The Great Jackalope Stampede

by Ann Charles

  “Mrs. Jefferson.” He spoke through his teeth. “I need a word with you.”

  Ronnie closed her eyes. Dear Lord, what crime was Sheriff Hardass going to threaten her with now?

  “Good to see you in one piece, Claire,” he said, his voice less gritty. “How’s that new building coming along out at Ruby’s?”

  “Natalie and I should have it ready for the county inspector by next weekend. Have you met my cousin, Sheriff?”

  Ronnie opened her eyes, wanting to see his reaction to Natalie. Maybe if he were smitten with her cousin like so many men were, he would cut Ronnie some slack.

  “Nope, can’t say as I have. It’s a pleasure.” His smile was all business when he held out his hand for Natalie to shake. After she took it, he cocked his head to the side. “Is your last name Morgan, too?”

  “No. Our moms are sisters,” she explained. “I go by Beals.”

  “Good to know.” He let go of her hand. “You need to be careful hanging around these Morgan girls.” He said it with a hint of jest in his voice, but his eyes returned to Ronnie all joking aside. “They’re always getting into trouble.”

  Claire laughed.

  Ronnie did not.

  She hoped Natalie had no unpaid parking tickets or other skeletons in her closet. Undoubtedly, Sheriff Harrison would be checking her records later, probably as soon as he finished shaking Ronnie down for whatever had him sniffing in her direction this evening.

  His gaze hardened to match his jaw. “You want to step outside, Mrs. Jefferson?”

  “Not really.” She sat up straight, brushing some lint off of her red jeans, feeling braver here with her family by her side. “What’s this about, Sheriff?”

  He shrugged as if it were her funeral. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a familiar pair of zirconia chandelier earrings and set them on the table in front of her. “Do you know anything about these?”

  She chewed on her lower lip. She did. They had bought her thirty minutes today on the computer with the fastest internet connection and three wrapped peppermint candies as a bonus.

  “Well, I can tell you that they are earrings.” She played dumb, hiding behind raised eyebrows. “Are you asking my opinion on a gift for your girlfriend, Sheriff Harrison?”

  His nostrils flared. “I’m wondering if you have any idea who is selling fake jewelry to innocent old ladies down at the library.”

  Claire choked on a fry. Natalie clapped her on the back, averting her grin.

  Ronnie leaned closer, pretending to inspect the earrings Lyle had given her on their second anniversary during a very expensive dinner of caviar, champagne, and white chocolate covered strawberries.

  “Innocent old ladies, you say?” she asked.

  They might be old, but they definitely were not the delicate flowers he was trying to make them out to be, especially the one she had bartered with using these earrings. Those women knew how to wheel and deal better than most used car salesmen.

  The Sheriff nodded once, his sharp gaze practically poking a hole right into the center of her skull.

  “Selling jewelry to them?” she challenged. “No, I haven’t a clue.”

  That was the truth, since she was not officially selling anything. Not one dollar had passed between any of them. The whole system was based entirely on bartering. Now the deal they had going with the librarians—that was a whole other story. But it was not Ronnie’s tale to tell. Not if she wanted to keep getting time on the internet.

  The Sheriff’s gaze dropped to her Coach purse. “Would you be willing to allow me to search your purse just to appease my curiosity?”

  Ronnie’s tongue glued itself to the back of her throat. Her heart spit and sputtered loud enough for the whole bar to hear.

  Her gaze darted across the table, where Claire and Natalie sat sipping on their drinks with smirks still stuck on their faces, clearly enjoying the show. Ronnie scooted forward and kicked Claire in the shin, a wave of satisfaction rippling over her when her sister grunted and jerked in pain. That would teach her for laughing it up while Ronnie got the rubber glove treatment for doing Claire’s dirty work.

  “Mrs. Jefferson,” the Sheriff walked around Natalie and turned Ronnie’s chair so she faced him without the barrier of a table between them. He pointed at the purse in her lap. “Would you please empty your purse on the table?”

  “This isn’t mine,” she lied with a poker face. “I left mine back at the R.V. park.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Whose is it then?”

  “Katie’s.”

  “You had your hands in it when I walked up.”

  “I was looking for Katie’s cell phone. I needed to make a call and mine is back at Ruby’s … in my purse.”

  His stiff shoulders said he was not buying the load of horseshit she was selling. “Do you often go into other people’s purses?”

  “Katie’s my sister. It’s no big deal. Claire does it, too, don’t you?” She challenged her sister with a stare that could have stripped paint off metal.

  “Sure,” Claire played along. “I borrow Kate’s cell all the time.”

  Actually, Claire was not lying. Katie had complained to Claire just last night about having phone sex on her cell after she had returned from a call with Mac looking all flushed and happy.

  Sheriff Harrison sighed, a very harsh, unpleasant, angry sound. “Veronica, would you please step outside with me for a moment?”

  Uh-oh, he had resorted to using her first name. This must be serious. When she hesitated, he wrapped his big hand around her upper arm and leaned down, whispering next to her ear. “Right. Now.”

  “If I don’t come back,” she started to tell her sister.

  “We’ll bail you out,” Claire finished. “I know exactly where to find you,” she glanced up at Grady, “don’t I, Sheriff?”

  “I’ve had the beds in your favorite cell deloused and sanitized in case you feel like paying me another visit,” he told Claire and touched the brim of his hat at her and Natalie.

  Ronnie allowed him to lead her through the bar past the curious stares and out into the cool, star-filled night. Once there he released her arm as if repelled by touching her skin.

  “Am I going to jail, Sheriff?”

  “I’m still debating.”

  “For what? I was just sitting in there minding my own business.”

  “My Aunt Millie was wearing your earrings this afternoon when I stopped in to check on her.”

  His aunt? Oh, shit! Millie with the red walker and dingle balls. Of course that would have to be his aunt. “You can’t prove those are mine.”

  “They are the same ones you offered me the day I gave you a speeding ticket.”

  How could he remember that? She had been so strung out on emotion that she could barely remember the trip home after he had given her the ticket, let alone what earrings she had in her hand when she had tried to bribe him.

  “Maybe there is more than one pair of those in town.”

  “Veronica, quit playing games. I know it’s you. My aunt described the woman she bought them from, including your red jeans and zebra print top.”

  “Well, for your information, Mr. Goody Two Shoes, I did not sell your aunt a single thing.”

  “You’re saying that you are not committing fraud by selling fake jewelry to little old ladies for a lot more than it’s worth?”

  Ronnie laughed aloud at his question. “Hell, no. You have your facts all wrong.”

  He braced his hands on his gun belt, taking that wide, all-confident cop stance that made her want to jump up and down on his toes. “Well then, Veronica Jefferson, why don’t you clear this whole thing up for me so you don’t end up in my jail cell tonight.”

  What would it be like to have a conversation with him that did not include at least one threat?

  “If you’re going to arrest me on some bogus charge, Sheriff, you’d better get my damned name right. It’s Veronica Morgan.”

  His head cocked to the side. “I
f you’re concerned about my contacting your husband, don’t be. I wouldn’t do that to you. My only concern at the moment is fraud.”

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “Lyle Jefferson was never my husband. Our marriage was invalid because he hadn’t divorced his previous wife when he married me.” God, it felt so good to get that out in the open. Emboldened by her honesty, she lifted her chin. “Now if you’re going to arrest me for fraud, there is something else you need to know.”

  His expression was still stiff, but his eyes had darkened after her admission, seeming to soften around the edges. Or maybe all of the gin was messing with her vision.

  “What’s that, Ms. Morgan?”

  That sounded much better coming out of his mouth.

  “Your poor little aunt is a member of a gang of old women who run a sting at the library, bullying anyone who tries to get on the internet computers without first offering them some kind of monetary or jewelry-based bribe.”

  He scoffed. “How much gin and tonic have you had tonight?”

  “Not enough, trust me.” She poked him in the chest, right under that damned star. “Why don’t you go back and ask your poor little aunt to show you the pearl necklace and tennis bracelet she wrangled from me in the last two days in exchange for computer time.”

  He peered at her from under his haughty brim.

  “Better yet,” she poked him again, “let’s go get Katie and have her tell you about the bruise she got from your aunt’s fancy red walker with the dingle balls when she tried to get on the computer without paying up first.”

  His jaw tightened visibly.

  She poked him one more time. “Or we could talk with Claire and ask her about your poor little aunt’s buddy with the cane who egged Claire into a scuffle that ended with my sister being unjustly banned from the library.”

  He grabbed her hand and pulled her against him, not letting go. To be honest she didn’t want him to, either. For the first time in a long, long time, she felt alive and kicking. There was something about sparring with Grady that lit her up inside.

  “Let me get this straight,” he leaned closer, his gaze drilling her. “You’re accusing my seventy-eight-year-old aunt of assault, battery, and racketeering?”

  Veronica matched him glare for glare. “If the walker fits.”

  Chapter Ten

  Wednesday, October 3rd

  “It’s lunchtime,” Natalie called up to Claire, who was busy installing plumbing vents on the roof of the new restroom under a cloudy sky. The lack of the sun’s rays was a relief after being cooked up on top of the building day after day last week.

  “I need to finish tarring this vent first,” Claire hollered back, brushing on the pungent black paste around the edges of the vent’s flange.

  One more exhaust vent after this one and she could head back down and hide from Gramps and his cackling cronies. They were currently going back and forth between rehashing bawdy stories from their time in the Army and heckling her about her handiwork. Her threat to climb down and tar their lips closed had fallen on deaf ears—seriously, only Gramps’s mutt Henry had heard her threat. He had barked at her in response, pawing the ground. The little shit’s doggie ego needed to be taken down a notch before his collar got too tight from his swelled head.

  The ladder creaked behind Claire, followed by the sound of boots scuffing on the shingles. She looked over her shoulder. Natalie stood near the roof’s peak, holding up a paper bag and two cans of soda pop.

  “Finish up and join me over here where the crabby apples can’t spoil our lunch.”

  Claire nodded, smeared on the last of the tar, and capped the lid.

  “Claire,” Gramps called from down below.

  “You rang, your highness?”

  “Are you sure you got that plumbing vent flashing in there right and sealed tight? We don’t need it stretching or buckling in six months. That will be a pain in the ass to fix, and I’m the one who will be cleaning up the mess.”

  Her knees popped as she stood. Biting back a curse-filled retort, she nailed her grandfather with a long, hard stare. “Have I let you down before, Gramps?”

  At her tone, he stopped scratching inside of his cast with his favorite hanger. “You did almost lose Henry back in April.”

  “But I found him again.”

  “He kind of found you,” Chester butted in. “If I remember right.”

  “She did go out looking for him with my camera, though.” Manny stuck up for her as usual.

  “Take it easy, Claire. I’m just trying to help from down here where I’m stuck, grounded like a broke-dick pilot.”

  “Well, you’re pissing me off, so why don’t you try not to help for the rest of the day.”

  “You never used to be this touchy when we worked together.”

  “That’s because you were usually working alongside of me, not sitting there like Napoleon shouting orders.”

  It also had something to do with the fact that her period still had not come, which made her all thumbs on the job. Her lack of ability to focus this morning had resulted in several bruises and cuts, as well as some tar in her hair.

  Every time she thought about a baby, her breakfast of a cherry fruit pie, bacon, and orange juice threatened to rocket back up her throat. She was not ready for a kid. Hell, she couldn’t even hold down a full-time job for six months, how could she hope to be responsible for another person for eighteen whole years … or more?

  After watching Ruby struggle with Jessica for the last few months, Claire figured a child of her own would be better off raised by wolves … or maybe chimps. Wait, make that bonobos—they had a reputation for making love, not war.

  “She has a point,” Manny said. “You do like to yell a lot more these days.”

  “That’s because she’s way up there.” Gramps adjusted the bill of his ball cap. “Napoleon was a chump. I’m more of a General Patton.”

  “I think you both need to light up a smoke and relax,” Chester grumbled. “This stupid no-smoking bet of yours is making the rest of our lives hell.”

  Until Claire knew if she was pregnant or not, there would be no more smoking, Chester’s issue with their mutual grumpiness be damned.

  Gramps snorted up at her. “Fine, I’ll put on my kid gloves for the rest of the afternoon and treat you like I do Deborah.”

  Manny crossed himself at the sound of Claire’s mother’s name.

  Claire bristled. Gramps’s attitude had gone steadily to hell since he’d broken his leg, an accident for which he had blamed her once again this morning while shoving a metal hanger inside his cast to scratch an itch. Ruby had mentioned to her yesterday after their talk about Jess that Gramps was struggling with more pain in his leg than he let on. Knowing that, Claire had a little more patience for his orneriness, but this continual jabbing while she worked on finishing the building he had started was getting old.

  The damned stubborn man. Maybe it was time to stop treating him like he had a broken leg. Now that she thought about it, the more Ruby played nurse, the more he stomped around the house and chewed on Claire’s ass. Maybe instead of compassion from her, he needed her to butt horns with him, let him burn through some built-up testosterone.

  “You want to play rough, Gramps?” She shucked her work gloves, holding them out before her in reply to Gramps’s taunt about donning kid gloves and dropped them on the roof. “Fine. Just don’t run home crying to Ruby when you get your ass kicked and handed to you.”

  Manny whistled long and low. “You go, girl!”

  Chester shook his head, lighting up a cigar.

  “That’s more like it,” Gramps said, scratching with his hanger. “I’m timing your lunch, so don’t be holding hands and singing Kumbaya with Natalie for too long.”

  After an exaggerated curtsy, she joined her cousin on the other side of the roof’s apex.

  Natalie patted the shingles next to her. A good looking roast beef sandwich and a bag of pretzels sat on the roof next to her, waiti
ng for Claire.

  “Thanks,” she said, dropping onto her butt and scooping up the sandwich.

  “Thank Ruby. She sent Jessica out with it a few minutes ago.”

  Natalie pulled a small paper plate stacked with homemade molasses cookies out of the bag. More stress baking by their step-grandmother. Lovely. The button on Claire’s jeans groaned. She needed to fix this deal with Jessica and her dad, or she’d end up hanging drywall while wearing a muumuu and probably screw her dress to the wall. The old boys would never let her live that down.

  Claire bit into the sandwich. Ruby had remembered to slather on the horseradish, too. She licked her chops and looked out across the campground. She caught sight of Jessica, who was taking a detour past the archaeology crew’s campers and tents on her way back to the store. The girl was playing peek-a-boo as she strolled extra slowly past what Claire now knew was Beanpole’s tent.

  A little bit of investigative work yesterday evening had provided a wealth of information about the tall, skinny college junior whose lofty IQ had made Claire blink. Why was such a smart guy taking an interest in a high school girl? The news about his big brain cemented what Claire suspected, that he was up to something. She would bet that something most likely had to do with a leak—or ten—from Jessica’s loose lips.

  After swallowing her bite, she turned to Natalie. “You know the guy you overheard on the phone the other night?”

  Chewing, Natalie nodded.

  “Was he tall and skinny, like a beanpole? Wearing glasses?”

  “Huh-uh.” She took a drink of soda. “He was only about my height. I don’t remember him wearing glasses.”

  Damn. So Natalie’s guy and Jess’s beanpole were probably not one and the same. Unless maybe the two were in cahoots—Beanpole was the brains and the other guy was the muscle.

  Claire took another bite, chewing on all of the questions she had about the crew and more.

  After a few moments of silence broken only by the guffaws of laughter coming from the other side of the building, Natalie asked. “You think Kate is doing okay?”