The Booster Club

by Angela M. Sanders

  Only now did Hugo look to be losing his composure. Ruby put a hand on his shoulder and forced a smile. “You can be sure we’ve taken care of their needs. With the generosity of Carsonville’s residents, other orphans won’t suffer the same. And now,” she added to cut off further discussion, “we’d be happy to collect donations to supplement Grandpa Granzer’s pledge.”

  Eleanor nodded once and sat down. Ruby couldn’t help but notice Claudine stiffen, and if it were possible, melt even further into the background. What was with her?

  Jocelyn, the client Ruby had run into at Klingle’s, pulled a twenty dollar bill from her purse. “Here. It’s not much, but my budget is tight. Those kids—” She sighed and looked at Hugo. “I don’t want to put down what you’ve done here, but this seems like something the mayor should deal with.”

  “They don’t have anywhere to live together,” Ruby said.

  “You could work with St. Jude’s and build a brand new shelter,” she said.

  “Grandpa won’t donate unless it’s the firehouse,” said Deborah, suddenly at her side.

  It would be years before a new shelter could be built, Ruby knew. If it were built at all. The county would be more than happy to kick that can down the road. Jocelyn, for all her expensive clothing and European vacations and business connections, was starting to look cheap to Ruby.

  Jocelyn nudged her bag higher on her shoulder. “I guess I should get home. Thanks for the lovely evening. Oh, I almost forgot. Do you think you could get me one of the new Lanvin chokers wholesale? The one with the ribbons and baroque pearls?”

  Ruby’s stomach turned. Jocelyn had only tossed a Jackson into the kitty, and now she wanted a deal on expensive jewelry. Ruby looked at the crumpled twenty dollar bill in her hand. Dirty money. “I don’t think so.”

  * * *

  Deborah watched nervously as guests swarmed around Ruby and Hugo. A few guests had already left, but not Commissioner Rossum.

  It had to happen sometime, Deborah thought. At some point she had to run into one of the guys she’d duped. But she’d been so careful to choose out-of-town businessmen. How could she know one of them would be a county commissioner? She should pay more attention to politics, she guessed.

  Ned Rossum sent another flirtatious smile her way, although when his wife tugged his arm he shut the smile off. As far as Deborah could tell, Rossum didn’t recognize her. Thank goodness for the haircut. And, of course, he’d never expect to find a hotel hooker in the mansion of one of Carsonville’s most distinguished families.

  She kept her distance and nodded politely at Rossum’s wife as they passed into the hall for their coats. Just a minute more now, and she’d be in the clear.

  As a crowd clustered in the entrance hall, the front door burst open. Who’d be coming at this hour? The party was practically over.

  Then she saw. A smile spread over her face, then froze. It was Louie. Oh, my God. She was so happy. But so much could go wrong right now. The hall, her hair. She hadn’t told him about any of it.

  “Louie,” said a tall, thin man Deborah remembered as married to one of the Women’s League members. “Haven’t seen you down at the golf club in ages.”

  A curvaceous brunette grabbed his arm. “Deborah said you couldn’t make it tonight.”

  Louie set down his suitcase. The taillights of a cab faded into the distance through the windows. “Where’s my wife?”

  With a mixture of delight and terror, Deborah stepped forward. It was as if she’d left her body and were watching herself in a movie.

  “Hi, chickadee.” He stood for a moment in complete silence. The crowd in the entry hall quieted, too, watching the couple. Louie raised his head to take in the spray-painted flowers, his wife’s shorn hair. His mouth was locked into a frown. Then it widened. And smiled. “Hi, honey,” he said. “You look great.”

  Within seconds, the crowd in the hall became liquid again. People took their coats and waved goodbye and shook Hugo’s hand. The Rossums passed through the front door, with Ned casting a final goodbye glance.

  “You made it, Louie. You made it to my event. I’m so glad.” She rushed forward to clasp her arms around her husband’s neck. He looked more tan, but relaxed.

  “I knew this was important to you, so I scrambled to get an early flight back. Besides, the weather was crappy.” A maid took his suitcase upstairs. “Could you get me a cola and milk? I’m parched,” he told Deborah.

  As she passed the living room in a happy haze on her way to the kitchen, she saw Ruby and Bruce gathering checks in an envelope while Grandpa lectured them on hook and ladder trucks. The caterers quietly collected the remains of the evening’s drinks and hors d’oeuvres.

  The Booster Club was a success after all.

  * * *

  What a disaster, Claudine thought. What a freaking disaster. Claudine barely noticed the commotion until she saw the stubby guy in a safari get-up with a suitcase. Deborah’s husband. Had to be with the way Deborah had her arms wrapped around him.

  After another glance at the hall, Claudine turned to Hugo. “Shall we see what the caterers have left us, then get you back home?”

  “Okay,” he said.

  They passed through the dining room to the kitchen where the caterers were loading carts into a van. Claudine placed a hand on a server’s arm. “You saved the extra, right?”

  “Right here,” the caterer nodded at the counter.

  “Do you have any more of those brownie things?” Hugo asked. “Those were really good.”

  A few minutes later, Claudine left the kitchen with a box of foil-wrapped food. “Take this to the car. I’ll check in with Ruby, then I’ll be out to meet you.”

  Ruby was in the entry hall with Bruce. Otherwise, the main level was almost empty. Claudine had no idea where Deborah and her husband had gone.

  “Oh, it’s you,” Ruby said. “I thought it was a successful evening, didn’t you?”

  “Grandpa Granzer clinched it,” Claudine said.

  “I felt bad for you hiding out all night. I’m sure it would have been fine—”

  “Thanks, but it’s better this way,” Claudine said. “What do you think about Ellie Whiteby’s comments?”

  Ruby looked puzzled a moment, then relaxed. “Oh, you mean Eleanor Millhouse.”

  “I knew her from high school, and it doesn’t look like she’s changed much.”

  “I’m not sure what to make of what she said. And the competing offer on the firehouse. That’s not good.”

  “Definitely not good,” Claudine agreed. “You’re going to need—I mean we are going to need a plan.”

  “You girls have plenty of moral standing. That’s what matters,” Bruce said.

  Ruby didn’t respond. Maybe she was right not to agree, Claudine thought. What kind of moral standing could a trio of crooks have? “And now we have the money to buy the firehouse and a good start on the cost of renovation.”

  “Yeah,” Ruby said, but didn’t sound convinced. “We just have to figure out our next steps.”

  The fight was not over. “I’ll see you tomorrow at our meeting,” Claudine said. “We’ll figure this out. I’m taking Hugo home.”

  The car was cold when Claudine opened its doors. Hugo hadn’t even touched the box of food.

  “So,” Hugo said. “What do you think’s going to happen next?”

  Claudine directed the car down a winding street from the hill where the Granzer mansion nested among other rangy old houses. “I’m not sure. One thing I know, though, is that we’ve got people talking. And they’ve heard your story.” Damn that Ellie Whiteby—Millhouse—whatever.

  “Yeah, but what does that mean? Will they let us have the firehouse? Not everyone seemed to think it’s a good idea.”

  “So they disagree. Enough people see it like we do, though. All we have to do is get the commissioners’ votes.” Claudine glanced in her rearview mirror. “Can you read the license plate number on that car behind us?”

  Hugo cra
ned his neck, the foil package rustling in his lap. “The gray one? Looks like the same one behind us on our way here.”

  Claudine’s face grew cold. “What?”

  “Yeah. It picked us up after the burger stop. Why? Do you know him?”

  How had she missed it? After he’d run the license plate, Mickey had told her the car was part of an insurance company’s fleet. In other words, someone was on to her. How it had happened, she had no idea. She’d always been so careful, and Larry would never rat her out. It would mean the end of his career—or worse, depending on who heard the news.

  She dropped a hand to the gear shift. “Hang on, Hugo. We’re going for a ride.”

  9

  Claudine edged the Accord to the stop sign at the end of the street. The gray sedan followed half a block back.

  “Seatbelt on?” she asked Hugo.

  “Uh-huh.”

  She launched the car to a sharp left, accelerating through second, third, and fourth gears down the road that circumnavigated the hill. Hugo erupted into shrieking laughter. The sedan held the trail, although it lost another half block. Just as suddenly, Claudine yanked the Accord left again and climbed the hill on a narrow street, a dirt-and-gravel connecting alley at its top. The neighborhood might be grand, but it was old, its streets originally cut for buggies, not sedans. Thanks to her work, she knew every back alley in Carsonville.

  This time she pulled the car right. The car’s underbelly hit a pothole that slowed it a millisecond while it spun gravel into the brush lining the alley. Hugo hooted with glee as the car rocked. Where the alley met the paved road, she turned left once again, burning up the hill a block, then turning into a bush-lined driveway and cutting the lights. A few years ago, she’d had a kill switch installed that not only instantly turned off the headlights but every other light from the dashboard to the license plate at the same time. The gray sedan roared past them up the hill.

  Amateur. No professional would have fallen for that move, but it was all she had. She flopped her head against the seat and regained her breath before continuing down the other side of the hill at a more relaxed pace, using side streets, and periodically checking her rearview mirror.

  Twenty minutes later, Claudine pulled the Accord in front of the firehouse. The block was dead quiet. Her heart still beat erratically.

  Hugo hadn’t stopped laughing. “Where’d you learn to do that? Will you show me?”

  “Upstairs. Next time, if you see a tail, say something.” She watched until Hugo waved from the firehouse’s second story window. Father Vincent appeared on the street, his vestments covered with dog hair.

  “How were the kids?” Claudine asked.

  “Just great. We played Old Maid. Lucy’s got a good hand with the deck.”

  “I hope you didn’t—”

  “No, child. No monkey business. We stuck to Old Maid, although I may have improved Lucy’s shuffle.” The priest took in the dashboard with an expert eye. “Standard four-banger? I could retrofit it with a Pontiac eight-cylinder I got down at the Villa. They think all you can do is crawl, then—boom!—you’re a Maserati.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” She pulled into the street.

  The priest’s hand twitched as if he were shifting. “You taking Main? This time of night, Taylor will be wide open. You’ll shave one-point-five, maybe two minutes off your time.”

  “I had a tail on the way home.” She knew the father would understand.

  His face turned grim. “How’d you shake him?”

  “I was up in the Heights, narrow streets.”

  “And winding.”

  “So I did a toad-in-the-hole.”

  Father Vincent nodded. “Fell for it, did he?”

  “Amateur,” they both said at the same time.

  “Who’d be following you home from a social engagement? I don’t get that,” the father said. They pulled up to the Villa. “You be careful,” he added as he slid out the passenger side.

  “Thank you, Father. And thanks for babysitting, too.”

  The late night streets were quiet. When she arrived home, she rested a moment in the darkened garage. She’d have to be more careful, and she’d definitely talk to Larry the Fence to see if any of their deals had soured.

  She opened the car door to the quiet sounds of a late autumn night: wind, the occasional car on the boulevard. It had been an exhausting evening. First, the event and seeing Ellie Whiteby again. She never had been great with crowds, and her feeling toward Ellie had only fermented over the years. Then shaking the sedan. If he’d known she’d be at the fundraiser, how long would it be until he showed up at her home? She’d been smart to keep the Accord garaged.

  At an upward glance from the street, she froze. A faint light burned in her apartment above the Scent Shoppe, its yellow glow barely reaching the window. No burglar would have left a light on, and no one had a key to her place, except André. Someone had been in her apartment—or was there now.

  She paused only a moment before easing her key into the lock on the ground floor. On cat’s feet, she mounted the steps to her apartment. As she’d expected, the front door was unlocked. She flattened her back against the wall and reached for an old-fashioned blackjack she kept behind the coat rack.

  Ready to swing, she tensed her muscles.

  “Deanie,” came a voice from the couch.

  Claudine’s breath caught in her throat. Lounging full length, taut-limbed and beautiful, was her ex-husband. Damn.

  “Oz,” she said.

  He smiled slowly and pulled himself to a sitting position. Every muscle in his torso and legs seemed to ripple as he moved. “I thought you’d never get home.”

  * * *

  Claudine awoke tangled in bedsheets. After a confused second, her eyes flew open. She patted the space next to her. Empty. The bed creaked as she sat up.

  “In here, babe,” came Oswald’s voice from the living room.

  Claudine groaned. What had she done? She was smarter than this. After the turmoil of last night’s event and the gray sedan, she’d been too worn out to resist him. Not that he’d be easy to resist on a good day.

  She pulled on an old kimono as a robe. Cup of coffee at his side, Oz was at her laptop. He had a notepad next to him, and her cat purred in his lap. She pursed her lips. So that’s what he wanted all along. She swished by him to the kitchen and lifted the coffee pot. Empty. Figured. He’d made only enough for himself. If she ever had a daughter, her first words of advice would be to target a nice accountant for a boyfriend and stay far, far away from con men.

  She leaned against the kitchen doorway and folded her arms. “That laptop is personal. Nothing there is any of your business.”

  Frustrated, he leaned back. “Come on, babe. What’s the password?”

  “Nothing doing.” She returned to the kitchen to make more coffee. She’d bolster the locks. He wasn’t breaking in again.

  He followed her and sat at the tiny table that served as her dining area. “Your dad said you were working on a heist. A big one. ‘Historical,’ he said.”

  Ignoring him, Claudine put the kettle on and filled the Chemex filter with ground coffee.

  “You know I can help out. I have new connections.”

  “From the joint?”

  “Sure, but elsewhere, too. Whatever you’re doing, I can help. You can’t do a big job alone. I know you’re putting together a team. Let me in on it, Deanie.”

  Claudine shook her head. When the kettle boiled, she poured the hot water over the grounds.

  He took a different tack. “Hey, babe, it sure was great to see you last night. I’ve been thinking about that for a long time. It got lonely out by the river.”

  She lifted an eye. A smile had spread over Oswald’s face, and against her will, her heart tugged. He reached up and stroked the sleeve of her kimono. His eyes shone warm amber with lashes thick as a puppy’s. That fraud. He had the con man’s gift of having every smile look genuine. Whatever he said next, you believ
ed. The Oz was a force of nature.

  She pulled her kimono from his grasp and took a chance. “I bet you were thinking quite a bit about Natalie, too.”

  Oswald stiffened. “Ah, Deanie. She’s no you.”

  Bull’s eye. Natalie had probably been waiting for him at the prison gate with a pocket full of condoms. Claudine took a mug of coffee into the living room, and Oswald followed. She sat in the armchair and drew up her legs.

  “I need to get on my feet again.You can use my help with this heist. You can trust me. You know that.”

  “Trust you. Right.” The coffee was too hot yet to sip, but the scalding on her tongue kept her on track. Maybe Oswald was right in that she could trust him, in ways other than romance, that was. He knew the code of the craft, and he’d worked on a few big heists, although in a tangential role distracting guards and pinching security codes. The thing is, he’d also been caught. If he were arrested, this would be strike three. Who knew whom he’d sell out to shorten another prison stay?

  “Why don’t you tell me a little about the heist? Just the overview.” He’d settled himself back into the chair at her desk, and one hand absently stroked Petunia. The cat closed his eyes halfway. Claudine knew just how he felt under those long fingers. “Your dad is worried about you,” he continued. “He knows you’re good, but I think he’d like me around to keep an eye on things, you know? He’d never say so to you, of course.”

  Her father would worry about her, as proud as he was of her skills. But the Oz was a liability.

  “I don’t know. The risk is simply too great for both of us. I’ll have to think it over. Now, you need to leave. I have a busy day ahead.” A lie, but he didn’t know that. “And never break into my apartment again. Never. Do you hear me?”

  Oswald looked away and drummed his fingers on the desk for a moment. “Fine,” he said finally. “I’ll give you time to think about it.”

  The phone rang. Claudine turned her back to her ex-husband and took the call in the kitchen. The elm out back had lost nearly all its leaves. “Yes, this is she. My father?” She whirled and looked at Oswald in panic. “Of course. I’ll be there as soon as I can.” She clapped the phone into its receiver and took a deep breath. “Dad. They think he’s had a heart attack.”