by V. M. Burns
“Surely she wouldn’t be dumb enough…” She shook her head. “Never mind. Apparently, she is.”
Stephanie hopped out of the car and marched to the back of the building. Dixie and I hurried after her.
When we got inside, Bambi was in Albert’s office at the back of the building. His desk had obviously been rifled through, and papers and drawers were all over the place. However, knowing my husband as I did, I couldn’t necessarily blame all of that mess on Bambi. There was a metal lockbox on top of the desk, and Bambi was standing over it with a screwdriver to break the lock. When we flipped on the lights, she had just managed to get the lock open, and she stood there with her purse on the desk and a hand full of cash.
“Drop it,” Stephanie yelled.
Bambi looked like a deer caught in the headlights for a split second but then quickly shoved the money into her purse and tried to run. Unfortunately for her, she was wearing a miniskirt and six-inch hooker heels. She tripped over a desk drawer that was on the floor. By the time she regained her footing, Stephanie had pounced on her. She grabbed Bambi’s large purse, which left her slightly off balance. One shove and Bambi toppled over, landing on her butt. She scrambled to stand up.
“Sit tight, you dim-witted bimbo, or I’ll deflate those weather balloons of yours.” Dixie pulled out a large gun and pointed it directly at Bambi. “I’ve got me a whitetail in my sights, and I’ll drop you so fast you won’t know what hit you.”
Bambi looked up with eyes as large as half dollars. Her mouth open, she sat back down and held up both hands.
Stephanie handed me the business card of the blue-eyed policeman. “Call this number.” Stephanie grabbed Bambi’s purse. “I’ll hold on to the evidence.”
I pulled out my cell phone and dialed.
By the time the police arrived, Bambi was a basket case. She had cried and blubbered so much she’d begun to hyperventilate. My fingers itched to slap her as Dixie had me when the police told me Albert was dead, but when I suggested it, she suddenly managed enough control to stop crying and breathe.
Our blue-eyed policeman walked in cautiously, with his hand on his holster. He dropped the cold-as-ice façade enough to permit a twinge to the corner of his lips before hardening his mask.
“They know perfectly well I wasn’t stealing that money,” Bambi whined.
I started to respond, but it was a lot more fun watching Stephanie and Officer Harrison pick her apart. Dixie and I sat down on the sofa and watched.
Stephanie stood over Bambi, who was now sitting on a chair. “We found you with a screwdriver in your hand, breaking the lock off of the petty cash box and shoving the bills in your purse.”
“But I wasn’t stealing it.”
“What would you call it?”
“Al would have wanted me to have that money. When he was alive, he was always giving me money.”
“Did he put that in writing?”
“Well, no, he didn’t get a chance to write it down.”
“So, in fact, you have no proof he wanted you to have the money, is that right?”
Bambi poked out her lip. “He would have written it down. We were going to be married. We lived together, and that’s just like being married. I’m his wife in common.”
“How long did you live with Mr. Echosby?” Blue Eyes asked innocently.
“Six months,” she said triumphantly.
Blue Eyes said, “Wasn’t Mr. Echosby already married?”
“Yeah, but he was getting a divorce.” She shot me an angry glare.
“So, he was in no position to marry you because he was already married—and the term you’re looking for is common law wife.” Stephanie paced. “However, I doubt very seriously that any court in this country would consider you his common law wife.” She held up her fingers and ticked off each argument. “He already had a wife. You only lived together for six months, when in most cases, couples would need to live together for years. He never referred to you as his wife in front of his friends or family. To the best of my knowledge, and having talked to his attorney just this morning, I know he did not provide any written documents indicating you were his wife, or anything more than his piece of—”
“Stephanie!” I yelled.
“Sorry, Mom.”
Bambi’s eyes got wider and filled with tears. “But he said he was going to change his insurance and make sure I was taken care of.”
“Do you have any proof of that?” Stephanie asked.
Bambi hopped up and stared at me. “This is all your fault.”
Officer Harrison had heard enough. He grabbed Bambi by the arm. “I don’t think you understand your position.”
Bambi looked at him. “Oh, I understand they’re trying to cheat me out of the money Al wanted me to have.”
Stephanie threw up her hands and walked away.
Officer Harrison spoke slowly, as though talking to a child. “Miss”—he flipped through his notes and hesitated a moment before continuing—“Love.”
Dixie punched me in the arm. “You have got to be kidding me, Bambi Love?”
I shook my head in disbelief.
“Miss Love, regardless of what you think Mr. Echosby wanted, the bottom line is he’s dead. So, unless you can produce some written proof showing you have a legal right to enter this property and take this money, I’m afraid, in the eyes of the law, you are stealing. So, if Mrs. Echosby wants you arrested, there’s nothing I can do.”
It took a few seconds for the words to sink in, but eventually Bambi realized things didn’t look good for her. In a split second, she turned on the waterworks and burst into tears. She leaned against Officer Harrison’s chest and cried.
Stephanie looked like she would like nothing better than to take Dixie’s gun and shoot Bambi on the spot.
“We’re not going to press charges.” I suddenly felt tired and old.
“But, Mom, I can’t believe you’re going to let her go free?” Stephanie pleaded. “With the money.”
Bambi stopped bawling and glanced in my direction.
“Let her have the money.” I got up and faced her. “On a couple of conditions.”
She looked at me. “What?”
“You take the money and go find yourself another meal ticket.” I stood inches from her face and looked her dead in the eyes. “You don’t come to the funeral. You don’t call. You don’t bother any members of our family, especially Albert’s mother. You disappear, and I won’t press charges.”
“Miss Love, I think you should accept the offer. If you don’t, you’ll end up back in jail, and that would violate your parole,” Officer Harrison said softly.
She paused. “What about the car?”
Dixie snorted, and Stephanie raised her hands in frustration.
“Take it,” I said.
Bambi smiled and nodded. She snatched her bag from Officer Harrison and walked out of the office.
“The car? I can’t believe you let her keep the car,” Stephanie said.
“I’d never be able to look at that car without puking. It seemed a good way to get rid of it.”
Dixie and Stephanie laughed. Even Officer Harrison cracked a quick smile.
Stephanie turned to him. “Parole? She’s on parole?”
Officer Harrison nodded. He looked around to make sure no one else was nearby, then said, “Solicitation.”
I shuddered. My husband had left me for a prostitute. I wasn’t sure if that made me feel better or worse about the betrayal.
There were two other salesmen, a bookkeeper, and an office manager who worked for Albert. They waited in the front lobby while we dealt with Bambi. I considered closing the dealership, but I knew the salesmen depended on the commission they made from selling cars. Both men were married with families to support, so I was reluctant to close. Albert’s brother, Vinnie, had worked
at the used car lot for several years. I called and asked if he would help keep the car lot open while we figured out what to do. I was thankful he agreed. Vinnie was the middle brother, in between Albert and Gino. He was hardworking and quiet. I never learned what had happened between him and Albert. Whenever I asked, Albert simply said it was family business.
Officer Harrison helped me get the books and Albert’s laptop into my SUV.
“Where’s your partner?” I asked as I held the rear hatch of the SUV open so he could load the equipment in the back.
Officer Harrison looked puzzled for a brief moment, then nodded. “Oh, you mean Jim? Officer Kelly isn’t my partner. I was just working overtime and got assigned to him. His regular partner had the flu.” He pointed to his patrol car parked near the front door. The motor was running. Painted on the side was Lighthouse Dunes K-9 Unit. Inside the car, the entire backseat had been removed and there was a large, brownish-colored dog. “That’s my partner.”
The dog paced in the back of the car.
“Is that a plott hound?” Dixie asked.
Officer Harrison stared in awe. “You’re the first person to correctly guess his breed.”
Dixie had obviously risen in Officer Harrison’s opinion.
“He’s beautiful. Is he a purebred plott?” She craned her neck to get a better look.
He nodded. “Yep. I’ve got papers to prove it.” He cracked the first smile we’d seen. “We got our first plott about three years ago and fell in love with the breed. They were bred to hunt bears, and they have a keen sense of smell, an amazing work ethic, and drive.”
“You sound like a teacher,” Stephanie said.
“Sorry, I do a lot of presentations at local schools.” He smiled. “I guess I get excited talking about dogs. They’re my passion.”
“Mine too.” Dixie asked, “Can we see him?”
“Sure. I need to take him out anyway.” Officer Harrison went to his patrol car, which was exceptionally nice as far as patrol cars went. The Chevy Charger had been retrofitted to accommodate the dog.
We stayed well back from the vehicle while he got the dog out of the car. He took the dog for a quick potty break and then brought him over. “This is Turbo.”
Turbo paced anxiously around Officer Harrison.
“He’s beautiful. I show dogs, but I’ve only seen a handful of plott hounds. Are they common in police work?” Dixie asked.
“Not really, although they are getting more recognition. They’re hounds that were bred to track bear and wild boar. So, they’re not only good for tracking and nose work, but they are fearless. We used to use bloodhounds for tracking, but they’re not great for bite work and protection. We have German shepherds and Czech shepherds, but plotts originated in the States, and we have a good breeder in North Carolina who donates some of his dogs every year to police departments.”
“That’s great. How are they with people?” I squinted at the dog. My only experience of what police K-9 dogs were capable of came from watching television, which I admit wasn’t the best source for accurate information.
However, even dog lover, trainer, and competitor Dixie kept her distance. She cautioned us, “I’ve done some Schutzen training, and tracking, and I would recommend that you don’t make sudden aggressive moves.”
“Really?” I racked my brain, trying to figure out what an eighty-pound dog would consider sudden or aggressive. I then had an overwhelming desire to sneeze, which I focused all of my mental ability to squelch.
“Turbo is three years old, and I’ve had him since he was six weeks old.” He petted the dog affectionately.
“Does he live with you?” Stephanie asked.
“Yeah. He’s with me almost twenty-four-seven.”
He walked Turbo by us. We stood perfectly still and allowed him to sniff. For some reason, Turbo stuck his nose in my crotch and refused to move on.
I nearly wet my pants but tried to lighten the mood. “I’ll bet he smells our poodles.”
Turbo’s attention to me had me extremely uncomfortable. At one point, he began licking my thighs.
Officer Harrison pulled him off. “That’s odd. He’s never acted like that.”
Dixie laughed. “I’ve seen that behavior before.”
“Well, I wish you’d tell me what I’ve done to attract such attention so I’ll be sure not to do it again.”
“You had Aggie on your lap this morning.”
“So what?”
“She hasn’t been spayed and she may be in heat.”
My mouth dropped open and I stared. “You have got to be kidding me.”
Officer Harrison cracked a brief smile. “That explains a lot. We train them to ignore just about every possible distraction you can imagine. But a bitch in heat is one thing that is hard for a male to ignore.”
“Apparently,” I said as Turbo tried to leap up my leg.
Officer Harrison yanked him off. “I better put him back in the car.”
I breathed a heavy sigh of relief when Turbo was removed. I tried to ignore the snickering I heard on either side of me and didn’t bother looking at them. “Shut up.”
They laughed out loud.
We got in our vehicle. I checked both ways, put the car in reverse, and backed out. From the corner of my eye, I saw a red flash. A car pulled into the lot from the wrong direction and nearly collided with us. I slammed on the brakes and screeched to a halt as a cherry-red convertible barely missed taking off the rear of my car.
The driver laid on the horn and screamed profanities that would have made a sailor blush as he swung into a parking space next to the building.
I sat for several seconds and recovered my composure. My heart raced and my hands shook. I took a deep breath and turned to make sure Dixie and Stephanie were okay.
As soon as the car stopped, Dixie hopped out. She hurried to within inches of the rude driver, pulled her nearly six-foot frame up to its full height, and launched into a series of profanities that included hand gestures and southern idioms, which I’d need to look up later.
I climbed out of the car more slowly and gave my legs a minute to stiffen from their loose noodle state, then walked over to the shouting fest.
Officer Harrison saw the entire incident and pulled back into the lot and parked his vehicle. He quickly got out of his car and hurried to settle things.
“If these senile old ladies would stick to the nursing home circuit, our streets would be a lot safer,” the arrogant young man yelled.
“I’ll show you a senile old lady.” Dixie reached into her purse.
I grabbed her arm to prevent her from pulling out a gun, especially in front of a policeman.
“Chip?” Stephanie came up behind me.
The young man stopped screaming and stared.
“You know this person?” Officer Harrison asked.
On closer inspection, I realized Stephanie was correct. Our foul-mouthed, arrogant drag racer was none other than Charles Nelson III, aka Chip, the only child of Charles and Marilyn Nelson.
Chip stared. “Stephanie?” His eyes roved up and down her body and looked at her like a dog with a new bone. “Little Stephanie Echosby.” He grinned.
Dixie made a retching noise, which reminded Chip there were others present.
He turned to me. “And the beautiful Mrs. Echosby.” He had the good sense to blush at the realization that not only had he nearly collided with his boss’s wife and daughter, but he had been swearing at them in front of a police officer, no less. “Well, I guess it’s too late to say I’m sorry.” He turned on the charm and smiled broadly.
“It’s never too late to use good manners,” Dixie said.
Chip bowed low with a sweeping gesture and then held up both hands in a pleading gesture. “Then I humbly apologize. I have no excuse for my bad behavior, other than to say I was overwr
ought with grief at the horrible news that Mr. Echosby was burglarized and shot.” He turned and bowed to each of us. “Please, please, please forgive me.”
Dixie looked like she was two seconds away from putting him over her knee.
“May I see your license and registration?” Officer Harrison asked.
Chip plastered on a fake smile. “Look, we had a near-fender-bender.” He placed both hands on his chest. “It was totally my fault, and I take full responsibility, but there was no collision. No damage was done. No harm, no foul.”
Officer Harrison stared unblinking. “You were traveling above the speed limit. You went the wrong way on a one-way street, and were it not for Mrs. Echosby’s quick reflexes, you would have hit a car carrying three people. You were reckless and failed to use your turn signal.” Still, Officer Harrison hadn’t blinked, but a vein on the side of his forehead had begun to pulse. “Your license and registration.”
Chip’s smile faded. He sighed and pulled his license from his wallet. Then he reached down and retrieved his registration from the glove compartment of his car and handed them over.
Officer Harrison took them back to his vehicle.
Chip looked annoyed. “I have a ton of unpaid parking and speeding tickets, and one more moving violation is going to mean points on my license.” He stared at us. “Unless you have some pull with the officer. Or…” He reached for his wallet and pulled out a wad of bills.
Officer Harrison walked back in time to see the wallet and Chip with a handful of bills. The policeman’s normal icy demeanor hardened to one of pure granite. He stared unblinking. “I certainly hope you aren’t planning to offer me a bribe,” he said slowly and deliberately. He flicked back his jacket so his holster, holding his gun, and handcuffs were exposed. He kept his hand on the holster and his eyes fixed on Chip.