They finished by singing Amazing Grace, which was pretty much the anthem for Grace Springs, despite the overwhelming judgement that always came from the organist, Opal. As the music faded, they headed down the aisle to the vestibule where they waited to discreetly question Randon.
Marissa leaned close. “You still think her dad did it?”
Tandy gave a relenting lip twist. “It still makes the most sense, and he still needs to go to jail for stealing my car, but…”
Greg lifted his eyebrows with excited approval. “But?”
Dang, he’d overheard. “For Susan’s sake, I hope he’s innocent.”
Connor stuffed his hands in his pockets and rocked back and forth from his heels to his toes with a guilty glance toward Greg. “It’s good to have an open mind. Like the pastor said in there, we need to try to see things from other people’s perspectives.”
Marissa tilted her head. “I think he was talking about God’s perspective, not other people’s.”
Connor shrugged. “Well, we want good communication with other people too.”
Tandy arched an eyebrow. He was one to talk. He couldn’t even tell Marissa about their kiss. Though maybe that’s what he was hinting at here. A message for Marissa to try to see things from his point of view and not only her own so he didn’t have to worry about being vulnerable. Hey, those two things kind of went together. Vulnerability and understanding.
Randon and Susan exited the arched doorways together, though she was surrounded by little old ladies offering to bake her casseroles while he was not.
“Hey, Randon.” Greg motioned him over.
Randon checked on his Pretty-in-Pink Barbie before joining them. “Thanks for coming, you guys. It means a lot to Susan to have the support of the community.”
Tandy pinched her lips shut rather than say, Yo, dude, her dad probably stole your car, remember? Because while Tandy wanted to protect Susan now, it was weird for Randon to want to protect her. He was too in love with his own reflection in the mirror.
“It’s a Valentine’s miracle,” Marissa whispered, obviously doing better at the open mind thing than she was.
Greg planted a hand on Randon’s shoulder. “I am Susan’s dad’s attorney now, so naturally I’ll support her. I simply want to ask you a couple questions that might help support her even more.”
“Sure. Shoot.” Randon shrugged. All of a sudden, a decent human being.
Greg released his hold on Randon so he could gesticulate. Part of his courtroom dramatics that often leaked into their personal lives. “I was wondering if there was anyone else interested in your Corvette when you bought it. Maybe a collector who would do anything to get the car back in his…or her…possession.” How very PC of him to not disqualify a woman from killing a giant tough guy with a rock.
“Oh, yeah.” Randon glanced over his shoulder at Pinkie Pie. “I actually told all this to the police, but I can tell you too.”
Tandy frowned. “Did they investigate this suspect?”
“Probably. But I don’t really consider him a suspect.”
No other words could have made Tandy more suspicious. “Why’s that?”
“Meh.” A very Randon word. “He’s as anti-theft as you can get. Specifically, that’s his job. He works for a car company and creates technology to prevent theft.”
Warning bells rang in Tandy’s head and vibrated her heart. Though Randon couldn’t possibly be talking about the person she knew in this field. Even if the person she knew had always wanted a Corvette and recently landed a huge signing bonus when moving to Toledo, the chances had to be slim. There were lots of car companies in the area.
Greg chuckled. “In my mind that makes him the perfect criminal. I want to look him up. What’s his name?”
Tandy held her breath. She wouldn’t breathe again until Randon gave them a name other than the one she was thinking. Any name but Vic Whitaker would do. She wouldn’t be picky.
“Vic Whitaker.”
She had to have heard wrong. She was dreaming. No, she was nightmaring.
“Vic Whitaker?” Greg typed the name into his phone. She could see it spelled out in black and white.
He Googled. Her boyfriend was investigating her ex right there in front of her. And she’d thought telling him about kissing Connor had been awkward.
Her lungs burned, and the edges of her vision turned hazy. It was either breathe or pass out then breathe, because consciousness was kind of required for holding one’s breath. She gave in and gasped for air, drawing attention from all eyes around.
The words burst out before Tandy could stop them. “Derrick did it. And I’m going to prove it.”
Marissa left Greg and Tandy to work on their investigation or relationship issues—or whatever weird thing was going on between them—and headed into her shop. George’s reception had lasted longer than expected, so she was free to keep the shop closed for the day, but she wanted to prep for the morning.
She flipped on the light switch, illuminating the space gold against the gray haze of twilight and locked the door behind her. The place had come a long way since they’d bought it, but she couldn’t ever change the fact that her very first customer would no longer return. He’d never even tried her crumpet.
Marissa gave a wistful smile at all the tough guy stories people had shared after the memorial. George preferred messy foods like chicken wings, he’d held season tickets for the Cleveland Cavaliers, and, as they all knew, he only wore coveralls.
Jumpsuit George. She still had his jumpsuit, didn’t she? Dropping her purse and coat on a table, she made her way behind the counter to where she’d last stashed it. Correction, she’d hidden it because she didn’t want anyone to know she’d agreed to try it on.
She’d try it on now. In George’s honor.
With reverence, Marissa lifted the stiff material and headed toward the bathroom. After all, she had to take off her dress in order to put on the coveralls. She made the switch and looked in the mirror.
Not attractive at all. So ugly, in fact, that it made her smile. Give her a wrench and wipe a smear of grease on her cheek, and nobody would ever recognize her. She twisted side to side, striking several tough-girl poses. Arms crossed. Hands on hips. No, guys didn’t do that. She shoved her hands in the giant front pockets of the coveralls instead. Her right fingers slid over something smooth and rectangular. Like a phone. Had George left his cell phone behind?
She pulled the device out. It didn’t have a screen. It was more like a box with little colored bumps on one end that looked as if they lit up green and red when a switch was flipped.
It was an electronic gadget of some kind. Like the microphone transmitters used for headsets during beauty pageants. George certainly wouldn’t have been using it for such a purpose. What could this box be transmitting? And where would it send the signal? She flipped the tiny black switch. Her pocket vibrated.
Marissa reached inside the jumpsuit pocket once again and pulled out another smaller device with an extendable antenna. A set? Surely, George hadn’t known he’d given this to her. Or had he done it on purpose? Did he realize he was in danger, and he’d hidden this in the jumpsuit for safe keeping?
She bit her lip, and her heartbeat thudded louder. If she was holding evidence, she needed to turn it over to the police.
She looked around suspiciously as if George’s murderer was watching her, waiting for his opportunity to pounce. Since she was still in the bathroom alone, the only movement was that of her own reflection.
She widened her eyes at herself. “What do I do?”
The sooner she got this to the sheriff, the better. She rushed out to grab her purse, still in the jumpsuit. Should she change so that her shoes matched her outfit, or should she wear the heels anyway? Oh, there. The snow boots Connor brought her that she’d also stashed behind the counter without intent to ever wear.
She set the mystery device on the bar and scrambled for the boots. They were truly hideous. All brown and ru
bbery. Who in the world designed those things? UPS employees?
She grabbed her key fob to start her Jeep and warm it up while putting on the most practical shoes she’d ever owned. The fob beeped, her tail lights flashed outside, and right there on the counter, the mystery device light flashed from red to green.
She froze. And stared.
Green meant go. What triggered the device to be ready to go? All she’d done was push the key fob.
Her stomach churned in dread. George had been a car thief in his former life, a car thief had likely killed him, and if she wasn’t jumping to conclusions, she was in possession of a device that would help people steal cars.
Unfortunately, she had a history of jumping to conclusions. Like the time she suspected Tandy of murder.
She could be fearful over nothing. There was only one way to find out.
Marissa shoved her bare feet into ugly—but warm—boots, left her car keys and the device with the antennae on the counter, and marched outside with the other half. She stopped in front of the door to her car and waited. Nothing happened.
She shook the box and turned it around to see if she was missing anything. Her chest heaved in relief. This wasn’t a car-theft tool.
She switched it off and took a step backwards. Her clunky sole caught on the curb. She tipped sideways but her boots with the chunky traction didn’t slip, and she was able to lunge wide and catch herself.
Whew. That was a close one. So close she could never tell Connor. He might try to get her to wear these ugly boots all the time. As it was, she hoped nobody in town had seen her wearing them at all, especially while in the brown jumpsuit, which was a fitting color for the pretzel she’d had to twist herself into to prevent a fall.
Laughing at what she must look like, she shifted her weight and pushed herself upright. Her thumb bumped the button on the box in her hands. The light flashed green again, and the lock inside her car door popped up. Her laughter died.
Marissa blinked at the box in her hands. She’d broken into her own car. That wasn’t good for George, and it wasn’t good for her. She had to get this thing to Sheriff Griffin before she found herself in more trouble.
Chapter Seven
Tandy waited in Greg’s office for her ride home. He’d said he only needed to stop by for a minute, but that had been fifteen minutes ago. Was he in his office, trying to dig up more dirt on Vic? She might be better off asking Marissa for a ride, if her business partner was still at work.
Strolling to the window, Tandy peered down the street toward their shop. There was Marissa’s Jeep. And there was Marissa, blonde hair flying. She must have slipped.
Naturally, an attractive African-American man appeared from nearby to catch her. Though he didn’t seem to be as gentle as Connor. And with the way Marissa tried to push him away, she apparently assumed he was making a pass at her. Pshaw. Beauty queens.
The trunk lid of a blue sedan in front of Marissa rose high. Tandy squinted to get a better look at what was going on because from this angle it appeared the man was shoving Marissa inside.
The trunk slammed closed. Marissa was gone.
Tandy jolted in shock. She’d just witnessed a kidnapping.
“Greg, call the police,” she shouted before bursting into the frigid air, determined to save her friend. Marissa would thank her later for wearing biker boots with the dress instead of the high heels she’d offered.
The man had already climbed behind his steering wheel.
She charged. He stepped on the gas and rolled out of reach.
Tandy’s stomach lurched. Her feet pounded pavement. She squinted at the license plate.
It started with an SWM. Skinny White Mocha. She could remember that. But she couldn’t catch the rest of the plate number before they were too small to see.
Skinny white mocha. Skinny white mocha, she silently chanted in case he got away and that was all police had to go off of in their manhunt. Though she wasn’t going to give up that easily.
Tandy raced down the block. Of all the times for her car to be impounded. Was she going to lose her partner because of this?
Her legs threatened to trip over themselves in haste. Her lungs burned. Her breath scratched at the air. She pushed faster.
The kidnapper had to slow for the corner ahead. Maybe she could catch him.
If not, it looked like he’d be heading past the police station. She wouldn’t stop until she got there. Officer Griffin could jump in his police cruiser and put out an APB. Hopefully Greg would already have gotten ahold of him, and he’d be ready for action.
If not, Tandy might never see Marissa again.
In the dark, confined space, Marissa pressed against the trunk lid with her palms. She would not panic. Though it may feel like she’d been buried alive, she was not underground. She wasn’t tied up either. She could escape.
The car slowed. It hadn’t gone very far. Was the kidnapper having second thoughts?
The car turned, rolling her sideways and cramming her head against the hard, side panel.
So much for second thoughts. If they were turning on the street that it felt like they were turning on, it wouldn’t be long before they were speeding up and heading out of town. Her heart thumped louder than the bass coming from the speakers.
She needed to move fast. Before they were on the highway and it was too dangerous to dive out of the vehicle. Or before she passed out from hyperventilation.
She’d find the trunk release latch. Newer cars should have those. Where would it be?
She twisted and turned, running her fingers along the edges of what very well could be her coffin. There. Something sharp caught her pinkie. She pinched fingertips together to grip the metal prong. Now what? Pull? Twist? No response. Nothing. Had the lever been broken off?
Her previous surge of hope erupted into desperation. She pounded the lid with the side of her fists. “Let me out!”
Would anyone hear? Or was she only making the kidnapper angry? She didn’t care. She’d be angrier. She had the right to be.
She kicked like a ninja. The thick metal didn’t budge even for her stomping boots, but reverberations from the impact jammed her hip. That wasn’t going to work…unless she kicked something less solid. Something like the taillight.
Yes. She’d seen that in a movie once.
She angled her body toward the end of the car, her neck cranked at an awkward angle against the seat back. If this didn’t work, she’d claw at the seat next.
“Marissa!” Tandy’s frantic cry between gulps of air would be hard to understand. But she’d try anyway. With the car’s pause at the corner ahead of her, she was gaining on them. “Open the trunk!”
The car turned and disappeared past the barber shop. Skinny white mocha, skinny white mocha… Was there a number two on the license plate, or was she only thinking two because it was a Chrysler 200?
Tandy cut the corner and pumped her arms to pick up more speed. She was almost to the police station. One more block…
The car slowed ahead of her. Did he run out of gas? Or was Marissa making such a racket that he couldn’t take it anymore, and he was going to kill her right there?
He wouldn’t get away with it. Not only would Tandy fight him, but Sheriff Griffin would be available as backup.
The driver pulled to the curb. Either he was the stupidest criminal on the planet, or he was turning himself in. She’d go with the criminal theory and not let up until the man was arrested.
She continued her pursuit, angling herself forward like an arrow to make her body aerodynamic.
The driver opened his door. He climbed out and circled toward the trunk. Tandy was not going to let him even look at her friend again.
Lowering one shoulder the way she’d seen football players do, Tandy rammed into the man’s side.
He staggered. Pivoted. Held up his palms in defense.
She barreled forward to push him farther back.
His hands caught her before she could connect. “Tand
y?”
She bunched her fists, pulled them up between the two of them, and stared into the dark, laughing eyes of her ex-boyfriend. The fight drained to her toes.
Vic Whitaker was on the suspect list. He was in town. And he’d kidnapped her best friend.
She fought for breath, and not only because she’d been in a full out sprint only a moment before. “Vic?”
One cheek dimpled. “I know you were upset that I broke up with you, but I didn’t realize you were this upset. And you dressed up for me. That’s a first.”
She stepped away, smoothing her stupid skirt, and looking for solid footing on which to have this bizarre conversation. She willed her pulse to slow down as well. “You kidnapped my business partner.”
Vic crossed his arms. “You do business with car thieves?”
“What? No. She sells tea. As bad as that may be, it’s hardly criminal.”
Metal smashed, glass cracked, and a taillight burst from the corner of the vehicle. An ugly brown boot took its place.
“Tandy?” The muffled voice sounded like Marissa’s, but that couldn’t be her foot in the ugly brown boot.
“Oh fantastic.” Vic pointed the direction of the mess. “I caught her trying to steal a Jeep. I made a citizen’s arrest to help the police. I didn’t realize she’d damage my car.”
What had Vic expected? He certainly couldn’t expect her to believe his excuse. “She owns a Jeep. Maybe she got locked out and had to break in.” Tandy raised her voice so Marissa could hear. “Marissa, did you lock your keys in the Jeep again?”
The boot disappeared, and part of Marissa’s face filled the hole. “No!” Her response came with enough force that Tandy was a little scared of releasing her from the trunk.
Tandy shook her head at Vic. “There has to be a logical explanation for why she was breaking into a Jeep. You should have at least asked her what was going on rather than resort to kidnapping. That’s not how you make a citizen’s arrest.”
A Cuppa Trouble Page 7
