Where's Hansel and Gretel's Gingerbread House?: A Gabby Grimm Fairy Tale Mystery #2

by Barton, Sara M.

“Do you think they’re important?”

  “I hope so, Net. We need to know why Joe Fortuna disappeared and Mike Alves took over his life.” I took out my cell phone and began to snap photos of the documents, trying to get them clear enough to read. When I was satisfied, I shut it off, pulled out the battery, and tucked both into a side pocket of my over-sized purse. “Now, let’s find an open store, so I can buy a new phone.”

  The benefit of shopping three weeks before Christmas is that lots of stores are open late, so we were in luck. Annette sat in the car while I ran into Target and picked up a Tracfone with an unlimited data plan. I gave the young sales clerk a real sob story about losing my phone while on the road. He was sweet enough to let me use his cell phone to activate the service. I slipped him a ten.

  “Have a little holiday cheer on me, Steve,” I told him.

  “Thanks. Have a good one.”

  “You, too.” I made my way past the late-night shoppers in search of bargains and out the front doors. As I slid into the passenger seat, I threw the box for the phone into my whale of a hobo bag and got to work photographing the documents with the replacement phone. Better safe than sorry.

  “I thought you already did that,” Annette pointed out.

  “This is what I’m sending to Rufus,” I explained. “The others are my back-up copies. I like to make sure I don’t lose the evidence.”

  “That seems like overkill, Gabby.”

  “Maybe so, but if Rufus told me to go to the trouble of buying a new phone, that tells me he was worried. And if he’s worried, I want to make sure we’re covered.”

  “That’s silly. I made all those copies,” she pointed out. “It’s not like you don’t have the real thing in hand.”

  I didn’t have the heart to explain to her my misgivings. Instead, I sent the photos off to Ellie before turning my attention back to the side mirror. For the last ten miles, the same dark sedan was hanging back, keeping a steady pace. All the other drivers on the highway in the wee small hours of the night were zipping past us, but not that one. That’s the benefit of having a cousin who’s a Nervous Nellie behind the wheel. She doesn’t drive all that much, especially in the city. The 2004 sedan was Paul’s, and the widow used it only for the occasional drive to the mall or for trips to visit family and friends. Otherwise, it stayed in the parking slot of her condo garage. When she did drive, it was rare she went over fifty miles an hour. Probably why I usually drove when we went somewhere together.

  Normally, this rate of speed on the wide-open expanse of I-87 was enough to set my teeth on edge, but tonight, I was actually grateful. It was a good part of the reason why I wanted so many copies of the documents. I had a bad feeling about this situation, and I had to agree with Rufus that it was important to take security precautions.

  Two and a half hours later, at quarter to three, we pulled off the highway in Albany for a pit stop at a 24-hour Mobil gas station on Central Avenue. Light snowflakes danced down from the sky like celestial visitors. Even as I looked at my cousin, I could see the fear building up in her. She’s terrified of rain and snow.

  “Pull up to the pump,” I told her. “I’ve got this.”

  “Shouldn’t we let the gas station attendant do it?” she asked naively. I shook my head in wonder. For all her city ways, Nettie really is at a loss when it comes to handling mundane everyday matters. Maybe it was that Paul was always her champion, ready to meet her every need. Or maybe it was that she just never found herself in the position of having to do some things for herself.

  “Watch and learn,” I directed her. “Remember one rule about winter and gas pumps. When the air is dry, get rid of the static electricity before you pump. Not so much of a problem on a night like this. The humidity is up.”

  I swiped my credit card, and lifted the nozzle to the hose. Nettie stepped back, alarmed. With one hand, I popped the door to the gas tank, unscrewed the cap, and loaded the nozzle into the hole. “And if you flip this little metal contraption, the gas pumps, hands free.”

  “Oh, Gabby. You really are something else. You’re so...so competent at everything.” There was a touch of sadness in that voice.

  “Nonsense. Look at you. Look at that gorgeous gingerbread house. A masterpiece of cookie architecture,” I pointed out.

  “Well, I do work for a developer,” she acknowledged. “I’ve picked up some pointers over the years about construction. I just applied them to the gingerbread. Did you know I even put in trusses?”

  “Really?” I laughed at the thought. “Gerhard is going to love this.”

  My father, Gerhard Grimm, is a well-known architectural designer. There is nothing that gets him excited more than good construction.

  “And cross-bracing. The gingerbread house is even based on the model of the carriage houses in Phase Two.”

  Chapter Four --

  “You copied one of the buildings for your development project?”

  “I did. My boss was thrilled,” she confided as I pulled out the hose and returned it to the pump. I grabbed a printed receipt.

  “Impressive. Want me to drive from here?” I asked. I wondered how my sore derriere would fare in the driver’s seat for the next two and a half hours. I’d have to risk it. There was no way Annette was going to last through even a dusting of snow. Nothing for me to do but take some Advil and suck it up. Thank God we hadn’t drowned our sorrows in that bottle of wine. I needed to be alert. Holding out my hand, I waited for the hand-off. “Keys.”

  “Are you sure? You’re still in a lot of pain. I don’t want you to....”

  “Nettie, I’m happy to drive the rest of the way. You’re unfamiliar with the route, you hate driving in the snow, and I’m a much better driver. Besides,” I teased. “I want to get there before Christmas.”

  In the darkness, I could feel her relief. It was in her tiny groan and the way she quickly thrust the keychain into my waiting hand. I got into the driver’s seat and turned on the engine as she got in beside me. Less than thirty seconds later, I had pulled into a parking space in front of the Mobil station’s all-night convenience store. I grabbed the Frist documents in one hand as I climbed out of the passenger side, threw my purse over my shoulder, and after shutting the door, I pushed the lock button on the remote. Popping the trunk of the Corolla, I handed my purse to Nettie and carefully examined the Christmas scene in front of me.

  “Does this roof come off?” I wondered. “Can I lift up the house?”

  “No, Gabby. Everything is cemented to the board with royal icing.”

  “Shoot,” I moaned. And then I saw it, that small window of opportunity. “What’s with the snow?”

  “What do you mean?” Annette hovered over my shoulder. She pointed to the batting that covered the top of the miniature winter landscape. “This stuff?”

  “Can I get into it without ruining everything?”

  “Why?”

  “I want to hide the papers in there. Can I do it?”

  “Maybe, if you roll up the documents.” She got busy poking a small hole in the soft, cottony snow. I grabbed an elastic hair band from my makeup case and rolled the documents as tightly as I could. Carefully slipping the tube of papers through the tiny hole in the batting, I maneuvered them into position and they suddenly bolstered a nice little ledge of snow behind the gingerbread house.

  “Gee, that looks good, Gabby. You’d never even know they’re there.”

  “Except for the hole in the batting,” I pointed out.

  “Not for long,” she grinned. She reached around me and grabbed a plastic case. “My stash. Ah, here we go. Thumbtacks.”

  In a matter of a few seconds, not only had she fastened the tube of papers to the board, she had concealed the opening under the batting. For all intents and purposes, this gingerbread house was merely the quintessential holiday decoration, to be enjoyed and admired. When she stood up again, I gave it my approval. Glancing over my left shoulder, I could see that dark sedan parked a good fifty yards away, sheltered b
y shadows. Where was the driver?

  “Now, how about a quick trip to the ladies room and a cup of coffee?” I suggested.

  There was a lone clerk behind the counter in the small convenience store attached to the gas station. We nodded to the young Asian woman on our way to the ladies room.

  “At least the place is clean,” said my cousin as she disappeared in one of the two stalls. I took the other. “If there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s a dirty bathroom.”

  “Tell me about it,” I agreed.

  Moments later, I came out of the stall and washed my hands. The glare of the fluorescent lights at that time of night was scary. As I looked at my face in the mirror, I could see bags under my eyes. It had been a tough couple of days.

  “Not the most flattering light,” I noted as my cousin ran a brush through her hair at the sink beside me.

  “I told you you look like crap, Gabby.”

  “Gee, you’re too kind,” I laughed. She had a point. That tumble off the roof of the Kinsey Building had left me feeling ancient. The first thing I was going to do when we got to Black Forest Farm was to drop her off at Gerhard and Ervina’s. The second thing would be to take a long, hot bath. I could already imagine how good it would feel to soak away the aches and pains in all that lovely water. And then I would climb into my nice, comfy bed and pull my down comforter over my exhausted body, shutting my eyes for a hundred years. At least I was still on disability leave from that fall, so I wasn’t expected back at the sheriff’s office until Monday at the earliest. I followed my cousin out the door of the restroom, down the short hall, and into the store, where we gazed at the coffee carafes lined up on the counter.

  “Snickerdoodle.” Nettie grabbed a paper cup and helped herself.

  “That sounds Christmas-y,” I decided, following suit. As I was putting the lid on my cup, I noticed the outside door open and two men stumble in. I let my eyes take in the details. Caucasian teenagers, wearing knit caps, dark jackets, acting twitchy. The cop in me reached instinctively for my Glock as they leaned over the counter, where the clerk was suddenly cowering. That’s when I remembered I locked it in the glove compartment of Annette’s Toyota. “Crap.”

  I left the cup on the counter and grabbed my cousin’s elbow to move her out of the way, even as I dialed 911.

  “What’s your emergency?” the operator asked.

  “Robbery in progress. The Mobil station on Central Avenue, just off I-87. Two suspects. They’ve just threatened the clerk,” I announced quietly. Even as I gave my name, I pulled Nettie down behind the store shelf, out of sight. A lot of good it did me. They must have spotted us in the circular security mirror at the front of the store.

  “Hey, there’s two customers!” an excited male voice shouted as he came around the corner. I cringed, knowing what that meant. “Give me your purses!”

  “No!” said Nettie firmly.

  “Hurry up, lady! I’m not kidding around!”

  “Tell them, Gabby! Tell them you’re a deputy!”

  “Annette, that’s not really a good idea...,” I started to say.

  “She’ll bust your butt!” said the defiant crime-buster. Even as I pulled her up to her feet, I raised my hands in the air reluctantly. The rule of survival is that when you’re staring down the barrel of a loaded gun and you’re unarmed, consider cooperating until you run out of options, your back is against the wall, and there’s no other way to avoid an untimely death. There are few purses in this world that I would surrender my life to save. After all, a handbag is only a few pieces of leather stitched together. Better not to aggravate the hopped-up thief with a drug problem, because impulse control is one of the first things to go on an addict.

  “They don’t care if I’m a deputy sheriff,” I said in an even tone, hoping to figure out how I was going to prevent these two idiots from stealing my purse, and the evidence with it.

  “This one’s a cop!” the young man in the dark jacket hollered over his shoulder.

  “Damn!” grunted the second man holding the frightened store clerk. “Shoot her!”

  “What?” the three of us asked at the same time. I could feel Nettie’s fear as the realization fell upon her like two feet of packed powder on the ski trail. She was suddenly a mass of quivering jelly and I had all I could do to hold her upright.

  “Kill them!” came the command again.

  “Hold on there, son,” I told the young man in front of me. “That’s not really a good idea.”

  Even as I spoke, I was moving away from my cousin, hoping to divert the young gunman’s attention. If I was going to get shot, I wanted to see the face of the other guy giving the order. Backing up towards the front counter, I led the teenage boy in the black knit cap along with me. Nettie had the good sense to drop to her knees and hug the floor as we disappeared out of sight. A moment later, we were out in the open, moving towards the cashier’s counter.

  “Whoa! Jason, what the hell are you doing? I told you to pop them.”

  “I’m not going to shoot her! Geez, Marky. We’re robbing a convenience store. Get the money and let’s go!”

  “She can identify us!” Marky insisted, his gun pointed at the clerk’s head. I could see the poor woman tearing up as she shivered in the tight grasp of a very shaky gunman. I wondered if he was on something. Meth, maybe. Or crack. Was he past the point I could reason with him?

  “So?” Jason was baffled. “That doesn’t mean we have to kill her!”

  “Hey,” I piped in.”I’m from Vermont. I’m not even allowed to arrest you guys. I was just driving home to Burlington with my cousin.”

  “Get her gun!” Marky told Jason, waving his weapon in our direction.

  “I don’t actually have it here, guys. I left it locked in the glove compartment out in the car. In the parking lot. In the Toyota Corolla,” I added helpfully. “It’s not going to do me much good at the moment, is it?”

  Even as I turned on the feminine charm, trying desperately to convince them I was pretty harmless, I could hear the sirens wailing down the avenue. Talk about bad timing. Or was it good? Hard to tell at the moment.

  “Aw, damn!” Marky heard it, too. “The cops!”

  “Maybe they’re not coming here,” Jason offered, ever the optimist.

  “Oh, they’re coming here! They’re definitely coming here!” Marky panicked. He knew fate was finally catching up to him. “I’m on parole! I can’t afford to get caught!”

  “Ouch!” cried the clerk as Marky shoved her in my direction and aimed his handgun. I caught her as she came skidding at me.

  “Drop it!” From out of nowhere came a male voice, and when Marky hesitated, trying to track the sound, I heard a ping, followed by a loud crash as a bottle of Gatorade exploded right by Marky’s black-capped head. “Now!”

  Jason quickly complied, Marky not so much. A second shot came closer.

  “Now! Drop the weapon!”

  This time, the young gunman lowered his handgun, shaky fingers quivering, and laid it on the floor, but even as he did, I could see him trying to figure out if he could still save himself. We couldn’t see the sniper and that left Marky with few options.

  “Don’t even think about it! Hands on your heads!” commanded that determined male voice again. I know the sound of law enforcement when I hear it.

  Even as Marky and Jason complied, uniformed officers were approaching cautiously. I could see them at the door, weapons drawn. They looked a little confused when they saw the two suspects with their hands on top of their heads, and they weren’t the only ones. I was a little confused myself. But I knew an opportunity when I saw one. Gingerly stepping past Jason and Marky, I collected the weapons on my way to the door to invite the cops in. Even as they brushed past me, I could see another patrol car arriving on the scene. When it rolled to a stop in front of the store, I handed over the two weapons to the cop emerging from the driver’s seat.

  “Suspects disarmed. Deputy Sheriff Gabriella Grimm, Latimer Falls, Vermont.�
��

  “Sergeant Paul Rushmore,” he replied. “Any injuries?”

  I gave him a rundown, explaining that I had no real role in disarming the suspects. “We couldn’t see the cop. He came in through the back.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” said the officer as he held the door open for me. “All my guys are right here.”

  We both went towards the back of the store. Where was Annette? “My cousin stayed hidden. She’s got to be around here somewhere.”

  “I don’t see her,” said the cop, checking the aisles. “Maybe she snuck out the back door.

  Sure enough, the latch was undone. I poked my head out, looking for Annette. No luck. Maybe she went and hid by the car.

  “Annette?” I called out. “It’s okay now. The cops are here!”

  “Gabby!” She stood up from the shadows of her Toyota Corolla and promptly burst into tears. “Oh, that was terrible!”

  “Did you see the cop who came through the back door?” I asked. We needed to find the guy. After all, there would be an incident report to write, and the local force needed the information.

  “What cop?”

  “The one who came through the back door.”

  “I didn’t see any cop. There was a guy in jeans, but he left as soon as the police cars arrived.”

  Chapter Five --

  “Ma’am,” said Sergeant Rushmore, “is there any chance you saw him? Can you give us a description?”

  “I don’t know. Average, maybe. He had a dark baseball cap on and his collar up. I didn’t really see him. Once I got out of there, I just ran like crazy and hid. Gabby, I’m so sorry I told those guys you were a deputy.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Nettie. Now, did you see him get into his car?”

  “Yes, but I couldn’t see much. He parked way down there.” She pointed to the spot where I had seen the dark sedan. “I think it was a big car.”

  There it was, the little piece of information I needed. We were being followed by a cop, not a thug. He saved our lives and then took off. This thing with Annette and Joe Fortuna must be a very big deal indeed, if we merited this kind of a professional tail.