Lucky and the Axed Accountant

by Emmy Grace

  Before Tatt Head can say anything else, Trisha asks, “Barry knew about us?”

  “Sure he did. I’m the one who told him.”

  Trisha straightens, her sudden tension visible. “How much does he know?”

  “Enough. In fact, he might be at the police station right now, spilling his guts.” I stop when I’m a foot or so from Trisha. I figure, absolute worst-case scenario, I can grab her and hold her hostage to try to buy some time with ol’ Spot here. If he won’t play ball, then maybe she could at least talk him into not shooting both of us since I’ll be holding her in front of me. A human shield.

  At least that’s the plan. It works in the movies.

  “There were a couple of details I wasn’t quite sure of, but I think I’m getting it cleared up now. You can tell me if I’ve got any of it wrong, k? K.” I clear my throat. “Trisha, I don’t know how a woman of your upbringing met a scoundrel and social pariah like this guy, but I’m guessing that happened before you got engaged to sweet, harmless Barry. He’s just the type of guy a girl like you can twist around her finger, talk into doing things. Things like performing some dental work for one of the country’s most wanted cartel leaders. So, he does this dental work in order that your boyfriend here can fake his death, but there was a hiccup in the plan, wasn’t there? Andrew Ames. He stumbled into something he wasn’t supposed to, maybe overheard something?”

  “That idiot! He showed up for his appointment on the wrong day. The office was closed for a holiday, which is why Barry was there doing this…work. He’s an idiot, too, though. He forgot to lock the door and Ames came around to the back entrance. He could’ve seen or heard anything.”

  “Ah. That makes sense. And you thought he went to Miss Haddy with it.” Trisha nods. “If he did, that meant she’d have details in her book of dirty deeds, details she could use to ruin everything. What else is a girl to do but take him out? Which you did, right? It was you, wasn’t it, Trisha?”

  In the soft light from the building next door, I see her lips thin. I’d be willing to bet there’s not a drop of blood in her face. If I weren’t so terrified of the man standing a few feet away, I’d be relishing the crap out of this.

  “But doing that left you with another problem, didn’t it? Two other problems. The book and Barry. So you had Barry trying to find the book, and when he delivered, your plan was to kill him next. Am I right?”

  I see Trisha’s eyes dart to her right for just a second. To where her beau is still standing, listening quietly. Probably plotting the forty-two ways he’s going to torture me when he gets his hands on me.

  “Except you weren’t going to do that one, were you? Boyfriend was. You took out his problem, so he’d take out yours. He’d move on to fake his death and you’d mourn the loss of your fiancé, then you’d both be free. Does that about sum it up?”

  In the silence that follows, I’m mentally willing Liam to be close, to be the ever-present nuisance he’s been from day one. Just one more time.

  Neither says anything, but Leopardo pushes away from his car and starts toward me. He moves toward me like his name would suggest, like a hunter stalking his prey. No words are necessary in this moment. His actions are speaking volumes.

  “Not bad for a nobody. It would be better for you if you were a somebody, though.”

  “Why is that?”

  My mouth is so dry. Like, I could spit out a cotton ball right now, no problem.

  “If you were a somebody, you’d be missed. People would look for you. They wouldn’t give up until your killer was found.” Leopardo stops just a few inches away from me, bringing out the gun I knew he had behind his back and pressing the barrel to my temple. “But you’re not a somebody. You’re a nobody. The people in this one-horse town will just think you ran off. Disappeared. It happens. More than you’d think. People wonder. They might ask a few questions here and there, but it gets forgotten. Buried. Like you’ll be buried.”

  He takes the gun away for a split second to jack a round in the chamber. It happens in slow motion. When he moves the gun away, it gives me an opportunity. Just one. My last chance to save myself.

  In that teeny tiny space in time, of all the things that I could do that might help my situation— reaching for my stun gun, kicking him in the berries, rushing him, trying for the real gun—my brain doesn’t come up with even one of them when it’s important. It only has one idea that it sends to my muscles. Later, I know I won’t be able to believe that, in a crisis, this is what I do.

  Just as Leopardo is raising the gun back to my head, my hand floats up between us. My index and middle finger separate themselves from the pack and, before I know it, I’m jamming them into his eyes, Three Stooges style.

  Even more bizarre than such a juvenile thing coming to my mind at a time like this is the fact that it works.

  Taken by surprise and temporarily blinded, Tatt Head stumbles back a step, jerking his head away from me. At first, I’m so stunned that it worked, I don’t move, but then, my instincts kick in and I grab for his gun. I wrap both hands around his wrist and push straight up as I fling my body toward his. I knock him off balance and we both go crashing to the ground.

  For about one point two seconds, I think to myself that I’m really going to be able to save the day with a Three Stooges eye jab, but before the thought can fully form, Leopardo recovers.

  I don’t even really know how he does it, but one minute I’m on top of him, winning, and the next, I’m flat on my back, underneath him with a gun pressed into the fleshy part of my cheek. Hard, too. Like, I’ll probably have a dent there for a week.

  “That was a mistake,” Spotty says to me as he levers himself up. I can almost feel the tension of his finger on the trigger.

  This is it. My end. I’ve fought a good fight, run my race. Now I’m going the way of the snitches. Probably to the bottom of a ravine or an ocean, or wherever he can dispose of me that I’ll likely never be found.

  Only, before any of that can happen, a blindingly bright light hits me square in the face. It blasts through my eyelids like they’re made of mesh rather than flesh.

  I squint up at the beam. At first, my heart is beating so loudly in my ears, I don’t hear the sound, so I’m thinking this is the light of heaven. Go toward the light, Lucky. Go toward the light.

  But then I hear a loud, repetitive sound. Thwap, thwap, thwap, thwap.

  It’s a helicopter.

  “Ricardo Jiminez, put your hands in the air. You are surrounded.”

  With the spotlight trained on us, I can’t see into the dark, but I get a glimpse of the face that appears behind Leopardo for just a second before they both vanish.

  Liam.

  My surly shadow did his annoying thing and stuck close. Or at least close enough to get here in time. Whatever he might’ve meant before, he wasn’t too late this time. He was right on time.

  21

  Regina is sitting in the styling chair beside mine. It’s empty, but only because Suzie Lynn agreed to do my hair before the shop opened for the day. I’ve been here since four A.M. I knew it would take a while, but I have a debt to pay.

  “You’re not joking. You seriously poked a deadly and dangerous criminal in the eyes with your fingers?” Suzie asks. Both of them are agog, hanging on my every word. The story seems wild and funny now, but it wasn’t all that humorous when it was happening.

  “I did. Although, if you knew me better, you’d realize that I’m far more Curly than I am Jack Reacher.”

  I hope Suzie Lynn watches a lot of movies and television, and reads a lot of books. If not, she won’t understand two-thirds of our conversation.

  When Suzie frowns questioningly into the mirror, Regina explains as she spins in her chair, “Curly is from the Three Stooges. Jack Reacher is an ex-MP and all-around bad mofo from some suspense thrillers Lucky likes to read.”

  “Oh. That makes sense.”

  Regina swivels toward me and winks. She’s got my back just as much as I’ve always
got hers.

  “So, what happened then? After Liam got there?”

  “Evidently, when I described the man I’d seen with Barry at the dental office, he’d alerted some of his old buddies at the FBI. They were in the process of looking into it when Liam got my message about being at that old tavern with Spot.”

  Regina giggles. “I’d like to see you call him that to his face.”

  “I’d have to go visit him in a federal penitentiary to do that, and I’d much rather vacation somewhere sunny if it’s all the same to you.”

  She rolls her eyes.

  “Is that what will happen? They’ll lock him up for the rest of his life?”

  “Probably. They’ve got a ton of evidence of his crimes, but they could never find his hideout. They knew it was somewhere around here, but until Trisha flipped on him to save her own skin, they couldn’t find it. According to Liam, though, she told them where it was. Out in the woods somewhere, underground. They found all kinds of helpful things. And Clive was able to close the case on Andrew Ames. Although Trisha did a good job of covering her tracks, she didn’t burn the purse that she put her blood-spattered clothes in after she killed Ames. They found traces of his blood in it. Once they went to her with that, she sang like a canary.”

  “What will happen to Barry?”

  “I don’t know. Liam hasn’t said yet. His involvement was changing dental records, but since no crime has been committed yet, he might just get time for, like, collusion or something. Or what’s that other thing?”

  “Conspiracy?” Suzie Lynn’s on the right train now. Considering that she’s the relative of Miss Haddy, I’m not surprised.

  “That’s it. Conspiracy. Either way, Salty Springs is going to need a new dentist along with the new accountant.”

  “My mind is just blown,” Suzie Lynn says.

  Regina laughs. “Welcome to Lucky Boucher’s orbit. Being her friend is a combination of the ridiculous, the outlandish, the brilliant, and the brave.”

  “I can see that,” the hairdresser says as she checks my hair again. “I think you’re done. Let’s get you shampooed.”

  After giving my hair a thorough washing, Suzie Lynn takes me back to the chair and attacks my head with the blow-dryer. Ten minutes later, I’m staring into the mirror at my face under a mop of rainbow colored hair. Bands of color streak away from my forehead like shooting stars. The stripes start with red above my right temple. Orange follows it, then yellow. Green next. The last streak is blue, just over my left temple.

  Part of me is aghast, but another part of me is strangely tickled. I’ve never had wild hair, and it feels kind of awesome.

  Suzie spots the grin forming.

  “Do you like it?”

  I turn my head from side to side. Regina is staring at me like I’ve sprouted horns. “I’ve always loved the crazy things you do with your hair, but I never would’ve had the guts to do it myself.” In our reflection, I glance up at Suzie Lynn’s current deep plum Mohawk. “Guess I just needed the right motivation.”

  Regina is shaking her head as she hands me a red ball that fits on the end of my nose. “I can’t believe this is what Felonious is making you do.”

  I squeeze the bulb of a red ball and fit the open end onto my nose. When I speak, I sound like I’ve got the worst case of sinusitis in recent history. “Considering that she gave me the number I needed to get the whole plan rolling, I suppose dying my hair like a rainbow and wearing a red rubber clown nose for a week isn’t so bad.”

  My phone dings at that exact moment. I drag it out of my pocket and see a text from a contact that reads CIRCUS FREAK. Needless to say, I didn’t add that contact.

  I tap the message and find that there is one more instruction from my friendly neighborhood hacker.

  “Sweet Mary,” I whisper.

  “What is it?” Regina looks concerned.

  “I shouldn’t have said it wouldn’t be too bad.”

  “Why? Who’s that?”

  “Felonious. She has one more thing to add on.”

  “Uh-oh.”

  I let my head drop back on my shoulders, my cheeks already stinging with embarrassment at the mere thought of what I’ll have to do.

  “Well? What is it?” Suzie Lynn prompts.

  “The only thing I can wear for a whole week is a rainbow bikini. It’s being delivered to me here.”

  “By who?”

  No sooner than Regina gets the question out, a knock sounds at COLOR ME BADD’s glass front door. Standing on the other side, holding a bag, is none other than Liam Dunning.

  Suzie Lynn goes to unlock the door, and Liam strolls over to me.

  I snatch the bag from his hand when he extends it. “You don’t have to look so happy about this.”

  I peek into the bag and a part of me dies. It’s the tiniest bikini known to man. It’s not much more than four triangles and some string. I’ve got way, way, way too much body for this skimpy little thing.

  “Who says I’m happy?” he asks.

  I narrow my eyes on him. His face is set in the same grumpy lines as usual, and his lips aren’t curved. But there’s something about his eyes…

  “You’re enjoying this!” I raise my finger and point to him in accusation. “I helped you and this is how you repay me?”

  “You helped me? Did you get hit on the head or something? I saved your skin. Again.”

  My mouth rounds in outrage. “I did all the work. I think it should be you wearing this thing, not me.”

  “Oh no. This is all you.” This time, he actually grins. At least I think that’s what it was. It’s there and gone in the blink of an eye. “What are you waiting for, Boucher? Suit up. I’ve got instructions to take you to breakfast.”

  I glance from Liam to Suzie Lynn to Regina. They’re all standing around me looking decidedly amused. “You suck. All of you.”

  I take my bag of scraps and head for the bathroom. As I’m stripping off my normal clothes and donning the only thing I can wear in public for the next seven days, I hear laughter break out in the next room. Regina’s Cajun howl, Suzie Lynn’s tinkling giggle, and even Liam’s deeper bark. It’s almost musical and, despite my predicament, I find myself smiling.

  Yes, I have rainbow hair. Yes, I have to wear a clown nose and a bikini for a week. But at the end of the day, I’m satisfied. I helped retrieve an important book, catch a killer, and unearth a cartel kingpin, all of which made the world a little safer for the people who matter most to me, people like those in the next room.

  Yes, I’m an orphan. Yes, I’m a magnet for trouble. But I’m also Lucky Boucher, the luckiest girl in the world.

  THE END

  UNLESS…

  You’re ready for Lucky and the Banged-up Ballerina. If so, PREORDER BOOK 3, LUCKY AND THE BANGED-UP BALLERINA, HERE and read on for a chapter one sneak peek!

  Lucky and the Banged-up Ballerina

  book description

  Lucky Boucher never has to go looking for trouble. Trouble finds her just fine all on its own.

  What do a ballerina, a stun gun, and Patrick Swayze have in common?

  If you guessed me, you’d be right. As usual.

  When a celebrity is killed in Salty Springs, local authorities want the crime solved quickly and quietly. I’ve got the quickly part down pat, but the quietly? Well, that’s another story.

  Ballerina Serena Flowers was my childhood idol. The tabloids paint her as a simple diva, but it seems her life is much more complicated than that. Serena has more secrets than Victoria’s spring catalog, and digging into the lives of her and her movie star boyfriend will require the help of Liam, the grouch and a teen hacker by the name of Felonious.

  As we all know, asking Felonious for help comes with a price. This time, it might be more than I can pay.

  Lucky and the Banged-up Ballerina

  Chapter 1

  “Let me get this straight. You’re going to let an old woman who can hardly walk and has the disposition of a cornered Tasmania
n devil teach you how to shoot a gun?”

  Regina looks positively horrified.

  “Well, when you say it like that…”

  “It’s the truth, though. That’s the scariest part.”

  “Believe it or not, I bet Mrs. Snuffleupagus is the perfect person to teach me. Something tells me she was a bad-A in her younger years. She was probably instrumental in turning a war or something.”

  Regina is my best friend, and she and I grew up creating nicknames for people based on their physical characteristics. You can just imagine the long, droopy nose of my landlady, Mrs. Stephanopoulos, to make a moniker such as Snuffleupagus feasible.

  “Probably. Like the first World War.”

  “She’s not that old.”

  “Lucky, I’ve seen younger artifacts from the life of Jesus.”

  “Now you’re just being dramatic.”

  “I’ve learned from the best,” she quips, running her hand over the dress she brought me to wear.

  “What’s with you tonight? Did something ruffle your pretty peacock feathers?”

  Regina is the primpiest person I know. I think she puts on makeup both before and after her shower.

  “Stop. I’m not that primpy.” From the mirror of my vanity, I tilt my head and shoot her a wry look. “Fine. I like to look nice. It’s not a crime.”

  “It’s most certainly not. And you’re very good at it.” She’s effortlessly gorgeous. She’s as Cajun as my adopted grandmother, Beebee, and her coloring is similar. Smooth caramel skin, dark wavy hair, darker brown eyes.

  While she normally has a great sense of style to go along with her beauty, tonight’s outfit is one of my favorites, but not for the reason one might think.

  Regina is wearing a cream-colored sweater with brown polka dots. It makes me think of chocolate chip ice cream, which is basically two of my foods rolled into one— chocolate and ice cream. Then again, many things remind me of food because one of my favorite hobbies is eating.