Hijack in Abstract (A Cherry Tucker Mystery)

by Reinhart, Larissa

  “We don’t need new curtains,” I said. “Those are just fine.” For some inexplicable reason, changing those curtains felt like Pearl was tearing Grandma Jo right out of the house. Which was ridiculous since Grandma Jo had been buried more than ten years ago.

  We exchanged a long, frosty look broken by the sound of shuffling steps. At the far wall, Grandpa ambled through the living room doorway and eased into a kitchen chair, an expectant look on his thin, leathered face. “Taking a break from haying. I’m ready for my coffee.”

  “Hey Grandpa,” Turning my back on Pearl, I moved to the table and kissed his raspy cheek. “I need to look through our photos.”

  “Photos? I don’t think we have many baby pictures of you.”

  “Not baby pictures. Don’t worry about it, I’m just going to check my bedroom and see if there’s any old snapshots.”

  “Pearl’s been clearing out the back rooms for me. You better ask her.”

  I sucked in my breath and turned on the Pearl. “You’re going through my stuff?”

  Pearl dropped into a kitchen chair with a cup of coffee. She pushed another cup toward Grandpa. “I should get you and your siblings to help me. Y’all are pack rats. Don’t you throw anything away?”

  I gripped the edge of the table. “What have you thrown out? Paintings, photos, pictures? Anything of that nature?”

  “Lord knows. I needed a shovel and rake to go through everything.”

  “I’ll go check on the pictures in a minute.” Because I’m a quick assessor, I realized the futility of the argument. I would have to look myself. “Did y’all hear about the hijacking, Grandpa? I thought I’d bring you some news.”

  With a healthy glare at Pearl, I settled into a chair next to Grandpa and patted his gnarled and bony knuckle. He gave me a strange look and withdrew his hand. We weren’t a touchy-feely family, and I was freaking him out with my territorial behavior.

  “Well, now. Hijacking?” he said and leaned back in his chair. “Just a minute. Pearl, you got some food for us?”

  “Sure, Ed.” She left her coffee and moved to the fridge. “Good thing my Amy knows how to cook. Don’t see her dropping by expecting a meal.”

  “Considering this isn’t her home, I’m glad to hear it,” I said, but hopped up to pour Grandpa a refill on his coffee and grab a cup of my own.

  Grandpa pulled on his chin. “Now, how do you know about the hijacking?”

  “Uncle Will called me in to do a composite sketch of one of the hijackers.”

  “Will Thompson did drop in for a cup of coffee yesterday,” Grandpa smiled, loving that it drove me crazy when he strung a story out. “Heard about that hijacking.”

  I wandered back to the table as Pearl set down our brunch. A single plate of pimento sandwiches sat on the table. They looked awfully lonely without any sides to join them. I had expected something prepared using the stove. Maybe with eggs, biscuits, breakfast meat, or perhaps even a hot bowl of butter grits. I’d even accept a lunch menu. Leftover chicken pot pie. Reheated corn casserole. Maybe I had gotten accustomed to Casey’s spread. Or maybe this was my punishment for sassing Pearl.

  Grandpa eyed the plate and took a sandwich without comment. Pearl had outflanked me and I had sacrificed my Grandpa in the process.

  She was good.

  “So what did Sheriff Thompson say?” asked Pearl, settling into a chair across from Grandpa.

  “Dixie Cake truck was hit,” said Grandpa between bites of pimento cheese.

  “What?” I snatched a sandwich. “What do you mean Dixie Cake truck?”

  “I suppose it had more than Dixie Cakes in it. Was a big truck, according to Will. Can’t imagine a rig full of Dixie Cakes.”

  “Who holds up a Dixie Cake truck? The Tooth Fairy?” I licked pimento cheese off my fingers and imagined the wondrous ecstasy that would be a truck full of pastries made by my favorite Southern baking company. My stomach responded in kind.

  “Four of ’em,” continued Grandpa. “Masked and armed.”

  “Masked?” said Pearl. “What, like Halloween?”

  “Halloween masks?” I scoffed. “Ski masks. Now this is classified information, but one guy pulled his off and was spotted by Tyrone Coderre. They think he later came back and shot Tyrone. Unfortunately Coderre returned to the scene of the crime and the shooter was waiting for him.” I skipped the part where I had forgotten to mention Tyrone’s plans to the police. “They hear anything from the State Patrol yet?”

  “Evidently it’s not uncommon for food trucks to be stolen. However, the robberies are generally closer to Atlanta. Will said the State Patrol was glad to get your sketch, though.”

  “Well that’s good to hear. I was glad to be of service, particularly since local jobs have been hard to come by.”

  “Speaking of local jobs, I recently heard about some paintings,” said Pearl. “Haven’t seen the photos floating around yet, but the ladies say they are mighty interesting. Did you hear about them, Ed?”

  Grandpa’s eyes slanted to the empty plate. It appeared I had eaten the remaining pimento cheese sandwiches.

  “So this hijacking,” I said, internally cursing Pearl for bringing up the paintings. “Any more information? I heard the driver wasn’t even supposed to be driving. Bad luck for him.”

  Grandpa scratched his heavy growth of whiskers. “Don’t know anything else.”

  “I visited the Coderres with Luke yesterday. They’re an awful mess. Tyrone and his son, Jerell, were living with Tyrone’s grandma. She’s got emphysema and doesn’t seem long for the world. Jerell’s future doesn’t look too good.”

  “Mercy, that’s terrible.” In true small town fashion, Pearl relaxed off her attitude toward me to sympathize in the Coderres’ misfortune. “I’ll make you some food to take to them.”

  “Jerell’s going to need a home,” I gave Grandpa my brightest customer service smile.

  “I’ll take him if he’s a barnyard critter,” said Grandpa, “but don’t get any funny ideas.”

  “Don’t they have any more family?” asked Pearl. “Where’s his momma?”

  “She had an ectopic pregnancy a few years back. Didn’t know she was pregnant and bled to death.”

  “Merciful heavens,” exclaimed Pearl. “How can that happen in this day and age?”

  “Miss Gladys said the momma was three sheets on meth for most of Jerell’s infancy,” I replied. “We’re talking folks living in the Sweetgum Estates.”

  “I keep hoping the sheriff will clean out that cesspool.”

  Grandpa’s mouth zipped into a line of discontent. “You stay out of that place, Cherrilyn Tucker.”

  “I’m just doing my Christian duty, sir. Helping orphans and widows. I’m going to bring them groceries and I’m getting a local church to help with the funeral once they release Coderre’s body.”

  “That’s real sweet of you, Cherry,” said Pearl. “Particularly since the rumors floating around town have cast you in such a negative light. I guess you need what they call ‘spin control.’ Helping orphans and widows is just the ticket.”

  I caught my “Oh, shit” before Grandpa heard it escape my mouth.

  Pearl gave me a small, hard smile. “I think you better tell your Grandpa about these paintings. Before he hears about them from someone else.”

  “Grandpa’s not interested in my art stories. He grew up watching me paint.” I wracked my brain for a way out of Pearl’s mine field. “I think the rumors you’re hearing are a malicious campaign seeking to ruin my career and will soon be proven false.”

  I narrowed my eyes at Pearl. “Unless certain pictures have been destroyed by meddling women who can’t leave other folks’ homes alone.”

  “First Baptist is having a consignment sale to raise money for their charity mission. They need your cast offs.” Pearl cocked a brow and folded her arms over her ample chest. “This house needs a good clearing out anyway.”

  “Clearing out?” I looked at Grandpa. “You know what got cleare
d out? Cody and Casey. My house is getting very crowded.”

  He squared my look. “Your Great-Gam raised five kids in that house.”

  “You want me to build bunk beds for them? It was supposed to be my studio. That house has two bedrooms and one bathroom. Todd’s already living there.”

  Grandpa’s lips disappeared into his mouth.

  Sometimes I forget to tell myself to stop yammering.

  I needed to explain that it wasn’t just Casey and Cody, but Grandma Jo’s memories that might be “cleared out” along with Shawna’s missing pictures.

  However, like my delinquent mother, Grandma Jo was a taboo subject. Talk of the dead and missing were forever silenced in this house.

  Before I could appeal to Grandpa’s sense of nostalgia, my phone rang. I yanked it from my pocket and glanced at the caller ID. Rupert. Not what I needed at this moment. But a customer trumped family squabbles.

  “Hey, Mr. Rupert,” I said, moving toward the door. “What can I do you for?”

  He broke into peals of giggles better made for a sitcom laugh track. I tapped my foot counting the seconds for him to finish while Pearl and Grandpa watched me.

  “Darling,” said Rupert. “I have arrived in your lovely town to bring the contract. Halo is so quaint. Please direct me to your studio.”

  I swallowed a half dozen curses picturing the degrees of nudity and foolishness that might greet him at my home. Besides the fact my studio now looked like the parlor of a redneck bachelor. I wouldn’t have been surprised if Cody had already tacked a muscle car nudie calendar on the wall. “I’m actually away from my studio at the moment.”

  “Where are you, my dear? Let me come to you. I’m enjoying my provincial tour.”

  “I’m at my Grandpa’s farm,” I spun my brain’s local rolodex trying to come up with a better option. “How do you feel about a Sonic drive-in?”

  Rupert found that suggestion hilarious, but cut his laughter short. “A farm? Wonderful. We’ll be there in a moment. Just text me the address.”

  “I don’t have a texting plan. Let me meet you somewhere else.”

  “I would like to see this farm of your ancestors. If you want the contract, you’ll give me the address.”

  Shit, I thought, glancing at Pearl’s expectant face. Grandpa curled his lip at the hint of visitors. The thought of Rupert Agadzinoff meeting Pearl and Grandpa was only slightly better than the thought of Rupert meeting a half-dressed Casey who would itemize his wallet and proceed with a “Capture the Sugar Daddy” campaign.

  I needed the contract. Rupert would have to come to the farm.

  Thirteen

  I met Rupert and his driver in the farm yard, ready to defend them from errant goats. No goats appeared, nor did Miss David, for which I thanked the Lord profusely. Bad enough to suffer comments from Rupert on my “quaint and cunning bucolic lifestyle” (i.e. hick), but to also suffer the withering glances of Miss David? No, thank you.

  In the farm kitchen, I served everyone a glass of tea. The driver disappeared to tour the farm or, more likely, to sleep in the car. After assessing Rupert as an obnoxious irritant, Grandpa took off to hang with his goats. Or fish. Which left Pearl, Rupert, and I. I seated Rupert at the table and watched as Pearl took it upon herself to make a real lunch.

  The lunch I wanted an hour ago, not during a contract negotiation.

  “I hope you didn’t come all the way to Halo to bring me my contract,” I said to Rupert, while trying to catch Pearl’s attention. She flitted between the fridge and cabinets, gathering supplies. “Pearl. We don’t need to be fed. Why don’t you scoot and continue your work on ridding the house of its history?”

  “No bother, hon’,” said Pearl. “I don’t let my guests go hungry.”

  “Mr. Agadzinoff, why don’t we move to the living room?” I said through gritted teeth.

  “A light repast would be lovely, Miss Pearl,” said Rupert.

  Pearl turned and shook a fork at me. “See? I’ll get you a nice dinner. Now if you need any help with your paperwork, just let me know. I’ve done many a contract getting my milkers sired. I can just look over the fine print for you.”

  I began to regret my decision not to expose him to Casey. “Mr. Agadzinoff is a lawyer,” I said to Pearl. “We don’t need any of your milking contract expertise.”

  “It’s not a milking contract,” Pearl whisked eggs into a bowl. “It’s a breeding contract for stud service. I hire a registered buck and need a contract to ensure he doesn’t shoot blanks and is free of disease when he visits. Needs a good whim-wham, too. I let them get at it, but I need to make sure I can get the buck back if my doe don’t settle. By settle, I mean...”

  “Good Lord, Pearl. Mr. Agadzinoff doesn’t need the birds and bees of goats.”

  “I’m paying one hundred and fifty dollars for a good rutting.” Pearl slammed her fork onto the counter. “If he’s a lawyer, he understands.”

  Chuckling, Rupert held up his hands. “Yes, yes. I understand. I have signed Cherry’s contract, though. Maybe I should have had you check to make sure Cherry’s giving me a good whim-wham, Pearl.”

  Pearl nodded and turned back toward the counter where she added flour and milk to her bowl.

  Mortification heated my cheeks better than a BBQ smoker. I took the contracts from Rupert. “You want me to come up to Atlanta tomorrow? I can have my sister drive me.”

  He shook his head. “I’ll send my chauffeur. He enjoys driving. Why don’t you just stay at my home while you’re working? Much easier than the back and forth of the long commute to Atlanta.”

  “That would certainly solve some of your problems at the house,” said Pearl. “Give you some breathing room. Get out of town and away from the gossip, too.”

  “The drive does not bother me in the least,” I said to Rupert followed by a sharp “mind your own business” look to Pearl.

  “I do like my employees readily available, my dear,” said Rupert. “And your truck seems unsafe.”

  “She’s plenty safe,” I said not wanting to cast aspersions on my poor Datsun. “I miss her. When I go out tonight, I’ll have to catch a ride.”

  “Catch a ride?” Rupert leaned forward, clasping his tea. “I am curious as to what there is to do at night in the country? Surely, you don’t have clubs?”

  Pearl abandoned her dumpling mixture and turned to listen. “Who are you going with? I thought you got dumped by Luke Harper. You’re not taking up with your ex-husband again, are you? That’s going to make matters worse, as far as your painting problem goes.”

  If my cheeks grew any hotter, I might have set fire to the contracts. “Mr. Rupert, I assure you I do not have a painting problem.”

  “Of course not,” said Rupert, patting my hand. “I would be interested if your plans ever include Maksim Avtaikin, though. I love to hear stories about my friend, so I can use them to poke him in the ribs later.”

  “Oh, we love Mr. Max,” said Pearl. “He used to host bingo for us until Cherry ruined that.”

  I took a deep, cleansing breath and counted to twenty.

  “So Maksim is well liked in the community?” said Rupert. “But I thought he and Cherry had a rapport?”

  “We have an excellent rapport,” I said, glaring at Pearl. “I have been assisting Mr. Max in getting past his legal transgressions and staying on the fair side of the law.”

  “Legal transgressions?” said Rupert.

  “Nothing was ever proven,” said Pearl. “Mr. Max is a sweetheart.”

  “That’s true.” I didn’t want Rupert to use Max’s illicit doings as a point of good natured ribbing. It seemed ungentlemanly. “He’s never been charged with anything.”

  “He never is,” said Rupert, smiling. “Good old Maks. I’m glad to hear he’s settled in such an honest and supportive community.”

  “Mostly,” I grumbled, thinking of Shawna.

  “Well, then,” said Rupert. “I bid you adieu and will see you tomorrow, Miss Cherry Tucker.”
r />   We shook hands and he left to find his driver. Pearl peered through the kitchen window at the town car readying to leave.

  “He didn’t stay for my chicken and dumplings,” she said.

  The aroma of chicken, vegetables, and baked biscuits drifted through the kitchen. My stomach’s rumble kicked into lumberjack-killing-a-sequoia territory.

  Without turning, Pearl said, “Don’t even think about it, Cherry. You’re not getting any of my fixings while your name is mud. I will not have you embarrassing your Grandpa Ed. Get your ducks sorted out and then you can sit at my table.”

  I grabbed my contract and headed out the door. “It’s not your table,” I muttered.

  Fourteen

  When I reached the Coderres’ trailer, I found Jerell sitting on the stoop with an air rifle on his lap. He scoped out the Firebird, but seeing me alight from it, he threw the air rifle over his shoulder and climbed down the rotting steps to my vehicle. I handed him a bag of groceries and followed him inside, carrying another casserole.

  “How’s your great-grandma today?” I asked him.

  “About the same. We’re taking extra cautions now.” Jerell laid his gun on the stoop and from under his shirt, pulled out a key hanging on a yarn necklace. He fitted the key into the trailer door, turned the lock, and pushed the door wide.

  I fixed a smile on my face, watching him replace his key and grab his BB gun. I could have kicked in that door easier than unlocking it. “Keeping watch over your great-gam? That’s good.”

  “Daddy Tyrone kept us safe,” said Jerell. “Now I gotta do it.”

  The way Jerell talked, they should rename the Sweetgum Estates to Little Beirut.

  “That’s real grown up of you, Jerell. I’ll just go put your dinner in the fridge.”

  Miss Gladys lay with her feet propped on the couch.