Lucky and the Falling Felon

by Emmy Grace

  At least he has the good grace to look sheepish. “Oh, right. Sorry.”

  I throw my keys onto the counter without thinking. I hear the bark from the other room, followed by Mr. Jingles’ bell collar jangling. Half a second later, the growling meow of the cat, then the squeak of the hamster’s wheel, and finally the panicked squawk of the parrot. “Triple header! Triple header!”

  I’m heading for the bedroom to break up the band when I hear the snuffling-snorting sound of Gumbo, the newest addition to the mix. I head for Lucy-fur and snatch her off Gator’s cage. Gumbo scampers around my feet, nudging my leg when I pause to grab the cat. I bend and scoop him up with my other arm. When I turn, I run right into the billboard-size chest of Liam Dunning.

  “Stop following me,” I snap as I walk around him.

  I put Lucy out the front door and urge Gumbo out through the dog door so that he can have some peace and quiet. He isn’t used to the laws of this jungle yet, and I don’t want to stress him out with all the noise.

  When I turn from the kitchen door, I run into Liam. Again.

  “What is your problem?”

  “Do you pet sit?”

  “No. Why?”

  “All these are yours?”

  “No, I kidnapped them and I’m holding them for ransom,” I retort with as much sarcasm as I can manage. “Of course, they’re mine.”

  “Even the pig?” His tone is dry. Knowing. He’s ex-FBI. He can deduce and recognize his own stolen pig.

  For a second, I gape. Lucky! How could you be so stupid?

  I wasn’t thinking. The visit with Mrs. Vickerman totally threw me off. I wasn’t even thinking about my ill-gotten porcine gains.

  “It isn’t illegal to own a pig.”

  One of his dark brows shoots up. “Unless it’s someone else’s pig.”

  I sigh heavily. “I tried to buy him from you, but you wouldn’t be reasonable.”

  “So you stole him.”

  I straighten to my full five-feet, six-inches. “I absolutely did. If you feel you need to press charges, go right ahead. I won’t even bother denying it.”

  “What is so important about this pig?”

  I fling my arms up. “I don’t know! I don’t even know. We bonded. Over a dead body. That’s a powerful connection. It can’t be underestimated.”

  “So it’s a trauma kind of thing. You’re helping each other work through it all?”

  I shrug one shoulder. “Maybe. If that makes you feel better about it.”

  Liam shakes his head. “You’re definitely one of a kind. I’ll give you that.”

  “What, is that a bad thing, too?”

  He doesn’t answer, but instead, ambles over to the fridge and opens it. I watch, too stunned to really say much, as he unscrews the cap to the milk and sniffs it. He turns to me. “Glass?”

  I point to the cupboard above his head. He gets a glass, pours himself some milk, and then replaces the jug. He then leans back against the stove, crossing his long legs at the ankle, and takes a sip.

  “By all means, make yourself at home.”

  There’s not enough sarcasm in the world to make that statement as stinging as I’d like for it to be.

  “Thanks. So, where have you been?”

  I debate the wisdom of lying, or evading, but common sense tells me that the best way to get this man off my back is just to be honest. Maybe we can split up. Divide and conquer. Because, truly, having the expertise of an ex-federal agent can’t be an altogether bad thing.

  “I went to visit Leslie Vickerman.”

  “Why?”

  “My landlady saw her snooping around here late last night.”

  His brow furrows. “What would she want with you?”

  “That was the million dollar question. Turns out, she thinks I was having an affair with her husband.”

  “Were you?”

  “Lord, no! How could you even ask me that?”

  “Same way you could ask me for my alibi.”

  “Well, we both know my alibi is solid, so let’s move on from my involvement.”

  “What are you thinking?”

  I take a long pause to collect my thoughts before I answer. “I’m thinking that if she was behind all this, and she offed her husband, then maybe she did try to kill me, too. And if that’s the case, she’d have had to know my plans, which means—”

  “The airfield.”

  “Right. Because there’s no way Dax or Regina would’ve given her that kind of information. No way. And the only other people to have it would be the place where we took off.”

  “But being a Vickerman, she might’ve called out to the airfield, or even gone out there in person, and talked to Kyle Trivett, just like we did.”

  “Exactly. So it makes sense for me to—”

  Liam interrupts with, “Come on. I’ll drive.”

  The trip back out to the airfield is quiet, but not uncomfortably so. I’m lost in thought, and I assume Liam is as well. Theories and possibilities tangle in my mind. My thoughts feel like Momma Leona’s knitting basket when our cat would get in there and play with the yarn. That’s why that cat was named Tornado. He could wreak some havoc! It was almost impossible to get the mess untangled. Most of the time she’d just go buy new yarn.

  Kyle Trivett doesn’t seem too happy to see us at first. It’s funny because he frowns—deeply—and then fumbles a smile on his face, like he forgot for a second what his expression is supposed to be.

  “Mornin’. What brings you folks back?”

  I take the lead since my most burning question at the moment involves whether or not I was a target. “Did anyone come here asking questions about the flight plans for the skydiving plane that went up the other night?”

  His face contorts in thought. “Not that I can remember.”

  I’m deflated, but also relieved. “Okay.”

  “Did you ever see Mr. Vickerman with any women?” Liam asks.

  Kyle smiles uncomfortably, his eyes darting from Liam to me and back again. “Is this a joke?”

  “Do I look like I’m making a joke?” Liam deadpans.

  Slowly, Kyle raises his hand, one finger extended toward me. “You mean other than her?”

  “Her?” Liam asks.

  “Me?” I ask at the same time, jabbing a finger into my chest.

  “Yeah, her.”

  “You saw this woman with Martin Vickerman?”

  Kyle grins. “Yeah, a bunch of times.” He turns his gaze to me. “I thought you two were pretty hot and heavy. Sometimes the plane didn’t even leave the hangar, if you know what I mean.”

  “I’d never met Martin Vickerman!” I exclaim, incensed and defensive.

  Kyle holds up his hands. “Okay, okay. Whatever you say.”

  Clearly, he doesn’t believe a word of it.

  Liam redirects. “So, he was meeting his mistress on a plane?”

  “Yeah, I think so. It didn’t seem like they were really business partners or anything.”

  “Was it always the same plane?”

  “Far as I know.”

  “Do you know who owns it?”

  “It’s part of the Garamond Fleet.”

  I gasp when something I saw pops back into my mind and starts to make more sense. “Would you happen to know what numbers are on that plane? Whatever they’re called. You know, all the letters and numbers on the fin thingy?”

  “The tail letters?” he asks. His eyes dart to Liam and he sort of grins. The look says dumb blonde. It isn’t the first time I’ve seen it, but it never gets any easier to swallow.

  But it’s fine. Let him think that. Let him underestimate me.

  “Yeah, those. I wasn’t sure what they were called.”

  “I could find out.”

  “Okay. We’ll wait.”

  When Kyle grabs a big binder from one of the dusty shelves in the office, Liam turns his back to the counter and asks me a question out of the corner of his mouth.

  “Why are you asking about tail
letters?”

  “I found some strange numbers in DeLuca’s ledger. They didn’t make sense to me until just now. I think they might be the tail letters for a plane.”

  Liam nods, his expression a little on the surprised side. “Good catch.”

  We turn back around when Kyle says he found them. “CG-429.”

  “And that plane is still here?” he nods. “Which hangar?”

  “Number six. Why?”

  I wake my phone and pull up the snapshot I’d taken of the ledger. I enlarge it so the same numbers can be easily read, and I hold the phone up for Liam to see.

  “Maybe we need to check out this plane.”

  “You’ll need a warrant for that,” Kyle is quick to point out.

  “Then we’ll be back with Clive. And he’ll have a warrant.” Liam grabs my arm, spins me toward the door, and we walk off after that parting shot.

  I feel like I’m in the movies right now.

  “Can you really get Clive to get a search warrant?” I whisper when we’re back outside.

  “Probably not, but I happen to know someone who is really good with locks and doesn’t mind breaking the law.”

  Oh boy. I see another quasi-dangerous adventure in my future.

  “Lucky?” Liam says as he opens the passenger door to his truck and holds it for me.

  “Yeah?” This time I don’t bother with any kind of pause or decorum. I take a running leap at the seat and make it the first time. I feel oddly gratified.

  “Did you do something to your teeth?”

  It takes a second for his question to make sense. When it does, it’s with a sinking sensation that I reach for the visor in his truck and yank it down to reveal the mirror.

  I smile and, sure enough, my teeth are the color of a cloudy sky.

  A nice, gentle, awful gray.

  14

  After I breathe through a minor meltdown over the state of my teeth, I calm enough to get my mind back on the case. There’s nothing I can do about my teeth right this minute. But I will. Oh, how I will.

  “We need to get on that plane. Maybe we can find some evidence of foul play. Or at least something that will lead us to this Lucky Look-alike.”

  I hear a vague snorting sound, but when I glance at Liam, he is watching the road, his expression blank.

  “And we need to find out where DeLuca was the night of the murder,” he adds.

  “Do you think a guy like that would dirty his hands by doing the deed himself?”

  “Maybe. I don’t have to tell you how crazy people can get when there’s money involved.”

  “It seems like that was the motivation for Vickerman’s murder, no matter which way you look at it. DeLuca, the wife. Even though she was upset by his betrayal, she mentioned something about what he and his mistress were up to. Maybe that means they were planning to take the money and run.”

  “Does that mean I came off your list as a suspect?”

  “Only if I’m off yours,” I say. We can’t be investigating together if one of us thinks the other is involved.

  “I didn’t really suspect you.”

  “Then why hassle me about it?”

  “Seemed like a good idea at the time.”

  The corners of his mouth do this weird thing. They sink in, just a tad. On anyone else, I might identify the expression as the beginnings of a smile. Or a grin. But not on Liam Dunning. I think the man is incapable of smiling.

  I don’t even address his comment. I turn the conversation back to the case.

  “So the wife and DeLuca are at the top of the list. Vickerman went to school with the owner of Garamond Fleet, but so far, I can’t find anything between them that might give him motive for murder.”

  “Which leaves the third suspect as his mistress.”

  “Whoever she might be.”

  “Maybe she left something on the plane.”

  “That would be pretty sloppy.”

  “I know,” I breathe. “But we can hope.”

  When we arrive back at my house, the Chief Sheriff’s cruiser is parked beside my car. Clive gets out when Liam cuts his engine.

  I’m the first out.

  “Howdy, Lucky,” he says to me, then tips his official hat at Liam. “Liam, good to see you.”

  “Clive.” Liam nods back. “What’s going on?”

  Clive approaches in his normal painfully slow manner. Watching him walk is like watching a sloth traipse through molasses.

  “Well, I’ve gotten a couple of complaints. Gonna have to ask you two to back off this case. No one outside my office should be investigating. I guess you knew that, but figured you wouldn’t get caught. Now, I know you don’t mean no harm, but I have to ask you to stop.” He nods when he’s finished like that’s the final word.

  For most people, it would be. But for me… Eh, not so much.

  When I glance at Liam, I get the sneaking suspicion he’s no different.

  “I assume this came from Leslie Vickerman,” I inquire.

  “She’s an upstanding citizen. Always has been. Her and that husband of hers both. There’s no reason you ought to—”

  “She might be guilty, though, Clive. Did you know that—”

  He raises a hand to stop me. “She didn’t do it. Already been cleared. Her alibi checked out.”

  “Wh-what?” I stammer. Clive nods. “Seriously?” He nods again. “Oh.”

  “See there? You two aren’t the law. You can’t possibly know all the details, and that’s the way it’s s’posed to be.”

  Clive spits and a long, brown stream of saliva streaks out across my grass.

  Note to self: Don’t go barefoot outside until it rains twenty times. Option 2: Blowtorch my yard.

  “We got it, Clive. Thanks for letting us know. We didn’t mean to stir up any trouble.”

  Clive waves Liam off. “People gonna fuss no matter what you do. I’m just doing my job, ya know?”

  “Yeah, I know.” Liam claps Chief Sheriff on the back and turns him back toward his car, walking by his side. It’s such a congenial gesture that Clive looks a little confused when he finds himself being stuffed back through the driver’s door of his car. “Thanks for coming out. We’ll stay out of your way.”

  “Oh, uh, you’re welcome. Be seeing you, Liam.” He throws up a hand at me. Almost gets it chopped off by the door when Liam closes it.

  Liam walks back to me and, together, we watch Clive drive off. He creeps along for a few seconds and then floors it, kicking up dirt and gravel. I can’t help smiling. What Chief Sheriff can’t accomplish with his legs, he makes up for with his foot on the gas pedal. Clive doesn’t waste one second when he’s driving.

  “So, what’s your plan now?”

  I’m feeling tired and frustrated. “Nothing until dark, I guess.”

  “What about Clive’s warning?”

  “I like Clive and I respect him, but someone was murdered. And I could’ve been killed in the process. And at least two people think I was sleeping with the victim. I won’t back off until I find out who’s behind all this. Clive can take that warning and stick it.”

  Liam does something that’s utterly shocking. And it strikes me utterly speechless.

  He smiles.

  An actual smile with actual teeth. No scowl in sight. “That’s what I thought. Be by to get you after nine.”

  With that, he turns toward his truck. Unless my ears are playing tricks on me, when he ducks inside the cab, Liam Dunning is whistling.

  I’m shaking my head when I unlock my door, but it isn’t until I glance at my reflection in the mirror above the console table that I remember my own smile.

  “Dang you, Regina!” I grumble.

  Now I know what I’ll be doing with the rest of my daylight hours.

  After I change into my favorite sweats with the hole in the butt, I call Regina with a list of supplies. I don’t give her much by way of explanation; I’m too aggravated. Besides, she’ll see for herself soon enough. “Don’t you dare ask me on
e single question. Just get the stuff and bring it here.”

  “Okay,” she agrees quickly.

  It’s a short list—a box of teeth whitening strips, a tube of teeth whitening paste, and a half gallon of double chocolate pecan praline ice cream—and when she arrives with it, I meet her at the door, smile one broad, unhappy smile, grab the bag, and turn toward the kitchen counter.

  “What happened?” she asks, her eyes as big as saucers.

  “Isn’t it obvious? I used the last product you gave me.”

  “Well, I figured that much.”

  I turn a derisive look her way. “I think it’s safe to say that my product report will be short and my review will be scathing.”

  “I don’t understand. The vinegar is supposed to neutralize the colorant. At least that’s what the paperwork said.”

  I’m rifling through the bag when a sinking sensation starts to tug right at the center of my chest. “The…vinegar?”

  “Yeah. That’s what it said anyway.”

  I hear a drawer slide open and then the clank of silverware. A couple of seconds later, Regina appears at my side, holding out a spoon for me. There’s one in her hand, too. One of our pacts as best friends and as fellow women is that we never let each other go on a drown-your-sorrows ice cream binge alone. No matter what.

  I don’t take the spoon right away, which prompts her to ask, “What’s wrong?”

  I close my eyes. I’m already halfway through a long litany of chastisements when Regina figures out what’s going on.

  “You didn’t.”

  “Didn’t what?” I don’t even open my eyes. Not yet.

  “You didn’t just use it and not even read the insert, did you?”

  I crack one eye and shift it over to her. I make no audible response; I just close my eye again.

  “Lucky! What in the world were you thinking? You know you have to read the paperwork. You’ve done this a hundred times.”

  “I know, I know.” I fling my arms up and then let them drop to my sides. “I’m just distracted. This whole dead guy falling thing has me wound up tighter than your pawpaw’s pocket watch.”

  “That’s no excuse. What if this had been dangerous? What if something bad had happened?”