Before I touch the handle, I pause. I hope this isn’t another of that kid’s larks. She might think it would be hilarious for me to trigger the alarm and get arrested. With a pig in tow, no less.

  It would not.

  I have to try it anyway, though. I’ve talked myself out of worse messes than this. It’s part of my lucky charm.

  I press down on the handle and it clicks open. I push, cringing as I do. I’m half-expecting an ear-splitting siren to start blaring.

  Nothing happens except a gust of musty air. I feel for a light switch and flip it on. I tuck Gumbo more securely under my arm and descend the stairs. When I reach the bottom, I know the television shows are accurate. When a room has been searched, it’s obvious.

  Ames must’ve used this area as a home office and man cave. Or accountant cave. I’m not sure their interests can even be classified in the same realm.

  One end of the space is set up like a replica of his office downtown, right down to the two fake potted plants. Just for kicks and giggles, I go and pull each one up by the trunk. Nothing is stashed in the bottom of either pot. That would’ve been just too easy.

  Every drawer in Ames’ desk has been pulled out and upended, and then tossed aside. All the pictures on the walls are hanging askew, and even the trashcan has been emptied onto the floor. I bend over to peek under the desk, making sure he didn’t tape it up under there.

  He didn’t.

  Gumbo and I go to the other end of the rectangular room, which looks like a history buff’s dream. The walls are covered with maps and pictures of war scenes, all broken and hanging cockeyed in their spots. There is a couch against one wall with a long table in front of it. The table is on its side and all the cushions have been pulled up. There are hundreds of little toy soldiers and horses and confederate army men scattered all over the floor. My guess is that he had some sort of game set up on the table. Since the man had no discernible friends, I assume he played alone.

  Andrew Ames lived a quiet life. And now, after seeing what it looks like, I’m absolutely sure I will die if I ever have to live one.

  I check a few places that maybe no one else did, but I find no black book. If it was down here, someone else has it. The question is who. Because it seems to me like the pool of suspects could be as big as half this entire town. If Miss Haddy has dirt on half of the residents, then half of the residents have motive.

  That’s not a daunting prospect at all.

  Gumbo and I head back upstairs. We visit the second story, just to have a look around. Nothing out of place or out of the ordinary there either. Two bedrooms, one bath, and no signs of life.

  As we make our way back to the door, I notice a little table I didn’t pay much attention to the first time through. It’s no more than one foot by one foot. It looks old, antique-y, like it could’ve been a phone table back in the days when people had one phone in the entire house. It’s just big enough for a telephone and a notepad. On this one, however, there is a wooden box with a picture of an older woman on the front. The box looks as old as the table. It’s probably even been busted at some point and glued back together by the looks of it, but it was clearly precious to him. Maybe they’re the Ames family’s prized possessions that have been passed down through the years.

  I open the box. Inside is a photo album.

  I flip it open and, by the first page, I know that it’s Andrew’s mother. There are several pictures of them together at various ages. They looked a lot alike, with their curly brown hair and thick, dark brows. They have the same smile, too. Like even though they’re smiling, they aren’t exactly overflowing with joy. Maybe it’s a personality thing. I hope so.

  They must’ve been close for him to give her photos this position of reverence. I notice that there aren’t pictures of a man in any of them. Or another child. I assume she was a single mother and Andrew an only child.

  Once I get started, I can’t stop looking through the album. Sweet Mary, this guy’s life is making me so sad I’ll need three gallons of ice cream before the day is over.

  When I get to the last page, I close the album. “Come on, Gumbo. Let’s get out of here,” I tell the bundle in my arms. He snorts once in agreement.

  I peek out around the drawn shades to make sure no neighbors are in their backyards before Gumbo and I sneak out the door and hurry to the alley. We resume our walk as if I didn’t just break and enter. Again.

  The walk back to town isn’t as pleasant as the walk to Ames’ was. I’m already dreading the call to Miss Haddy to tell her that all the blackmail material for the people of Salty Springs is still at large.

  And so is a killer.

  9

  I take Gumbo back home. That’s a lot of walking for a little pig. But besides that, I don’t have the emotional energy to check into any more depressing details of the accountant’s life. Not today. I’ll leave myself the weak ray of hope that maybe, just maybe, the restaurant and flowers will lead to a new love interest for Ames. It’s possible that it just hadn’t made its rounds through the town gossip mill yet. Not probable, but possible. Or, at the very least, that it will indicate a new friendship. Surely the guy didn’t go out to eat by himself and then order his own flowers.

  Surely.

  I pace the hardwoods of my carriage house as I think of the best way forward. When I think of suspects, one is at the tip-top of the list. Mayor William Dunning.

  Although he appeared shortly after the murder had been committed, that doesn’t eliminate him as a suspect. In fact, it would be a brilliant alibi. And the concern over the damning book, as if he didn’t have it, would further throw the scent off him. But I already know he lied about getting coffee, so what else might he be lying about? And what is he trying to cover up by doing so?

  Unfortunately, getting into his life won’t be as easy as it has been with most of my exploits thus far. The mayor will have security for possessions he deems valuable. I’d bet my life on it. And if he’s making a run for the Senate, he would definitely go to extremes to keep harmful information hidden. And Miss Haddy’s journal would qualify as both valuable and harmful.

  Try as I might, I just can’t think of another way to get into his home or his office except with the help of his son.

  It pains me to do it, but I whip my phone out of my pocket and pull up the random text I got from Liam Dunning before I visited Miss Haddy that first time. I take a deep breath and brace myself before I tap the little phone icon next to his number.

  It rings several times before he answers. I’m about to hang up when I hear his prickly tone.

  “I hope you’re not calling to apologize,” he snaps.

  I feel a stab of guilt over our earlier conversation. Right now I’m so wrapped up in all this Ames stuff, I’d forgotten all about it.

  “There is nothing wrong with an apology when it’s sincere, but since you’re so deeply offended by them, I won’t bother. I’ll skip right to the good part.”

  “There’s a good part?”

  I ignore his venom. The little pile of fiancée poo I stepped in has probably set us back to day one of our short relationship. I do what I always do, though, and just go with being me. Being Lucky. It’s worked out well this far.

  “It’s me. Of course, there’s a good part.”

  He mumbles something unintelligible. I figure it’s best that I don’t know exactly what. I doubt it was flattering.

  “I know the deep and abiding love you have for your father, so I thought you might be game to help me get into his house and do some snooping.”

  “His house? Why?”

  “I’m sure there’s little chance of me being able to sneak into Town Hall, so this is my best shot for finding something useful. Maybe even the little black history book. I’m sure if he has it, he’d hide it well and securely, and I’m betting that means he has a safe.”

  “So, let me get this straight. You
want me to help you get into my father’s house so you can snoop around and see if he has a safe that you can’t get into?”

  “You don’t know for sure I can’t get into it.”

  “For the love of God, please don’t try to convince me you’re a safecracker now.”

  “I wasn’t going to. I was just going to say that I read an article one time that said most people use numbers that are significant to them, and that they often have them written on something nearby, like a Post-it note or a desk blotter.”

  “You really think that if my father is capable of mayor-ing this town, running for Senate, and killing someone in cold blood that he would write down his safe combination on a Post-it note?”

  I will give Liam Dunning credit. The guy can wield some denigrating sarcasm like nobody’s business. He’s lucky my skin is thicker than it used to be.

  In fact, so am I, because…ouch!

  “I didn’t say that. He’s too smart to put it on a Post-it, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t write it down somewhere nearby.”

  “And you want me to get you in there just to see if this random theory is true?”

  “You make it sound like it’s going to be a wasted trip. I bet you twenty bucks I find something useful.”

  I realize even as I say it that there’s a good chance I will lose twenty bucks.

  Man, Liam Dunning sure can take the wind out of a girl’s sails in a hurry. I didn’t realize how pointless this trip could be until he started poking holes all in it. I’m not backing down now, though. I might be too clumsy to have an overabundance of pride, but I’ve got some. And I’m not going to swallow it because of a bozo like Liam.

  “Twenty bucks? You’re on. Pick you up at ten o’clock tomorrow morning.”

  “Ten? Why ten?”

  “He’s less likely to be home.”

  That sounds like a terrible time to snoop. I was thinking more like dinner and I could excuse myself to the ladies’ room, but Liam knows him best. And he used to do this sort of thing for a living, it seems, so I don’t have much choice but to defer to him.

  “Ten it is.”

  “Try not to get into any trouble between now and then.”

  “It’s just a few hours. What could possibly happen?”

  Never ask that.

  Just don’t.

  We hang up and not five minutes later, Regina shows up. I open the door and stare at her through the locked storm door.

  After a few seconds, she waves her hand slowly back and forth in front of my face. “Hello? You gonna let me in or what?”

  “I don’t know. I’m still deciding. What do you want?”

  She holds up a bag. White plastic with a big orange logo on the side. I’ve seen it and ones just like it a zillion times. It’s the kind of bag that Consumer Global products come in. It’s work. And, for me, that could mean anything.

  “Got a project for you.”

  “Don’t you ever come just to watch a movie or listen to music and drink wine anymore?”

  “Ummm, we gorged on ice cream just a couple of days ago. Did that toothpaste give you amnesia?”

  “Oh. Right.”

  Still, I don’t open the door.

  “And before that, you tried to cause me to spontaneously combust with your étouffée. I didn’t have wine, but I drank six gallons of your water straight from that tap. Does that count?”

  I unlock the door and back up. “Fine. Bring in your latest tool of torture.”

  She grins and comes clacking in on her four-inch heels. “This isn’t a tool of torture. This is a woman’s grooming dream.”

  “Kind of like whitening toothpaste?” I follow her to the living room.

  “That wasn’t my fault. Half the time, the messes you get into are of your own making. You’d think, after all this time, you’d learn.”

  “And yet, here I am, even considering accepting another product from you.”

  “I meant about reading the packaging, you dolt.”

  “Dolt?”

  She shrugs as she dumps the contents of the bag onto the couch. “It’s a good word. You haven’t been amazing me with your vocabulary lately. One of us has to keep us smart.”

  I flop down onto the couch beside her. “You’re right. I’ve let my whole life go.”

  “Don’t be dramatic. You’ve just had a lot going on lately. Murders and Tasty Cakes alone are a full-time job.”

  “Liam isn’t anything in my life. He’s just a…convenient contact occasionally.”

  “Mmmm hmmm.”

  I don’t respond. I don’t feel like having this conversation again.

  “So, what do we have here?”

  “It’s an at-home waxing kit, but get this. It’s painless.”

  I know my skepticism shows on my face. “Without general anesthesia, is it even possible to painlessly yank hair out by the root anywhere on the human body?”

  Regina smiles. “It is when the wax contains lidocaine.”

  I have to give them a nod for ingenuity. That might just work. Maybe this test will actually go off without a hitch. That would be a nice change from my streak of product faux pas.

  I take the box, flip it over, and read the back. Sounds simple enough. “Where’s the rest?”

  “It’s all in the box on this one. Apparently, there isn’t much to do other than heat it, smear it on, and yank it off.”

  “Sounds positively horrific, but I’ll give it a try.”

  “Have you ever waxed anything before?”

  “Besides the time we did my brows, nope.”

  “Start with an area that you can test that won’t be seen or really painful. If that goes well, then you can do a bigger area.”

  “It can be used anywhere?”

  She nods. “It can, but this formulation is supposed to be so painless, it’s specifically recommended for, uh, bikini waxing and full Brazilians.”

  “You mean, like, the whole thing?” Again she nods. I wrinkle my nose. “I’m not sure I’d like that.”

  “It’s not for everyone. Just try it out. See what you think. Maybe it’ll work so well you’ll want to try it everywhere.” She wiggles her eyebrows at me before she gets up.

  “You’re leaving?”

  “Yeah, I gotta go.”

  She walks toward the door, and I finally take note of what she’s wearing other than four-inch heels. She’s decked out in a beautiful silk wrap dress in fire engine red with a sheer taupe shawl draped over her bare shoulders.

  “Where are you going? You’re awfully dressed up.” Regina always dresses very professionally for work, even though she rarely has to, but this is something different. This is date-wear. “You’ve got a date!”

  She grins. “I do.”

  “With who?”

  “A guy I met at the diner.”

  “Who is it?”

  “Alex Tate. He owns that realty office on the other end of Main.”

  “The new place?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “I haven’t met him yet.”

  “He seems very nice. And he’s super cute. I just hope he sticks around. From what I hear, Tom Shandy has the monopoly on real estate around here.”

  Tom Shandy I’ve heard of, although I haven’t met him either. Like many other things and people around here (and in most small towns), he’s an institution.

  “I’ve heard the same thing. I think he was running the inn when Mary and Joseph needed a place to stay.”

  “That old, huh?”

  “I don’t know, but to hear people talk about him, he’s been selling real estate in Salty Springs since real estate was a thing.”

  She waves me off. “Doesn’t matter. There’s room for everyone. And you never know when Tom might decide to retire and this town will need some new blood.”

  “Some new hot blood?”

  “Yes.” Regina literally swoons, standing just inside the doorway as she leaves. “He’s beautiful. Like a tall, blond Adonis.”

  “I
think I’ve heard this before.” Regina goes gaga over any man who’s remotely good looking. She’s so in tune with her biological clock and what time it reads that she’s in perpetual heat.

  “I like to keep an open mind, so sue me.” Before she exits, she turns back to me one more time. “And Lucky, try the wax. I did.” She gives me a wide-eyed face, giggles, and darts out into the evening.

  “Go and stalk your prey, my bald friend,” I tell the empty room. “Better you than me.”

  Liam’s words about me staying out of trouble ring through my head when my thoughts spin toward the case. For that reason alone, I purposely push out all bright ideas that involve any variation of illegal nocturnal activities, and focus on my actual job that pays the actual bills. I need to get my head in the game anyway. I’ve let myself become too distracted by life around here.

  I give my living room a sweeping glance, and smile contentedly when I see that all my critters are happily winding down for the night. Gumbo is snoozing in the kitchen near the dog door, Mr. Jingles is rolled over on his back in the middle of the living room rug, Lucy-fur is curled up in a ball on the hearth, Squishy is resting on his living room perch, Gator is nosing around his cage, and my fish are swimming lazily in their tank. That’s all they really ever do, but to me it means they’re happy, and when my animals are happy, I’m happy.

  Impulsively, I get a bottle of Pinot Noir out of the rack and pop the cork. After pouring myself a generous glass of wine, I turn on some music, grab the waxing kit, and head to the bathroom. Maybe a bath followed by a painless waxing will refresh me for my exploits tomorrow. Sure couldn’t hurt, right?

  Little do I know…

  Famous last words.

  10

  I will be the first to admit that the waxing kit lived up to its promise of being painless. When I open my eyes and feel the coarse hairs of a pig’s mouth as he nuzzles my cheek, I think immediately of my late-night grooming. I’m pleased to say it went well. It’s about time, too. I was beginning to wonder if all the products I get are going to be duds from now on.

  Gumbo snorts and I scratch his head. “Mornin’, lil guy. Did you sleep well?”