The Booster Club

by Angela M. Sanders

  “I’m just tired, that’s all.”

  He moved a step closer. “When you’re on, no one can beat you. You’re a step ahead. I’ve seen it since you were in kindergarten and a kid tried to beat you at jump rope. By the next day you could cross and double-cross and knew those jump rope songs better than anyone else on the playground.”

  Funny he’d remember that. She barely remembered it herself until now. “You’re right, Oz. I need to focus on the San Francisco job.” She leaned against the door. Dear God, she was tired.

  “No more messing with this firehouse business?” He pulled her gently by the wrist.

  “There’s a county commissioners’ meeting next week. I have to go to that.” She could let Ruby and Deborah put together the testimony. She planned to stay in the background, anyway.

  “But you’re just going to watch, right? No more trips to the firehouse?”

  “No. Definitely not. Just the meeting.”

  “Good girl.” He placed an itinerary on the computer. “Here’s your ticket. All in Linda Cabrini’s name.”

  Linda, Rosa Cabrini’s niece, was conveniently in an Indian ashram for the next month. “The costume’s done,” Claudine said. “Honestly, unless something falls through, we’re set.”

  “I ordered the exhibition catalog, too,” Oz said. Claudine opened her mouth to speak, but he cut in. “All anonymously, of course. No one could trace the credit card or mail box.”

  “I was going to say that I know every one of those jewels by heart. I did lots of research before handing off the files to Otto for the dupes.”

  “It’s a nice reminder, though, isn’t it? A little incentive?” Oz leaned over the desk and opened the catalog. “Look at that. The Maharajah’s necklace. Insured for eighteen million dollars.”

  A twenty-three carat yellow diamond, cut in a teardrop, dangled from an equally brilliant collar of diamonds the size of Chiclets. It had been first made for an Indian princess over two hundred years ago. It was the star of Rosa Cabrini’s collection, but it wasn’t Claudine’s favorite. She flipped ahead in the catalog to the item she loved most.

  “I thought you’d like that one,” Oswald said. “It reminds me of you.”

  The photo showed a Cartier panther brooch studded with diamonds and sapphires, familiar to anyone who’d perused photos of Wallis Simpson. It was one of the least valuable items in the collection, but the flicker of blue light in the panther’s eye mesmerized her. The quiet, graceful panther.

  Oswald touched her arm. “Here. Keep it as a reminder not to get distracted by those kids. They’ll do fine. Hell, they’re already doing fine. They obviously got you hooked.” His voice was soft, caressing. “It’s you I’m thinking about. I don’t want anything to get in the way of your success.”

  It would be so nice to believe him, believe that she was his primary concern. But Oz’s primary concern was always the Oz. She’d learned that lesson the hard way. He was right, though, in that she had to keep her focus on the heist. It would be her final job. Her future was riding on it. Once the jewels were liquidated, she’d be free, even after Oswald took his cut. But it didn’t mean she’d let go of the firehouse altogether.

  “As I said, we’re in good shape,” Claudine said. “Thanks. I’m going to make an early night of it, visit Dad at the hospital. He’s coming home tomorrow.”

  “I thought maybe we could get some dinner, you know, spend time together.” The lamp cast shadows over his face, emphasizing his full lips and the dimple on his chin. He touched her arm again, but this time pulled himself closer. He gave off the warm scent of soap and spice.

  Claudine slipped from his grasp and made her way to the front door. She opened it and gestured toward the stairs. “Stay warm. It’s cold out there.”

  His mouth flattened in disappointment. “Oh, I will. Don’t worry about that.”

  * * *

  Later that night, Claudine leaned back from her desk and stretched her arms. Despite telling Oswald she was going to bed early, it was well past midnight and she was reviewing the Cabrini plans once again, making up for her inattention.

  She rose, putting her hands in the small of her back and pulling her shoulders forward to loosen them. In the kitchen, she took a glass of water to the back window and rested against its frame for a moment.

  Once she was set financially, what would she do? She’d been a thief for so long. And not just purses and dresses, like Ruby, or secondhand watches, like Deborah. She’d stolen millions of dollars of jewels, artwork, and historical artifacts. Once she even lifted a Louis XIV bergère on its way to the Frick Museum.

  From her second story perch, Claudine had a clear view into the backyards of the houses on the next street. In the house just to the right, a pale light switched on. A man’s silhouette appeared against the light. He was holding something—a baby. Over the summer, she’d seen the man’s wife grow bigger with child as she puttered in the garden or rested on the patio with a glass of iced tea. Claudine let the curtain drop. Her little apartment felt so quiet.

  The Cabrini heist would seal her place as a world class criminal for the rest of her life. It would also be her ticket to freedom. And a curiously blank future. She set down her glass and leaned against the window frame. Ellie Whiteby—Eleanor Millhouse, now—had certainly settled her own life. Upstanding husband, pillar of the community—not a crack in that façade. Ellie, and her questions about the firehouse.

  She stood straighter. All those questions about the firehouse. On a whim, Claudine went to her laptop and searched for Eleanor Millhouse. Yes, there it was: Eleanor Millhouse, CEO, Fine Properties of Distinction. She was a property developer. A chill ran down her arms.

  The trill of her phone shattered the silence. So late. Could it be about her father?

  “Private,” the caller ID read. Nearly everyone she knew blocked their ID, but not many of them would call this late at night.

  “Hello?” she answered breathlessly.

  “Deanie, it’s Mickey. You were right to put someone on the firehouse. My guy just stopped an intruder.”

  Claudine sucked in her breath. “The kids. Are they all right?”

  “Everything’s fine. For the moment, at least. Jojo was keeping an eye out from the building next door when he saw someone pull up and park down the street, quiet-like, with his lights off.”

  Claudine’s breath left in a gust. “What happened?”

  “He started nosing around the firehouse. Had something in his hands, too, might have been a fuel can and rags.”

  The kids. “Truly?” She wouldn’t.

  “My guy’s been getting attached to the kids. He was tempted to beat the living sheisse out of the stranger but thought it might be more useful to figure out who he was. So he made some noise, like he was a bum coming up the street, and the other guy beat a hasty retreat. The thing is, his license plate was mudded up. No way we could get the number.”

  “He’ll be back,” Claudine said. This was getting a lot bigger than she’d imagined. She put a hand to her face.

  “Yeah. He’ll be back,” Mickey agreed. “I’ve doubled the patrols, but you’re going to have to secure that building properly. Or give it up altogether. I am not joking.”

  12

  When Claudine showed up at Ruby’s back door the next morning, the rising sun cast pink light over the driveway and the row of yellow pansies planted in the kitchen’s window box, complete with the wooden cutout of a Chihuahua pretending to take a leak. The house was a cheerful yellow with cream trim, giving the place the feel of a raucous cupcake. Claudine hadn’t been to Ruby’s Crafty Cuts before, although she’d driven past it scores of times.

  The flounced curtains on the windowed back door moved. Ruby gestured for Claudine to come in. “Bruce is still sleeping,” she whispered. “You want a cup of coffee before we go down to the firehouse?”

  “If you don’t mind.” From the looks of things, the one cup she’d had this morning wouldn’t be enough. Something squeaked
under Claudine’s feet. A dog toy shaped like a hedgehog. Ruby filled two travel mugs.

  Claudine’s car felt instantly brighter with Ruby settling in. Ruby tucked the lilac tote at her feet, and the fragrance of her orange blossom perfume blended with the aromas of coffee and the Mercedes’ old leather seats.

  “A luxury car. Very nice,” Ruby said. “I thought you drove an Accord.”

  “I keep the Accord for business. This one’s for pleasure. I do love this old girl.”

  Ruby turned to her with a look of mild surprise. “Funny, I believe you do. This might be the first time I’ve seen you smile. Apart from with the kids, that is.”

  Claudine concentrated on backing out of the drive. Carsonville’s streets were nearly empty this early in the morning, but a freezing fog overnight had left patches of ice here and there.

  “The car, you didn’t—” Ruby started.

  “No. Bought it. Car theft isn’t my line.”

  Ruby sighed and settled back into the seat. “The kids. Who’d be after them?”

  “That’s all I’ve been thinking about all night. It has to be someone who wants the land. If Jojo hadn’t been there—”

  “Which means it has to be someone who knows we want the land. Brenda never mentioned the location in her story—”

  “It must be someone from the fundraiser,” Claudine said. “I can’t help but wonder if it’s Eleanor Millhouse. I did some research last night, and she has a development company.” Ruby had an obvious fascination with the Women’s League. She glanced at Ruby to gauge her reaction, but couldn’t read her.

  “I know. We should go through the guest list at the fundraiser and see if any of the rest of them have connections in construction, but I’m not sure it matters at this point.” A few moments passed. “It’s not long until the county commissioners’ meeting. Once the firehouse is ours, we’re golden.”

  The commissioners’ meeting couldn’t come too soon for Claudine’s taste. Anyone willing to risk the lives of children wasn’t anyone she wanted to go head to head with. Claudine cranked up the heater another notch.

  “What are we going to do with the kids? I mean, once we convince them they have to leave,” Ruby said.

  “I’m not sure. I guess I’d hoped Deborah would come through for us. She has enough room, but she can’t.”

  “Louie—” Ruby started.

  “Louie,” Claudine said at the same time. “I think she was more upset about it than I was.”

  “I guess the kids could lay out sleeping bags in the salon at night. I wonder if Tinkerbell is good with other dogs?”

  “It’s not ideal. But it’s only until the county commissioners’ meeting.”

  Claudine pulled up to the firehouse. The sun had risen fully now, though the wind was shivering cold. Her travel mug steamed when she set it on top of the car. “There’s a box of donuts in the backseat. Not the healthiest breakfast, but I thought the kids would appreciate them.”

  This earned another surprised look. What kind of heartless person did Ruby think she was?

  “Hugo, especially,” Ruby said.

  A stocky man leaned on a lamp post half a block away. He raised a hand in a salute before moving away, presumably to circle the block. Claudine joined Ruby at the firehouse’s front door. Unless there was an emergency, the sentinel wouldn’t tell her anything anyway. All his reports went through Mickey.

  Ruby rapped their signal foxtrot rhythm on the door and waited for two knocks in return. Silence. After a few minutes they tried again, and after finally hearing the answer, they went to the side window to be let in. Sleep lines creasing his cheek, Hugo, accompanied by a wagging Tinkerbell, greeted them. Sniffing at the pink bakery box, the dog kept trying to stand on her hind legs to get closer. Their breath hung in the air.

  “Down, Tinks,” Hugo said. “You showed up early to bring donuts? That’s awesome.”

  Claudine handed him the box, and he had a maple bar in his mouth before she could reply. “Let’s go upstairs. Are the rest of you up? We have some news, and it’s important.”

  Maple bar suspended from his mouth, Hugo led them up the stairs. The kids were sitting up in the bunks. When they heard Ruby’s voice, they snuggled back under the covers.

  “Is it about the guard you got for us?” Hugo wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Because I really like the guy who came last night. He had dog treats and everything.”

  Smart move, Claudine thought. “It’s about last night, in fact. I don’t want to alarm you, but the guard caught someone trying to break in. He wasn’t able to track him, and I’m afraid he’ll be back.”

  “Wait,” Lucy said. “Someone was going to get us?”

  Joanie put a protective arm around Tinkerbell.

  “We think someone else wants the firehouse—or at least the property it’s sitting on.”

  “Who?” Hugo asked. Amazingly, he hadn’t dived back into the box of donuts. “It was someone at the fundraiser, wasn’t it?”

  “Not sure,” Claudine said.

  “We’re trying to figure that out,” Ruby said.

  “They want to kill us,” Lucy said.

  Ruby patted the girl’s back. “Honey, don’t let your imagination run away with you.”

  “It’s not about you—it’s the firehouse. We’re not going to let anyone hurt you. Besides, no one but us knows you live here. At least, I don’t think so,” Claudine said.

  Hugo watched them talk. Finally, he said, “Have they threatened you guys?”

  Ruby and Claudine exchanged glances. “No. But it looked like he had rags and gasoline. It’s not safe for you to stay here any longer.”

  Claudine braced herself for Hugo’s resistance.

  Hugo drew a breath as if to speak, then looked at his siblings, watching from their beds. “Okay,” he said. “We’ll move.”

  “Good,” Claudine said before he could change his mind. “Let’s pack up. Deborah is on her way. We just need to keep you safe for a week, until we have the firehouse squared away.”

  “Where are we going?” Scotty said.

  “We’re taking Tinkerbell, too, right?”

  Claudine glanced at Ruby. Her house was tiny, and the thought of four kids and a pit bull stuffed into it with Ruby and Bruce and all those Chihuahuas was too much. She’d been generous to offer, and Claudine had thought she’d take her up on it, but she couldn’t do it.

  Claudine let out her breath. “We were thinking about Ruby’s house. But I have another idea. How do you like old people?”

  * * *

  “Really? An old folks home?” Ruby checked the side view mirror. Deborah was following them, her husband’s Land Rover packed with the Rizzio kids, an armchair, and the dog. The bearskin rug and a stack of sleeping bags filled the Mercedes’ back seat. “Are you sure they’ll take kids?”

  “I’m not sure of anything. But the Villa Saint Nicholas is…well, unusual. And safe. We just have to convince the manager he won’t regret it.”

  Claudine pulled the Mercedes into a small parking lot in front of a Spanish-style building with chunks of plaster falling from its walls. Evenly spaced aluminum windows lined one side. An arched portico extended into the parking lot. Two men in wheelchairs rested under the portico, despite the autumn cold. One of the men absently shuffled cards on a lap tray. The cards fanned and reversed direction and arched again with balletic precision. A violently red-headed woman peeked between the blinds of the Villa’s front room.

  “What is this place?” Ruby asked.

  “I told you. A retirement home. Follow me.”

  The wheelchairs swiveled as they entered. A burly man covered in tattoos stood just inside the door.

  “He doesn’t look old enough to be retired.”

  “He works here,” Claudine said. “Why don’t you get Deborah and the kids? Tell them to mind their Ps and Qs.”

  Ruby reluctantly left Claudine just as the tattooed man’s eyebrows came together and his scowl deepened. The heavy fr
ont door shut behind her. A glance back showed Claudine’s expression as implacable as always.

  “What’s going on in there? What is this place?” Deborah asked. Tinkerbell squeezed out the Land Rover’s back door and squatted to pee.

  “Can we get out?” Hugo said from the back seat.

  “In a minute,” Ruby said. Then, to Deborah, “It’s a retirement home. That’s what Claudine says.”

  The tattooed man moved more lightly than his body had led Ruby to guess. He was at the Land Rover in seconds, Claudine behind him. “Kids? Really? You want kids to stay here?”

  “Ruby, Deborah, this is Warren,” Claudine said. “He’s the manager.”

  “Is there a problem, sir?” Deborah looked up at him, probably having little idea of her effect. The man’s face smoothed and his eyes lit up. What was it about Deb? Sure, her features were good, but Ruby tended to the heads of dozens of prettier women. It must be the sheer lack of guile, the goodness and helplessness, that drew men like babes to the teat.

  “I, um—”

  “They’re Wanda’s kids, Warren. They were squatting in an abandoned firehouse. I had Mickey keeping an eye on them, and someone tried to set it on fire. They need a place for only a week. That’s it.”

  “They’re such good children.” Deborah turned to the Land Rover. “Hugo is very responsible. Lucy—that’s her in the middle—is so tidy. It’s amazing. Scotty is a good listener, and you won’t hear a peep out of Joanie. I promise.”

  Tinkerbell bounded around the corner, barreling toward the tattooed man. Claudine visibly stiffened. Shoot, Ruby thought, there goes plan B.

  With one hand, Deb caught Tinkerbell’s collar, halting her just before she would have leapt on Warren. It was only affection, but it looked like aggression. The man, instead of recoiling in fear, broke into a wide grin.

  Deborah touched the man’s bulging upper arm. “Look here.” She traced the outline of a crudely drawn pit bull’s head. “Your tattoo looks just like Tinky. You’re a dog lover.” She gazed into his eyes, smiling.