Temporarily out of Luck

by Vicki Batman

  Now, all made sense. Tracey hit Jonson right above his eye. And regrettably, I hadn’t given it to Jonson. But my sister did. Bully for her. Wonder if the police studied his face?

  “I’m bettin’ he got a nasty bruise,” Elmer said.

  And something nice to share with Detective Wellborn. “Sounds about right.”

  “Need anythin’ else?” he asked.

  “No. Wait.” I raised a hand like a rent-a-security guard at a concert event. “Did you tell the police what you saw?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  Ma’am. I must look one hundred five years old.

  “My shift ended 'fore they came.”

  If Elmer hadn’t been interviewed by the police, his news needed to be shared. “Would you do me a favor? Would you call the Sommerville Police Department and ask for Detective Allan Wellborn—”

  His mouth drooped as he shook his head. “Don’t want no trouble—”

  I knew what Elmer told me needed to be passed on to Allan ASAP. “You won’t get into trouble. I promise, Elmer. The detective’s a great guy. Truly, one of the good ones. Please ask for Detective Allan Wellborn. Please. He needs to hear your story. My sister, the one who punched Jonson, is in trouble.”

  Elmer dipped his chin, then raised his head. “Your sister’s the woman in the white coat?”

  “Yes.”

  He dropped his gaze to the pavement.

  When I saw he lifted his head, I knew he would help me.

  Elmer thumbed his chest. “Sure. You can count on me.”

  “I appreciate it and here”—I dug a precious twenty out of my pocket—“have a pizza. My treat.”

  With a smile, Elmer stuffed the bill inside his pants pocket. As he walked away, he saluted. “I’ll phone now. My break’s comin’. See ya, and thanks.” He corralled another wayward cart and combined it with two more, rolling them to the store and shoving them in their designated spot by the entrance.

  I stood for a long time, watching the young man work and thinking about what he said. The rain splattered lightly on my umbrella. A drop slid along the shaft and onto the back of my hand. I looked up and found a hole at the apex of the canopy. Great. A glance at my watch indicated my lunch break ended, and I better fast-track to Wedding Wonderland.

  As I turned toward my car, the stores in the retail strip across the street from Super Saver Grocery hooked my eye, one being Little Egypt, a pizza joint, although the name implied something different and exotic. Joe Josephson’s Jewelry—I wonder if crime is up. He added burglar bars to the front windows. And Dee’s Delicious Donuts. Dee has a new window display of stacked confections. An imaginary fried dough scent wafted my way, making my mouth water. Donuts rocked.

  No time to stop at those businesses now. I promised Miss A. I would return in an hour. Perhaps, a visit to Dee’s in the morning would be a most excellent idea.

  So would buying donuts.

  ****

  After work, I tossed together lettuce, tomatoes, and feta cheese to make a salad for dinner, adding a buttered and toasted ciabatta roll to the plate. I set my food on the coffee table where I propped my feet on top, put the plate on my lap, and tucked a napkin in my collar.

  Between bites, I scrolled through the contacts on my phone. When Stuart’s name popped up, I paused and considered my promise to Mom and Dad. Conversations with Stuart were never normal. He was easily distracted. But I swore I would speak with my future brother-in-law to determine the status of his relationship with Tracey, ask about the wedding, and any other little ol’ thing.

  I exhaled a long breath. Is meddling anyone’s forte?

  Stuart proposed to Tracey, albeit they hadn’t known each other for an extensive amount of time. But he did, and they seemed pledged to one another.

  Strange things did happen, and her current predicament could be one. If Stuart was aware of her side of the Jonson story—and I hoped beyond hope Tracey had told him everything by now—they should have a happy ever after. After all, as my mother often said, “Honesty is the best policy.”

  Before I could stop myself, I hit the green button to connect with Stuart. While the phone buzzed one-two-three times, I readied myself to leave a message. Tracey said the accounting firm had assigned Stuart to an out-of-town oil and gas audit. Reaching him might be…iffy.

  Before I could state my name and phone number, I heard a brisk, “Stuart Steems.”

  The epitome of professionalism. “Hey, Stuart. It’s Hattie.”

  “Hi, Hattie, soon-to-be my favorite sister-in-law.”

  Favorite—ha! “’Cause I’m your only sister-in-law?”

  “True and a nice surprise. By the way, how are those tango lessons going?”

  The nerve. The vision of Stuart’s shoulders shaking with laughter got under my skin. “Fine. They would be a whole lot better, bub, if you hadn’t paired me with you know who.”

  Stuart chuckled. “As if I could’ve paired you with anyone else. The other couples are dating or married. You and Allan are the only two who aren’t, except for Trixie. Besides, he paid me.”

  Paid? Shocked, I bit my lower lip. Definitely puzzling. “Allan paid you?”

  “Paid. Coffee for life.”

  I twitched my nose. “I get it. However, I still don’t have to like it.”

  “You’ll get over being embarrassed.”

  I swear Stuart borrowed a page from Allan’s phraseology book—“Gotta go.” “Tell me about it.” “You’ll get over it.”

  Stuart blew his nose. “Sorry, allergies. He asked me to—” He blasted another sneeze.

  “He—who—Allan? Allan asked you what?” I nearly screamed.

  “God, Hattie, I’m gonna lose the hearing in my left ear.”

  “Sorry, Stuart. Allan asked you what?”

  A loonng pause of nothingness.

  “Stuart.” Nothing. “Stuart,” I said louder. “Talk now, or I’ll stick my arm through the phone line and grab you by the throat.”

  “All right already. Allan called after Tracey and I announced our plan for the reception dance and asked if he could be paired with you. I was being nice, you know, like your mom’s little speech on ‘Being Nice to Other People.’”

  Oh my God, has my mother brainwashed Stuart already? He isn’t even family yet. “It’s okay, bud. Her talks tend to—”

  “Hattie, I hate to cut you off, but I need to get back to work, especially if I want to come home soon. Tracey needs me.”

  “About Tracey…” As I crumbled the roll, I let a space of silence blanket our conversation. “I don’t know how to say this; I’m just blurting it out. Are you okay about my sister?”

  “What do you mean by okay?”

  An image of Stuart with his close-cropped black hair, him wiping his nose with an over-sized hankie, his white button-down shirt, and ugly green tie formed in my head. “Well, I, er, we, er, the family is…uh, wondering if you plan on going forward with the, uh, marriage, you know, in light of the, uh, murder?”

  “Of course,” Stuart said. “The ex… Well, I can’t use profanity in mixed company.”

  “Don’t worry, Stuart. We all have the same thoughts.”

  “He and Tracey were an item long ago and have nothing to do with us today.”

  I forked a piece of tomato. “True.”

  “I’m sorry she went through what he did the first time. Who can imagine him as a”—Stuart harrumphed—“gentleman?”

  Very true. “Unlike you, my friend.”

  “Thank you. You know Jonson sent an email and propositioned Tracey? That’s the reason she went ballistic at Wedding Wonderland the other day.”

  Casually, I let the fork drop. Yup, she did act unnerved. Deservedly so. “Can you tell me what he said?”

  “It’s not…nice.”

  “Nothing about him ever was,” I said.

  “Let’s just say if I had socked him, he’d be sporting more than one black eye.”

  Oh, the visual. I giggled. “Stuart, you’re so…dange
rous. How attractive.”

  “I know you’re kidding, Hattie. But I honestly believe he took advantage of Tracey. A part of me feels sorry for his fiancée—what’s her name?”

  “Barbie.”

  “That’s it.”

  “I know what you’re saying, but don’t worry about Barbie. She’s not nice either.” I sipped some water.

  “Oh. I do have one question—”

  Lordy. “Yes?”

  “About my tux—”

  Here we go. I threw my napkin on the table and let my gaze drift to study the ceiling. Stuart rattled on with a few choice “ums” interspersed before he paused for a breath.

  Shouldn’t talking fashion with Stuart be Tracey’s job?

  Chapter Seventeen

  As I readied for work the next morning, I skipped breakfast to hit Dee’s Delicious Donuts for one of my favs—er, two…no, three—buttermilk cake donuts with vanilla glaze. In case someone snagged those before I did, I could settle—not a hardship—for the chocolate cake variety.

  I slipped into my Jeep and drove to the strip center across the street from Super Saver Grocery Store’s parking lot. My family and I were donut fanatics and visited Dee’s hundreds, almost thousands, of times. Lately, I skipped an indulgence or two so the bridesmaid’s dress would fit. I tended to snag a granola bar and slam down a glass of milk instead of a healthy, first meal-of-the-day. Jenny banned me from bringing home my favorite food group—cake—as she was dieting as well. Since I didn’t have to be at the store until nine thirty, I usually indulged in extra shuteye.

  I slotted my car in a space next to an oversized, crew cab truck with a huge lift kit. The tires were comparable to those on an 18-wheeler. I’m fairly tall, but even I would have to use a stepladder to climb inside this truck. I hoped-prayed-wished the owner didn’t ding my Jeep baby when he hopped in his ride.

  The breeze ruffled the ends of my hair across my lipstick as I exited the Jeep. I spluttered them away, tamed my flyaways, and headed for the donut store. Once inside, I opened the tall refrigerated case by the door to grab a carton of low-fat milk. I stepped in line behind a mom and her four-year-old, most likely on their way to daycare, determining which treats they couldn’t live without. At his age, I would have been overwhelmed by the selection, too. They should take one of each and be done with it.

  Finally, Dee cashiered out mom and tot.

  A gentleman, approximately my dad’s age, stepped forward. Cropped white hair styled into a businessman look, charcoal suit, lean frame. He picked two sausage rolls and ordered a black coffee-to-go.

  I bet the man visited the store habitually, like a coffeehouse regular.

  Dee dumped three, extra donut holes in his bag and smiled. Another satisfied customer on his way to nine to five.

  Finally, my turn. “Hi, Dee.” Instantly, overwhelming, yet happy, feelings caused by all the deliciousness behind the display cases transformed me into a child. I fought the urge to press my nose to the glass and lick my lips.

  “Hattie!” Dee tucked escaped hair strands under her red kerchief. “You haven’t visited in a while.”

  I bobbed my head, resting my hands on top of the case. “I know. I guess a girl can’t live on donuts alone. And I must fit in the bridesmaid dress. Tracey’s picked a pink, skinny sheath number.”

  “Pink is your color, girl. You’ll look fab. You always do.”

  “Thanks.” I looked out the window and found the big truck had moved on. Must have belonged to the guy customer before me.

  Dee slid open the display cabinet door and grabbed a bakery tissue. “What’ll you have?”

  I pointed to my selections, ordering two vanilla and one chocolate buttermilk confections.

  Dee dropped the treats in a white paper bag embellished with a dancing donut cartoon. “How are the wedding plans? Is your mom arranging for a huge shindig?”

  “Lordy. Parents. Especially my mother.” I rolled my eyes. Everyone I went to school with knew stories about my mom, just as I knew stories about theirs. “My mother is driving everyone crazy. Dad keeps wondering how he’ll pay for the wedding, even though Tracey and Stuart are pulling their weight financially.”

  Dee walked over to the cash register and pushed buttons. “Three donuts. Six ten.”

  I held up the carton of low-fat. “Did you get the milk?”

  “Oops.” She worked another button. “For a total of eight thirty-four. What about you? Any wedding bells in your future?”

  With a snort, I passed her my debit card. “No wedding bells in my future.”

  Dee made the “all-knowing sideways” look. “I hear…differently.”

  I lifted one eyebrow and slanted my head. “Who have you been talking to?”

  “Your mother said something to my mother over grapefruit at Super Saver.”

  Dee handed over my card. “Just a minute. I want to hear more. But first, let me help Mrs. Scott.”

  I nodded to Mrs. Scott, another Sommerville Library Board member, and an intimate friend of my mom and Mrs. Wellborn. After her sedate “Hattie,” I sat at a café table by the door. Picking up a napkin, I dug my hand in my bag and lifted one buttermilk cake. I took a big bite, then glanced at my shirt. I wore a black silk top, and sure enough, white icing decorated my chest. I shifted the donut to my other hand and brushed the spots. Undoubtedly, I would be sporting the “flocked” look by the time I finished indulging. Totally worth it.

  Mrs. Scott paused by my side with another “Hattie.”

  Geez. “Bye, Mrs. Scott.”

  The shop door dinged after her.

  “I’m back.” Dee sat across from me. “Rumor says you and Allan Wellborn are quite an item.” She cradled her chin in her palm. Her eyes took on the I-remember-when dream gaze. “In high school, I used to have a crush on him.”

  Wow. Who knew? I took another bite. “You did?”

  “I did.” She kicked back her chair and went to the backroom. She returned with a roll of paper towels and spray cleaner. Spying something, my friend unwound a paper towel from the roll. “Lots of us did. He was two years older and even with those glasses, the pocket protector, and the trombone—he was hunky.”

  Goes to show, everyone has different tastes. “Dee, I have a question.”

  Spritz, spritz. Wipe. After she cleaned the register area, she changed her course to polish two tables opposite me. Dee set her bottle on the empty chair and toweled crumbs and bits into her hand. “Ask away.”

  “You know Jonson Leggett the Third—”

  “Who doesn’t? The moron.”

  “Gee, Dee.” My eyes rounded and my brow lifted. I was surprised my friend expressed herself out loud, but she stated what I believed. “Tell us how you really feel.”

  “It’s true.” Dee shook her head. “Jonson met his doomsday across the street. The Sommerville Express reporters camped out in the lot for most of the day.” Spritz. Wipe.

  I didn’t utter the descriptive words I wanted to. “I know.”

  “Ya.” She pushed the paper towel roll against her hip. “I remember reading the article about Tracey’s split from him in the paper. Scandalous for Sommerville.”

  I bit into a chocolate cake. While chewing, I said, “Mom hibernated when the story broke. You know, the gossip.”

  She shrugged. “She shouldn’t have. Since nothing much happens in Sommerville, their divorce was big news. Didn’t something about a rabid raccoon in Sandy Sanders’ backyard supplant it?”

  “Could be. Mom lives the old ways of personal business being personal.” I brushed my hands on a paper napkin. “Changing the subject, Dee. I wondered—do you have security cameras?”

  She halted her polishing on the chrome trim at the coffee bar. “Why?”

  I looked over my shoulder and out the window toward Super Saver Grocery and pointed. “You know how Jonson died?”

  “Of course.” Dee lifted her chin. “But what does that have to do with my security cameras?”

  I looked at my friend. How
do I explain about needing her help? “The police questioned Tracey about his murder.”

  “Nooo waay.” She shook her head. “You girls are the essence of Miss Goody Two-Shoes.”

  I let loose a short snort. “You might be the only person who believes so.”

  Dee giggled, then spritzed. “I know the truth. I joined some of your escapades, mostly toilet papering. Mild stuff.”

  I trailed my finger along the table’s edge. “Is it possible your cameras recorded something?”

  She walked to the front door and rested her hands against the glass, leaving fingerprints. She squirted and mopped. “You think maybe my security cameras—I have two, one aimed at the door and one focused on the parking spaces—maybe-maybe-maybe someone else might show up, the someone who could have possibly murdered Jonson, and hopefully, exonerate Tracey.”

  “Bingo.”

  Dee pivoted and walked behind the counter. “I can look. I want to look. Anything to help your sister. Just as soon as the morning rush subsides.”

  “Thanks, Dee. Would you mind sending the file to my email?”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Sure. Same address?”

  “Same.” Yipee!!

  Dee pursed her lips. “Think once the police see the video, and someone else will be on it, Tracey’ll be out of the hot seat?”

  “I pray daily for good news. The police haven’t finished interviewing. They’ll check with a lot of stores and people. You know.” I waved a hand toward the outside.

  “I’m guessing sooner or later”—Dee returned to the register, stowing the spray and tossing the used paper towels in a trash can under the counter—“they’ll come by here, wanting the same recording.”

  Remembering my conversation with Allan and what he said about the police checking out the strip center’s cameras, I pressed a napkin to my lower lip. “If they do, Dee, don’t say you shared with me…okay? I wouldn’t want you to get into trouble.”

  Dee batted her lashes. “But if it’s your hunky detective, I might be persuaded.”

  I gave her the “you hussy” look.

  “Just kidding. Mum’s the word.” She swiped the age-old finger zipper across her mouth. “By the way, the photo of Tracey leaving jail—priceless. Cool handbag, though.”