by Ann Charles
Mac started to follow his aunt up the stairs.
“Mac, wait.” When he turned, Claire had rounded the desk. “Keep your ears open.”
“Claire,” he said, leaning against the door jam, “I highly doubt the head archaeologist would risk his career to sneak down here and steal something.”
“I’m not talking about the watch.”
“Really?” He doubted that.
“Okay, not just the watch. Someone on that crew is up to something. I’ve been too busy working on the new building to figure it out, but I think this watch is an indicator of something more.”
“More what?”
“More trouble.”
* * *
Claire had nobody to blame but herself. She had let her guard down, all caught up in building the new restroom, lulled by the daily tasks that came with helping to run the Dancing Winnebagos R.V. Park. Not to mention her whole possible pregnancy insanity. Now the pocket watch was gone.
How could she have been so stupid? She, who had witnessed the results of Joe’s thieving first hand, should have at least encouraged Ruby to padlock the office door, if not barricade it. She owed it to her step-grandmother to set things right.
Before Kate left for The Shaft, she confirmed what Claire already knew—Gramps had not moved the watch.
Claire doubted her mother would remove it from safekeeping, knowing the value of antiques as she did, but Claire was still keeping her on the list as a person of interest. Over the years she had witnessed her mother acting out in peculiar ways more than once, especially when under stress. She would not put it past her mom to do something like this in order to get some attention, especially now that Jess’s dad had pretty much kicked her aside.
Jess herself might be guilty by association—with either her father or her boyfriend. Both were apt to be using the girl to achieve financial gain, and she was naïve enough not to realize it.
Then there was Arlene. She needed to be watched, even more so after seeing how defensive Kate was of her fellow waitress. When it came to choosing honest friends and crime-free lovers, Kate’s gut instincts were as trustworthy as a javelina with a sore tooth. The only reason she had ended up with the likes of Butch was because she had pinned him as a criminal and fallen head over heels in spite of it. Fortunately for her and the rest of her family, he had turned out to be an honest businessman, innocent of every crime Kate had assumed him guilty of.
That left the archaeology crew, who were in and out of the R.V. park so much each day that nobody paid much attention to them anymore. Several of them even had tabs going at Ruby’s. Any one of them could have had access to that basement room several times a day, what with Gramps and the boys preoccupied with watching her build the restroom and Ruby avoiding staying inside her house because of Deborah’s constant sharp-tongued presence. A nimble-footed thief could be in that back door and down those stairs in seconds, especially since Ruby never kept the doors locked.
Maybe it had been the same guy who had been out behind the new building that night a week ago whispering on his cell phone when Natalie went to grab her tools. Or one of the khaki twins slipping downstairs while the other one ran interference. Or somebody else from the crew who she had not noticed yet because she had been too distracted with pregnancy worries and plumbing prep.
But Claire was paying attention now. She had spent the last fifteen minutes keeping a wary eye on their campers and tents while pretending to spray the weeds around the perimeter fence and fix loose boards. In that time, not a curtain had moved, not a footfall had been heard, not a soul had come or gone. The place was a temporary ghost town, and Claire knew exactly where she planned to start searching—the stinky R.V. that Mac had found her climbing into last time.
Only this time, Mac would not be around to stop her. Neither would Gramps or Ruby since they were busy up at the house. Chester and Manny were helping Natalie sand and mud the drywall while Claire took a break to “rest.” She figured that if she were going to be treated like a pregnant woman, she might as well take advantage of the down time.
She unbuckled her tool belt and draped it over the back fence, not wanting to clink and creak while tiptoeing through the tulips, or rather weeds and thistles as was the case in Jackrabbit Junction. She grabbed a flat-head screwdriver and then crunched through the partly dead grass toward the camper she had been busted window shopping in last time, pondering why the archaeologists required Mac’s presence ASAP. Had they found something besides the long dead and their pots and tools? Diamonds? Waddesdon’s gold boxes that had gone missing long ago according to an article in Joe’s files? Shrunken heads of some exotic Amazon tribe? It had been about five hours since Mac had left to find out, and she had pretty much been counting the minutes since his dust trail had disappeared down the road.
The afternoon breeze ruffled her shirt, cooling her skin and the surrounding desert from the sun’s heat. Autumn had finally come to Arizona with its cooler nights and comfortably warm days, a nice reward for those beings large and small who had survived the cruel beatings delivered by the sun’s brutal rays the last few months.
She slid along the back of the camper, pausing at the corner to listen for any sign of life. Somewhere in the R.V. park, wind chimes tinkled and pinged. A few bullfrogs down by the creek were warming up for the evening’s croak-fest. Blue-winged grasshoppers clacked in flight here and there around her ankles. Up by Ruby’s place a dog barked several times. It kind of sounded like Henry, but it must be some other dog because Gramps had been keeping Henry by his side during the day to keep the horny mutt from running off to hang out with his furry girlfriend.
From the sounds of things, it was now or never—at least for today. Claire sneaked around the side, grabbed a lawn chair from under the awning, and set it firmly on the grass below the camper’s open back window. Using the screwdriver, she popped out the screen. The chair groaned and squeaked a little but didn’t keel over with her standing on it. She shoved the window all of the way up, making sure it latched. On the count of three, she would jump and hoist herself inside.
One.
She shook the tension from her hands and arms.
Two.
She grabbed the sill.
Three.
She bent her knees and …
“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?”
Claire screeched in surprise at the sound of her sister’s voice. She whirled toward the R.V. park’s drive, almost careening out of the chair.
Ronnie stood there in a white jean mini skirt, blue tank top, and cork heeled sandals with Henry in tow. Actually, it was the other way around. Henry was dragging Ronnie with every muscle in his little body seeming hell bent on reaching Claire.
“Damn it, Ronnie. You scared the shit out of me.”
Ronnie let Henry drag her closer to Claire. “What are you doing up there?” Her gaze lowered to the screen lying on the grass. “Are you climbing in the window?”
“Shhhh!”
“Why are you breaking into this camper?” Ronnie whispered a little too loudly for Claire’s comfort when she drew near.
Henry tugged on his leash, now anxious to get away from Claire. Either his interest had shifted to something underneath the beige-infested camper, or he remembered the last time he had joined Claire on a heist and the double-barreled, lead-filled ending to that adventure. Then again, maybe he just needed to take care of business.
“I’m doing a little investigation,” she explained to her sister.
“Baloney. I know breaking and entering when I see it. If Gramps sees you, he’ll skin your hide.”
“Well, let’s keep this our little secret then.”
Henry whined and strained, pawing at the dirt and grass.
“He probably needs to go to the bathroom,” Claire said.
“He marked every other numbered post on the way here.”
“Marking doesn’t count. He’s very private about his doggy needs.”
“Fine,” Ronnie
let go of the leash.
Henry took off like she had fired a starter pistol, dragging the leash behind him.
“Now tell me what’s going on here.” There was an unspoken or else in Ronnie’s tone.
“Someone stole the pocket watch from the safe. I think someone from the archaeology group may be behind it, so I’m going to take a quick peek around and see if I can find it.”
“That’s a bad idea.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re going to get caught. You always do.”
Claire was getting tired of everyone thinking she was incompetent in the ways of sleuthing. “I don’t always get caught.”
“Name a time you haven’t.”
She could not come up with one at the moment. “I don’t have time for this; I have a watch to find.” She pointed toward the drive. “Keep an eye out for anyone else.”
Ronnie’s forehead wrinkled. “I don’t think the watch is going to be in there.”
“Last I heard, Madam Oracle, your psychic abilities were nonexistent.” Claire gripped the window sill. “Now give me a boost.”
A burst of barks rang from behind the khaki twins’ camper.
Damn that loud-mouthed dog. He was going to get her busted.
“Henry!” Ronnie called.
“Would you be quiet,” Claire covered her sister’s mouth.
Ronnie knocked her hand away, wiping her mouth with the back of her wrist.
Henry raced under the khaki twins’s beige camper at a full run, chasing after something in the grass, probably a mouse. “And get that dang mutt before his barking brings everyone in the park over here.”
The barking continued, only muffled, as he zigzagged in and out from under the camper. He circled around one of the jacks and then yipped to a stop.
“I think his leash is caught,” Ronnie said.
“Go get him then.”
“I can’t go under there. I’m wearing white.”
“Just lift your skirt a little and grab him.”
Ronnie’s gaze dropped to Claire’s pants. “You go. You’re already dirty.”
Henry barked several times, then yipped and growled.
“Criminy.” Claire climbed down off the chair. “You owe me one.”
“No, you owe me for saving you from getting caught today.” Ronnie followed her over to the camper.
“I am not going to get caught.” Claire dropped onto her hands and knees, reaching under the camper for Henry, who was trying to slip out of his collar.
“Just pull on the leash.”
“You forgot to lock the handle. He has the leash completely extended and wrapped around both jacks now.” She yanked on the leash, but Henry dug in all four paws and pulled in the opposite direction.
Déjà vu, she thought, remembering Gramps’s fall off the ladder.
“Henry, come here.” She smacked the ground, then coughed when dust flew up her nose and coated the back of her throat. He barked twice at her before returning to his stubborn mule imitation.
“Go under and get him.” Ronnie put her sandal on Claire’s hip and pushed.
“Do that one more time,” Claire called from under the camper, “and I’m going to put my footprint on your precious white ass when I get out of here.”
“Sorry, I couldn’t resist.”
Claire crawled further under the camper, inhaling the dust Henry was kicking up in his struggles. “Would you just hold still, damn it.”
She grabbed the leash and dragged him closer until she could reach his collar and unhook him. The dog wasted no time thanking her for her efforts and raced off toward Jackrabbit Creek again.
“Why did you let him go?” Ronnie’s feet and ankles stood there at the camper’s edge while she chewed Claire out. “He only comes for Gramps and Katie when they call.”
Ignoring Ronnie, Claire began unwinding the leash. She turned onto her side to knock away the rock that was grinding into her ribcage and bumped her elbow on the underside of the camper.
“Son of a bitch!” she said through gritted teeth.
She rubbed her bruised joint, glaring up at the camper’s underbelly, and noticed a box tucked up under the back bumper.
“What’s that?” she asked aloud.
“What’s what?” Ronnie asked, her ankles moving around to the back of the camper, closer to Claire’s head.
Claire pulled free the pencil-long box and shook it. Something rattled. She shook it again. Make that several somethings rattled.
“I found a box.” Claire’s heart was now rattling, too. “There’s something in it.”
Ronnie’s bared knees appeared, followed by her head.
“Oh, now you can hike up your precious white skirt to take a look.”
“Quit your bitching and open the box.”
“Are you sure the coast is clear?” Claire tried to peer around to the front of the camper, looking for more feet and ankles, this time on the gravel drive.
“Yes, it’s clear. Open it.”
“It’s probably just some spare keys.” Or a golden pocket watch and other stolen treasures.
“Oh, for crissakes. Just give it to me and I’ll open it.”
“Hold your dang horses!” Claire scooted around so she could get a good grip on the box lid. “I found it; I get to open it.”
She shimmied off the box lid and lifted her chin to take a look inside.
“Holy shit!” She dropped the metal box in surprise.
The contents bounced, several spilling out and rolling every which way.
“What are those?” Ronnie asked, squinting into the shadows. “Marbles?”
“No,” Claire’s arms were covered with goosebumps as she plucked one up and held it close. “They’re eyeballs.”
Chapter Sixteen
The Shaft pulsed around Ronnie, loud and throbbing with life. The Saturday night crowd was rowdy and sweaty, filling the bar with pocketed smells of beer, perfume, cologne, and body odor. Katie had cranked up the volume on the jukebox twice now for the music to be heard over the racket of talking and periodic cheers for the college football team playing on the bar’s televisions.
Out on the dance floor, couples were kicking it up to Sawyer Brown’s version of George Jones’s old hit, “The Race Is On.” Natalie had finally given in to the bar’s male population, agreeing to one of the numerous dance requests she had received throughout the evening.
“What the hell?” she had told the tall, blond cowboy with a sun-weathered face. “It’s my last night in town,” had been her reasoning. “Let’s have some fun.”
Natalie was laughing while whirling around the cowboy, who kept sneaking glances at her chest. Ronnie knew her cousin well—the guy was allowed to look but not touch. Natalie’s right jab was legendary back home. She had not earned her nickname the Kangaroo for her ability to hop.
Ronnie watched her cousin flirt with her body. It sure would be nice to shake this cornered badger feeling and enjoy twirling around on a man’s arm for a night. She hadn’t danced with anyone for years, not even her husband. His idea of fun was a bottle of expensive wine, classical music, and a thick book on the history of French warfare. It was no wonder she had taken up gin—the drinking kind, not the card game.
“You found what?” Katie asked over the din, cutting through Ronnie’s woe-is-me thoughts.
Claire leaned over the bar, closing the distance between her and Katie, who was filling drink orders while Gary the bartender took his break. “A box full of eyeballs.”
Their youngest sister grimaced while she topped off Claire’s soda. “Please tell me they weren’t real.”
“Of course not. I didn’t say eyeball raisins, did I? The desert would dry a real eyeball up in a day or two at most, even in the shade.”
“So, like dolls’ eyes? Little glass marbles?”
Ronnie covered the rim of her glass when Katie grabbed the bottle of gin from the shelf behind her. Two drinks were her limit tonight. Even though Claire was playing
designated driver, Ronnie wanted her wits about her if trouble came storming through the door looking to ask her about a watch.
“Bigger than doll eyes,” Ronnie told Katie.
“Were they prosthetic human eyeballs? Like what kept popping out of that pirate’s head in Pirates of the Caribbean?”
“Prosthetic eyes are just lenses, not full spheres,” Claire told her and took a sip of soda pop. “These were glass balls a little smaller than the human eye. Maybe they’re mannequin eyes.”
“Why would someone hide a box of eyeballs under their camper?”
Claire scoffed. “I’m more concerned about why someone would have a box of eyeballs at all. That’s way creepy.” She made a show of shivering in revulsion, which looked a lot like the real deal had when Claire had crawled out from under that camper this afternoon.
“Did you keep them?”
“She stuffed one in her pocket,” Ronnie piped up. “But she had to put the rest back before we could get a good look at them because Gramps came looking for Henry.”
Claire had been right about that dang dog—the barking got someone’s attention … Gramps’s. Luckily for them, while his golf cart moved quickly, he was slow climbing off of it. By the time he got to the back end of the camper, Claire and Ronnie had popped the screen back in place and were standing there pretending to discuss the work Claire planned to do in the canyon behind the R.V. park before winter arrived.
Suspicion had creased Gramps’s eyes, but he hadn’t voiced it.
“Do you have the eyeball on you now?” Katie asked Claire.
“No,” Ronnie answered for her. “We left it back in the R.V. park in a safe place.”
Which was really the inside zipper compartment in Ronnie’s suitcase stuffed in the Skunkmobile’s bedroom closet. It was the only spot onsite that Ronnie could think of in the few minutes she had to hide it while Gramps waited outside in his golf cart to take her back up to the General Store. They had dropped Claire off at the new building, where Chester had greeted her with a bucket of drywall mud and a trowel. Before stepping off the back of the cart, she had slipped Ronnie the eyeball with a whispered, “Hide it.”