Rusty Logic

by Robin Alexander

  “Why on earth do people jog?” she wondered aloud. She didn’t feel any endorphins, and as she thought about it, her cardiologist hadn’t mentioned running when he’d talked about exercise.

  Mosquitoes must’ve smelled fresh blood because they began to pop her from all directions. Rusty walked past each house, hoping to get a glimpse of her backyard. She swatted at one of the stinging insects when she spied the light on in her kitchen. Timidly, she took a few steps into the yard of the house directly behind hers and waited to see if a dog would bark. She moved as fast as she could across the neighboring lawn into her own and slowed, afraid she’d step off into a hole and break something she needed.

  Very little moonlight streamed through the boughs of the trees overhead, and it played tricks on her eyes. For just a moment, she thought she saw a flash of pink near the corner of her house. She stopped and stood perfectly still, straining her eyes, and tried to see if there was something or someone lurking in the shadows, then she sprinted for the back door.

  Once inside, she mentally chastised herself for the case of the creeps that seemed to hang on even when she’d locked the door behind her. She opened the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water, frowning at the rest of the contents. There were makings for a salad, a head of broccoli, and a pack of chicken claiming to be free range. There wasn’t a carb in sight; Neil no longer favored the good stuff after he lost thirty-eight pounds.

  “I hope there’s a bakery in this hellhole.” Rusty strolled into the living room and twisted the cap off her water. She came to a sudden halt, and the bottle slipped from her grasp. The rolling scream that tore out of her throat was purely involuntary.

  *******

  Police Chief Kirsten Flyte sat straight up when she heard the call go over the radio. She couldn’t remember what a signal thirty-four was, but she recognized the address on Chestnut Street. Rodney Calumet had moved in with his son in Breaux Bridge, but he held on to the house he’d lived in for forty years, and she kept an eye on it for him. Somewhere in her sleep-addled mind, she remembered that Rodney had told her he’d rented it. Kirsten climbed out of bed and pulled on a pair of pajama pants while juggling her phone.

  Tasha, the night dispatcher, answered on the second ring. “Hey, Tash, remind me what a thirty-four is again,” Kirsten said as she pulled her uniform shirt over her shoulders.

  “A prowler, that’s what the 911 center put in the computer. It says the caller Rusty Martinez reported that someone was on her porch looking in her window. Wanna take a guess as to who the perpetrator might be?”

  Kirsten stepped into her slippers. “I’m gonna go over there. It’s only a few blocks away.”

  “Okay, Chief, you want me to let the boys know?”

  “Nah, they’ll see me when I get there. What’re you smacking on?”

  Tasha laughed. “Peanut butter brittle, homemade. Bryan’s momma sent it with him.”

  “Save me some.”

  “Umm…I can’t.”

  “Tash, you ate all of it?”

  “No, I just can’t save you any.”

  Kirsten laughed. “I’ll see you in the morning or sooner if Stella misbehaves and I have to bring her in.”

  “I’d like to see that.”

  *******

  Two police cruisers were parked on the street when Kirsten arrived on scene. Mitch’s lights were off, Bryan’s were still flashing, and Kirsten was at least thankful Bryan had not left the siren blasting. As she climbed out of her car, she noticed that a crowd had gathered on the sidewalk.

  “Nothing to see here, folks. It was probably Rippy the raccoon doing a trash raid,” Kirsten said with a smile.

  “Rippy’s dead and buried in my backyard,” Susan Daigle said angrily. “Some asshole shot him with a pellet gun.”

  Everyone in the crowd turned and looked at Jared Rabalais, who did his best to appear surprised. Ancelet Bay was a sleepy town, and quite a few of the calls the department responded to were fights between Susan and Jared. Susan wanted to protect Rippy, who left garbage strewn all over the street before trash pickup day. Jared believed there was only one way to solve the problem, and apparently, he’d killed poor Rippy.

  Kirsten plodded across the damp grass up to the porch and caught the tail end of what Rusty Martinez was telling Mitch while Bryan walked the property.

  “…and I walked out of the kitchen, and there they were in this window right here.” Rusty pointed at the one near the front door. “I screamed, and they ran away.”

  “Where’re you from?” Officer Mitch Burkheiser asked with his arms folded.

  “Baton Rouge, I just moved in here today, well, yesterday now.” Rusty looked a little confused. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “Hey, Mitch, would you mind sending that crowd out there back home before Susan and Jared tie into it again?” Kirsten asked.

  “No problem.” Mitch jerked a thumb at Rusty. “She says she saw someone on her porch looking in the window.”

  “Yep, I heard that,” Kirsten said with a nod and put out her hand to Rusty. “I’m Kirsten Flyte, the chief of police here.”

  Rusty gave it a firm shake. “Did the whole department come to my house?”

  “Pretty much. So,” Kirsten began as she looked around. “Could you tell if the person was male or female?”

  “I’m not sure, they were wearing a hat, and it covered a lot of the face.”

  “Like an Indiana Jones hat? A fedora?”

  “Yeah,” Rusty said with a nod. “And this is going to sound strange, but I think I saw a pink coat.”

  Bryan rushed up on the porch and shoved a plastic bag containing a pen in Kirsten’s face. “Chief, I found this on the ground next to the steps.”

  Kirsten took it. “Is this your pen, Mrs. or Ms. Martinez?”

  “No, it isn’t, and it’s Ms.”

  “Chief, I searched the perimeter, there was no sign of the perpetrator,” Bryan said in his most officious tone, and Kirsten could see why he was doing his best to make a good impression.

  Rusty was scantily clad in a pair of shorts and a sports bra, and she had a nice figure. Kirsten did her best to keep her eyes on Rusty’s pretty face. Her big dark eyes, perfectly shaped nose, and generous lips held Kirsten’s attention, but she doubted that Bryan had noticed any of Rusty’s features above her collarbones. Kirsten’s gaze had begun to slip south before she caught herself.

  “Thanks, Bryan.” Kirsten smiled at Rusty. “I think I know what happened here tonight. There’s a lady who has appointed herself the neighborhood watchperson. When on patrol, she wears a pink trench coat and a fedora, it’s her thing. This house has been empty for a while, and I figure she suspected kids had gotten inside and were having a party. You probably scared her as much as she scared you, and that’s why she didn’t stick around.”

  “You want me to question Stella, Chief?” Bryan asked at attention.

  “I’ll take care of that, but I would like you to stay on Chestnut tonight,” Kirsten said. “I’m sure that’ll make Ms. Martinez feel more comfortable. I’ll talk to Stella.”

  “Permission to get snacks for the stakeout, ma’am,” Bryan belted out as though he were in the military and speaking to a drill sergeant.

  “Yeah, go stock up,” Kirsten said with a laugh.

  Rusty stared at her intently, taking in Kirsten’s bright blue eyes, the dimples when she smiled, and the way she fussed with her hair when the breeze blew her long bangs in her face. “How old are you?” Rusty asked suddenly.

  “Fortunately for you, I’m not the type of woman to be put off by that question,” Kirsten said with a smile. “I’m forty.”

  Rusty’s gaze moved to the bear paw slippers on Kirsten’s feet. “You look twelve.”

  “I’m gonna take that as a compliment. Getting back to Stella, she’s harmless, and I’m a hundred percent certain that it was her on your porch.”

  “Well, you can tell her she’s lucky I didn’t have a bat,” Rusty said curtl
y as she backed toward her door. “Do you need anything else from me?”

  “No, ma’am. I hope you rest well,” Kirsten said as Rusty stepped inside and locked the door. Then she drew the blinds.

  “Nice to meet you too,” Kirsten said as she descended the steps and gave Mitch, who was already in his car, the signal that all was finished. As he drove away, she walked across the street, climbed Stella’s steps, and knocked on her door. “Don’t pretend you’re sleeping, Stella McGinnis. I know you’re watching.”

  Stella threw open the door. She’d taken off her coat but was still wearing the hat, and white hair poked out beneath it. She had, however, put on a nightgown, a robe, and slippers. She was so short, she looked like a kindergartner in an older woman’s pajamas. Her blue eyes narrowed as she regarded Kirsten. “Why are you beating on my door at this time of night?”

  “Does this look familiar?” Kirsten held up the bag with the pen in it.

  “Sure does, they give them out at the bank all the time.”

  “Cut the shit, Stella. We both know you were on your new neighbor’s porch being nosy tonight. That woman doesn’t know you. If she would’ve had a gun, we might not be standing here chatting. How many times do I have to tell you to stay off other people’s property?”

  “You can run that yap of yours all you want, but as long as you talk down to me, little girl, I’m not listening.” Stella folded her arms. “I changed your diapers and cleaned your tiny butt.”

  Kirsten looked at her watch. “Go ahead, play the dirty butt card. That one really doesn’t have a whole lot of effect on me at almost one in the morning. Stay off that woman’s porch and—good night,” she said when Stella slammed the door in her face.

  Across the street, Rusty was watching Kirsten through her window. Kirsten’s short blond hair glowed beneath the streetlights as she walked back to her car. She tossed her head and swept her long bangs out of her eyes as she climbed into the police cruiser wearing the bear paw slippers, plaid lounge pants, and a police uniform shirt. Rusty backed away from the window thinking if that was Ancelet Bay’s finest, she wanted out quick.

  Chapter Three

  “Ha! You got Stella’d last night,” Tal Flyte said as Kirsten walked in the back door. “The best thing about my retirement is knowing that I don’t have to deal with that woman anymore.”

  Mona set a cup of coffee in front of Kirsten as she took a seat at the table. “How about some eggs, baby?”

  “Coffee, just coffee, Momma, thanks. I already had breakfast at the station,” Kirsten said wearily.

  “What did you have?” Mona asked as she made Tal’s plate.

  “Peanut butter brittle. I found it hidden under a magazine in the drawer of the dispatch desk.” Kirsten smiled. “I ate it all.”

  Mona set the plate she was making for Tal in front of Kirsten. “You are not gonna face the day on sugar and peanuts. Eat that.”

  Kirsten watched her mother flit around the kitchen with her dyed long blond hair caught up in a clip. Since her retirement from the local bank, Mona had often talked about cutting her tresses off like Kirsten’s, but Tal wouldn’t hear of it. Mona had worn her hair the same way since the day they’d met because Tal liked it that way, and she’d do just about anything to keep him happy.

  Mona’s blue eyes twinkled as she regarded her husband. “I’m gonna give you extra bacon this morning because you’ve been a good boy about your diet lately.”

  “I earned it by eating all the damn salad you’ve been shoving down my throat,” he said with a frown.

  Tal Flyte also wore the same exact hairstyle he did in high school, though what was left was silver, and the comb-over didn’t quite hide the fact he was going bald on the crown of his head. His eyes were also blue, but not nearly as bright as Mona’s and Kirsten’s. Despite all of Mona’s efforts to keep him slim and trim in his retirement, he was developing a small paunch above his belt.

  Tal grinned. “I had coffee with Jared this morning. He said you were out at the Calumet place in the middle of the night in your pajamas because the renter spotted someone on her porch.”

  “It was Stella—hat, coat, and all. Momma, you have to talk to Indiana Bogart at your next devil-worshipping meeting.” Kirsten winced and laughed when Mona snapped her with a kitchen towel.

  “That’s why I’ve always hated our club name. Daughters of Darkness sounds so malevolent,” Mona said as she made another plate and set it in front of Tal.

  “Maybe you could dispel some of the rumors if you’d actually admit what you did in your secret meetings.” Tal winked at Kirsten. “Is animal sacrifice involved? Naked dancing?”

  Mona grabbed a cup of coffee. “The only animal at our meetings is ham or chicken slapped between two pieces of bread.” Mona took a seat at the table. “The cards we read are used in poker games, and I can’t tell you anything else, or it wouldn’t be a secret.”

  “I still don’t understand why Kirsten isn’t allowed in. She’s your daughter,” Tal said before he took a bite of his breakfast.

  “Conflict of interest. She followed in your footsteps, not mine.” Mona brushed Kirsten’s hair out of her eyes and smiled. “Stella’s bored, baby. Since she lost Paul, she’s looking for a sense of purpose, and she thinks she’s found it by becoming some sort of night watchwoman.”

  Tal grunted. “She was crazy long before that.”

  Mona ignored him. “So who is this new person?”

  “Some woman from Baton Rouge,” Kirsten said with a shrug.

  “Young, old, in between? Does she have children? Is she married?” Mona asked.

  “She’s around my age, I guess. I didn’t see any children or anything resembling a husband, just a perturbed woman after finding Stella peeping in her window,” Kirsten said and took a bite of toast.

  “Jared said there’s a black BMW in the driveway. I wonder what she does to have a car like that.” Tal frowned. “She probably works for some company that wants to buy the land this town sits on and turn it into a factory or something like that.”

  “Highly unlikely since we’re surrounded by hundreds of acres of farmland I’m sure someone wouldn’t mind unloading.” Kirsten cleared her throat. “So, Mom, getting back to the next DOD meeting, would you talk some sense into Stella before she gets herself killed?”

  *******

  “I call this meeting to order,” Stella said loudly as she opened her notebook. “On August 15 at approximately 1512, I observed a woman of Middle Eastern descent take up residence at 123 Chestnut Street.”

  “Hold up,” June Schuller interjected. “What is this 1512 stuff?”

  “Military time, she means 3:12 in the afternoon,” Mona explained.

  “Then say 3:12, for the love of Pete.” June shook her head. “No one here is wearing combat boots. And how do you know she’s Middle Eastern?”

  “She has really dark hair and eyes, and her skin is kind of dark, not like a black person but tan.” Stella adjusted her glasses and gazed at her notes. “I witnessed the subject carry in a Muslim prayer rug and several coolers out of her car. With my binoculars, I noted her emptying said coolers in her kitchen. They contained food products, which further confirm she is a Muslim because they don’t eat our food.”

  Stella missed the looks Mona and June exchanged as she turned a page and continued. “At 2340, or 11:40 p.m. for the stupid, I observed the subject pretending to go out for a run. I then crossed to 123 Chestnut Street and searched the subject’s vehicle for—”

  “Stella! Please tell me you didn’t go into her car,” Mona pleaded.

  “I couldn’t, it was locked. I did look inside with the aid of my mini flashlight and found nothing. The vehicle was immaculate, which further confirms my suspicions.”

  “Hold up again.” June exhaled loudly. “How does that confirm anything?”

  “Normal people have things in their cars, a box of tissues, an umbrella. There was nothing of the sort in the subject’s vehicle.”

  June sti
ll looked confused and said to Mona, “That still doesn’t make any sense to me.” Mona only shrugged as Stella continued on.

  “I observed the subject cutting through the Hendricks’ yard to get to her own. That confirmed the jog was a ruse, and I surmise that she was on a reconnaissance mission. I moved to her porch and looked in to see if she was working on any explosive devices, and that was when she became aware of my presence. I evaded capture by diving into Susan Daigle’s camellia bushes.”

  “You dove? Stella, you’re seventy-eight years old, and did you call me stupid a moment ago?” June asked.

  Stella took off her glasses and wiped the lenses on her shirt. “Dove is a word I used for strategic fall, which is what I did. I was unharmed because I was properly dressed in my trench coat, and that is why detectives wear them. As for calling you stupid, I have no recollection of that.”

  Patty Burroughs, who had been sitting quietly at the end of the table working her latest needlepoint, said, “Whatever book this is sounds interesting. I want to read it when you’re done, Stella.”

  “Put down that sewing and pay attention. This is no work of fiction, this is real life. A terrorist has come to Ancelet Bay, and the DOD has a duty to act.”

  Patty looked thoroughly confused. “What’re we gonna act on? For that matter, what kind of act are we talking about?”

  “Subdue and contain the subject, search her premises, retrieve her implements of mass destruction, then turn her over to the FBI,” Stella said firmly with a nod.

  “No damn way.” June stabbed her finger on the table. “I am not going to attack and kidnap a woman because she has a rug and a tan. You’re way off base. I was totally on board when you found out those miscreants that roam the streets at night were scaring that old couple for laughs. I had no problem with the boobie traps or spraying them with purple paint, but this is going too far.”

  “May I remind you that the Daughters have always taken care of what regular law enforcement can’t or won’t?” Stella asked firmly.

  Mona laid a hand on June’s arm. “What we’re saying is, there isn’t enough evidence for us to act on. How about I tell Kirsten what you’ve seen and she can take a closer look at the subject?”