by Gayle Trent
Claire nodded. “She started a couple weeks into the school year. She was really behind in math class; and since Crimson makes some of the best grades in class, Ms. Kuzco asked her to tutor Al a few afternoons after school.”
“So that’s how they became friends.”
“Yep,” she said, flicking an ant off the top step. “Now they’re thicker than thieves.”
“Speaking of thieves, have you heard anything about those robberies around here?”
Claire bit her bottom lip. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”
“Do you know something that might help me and Officer Brody find out who’s been doing this?”
“I said I don’t wanna talk about it.”
I put my hand on her shoulder. “Please, baby, if you know something, tell me. I promise not to tell who told.”
She put her head in her hands. “I can’t.”
At least, I believe that’s what she said. It was muffled.
“They have that on all them detective shows on television. Never reveal your sources. That’s what they say. And sometimes when they’re talkin’ about true stories, they’ll even black out the people’s faces so you can’t tell who they are.” I shook my head. “Still, I often wonder if it was somebody you knew, if you’d be able to tell it was them anyway. You know what I mean? Say, they said it was an anonymous source that worked at the Piggly Wiggly, and I knew you worked at the Piggly Wiggly and—”
“Crimson,” she said.
“What, sweetie?” I was still tryin’ to get my mind around whether or not I could recognize an anonymous source with a blacked out face if it was somebody I knew. I believe I could. Even if their voice was disguised, I think I could do it.
“Crimson.”
I looked over at Claire. “What about her?”
“I think….” She bit her lip again. “I think she might be involved with the robberies.”
Chapter Two
“What?” I shook my head. “We didn’t raise Sunny up to be no crook.”
“I know you didn’t, Ms. Crumb.” She had her head down again and wouldn’t look at me.
“What makes you think Sunny would steal?”
She still wouldn’t look up. “She’s different since she’s been hanging with Al.”
“Different how?”
Again with the shoulder lift. “Like I said before, Al’s all she cares about. She wants to be like Al…wants to look like her, dress like her, do the same kinda stuff Al does. She thinks Al is so cool.”
“What about you?” I asked. “Do you think Al’s cool?”
She shook her head.
“What kind of stuff does Al do?”
“She runs with high-school boys…reads trashy books…stuff like that.” She finally looked up at me. “Sometimes I see her out in the hall when she’s supposed to be in class, and sometimes she smells like smoke.”
“If she’s out in the hall when she ought to be in class, maybe she’s the one who’s stealing things.”
“Maybe.”
“Then what makes you think it’s Sunny?”
“I saw her with a clarinet the day after that one was stolen from the band room.”
DIVIDER HERE
When I got home, I was pooped. Not just from doin’ an honest day’s work—and a free one at that—but I was tired emotionally, too. I hadn’t talked with Officer Brody about what Claire had said. I wasn’t ready to do that yet. Besides, just because Claire saw Sunny with a clarinet, what did that mean? There were any number of reasons why Sunny would be carrying around a clarinet. Maybe she was holding it for one of her friends who was in the band.
I let Matlock in from the backyard and then I plopped into the recliner by the picture window. Matlock put his big head in my lap and sighed. He always knew when something was going on.
“Remember Sunny’s friend Claire?” I asked him. He’d met her once when Sunny brought Claire over for one of our Saturday visits. It was rare for her to let anyone else tag along, but she’d really wanted to show off the dog. It wasn’t long after I’d adopted Matlock from the pound.
“Well,” I continued, “she now seems to be of the opinion that our little Sunny is a kleptomaniac.” I stroked his head. “I came in a hair tellin’ Officer Brody that I was taking myself off this case. I mean, how would it look if poor little Sunny was brought down by her own Mimi?”
Matlock cocked his head like he was giving that some thought.
“On the other hand, if she was stealing, maybe it’d be best if I was the one to uncover it. Me and Faye could very quietly give back whatever Sunny took and make things right with the school, and we could get Sunny help if she needs it.” I leaned back, making the recliner’s foot rest pop up. Matlock moved his head onto the arm of the chair. “Because if she’s stealing, it has to be some psychological thing, Matlock, don’t you think?”
I bent over and kissed the top of his head.
“Sunny wouldn’t steal because she needed something, for goodness’ sake. What Faye fails to get the young ‘un, I go out and get her myself.”
The whole ordeal was too depressing for Matlock. He heaved another big sigh and laid down next to the recliner.
I’d just closed my eyes and prepared to take a little nap to help me figure things out when I heard the school bus run. I got up and went to the front door. The bus doesn’t go all the way up into our cul de sac—no place to turn around—and I wanted to catch Lenny as he went by.
He saw me standing at the door and threw up his hand.
I opened the door and hollered at him. “Lenny, if it wouldn’t be too much trouble, could you come over here in a little bit? I need your help with something.”
“Sure,” he said. “I’ll go put down my backpack and be right back.”
He was true to his word. I’d barely got back to the recliner when the doorbell rang. He’s a good young ‘un. He really is.
“Whatcha need, Ms. Crumb?” He bent and scratched Matlock behind the ears. “I still can’t get over you gettin’ a purebred, housebroke Chocolate Lab at the pound.”
I smiled. “He’s been a blessing, that’s for sure. Come on in here to the kitchen.”
Lenny and Matlock both followed me. I told them to sit down, so Lenny dropped his lanky frame into a chair and Matlock sat on the floor beside Lenny. Matlock’s such a big dog, his butt wouldn’t fit in a kitchen chair no way.
I got down my recipe box. “Are you good with figures?”
Lenny spread his hands. “I get B’s in Algebra.”
“That’s good enough for me,” I said. “I volunteered at the middle school cafeteria today and was ashamed at what we were dishin’ out to them young ‘uns.”
“It is pretty bad sometimes.”
Matlock licked his chops. Of course, he’ll eat purt near anything.
“I can’t fix them a whole meal,” I said, “but tomorrow they’re at least gettin’ some homemade brownies.”
“Cool!”
“And since you’re gonna help me figure up how much of everything it’ll take to make seven hundred brownies, I’m makin’ you a batch all your own.”
“Did you say seven hundred?”
I nodded and got out my mixing bowl.
“I’m gonna need some paper and a pencil,” he said.
By the time the brownies were in the oven, we’d decided that I needed forty-four times what my recipe called for. My recipe yielded sixteen brownies; forty-four times that would give us seven hundred and four.
I hadn’t really needed Lenny’s help with the figuring; but after we started getting down to the nuts and bolts of it, I was glad I’d had the help.
“Where you gonna git all this stuff?” Lenny asked.
“At the grocery store.”
Now, you know I’m on a fixed income, but I really wanted to do something special for those young ‘uns. I realized it was gonna cost me nearly a hundred and fifty dollars and be a heck of a lot of work to make a middle-school-sized batch of brownies. I was
beginning to understand the “why’s” and “wherefores” of how come lunch in the cafeteria was what it was. Still, I figured I could swing a one-time treat. I’d put it on my credit card until payday.
“How you gonna git all that stuff home?” Lenny asked.
“Huh?” I’d been caught up in my own thoughts and hadn’t paid a bit of attention to what he’d said.
“Why don’t you let me go with you and help you carry all that stuff?”
“All right. I’ll check the brownies, and you call Delphine and make sure it’s okay.”
The brownies were done, and I sat the pan on top of the stove to cool. I pushed it to the back in case Matlock got curious while we were gone. He never had before, but brownies can be awfully tempting…especially mine.
Lenny came back into the kitchen from the living room where he’d gone to call Delphine. “She said it’s all right. She thinks you’re crazy for makin’ seven hundred brownies, but she’s lettin’ me go with you.”
“Good.” I kissed Matlock on top of the head again. “You be a good boy. We’ll have supper when I get back.”
Me and Lenny piled into the Buick. He’s about 6’4”, so his chin was nearly perched on his knees, but I couldn’t move the seat back any and still reach the pedals even though I’m not a short woman by any means. By way of apology I said, “You can listen to whatever you want on the radio. Right now it’s tuned to Sunny’s station, but you can change it.”
He turned on the radio. “This station rocks.” He started bobbing his head to the music.
“Have you heard of a new girl named Alicia or Al?” I asked. “She goes over to the middle school.”
“Alicia Granger? Yeah, she’s hot…uh…I mean—”
“No, that’s okay,” I said. “I saw her at the school today. I can see where her appearance might make a young man’s temperature rise.”
Lenny didn’t say anything and turned to look out the window.
“How do you know this Alicia?”
“She goes out with Chase. He’s a friend of mine.” He cleared his throat. “How…uh…how’d you know Al?”
“She and Sunny have hit it off. I don’t think Sunny’s friend Claire likes her, though.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know.” I stopped at a red light and looked over at Lenny. “Claire seems to think Alicia is loose.”
Lenny scrunched up his face.
“Wild,” I said.
He got an “ah” look on his face, nodded, and looked back out the window.
The light changed, and I drove on. “Is she?”
“What?” Lenny asked.
“Is she wild?”
“I don’t know. She’s Chase’s girlfriend. I don’t know that much about her.”
“Let me put it this way.” I turned into the Wiggly Pig parking lot. “If you had a sister, would you want her hanging around with this Alicia Granger?”
He let out a big long breath.
I wheeled into a parking space and turned to look at him. “Well?”
“Probably not,” he said. “But whatcha gonna do?”
“Good question.”
I was glad he’d volunteered to come to the store with me. You should’ve seen the weird looks we got when we strolled up to the checkout counter with our two buggies filled with eight packages of butter, fourteen packages of semi-sweet chocolate chips, eleven dozen eggs, three bottles of vanilla, plus a combined weight of thirty-nine pounds of sugar and twenty-two pounds of flour. When I looked at all that, it made me wonder if I was doing the right thing giving all that chocolate and sugar and butter to hormonal teenagers. Then I decided, yeah, it was the right thing. Everybody needs a good brownie every once in a while. But the poor Buick. After me and Lenny got everything loaded into the trunk, its old butt was practically draggin’ the pavement.
DIVIDER HERE
That night Matlock and I decided to turn in early. “It Happened One Night” was coming on, and I had to get up before daylight to get to the school and make brownies. We’d left everything but the butter and eggs in the trunk, so that’d help me as far as getting the stuff from the house. Getting it into the lunchroom was gonna be a whole other ballgame. But I’d worry about that in the morning.
I patted the bed, and Matlock jumped up and stepped over me to get to his side of the bed. I turned on the television.
“This is a good movie,” I told him. “I’ve seen it at least half a dozen times. So if you fall asleep, don’t worry. I’ll tell you how it ends.”
Matlock wagged his tail.
The phone rang. Does it ever fail? I started not to answer it because I was afraid it was Faye calling to see if I’d found out anything from Sunny or from snooping around the school. I figure that with Sunny being aggravated at me, she told her mother on me. Faye don’t like me bein’ a detective.
Then I got afraid not to answer it because I was afraid it was Faye and that if I didn’t answer the phone, she’d think I’d fell down and broke my hip. I’m a very young sixty-five, mind you, and my bones are as stout as a mule’s; but if it’s past eight o’clock and Faye tries to call and I don’t answer, she thinks I’ve broke a hip and am laying in the floor hollering, “I’ve fallen, and I can’t get up.” Never mind that I have a social life. And it ain’t just me. The women at the Senior Center say their daughters are the same way. Of course, the ones that have boys say their sons wouldn’t find them even if they were laying in the floor with a broke hip until the hungry things showed up for Sunday dinner. Oh, well.
Where was I? Oh, yeah, the phone call. I answered it just before the answering machine got it. I needn’t have worried about it being Faye. It was Cooper Norville.
Remember him? He’s the sheriff I went ‘round and ‘round with on that Flora Adams case a few weeks ago. After I solved that case for him, he asked me out to dinner. I politely turned him down the first time—played hard to get—but when he asked me for the next weekend, I went. We ate at the steakhouse, and I had a nice time. We’ve not been out since, but he’s called a time or two.
“I hope it’s not too late to call,” Cooper said.
“Not at all,” I said, “but I can’t talk too awfully long. I’m undercover on a case and have to get up at five-thirty in the morning.”
Coop coughed a little bit like he was strangled. “You…you say you’re working undercover?”
“Yes.”
“Wh-where at?”
“Over at the middle school.”
Now, Coop doesn’t usually stutter. He must’ve been worried about me.
“At…uh…at the middle school, you say?”
“That’s right. I’m working in the lunch room.”
“I see. What seems to be the trouble at the middle school?”
“A string of burglaries. Has Officer Brody not been keeping you apprised of this situation?” I asked. “If he hasn’t, I’ll be givin’ him a stern talkin’ to in the morning.”
“No! P-please don’t do that. I’m…I’m sure Wilbur feels he has the situation under control. He’ll bring me in on it, if necessary.”
I clucked my tongue. “Don’t you worry. Now that I’m on the case, I’m sure we’ll get it solved.”
“I…I wish you’d let Wilbur handle it,” Coop said. “He’s trained in this stuff and—”
“I already told you not to worry,” I said, giving him a throaty Lauren Bacall kind of chuckle. “I’m too smart to let some little punk sneak up and whack me in the back of the head.”
Coop didn’t say anything for so long I had to ask if he was still there.
“Yeah,” he said, “I’m here.”
“I know you didn’t call me to talk shop. Or did you? Is there a case you need my opinion on?”
“No! I mean, I’m calling to ask if you’d go with me to the theater Sunday afternoon. They’re puttin’ on ‘Mousetrap.’”
“Oh, that’s a good one,” I said. “I’d love to go.”
“All right. I’ll call you on
Saturday to work out all the details, okay?”
“That’ll be fine.”
“And, Myrtle, please stay out of trouble.”
“Oh, you.” I went with another Lauren Bacall laugh. I figured it’d give Coop something to dream about. Just for kicks, I added, “In the meantime, if you need me, just whistle. You know how to whistle, don’t you?”
“Yep. You just put your lips together and blow.”
I laughed again, but he’d caught me off guard and this time I sounded like me. That Coop was a man after my heart.
DIVIDER HERE
When the alarm clock went off at five-thirty, me and Matlock found out the true meaning of the phrase “rude awakening.” In fact, that clock made Matlock so mad he barked at it. I’m not sure he knew what it was. I don’t usually have to set the alarm clock. In fact, I don’t reckon I’d had to get up early since before I got Matlock.
Let me tell you, his big deep bark and that alarm clock blaring was enough to wake the dead. I hurried and shut the clock off, and Matlock hushed.
“Calm down,” I told him, petting his head. “It’s just the clock.” I took his face in my hands. “Did you watch something scary on television last night after I dozed off?”
His eyes shifted, and I took that as a guilty yes. I’d woke up about midnight and cut the television off, but I hadn’t paid attention to what was on. You know how it is in October, though. They’re always showing them monster movies.
I kissed Matlock’s head. “It’s all right, baby. You didn’t know any better. But the next time somethin’ scary comes on like that, you wake me up and I’ll cut it off. I don’t want my baby havin’ no bad dreams.”
On the way downstairs, I told Matlock about the time me and my late husband Crandall had watched “Psycho.”
“It scared the daylights outta me! And that Anthony Perkins had always seemed like such a nice boy. Now, I know he wasn’t really a deranged killer, but I wouldn’t have thought such a nice boy could’ve even pretended to be a killer as all-fired good as he did!” I shuddered. “And that poor Janet Leigh never could take another shower after making that movie. It must’ve been awfully hard for her to wash her hair. I guess she had to wash it in the sink or something. Of course, she probably had a hairdresser, but—”