How to Leash a Thief

by Cat Clayton

  In a huff, Mrs. Orsack scribbled down our orders and whirled around with her feathers ruffled. She marched into the kitchen. Mrs. Orsack and my grandmother were friends, but Gertie was a ferocious bulldog with those she loved.

  “Got her goose!” Gertie said with a snort. “Steely, you don’t pay her no mind. She knows nothing about your life, and besides, Nick Campbell ain’t right for you anyhow.”

  “Your grandmother’s right. She’s a nosey old badger. Don’t let it bother you,” Pop said. He kept his thoughts and opinions of Nick to himself.

  “I know, but I wonder who leaked the news about him asking me to leave. Do you think it was Nick?” I asked. “He better not spread our business around town.”

  “Let’s not allow gossip to ruin our lunch. We’ll work on straightening the details out later,” he said.

  Randall Lamarr, former Buckleville chief of police had a way of fixin’ things. If anyone could help me put my life back in order, it was Pop.

  So, I brought up the car that had been following me.

  “Tell me more,” Pop said.

  “Yes. Tell us all the juicy details,” Gertie said, rubbing her hands together.

  Pop peered over his wire-rimmed glasses, giving her a stern look. He and I shared the same light brown eyes. At the moment, the sunlight illuminated specks of amber in his. “Mother, please.” He put a finger to his lips to quiet her. “Steels, start from the night you went to the shop after you heard about Samson’s murder.”

  I told him everything.

  POP INSTRUCTED THAT we stay in the jeep while he went to speak with Chief Becker. Luckily for us, the chief came strolling out the side door as Pop strode across the parking lot. I unrolled the window and could hear Pop laying down the law.

  “No murderous low-life will stalk my baby girl!” he bellowed. Pop’s voice was drowned out by the roaring of Officer Jackson’s stupid, loud motorcycle.

  Damn, damn, damn the bad luck.

  Jackson removed his helmet and gave me a polite nod. I quickly looked away. The guy looked good in his uniform. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him enter the side door leading to the department’s lounge.

  In the back of the jeep, Gertie had her earbuds back in and the music blared. I searched the parking lot for Nick’s truck, but then I remembered. His days off must’ve finally begun. A week off for the whole Steely debacle.

  Pop headed back toward the jeep.

  “Well?” I prodded him.

  “They will take the threat against you seriously, starting now,” he said, wiping the sweat from his brow with his sleeve.

  “Good,” I said, relieved.

  “According to Becker, the black Buick showed up for sale at the used car lot in town,” he said.

  “Do they know anything else about the car, like where it came from or who owned it?” I asked.

  “They’re looking into it,” he said, pulling out of the department’s parking lot, the back tires squealed a little. He gave me a quick sideways glance. “About you interfering at crime scenes, Becker’s not a happy camper. And I can see why.”

  Gertie spoke up from the back seat. “He’s never a happy camper. That man has a stick up his butt. He’s always peeved at somebody. Did you know last week, he came over to the center and told me he’d arrest me for cheating on my bingo card!”

  Pop pulled his rear-view mirror down so he could get a good look at Gertie in the back. A stern look settled over his face. From my seat, I could see his right eyebrow arched.

  “What? Don’t get all judgy up there. Ain’t you ever cheated at anything in your life?” Gertie asked him.

  “No, I haven’t,” he said, driving into the parking lot of Buckleville Foods. “I told Becker you’ve sworn to stay out of it. It was the only way to get him to back off your involvement, and to take this threat against you seriously.”

  I stared out the windshield. I needed to get over to the sales lot and check out the car myself. Tomorrow maybe. Today, Pop would keep a close eye on me.

  “Steely? Did you hear me?” he asked.

  I sighed. “Yeah, I’ll stay out of it.” I slumped in my seat, biting my tongue.

  While Pop ran into the grocery store, Gertie and I walked across the parking lot to Buckleville Hardware to pick up new deadbolts for both front and back doors at the shop and to do a little spying on Cleo Peters.

  Gertie in her tight, green dress whined about the heat, but I mentioned the possibility of chocolate. I had no intention of leaving Gertie unattended in a running vehicle. Not on my watch.

  Cleo Peters curtly nodded at us from the sales counter. I waved and despite Gertie’s outrageous outfit, tried not to draw attention to us. Heading straight to the far back wall where the doorknobs and locks were, I selected two sets of deadbolts. I’d install them myself this time. Couldn’t be too difficult. Not another soul roamed the store except the two of us. Perfect for some detective work.

  On our way up to the front counter, we passed a hallway leading to what looked like a storeroom or an office. I peeked and saw a door on the right ajar, the light off. A chance to pry stared me in the face, mocking my promise to Pop and his commitment to Becker. But when opportunity knocks, shouldn’t you open the door?

  “Gertie can you keep a secret?” I asked.

  “What’s in it for me?” she asked, her sunglasses perched on her head.

  “How about that ice cream you didn’t get after you watered the plants with the bedpans,” I said, dangling the sweet possibility in front of her.

  Gertie snorted. “Double or nothing, kid. And a chocolate bar from the front counter.”

  “You drive a hard bargain,” I said, extending my hand.

  We shook on it.

  “I think Cleo Peters is hiding something, and I need to look in his office.” I pointed down the hallway. “But I don’t want to get caught doing it. Can you keep watch and clap twice if anyone comes around?”

  “Clap twice? That’s a dumb signal,” she said, stabbing her hips with her fists. “And why do I have to be the lookout? Why can’t I be the one to do the searching?”

  I pursed my lips. “Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

  I ducked into the dim hallway. The office was an absolute wreck. Towering stacks of papers covered the desk. Boxes overflowing with merchandise filled the room. I rummaged through the paperwork on the desk, only to discover piles of unpaid bills and late invoices. My, oh my. He owed a lot of money to a lot of folks. I’m surprised to see that the hardware store was still open for—

  Two claps echoed from outside the door.

  Crap!

  I whirled around to hightail it out of there when the overhead light flipped on.

  “What in the hog hell are you doin’ in here?” Cleo Peters said, his lips pulling into a snarl.

  Think, Steely, and fast. “I, uh... I was looking for the ladies' room.”

  His bristly eyebrows stabbed over his dark, beady eyes. “Nice try, Lamarr. Saw you on the surveillance camera up front. Let’s go. I’ve already notified the police department.”

  Ugh, Pop was gonna kill me!

  I grabbed the packages of locks from his desk and followed him out. Guilt spread across Gertie’s face the moment we made eye contact.

  “Sorry,” she said. “He snuck up on me while I was filing my nails.”

  “Your nails?” I hissed.

  “Well, I can’t have snagged fingernails wearing a dress like this, now can I?” she said, spinning on her heels and marched after Cleo.

  At the counter, I set the locks down, avoiding Cleo’s grumpy glare. Gertie nudged me from behind.

  “Can I have that chocolate bar you promised? I’m starving to death,” she said.

  “We just ate.” Not to mention she fell through on her job to keep watch, but now didn’t seem a good time to argue the point.

  “But, I’m hungry again,” she said, her faded denim eyes shining. “Please? Snickers does the body good.” She grinned and patted her stomach.
/>   “Fine.” I sighed. “And it’s milk.” I just wanted to get this over with before I had to deal with the police department and my Pop.

  “What’s milk?” she asked and reached for the candy bar.

  I didn’t bother to explain about it being milk that does the body good.

  Eyeing me suspiciously, Cleo padded behind the counter. I glanced around for the usual cashier. Odd.

  “Where’s Sissy?” I asked.

  Cleo eyed the locks before he scanned them. “Had to let her go. What’re these for?” Sweat poured down the sides of his face.

  The heat in this place would suffocate the devil. He either didn’t have central air in here or he was cutting down on costs. I voted for the latter.

  “Is the hardware store in financial trouble?” I came right out and asked.

  “That’s none of your business,” he said.

  “Why were you and Samson arguing before his murder?” I asked.

  “You are barking up the wrong tree, Lamarr,” he said in almost a growl.

  “Fine. Well, after Mrs. Schirmack, I’m changing out both locks to be on the safe side. Did you ever find your hammer?” I figured since they tagged it as evidence down at the police department, he hadn’t.

  “Yup,” he said. “Cops say I’ll get it back soon. Seems it had nothing to do with Flora’s murder, which I could’ve told everyone.” His black eyes drilled into me. “That’ll be $16.50. So, you sayin’ my locksmithing wasn’t good enough?” He tossed the locks into a plastic bag.

  Gertie shoved the Snickers bar at him. “This too. And nobody said anything about your ability to install a new lock. Don’t be such a crybaby, Peters. Good Lord, it’s hot in here.” She grabbed the weekly ad paper from the counter and fanned herself. “I’m sweatin’ like a whore in church on Sunday.”

  I choked on my spit.

  Cleo’s eyes bulged. With pinched lips, he scanned the candy bar and handed it back to her without a word.

  I opened my wallet and looked him dead on. “You didn’t keep a copy of the key when you switched out the back door lock, did you?”

  “Yeah?” Gertie said and ripped open the Snickers wrapper and took a bite. “Did you make a copy of the key?”

  “You ain’t got any business nosing around my place with your snooping and insinuations. You hear?” he said, pointing a bony finger at me.

  “Never mind me asking,” I said. “Can we please pay for the locks and the candy bar? Then, we’ll get out of your hair.” I didn’t like the way he was getting so worked up. Any second and the guy might blow a gasket.

  “Well, I wanna know. Did you keep a copy of the key?” Gertie’s chest puffed up like a hen’s, as she peered at him. She bit off another chunk of the Snickers bar, a string of caramel dangling from her lower lip.

  Cleo frowned, sweat trickled down both cheeks, the whites of his eyes bloodshot. “What? You think I killed Flora and left her in your shop? You probably think it was me who robbed the bank and murdered old Samson, too.”

  “Whoa,” I said, holding up my palms like stop signs. “Nobody said you killed anyone, Mr. Peters. We were only asking a few questions.”

  The stress of him rolled off in waves.

  “Oh, for crike’s sake, Peters. Nobody’s saying any such thing! But I have to ask myself, why’re you being so defensive?” Gertie asked, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, the caramel strand disappearing.

  “That’s enough, Gertie.” I dug into my handbag and withdrew two dollars. I set it on the counter. “This is for the candy bar. Forget the locks. And with all due respect, Mr. Peters, someone let themselves into my shop on two occasions. There were no signs of forced entry either time, which meant they may have used a key or they are a darn good lock pick. Since you were the one who installed the locks at the shop, the officer you called on us may have a few questions for you.”

  “Forget it. I was bluffing. I never called them,” he admitted.

  That was good to know. At least Pop wouldn’t hear about this little incident.

  I turned to Gertie. “Let’s go.”

  I DON’T COOK. UNLESS you call grilled cheese cooking. I even burn scrambled eggs. So, Gertie whipped up supper, which meant I had dish duty.

  I surveyed the kitchen. Pop was untidy, but Gertie was a disaster. As I cleaned Gertie’s mess, something told me to glance up. How my grandmother got a wad of mashed potatoes up on the ceiling, I hadn’t the faintest clue.

  I winced, picking up the crusty sponge with two fingers and tossed it in the trash, its sour milk smell turned my stomach. I used a wad of paper towels to wash the dishes and a bath towel to dry. After dislodging the potato pile from the ceiling and wiping down the counters, I took it one step further and cleaned out the refrigerator. Good grief. Yogurt dated from last year. The jug of milk resembled cottage cheese. And a suspicious mound of green fuzz covered a plate. Maybe it was a good thing I’d come home.

  After supper, Gertie retired early and Pop and I sat in front of the TV. Pop’s true crime reality shows were right up my alley.

  Cuff jumped up and sprawled across my lap. I am so sleepy, Chiquita. He yawned and closed his eyes. I patted his soft, smooth head.

  I heard a snuffling sound and glanced at Pop. Behind his glasses, fat tears threatened to spill from his baggy eyes. The man needed more sleep. Or less stress.

  “If I let anything happen to you, your mother will come back and haunt me, you know. I want... no, I need you to be careful. I don’t know what I’d do if anything ever happened to you.” His voice cracked, laced with worry.

  “Pop, you don’t have to—”

  “Yes, I do.” He muted the TV. “Cleo Peters called this afternoon and said you harassed him at the store, and that the next time he’s calling the chief. You promised me you’d stay out of this.”

  “I was looking for the bathroom—”

  “Save it.” He furrowed his eyebrows. “The poor man’s not guilty of anything but throwing his life savings away at the blackjack tables at Lake Coushatta.”

  “So, he has a gambling problem?” Is it possible he’d lost all his money and planned on robbing the bank? Did Samson learn of his plan and confront him?

  “Steels, you can’t go around pointing your finger at folks unless you have concrete evidence. I thought you would’ve learned that from growing up under my roof,” he said.

  “But he owes money to many people. I saw a lot of overdue notices and threatening letters on his desk. What if he got in over his head and made a bad decision? And have you thought about Mr. Schirmack himself? Isn’t the spouse usually the first suspect?” I’d never known my Pop to be an irrational man. He had to see my point. Cleo Peters was in financial trouble and money can make people do crazy things.

  “A bad decision is not paying his bills and continuing to hit the boats in Louisiana. Not murder. And Mr. Schirmack? He bakes scones and pies for Pete’s sake; he’s not capable of killing anyone.” Pop peered over his glasses. “Steely, these shenanigans have got to stop.”

  Cuff opened one eye. Shenanigans. I like that word. Your Pop makes a valid point, Chiquita. You keep nosing around, you could end up D-E-A-D like the schnauzer’s human.

  Go back to sleep, I thought.

  Cuff let out a rumbling growl. I gave his ear a little thump.

  With so much experience under his belt, Pop’s instincts were usually spot on. But most of the evidence seemed to point at Cleo Peters in my book. And if not Peters, then Schirmack. I hated to think Pop might be losing his touch. Thinking about all of it made my head ache. It did me no good to keep hashing this out with him, best to let it go for the moment.

  “Fine. I get it, Pop.”

  With super-dad scanning powers, he analyzed me. I shrank into the couch, wishing I could disappear into the cushion. He raised one eyebrow. “Do you? Because a huge part of me thinks you’re only telling me what I want to hear.” Pop twisted the TV remote over and over in his hands, inspecting it, and let out a heavy sigh. “Le
t’s change the subject. Are you going to the 4th of July parade in the morning?”

  I shrugged. “I think I’ll pass.” With all that was going on, I had forgotten tomorrow was a holiday. The shop would be closed, but I didn’t feel up to celebrating. And after my name being in the paper, I didn’t want to subject myself to finger pointing and gawking.

  “How about the party at the Pieper’s tomorrow evening?” His foot jiggled on the footrest.

  The Pieper’s were Brandon Tripp’s in-laws. Brandon is Nick’s best friend, so Nick would be there.

  “I’m sure Nick will go. Maybe I should stay home,” I said.

  “I was thinking about taking Gertie. Remember, the Pieper’s have been family friends of ours way before Brandon Tripp married Caylee and moved to town,” Pop said.

  He had a point; and I promised Caylee I’d go. Chances were good that Nick wouldn’t cause a confrontation in front of a crowd. He was much too concerned with his reputation.

  “I’ll sleep on it, Pop. Maybe we can all go together.”

  “That’d be real nice,” he said, his eyes twinkling, his mouth hinting at a smile.

  I rose from my spot on the couch, Cuff grunted as I scooped him up.

  “I’ll see you in the morning. Night, Pop.”

  “Goodnight, Steels.”

  Cuff followed me into the bedroom. Chiquita?

  “Yeah?” I collapsed onto the bed and pulled the covers up under my chin.

  You’re a lucky girl to have a padre like him. Cuff curled up on top of the blanket at my feet. And he’s lucky to have you, too.

  “Aww thanks, little buddy,” I said and drifted off to sleep.

  UNFORTUNATELY, THE only party-worthy dress I had thrown in my suitcase the other night when Nick kicked me out, exposed my scabby, bruised knees. It’d have to do. I did my best with makeup to conceal the ugly knot on my forehead from the unfortunate collision with the desk. It’d turned to a murky yellow-green in the past two days. Not at all attractive.

  I stepped into the kitchen and found Pop and Gertie playing a game of cards.