How to Leash a Thief

by Cat Clayton

  A plum-faced nurse threw her hands in the air. “You would say that! Everyone in town knows you’re as much of a troublemaker as Gertrude!”

  A cackling chorus of “yeahs” and “you got that rights” clucked amongst the hens.

  Now they’re picking on me, too? “I still don’t see what the big deal is. She’s watering the plants. Maybe y’all could give her a chance instead of singling her out all the time. I ought to take this up with administration.”

  Um, Chiquita. Don’t look now. Cuff said from under my arm.

  I glanced up. Gertie grinned at me and waved, pouring water from the mouth of an oval, aluminum bowl.

  “She’s emptying the older residents’ bedpans!”

  Again, the cackles.

  “It’s the fourth one!”

  “She’s gonna kill the plants!”

  “And she was smoking in the ladies' bathroom again. She set the trashcan on fire!”

  “Bluebonnet Hills gets charged when the fire truck comes out!”

  More protests from the flock of nurses.

  I held up the perspiring half gallon of Buttered Pecan. “Ice-cream anyone?”

  GERTIE GOT THE BOOT.

  Against Gertie’s will, we left the ice cream as a formal apology. I helped pack her belongings and drove her to Pop’s house.

  After we’d told Pop the whole story, and I’d gotten Gertie settled in Stoney’s old room, I called Daniel and close the shop for the following day. After all the crap I’d been through, I needed a serious break from my life. Daniel told me he’d stay open and handle the business on his own. It wasn’t like we had a full schedule anymore. It seemed someone, Mrs. Peacock, with a big mouth around town had it out for us.

  UNABLE TO HIDE FROM the relentless morning sun streaming through the thin lavender curtains, I gave up the fight. I stumbled to the bathroom to find it already occupied by Gertie, so I dragged myself into the kitchen. Cuff nipped at my heels. Gotta pee. Gotta pee. Gotta pee.

  I let him out the back door and ambled over to pour a cup of coffee.

  “Headed to the shooting range this morning. Wanna tag along? Maybe get in some target practice?” Pop asked.

  The thought of shooting or even carrying my pistol made me anxious. I’d have to tell him eventually why.

  “I don’t know, Pop. I’m not feeling up to it. Besides, who will stay with Gertie?” I asked.

  “I don’t need a sitter, and I’ve had about all I can stand, baby girl,” Gertie said, rounding the kitchen door. An unlit cigarette dangled between her lips. “You can call me Gramma, or you can call me Gramma Gertie, or you can call me Gigi, but stop calling me Gertie. I’m your elder and I deserve some respect!” Squeezed into an emerald taffeta prom dress and sparkly black pumps, she waddled out the back door and slammed it.

  “It might be a good idea to clean out the closet in Stoney’s room,” I said as I peered out the window. Gertie and Cuff were basking in the sun on the porch. Resembling a shiny green beached mermaid, Gertie made smoke rings in the air.

  Pop joined me at the window. “I think she does it for attention. I find it’s best not to acknowledge her outrageous wardrobe choices. I keep hoping she’ll settle on cozy housedresses and a conservative pair of sandals.” He let out a long sigh.

  “Good luck with that,” I said. “Can I see those pictures you told me about the other night?” I asked Pop.

  He walked over to the opposite side of the kitchen, opened a drawer, and pulled out the envelopes. He motioned for me to sit down at the table and handed them over to me.

  I studied both envelopes on the outside. Nothing unusual. Regular letter size, our address, and a postmark. No return address just as he’d said. I removed both photos. They looked similar and had been taken in the same room—or so it appeared. But the females in the pictures were different ages. The dates 2006 and 2016 were written on the backs. Nothing else stood out. The hair color of the female was exactly the same as mine, when not red, same as Mama’s and Stoney’s chestnut brown. It was like looking at a picture of a ghost. My hands trembled as I placed the photos back inside the envelopes and slid them across the table.

  “So, what do you think?” I asked him.

  “I don’t know.” He shrugged. “I’ve sent copies and the zip code to a few HPD officers I know in Houston. They’re looking into it.”

  “Hmm.” It was strange to think about the possibility of this person being my sister. But poor Pop. I didn’t want him to get his hopes up.

  “Hey, maybe I’ll take you up on the trip to the range.” With my current situation, it wouldn’t hurt to get in some practice. I wondered what it’d be like to fire my pistol after all this time or if I even had it in me anymore. I sipped my coffee and changed the subject. “Gertie tell you about hacking into the system to steal social security numbers?”

  Pop snorted. “She said that to make those nurses mad. She was Googling how to care for indoor plants. An article on the Internet told her that human urine improved the lives of potted plants. She meant well. But I think setting the trashcan on fire to distract the nurses while she watered was taking it too far.” He leaned back in his chair, peeking out at Gertie.

  “Ya think?” I said.

  The three of us left Cuff snuggled up on the couch and headed to the range, on the outskirts of Buckleville. It was far enough from town so the noise wasn’t a nuisance. When Stoney and I were young, we loved to sit in the manager’s office and watch Pop shoot. When I turned twenty-one, he bought me my first handgun, a Glock 26 Semi Auto, aka the “baby Glock.”

  On the drive over to the range, I expressed to Pop my recent reluctance regarding carrying my pistol. I didn’t tell him the real reason; I kept that to myself. The wounds of Mama’s death had not healed yet. And although he was sympathetic, he insisted I needed to re-familiarize myself with the Glock for safety purposes. When we arrived, the range was empty except for us. Pop helped me load the 9MM Zombiemax “just in case” bullets into the magazines, patted my shoulder for reassurance, and stepped back.

  I felt Mama’s presence encouraging me to let go of my fear. I wrapped my right hand around the hot pink grip. It felt foreign. Unfamiliar. I pointed the pistol at the target, feeling awkward. With trembling hands, I tried to remember everything my parents had taught me over the years.

  You got this, I thought, and pulled my safety glasses down over my eyes.

  I brought my left hand up, lightly wrapping my fingers around, and dropped my thumbs along the slide. I lined up the front and rear sights on the target. I took a deep breath, curled my right index finger and touched the trigger ever so lightly, and then squeezed. Again and again and again.

  I emptied the entire ten-round magazine. The few shots which hit the target had only torn through the outer edges.

  Through my hearing protectors, I heard Pop instruct me to keep going. He walked over to chat with the range master, leaving me on my own.

  Frustrated, I stared hard at the target a mere ten feet away, trying to strike a deal with it. I emptied another magazine. Again, epic fail. “Ugh, I hate this.”

  “Looks like you could use some help.”

  I knew that voice. Officer Jackson.

  I reeled around. Dressed in his uniform, Jackson’s looks were arresting. I needed to get a handle on myself. He may be good-looking, but he was a pompous jerk.

  “I don’t see how that’s any of your concern.” I glanced over at Pop. He waved, holding up two fingers. He wanted me to shoot the remaining two magazines we’d loaded. I turned my attention back to what was right in front of me. Keep your eye on the target, Steely.

  “If you’ll excuse me, I’m busy. I have a couple more rounds before my Pop’ll let me quit, and as you’ve so nicely pointed out, I’m not doing so well,” I said over my shoulder.

  Before I knew what was happening, Jackson melted into my back, reaching his arms around mine. The heat from his body penetrated through my thin tank top. Oh. My. Goodness.

  “Well, it�
�s your lucky day. I’m here to qualify and I’ve got some extra time before my shift.” He patted my right hand. “Pick up your pistol.”

  I wanted to clock him upside the head with it instead, but I resisted the urge. I picked up the gun as instructed and waited.

  “Well?” I snapped.

  He wrapped his hands around mine.

  My hands sizzled under his touch and I nearly dropped the gun.

  “Rest your thumb here. Now, lightly wrap your left fingers, like this. You got it. Okay, drop your thumbs along the slide. Yes, that’s it. So, your father and Ricky Barton say you’re closing your eyes when you squeeze the trigger. Don’t. It’s that simple. The gun will not hurt you,” he said.

  I didn’t like the fact that Mr. Barton or my Pop had discussed me or my shooting issues with Officer Jackson.

  “You know nothing about me.” I tensed, every cell in my body aware of the skin-to-skin contact with him.

  “I know you’re an excellent shot according to your father, and that you haven’t fired your pistol since you lost your mother,” he said. “He also told me what happened to her. I’m sorry for your loss. I’d like to help you if you’ll let me.”

  His words about Mama stung, although I had the feeling causing me pain wasn’t his intention.

  “Fine,” I said.

  He lightly squeezed my right shoulder. “Stop worrying. Relax. Drop your shoulders. Now, step back with me on your right foot. Then, lean forward.” We stepped back in unison, his upper body leaning into mine.

  I did as he said, sucking in a breath.

  “Good. Now, line up the center of the target in your sights. Rest your finger on the trigger, let out the breath you’re holding, and squeeze. Focus on the clear front sight. Nice and easy,” he said.

  I did.

  All ten bullets hit the target, a few even near the center. I did it!

  “Now, load the next magazine,” he said in my right ear and backed away from me.

  After shredding the target, I set the gun on the counter and removed the ear and eye protectors. I whirled around to face him and had to back up a few steps. Too close for comfort.

  “Okay. Um, well... thanks,” I said.

  “You’re welcome,” he said, his dark eyes twinkled.

  Before I melted on the spot, I turned back to the booth, dropped the magazine out of my Glock, and reloaded it. Quickly, I packed my things and turned around. I hoped I never had to shoot this stupid thing again.

  “I need to go.” I searched the room for Pop and Gertie. They stood in the corner chatting with the big-mouthed Range Master. All three smiled and waved. Gertie shot me a thumbs up.

  Officer Jackson cleared his throat, glancing behind me at my target. “Not bad.”

  Betraying me, my heart pounded at the mere sound of his voice. I shrugged. “Thanks for your help.”

  “Anytime,” he said.

  “Excuse me, I need to go.” I shoved past him and headed toward Pop and Gertie.

  “Nice improvement over there,” Mr. Barton said. “I was telling your dad and grandmother if anyone could help you, it’d be Jackson.” Barton’s smile was genuine. He meant well.

  “Thanks, Mr. Barton, I appreciate it, but he and I aren’t on the best of terms,” I said, my voice shaky. “And please do not discuss me or my business with Officer Jackson.” I glanced directly at Pop. “If you don’t mind, I’m ready to go.”

  “Give me a few minutes.” His eyes flicked over at Jackson, who was unloading his ammo in a booth. “Why don’t y’all wait out by the Jeep for me?”

  I got the feeling Pop wanted to speak with him.

  “All right,” I said. I shook Mr. Barton’s hand, offering him a smile. “Thanks, I needed the practice.”

  “Anytime. You come on back now, ya hear?” Mr. Barton said.

  “I have to use the little girl’s room before we leave. I’ll walk out with Randall,” Gertie said to me.

  The blinding sun and late morning heat washed over me. I pulled a ball cap out of my bag and slid it over my head. I leaned against Pop’s jeep, closing my eyes, basking in the warmth. Even through the thick walls of the range, I heard the firecracker pops of Officer Jackson’s gunfire.

  Being here with Pop brought back so many memories. At times like this, I missed my sister the most. She’d been gone for so long; I forgot what she looked like. Did she have light brown eyes, too? I couldn’t recall. I guessed memories fade over time.

  “Ready?” Pop’s voice pulled me out of a heat-induced trance.

  “Well, you sure told him,” Gertie said, raising her fist to Pop’s.

  He ignored her attempt at a fist bump.

  “Told who?” I asked them both.

  Pop and Gertie looked everywhere but my eyes.

  “Never mind,” Pop said. “Let’s go.”

  As we loaded into the jeep, Pop said, “Thought we’d stop in at Orsack’s and grab a bite to eat. Not much food at the house.” He turned the engine over and the Jeep roared to life. “Guess we need to do some shopping now that y’all are home.”

  I know he didn’t mean it, but his words were salt on my wounded heart. Moving home made me feel like a failure.

  My stomach rumbled at the mention of food. “Sure. Sounds good.”

  “I’m starving!” Gertie said, popping in a set of earbuds. “Don’t mind me. I’m gonna listen to my jams.” She flipped a switch on a small old-fashioned cassette player and started bobbing her head.

  Five minutes into the drive back to town, Pop broke the silence.

  “You did good back there, Steels. Your mother would’ve been proud,” he said.

  “Really?” Back at the range, I got the feeling she’d approved, which made picking the damn thing up easier. “You think?”

  He nodded. “Yes. I want you to carry your pistol with you at all times. Keep it in your purse.” Worry lines creased his forehead, the side of his jaw ticking.

  “Fine.” I agreed more to appease him, but I had no intention of carrying it. At least not yet. I really felt I needed more practice. And more time. I stared out the window, watching the sun-scorched pastures whizzing past the jeep’s windows and hoped he’d drop the conversation about the whole thing.

  From the back seat, Gertie mumbled in a nasal voice the lyrics to a song I didn’t recognize.

  “I spoke with Chief Becker. He says they have no leads on the bank-robbing suspect or either of the murders. I respect Becker, but back in my day, I’d have every man on detail until they found him. He said they believe all three crimes are related.”

  Yeah, thanks to me. “I’m the one who suggested it.”

  I felt his gaze on me, but I continued peering out at the scenery.

  “We talked about this. You know how I feel about you getting yourself involved. I told you before; meddling would bite you in the butt. Didn’t I?”

  “Yes, sir.” I glanced over at him. Both hands gripped the steering wheel as he stared straight ahead. He’d aged so much since we’d lost Mama. His once smooth cheeks were like tanned leather, his hair containing more salt than pepper.

  “I can’t really blame you. I see so much of your mother in you. Smart and tenacious. She was always a better cop than me. She never gave up until she got to the bottom of things. You have great instincts, Steels. To be truthful, you make me proud.”

  “Really?”

  He laughed. “Remember when you were a teenager and started driving, and you chased ambulances all over town?”

  “Yeah, you caught me several times,” I said.

  “And when your mother and I were off duty, we were constantly getting calls about you tailing the patrol units.” He shook his head, reminiscing. “You had a nose for it, even back then.”

  “Oh my gosh! They were ratting me out the whole time? How funny! I never even knew it,” I said, a tad embarrassed.

  He laughed again. It was nice to hear. “Listen, I have faith in you. I know you’ll make it through this mess. Sometimes life has a way of worki
ng out for the best. And if things with Nick don’t improve, you can always stay awhile.” He reached over and patted my hand. “I’d love to have you.”

  “Thanks Pop.” Not only did I have his support with my relationship issues, but after all this time, he thought I had good instincts. The possibility raised my hopes. I returned the hand pat.

  “What’s all the lovey-dovey stuff about up there?” Gertie said and kicked the back of my seat. “Can’t this hot-rod go any faster? I could eat a horse right about now!”

  I peeked around my seat at her. Still wearing her headphones, she bobbed her head and flashed me rock star signs with both hands, as if she were at a music concert. “Sweet Home Alabama!” she yelled. “Best song EVER!”

  “It might be good for us to have her around, ya know?” I said to Pop, giving Gertie a thumbs up.

  “Speak for yourself,” Pop said, raising an eyebrow.

  When we arrived at Orsack’s, proof of how fast news travels in a small town punched me in the gut. The place broke out in harsh whispers and sideways glances, as Mrs. Orsack showed us to our table.

  “I hear you and that Nick boy from the police department have called it quits.” Forthright and brutally honest, Mrs. Orsack was a typical German woman and said exactly what was on her mind.

  I opened my mouth to defend myself when Gertie held up her hand.

  “I’ll handle this, baby girl,” she said.

  Oh, dear. Mrs. Orsack better hold on to her apron.

  Chapter 14

  Gertie frowned, squinting at Mrs. Orsack. “What’s on Steely’s nose? Your business? No. I don’t think so. Now, I realize everyone’s entitled to his or her own opinion, but why don’t you keep yours to yourself this afternoon. Our baby girl’s had a rough go.” She pointed to her menu, thumping it with her index finger. “Now, I’ll have the grilled cheese and don’t let ‘em burn it either. I hate it when I get those tiny black crumbles stuck in my dentures.”

  I cringed, but secretly did a happy dance inside my mind. Go, Gertie! Pop frowned and apologized for his mother’s behavior. We ordered our lunches and a pitcher of sweet tea for the table.