How to Leash a Thief

by Cat Clayton

  “Y’all ready?” I asked.

  Despite my hesitations about seeing Nick, we’d attend the Pieper’s annual 4th of July party together.

  Gertie looked up from her cards fanned against her fingers and whistled.

  I gave a little twirl and then took a bow.

  “Lovin’ that navy sundress! You’re gonna knock someone’s boots off tonight!” she said.

  I chuckled. “Too soon, and I’m sure everyone’s boots will remain on their feet tonight,” I said.

  Pop shook his head with a “no comment” look and put his hand of cards down on the table. He got up and headed for the back door. “We should take separate cars since Gertie and I’ll probably leave early. I can’t stay out like I used to,” he said, reaching for his keys. “You bringing the little guy?” He nodded at Cuff.

  With my blingy flip-flop, I nudged Cuff. “Hey, sleepyhead. You coming?”

  Sprawled out on his bed in the kitchen's corner, he yawned and rolled over, exposing a pink belly. If you don’t mind, I’m gonna sit this afternoon out. I need some shuteye. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, Chiquita.

  Shouldn’t I be the one telling him to be good? I thought.

  “He’ll be fine. Hey, I’ve got a quick errand to run before I head out to the Pieper’s. I’ll meet y’all there,” I said.

  “Shotgun with Steely!” Gertie said, bolting out the door before I could even think about protesting.

  “Lucky me,” I said and gave Pop a backwards glance. “I think we should toss a coin next time to see who gets her.”

  Squeezed into a silky crimson knee-high prom dress, Gertie scrambled into the Bug. Just before she slammed the car door, I caught sight of the red high-top Converse.

  She grinned at me through the passenger window. “Can we make a pit stop? I’m out of smokes,” she hollered through the glass. “And hurry. It’s hot as balls in here!”

  Mouth of a sailor, but a heart of gold. “You know those things will be the death of you, right?” I said, climbing in. I turned over the engine and switched the A/C on max.

  “At least I’ll die a happy woman,” she said.

  A few minutes later, Gertie started pushing buttons on the Bug’s dashboard.

  “Can we open the sunroof? There’s something about the wind in my hair and feeling fancy free,” she said over the radio.

  “I thought you said you were hot,” I reminded her.

  “No, I said it was hot as balls in here, but that was before you cranked the air conditioner down so low my headlights are showing,” she said.

  I reached up and flipped the knob on the ceiling panel. The sunroof slid open and a blast of heat washed in, hopefully aiding her situation. I didn’t reply. When dealing with Gertie, sometimes silence is the best response.

  We rolled down Main Street, music blaring like we were two teenagers cruising. Sporting aviator’s, Gertie switched my usual country station to classic rock, strummed her air guitar and belted the wrong lyrics to “Simple Man.”

  “Don’t forget you have to run me by the store,” she yelled.

  “I can hear you; you don’t have to holler. And maybe you should try the patch or what about one of those vapor thingys? It’s healthier I hear,” I told her.

  “Patches and vapes are for wusses. If I’m gonna get nicotine, I want it the old-fashioned way,” she said.

  I spotted the gas station ahead. “Fine. But we need to hurry. Remember, I have to make a stop before we head out to the Piepers’.”

  “Where?” she asked, bobbing her head along with the music.

  “It’s a secret mission.” I flashed a smile and winked.

  She tossed her head back and cackled. “Ooo! I love me some secret missions!”

  Chapter 15

  We stopped at the Grab n’ Go. Then cruised over to the used car lot. Despite it being a holiday, the gate stood wide open. I pulled the Bug into a space and killed the engine. In the lot’s far corner, I spotted the black omen car with its sleek hood. I felt watched, as if it knew we were there.

  “Is this our secret mission?” Gertie asked, startling me.

  “Yeah. I want to get a closer look at the beast of a car that’s been following me all week.” I climbed out of the Bug and the two of us crossed the deserted parking lot. “But I don’t want to get shot for suspicion of car theft. So, let’s poke our head in the office and see if anyone’s here.”

  An OPEN sign hung in a dusty window of the sales building, a dilapidated single-wide trailer. I climbed the rickety metal steps and pushed the door open, peeking inside. I scrunched up my nose when a mixture of stale cigar smoke and moldy carpet rushed me.

  “Hello?” I entered the office with Gertie in tow. “Anyone here?”

  “Lord, it stinks like a cat’s butt in here,” Gertie said, shoving me forward.

  The floorboards creaked, and I heard rustling from somewhere inside the trailer.

  “Who’s there?” A squat, older man limped from the back room, rearranging his greasy toupee as he emerged. He slammed a bottle of Old Crow Kentucky Straight Bourbon down on the desk, the amber-colored liquid sloshing. “You here to buy a car?”

  “I’ll. Be. Damned,” Gertie said, her unlit cigarette dangling from her lips. “The Zigster.” Her voice trailed off as if she couldn’t believe he lived and breathed.

  “Let me guess. Old poker pal?” I asked.

  She dug around in her faux white leather purse and produced a lighter. Igniting her cigarette, she shook her head. “Pal, my ass. Ziggy here is the biggest shyster in town. He doesn’t play cards. He cheats.” She blew out a puff of smoke. It lingered in the stagnant air like a toxic cloud. She nodded at the whiskey. “That stuff will kill you.”

  I didn’t point out the thing she had between her lips would do the same.

  “Takes a cheater to know one,” he said, sneering at Gertie. “Now, what do you two want?” He snatched the bottle and took a long swig, a tiny dribble rolled down his chin into the stubbly neck folds and disappeared.

  The EWW factor hit me hard.

  I fanned Gertie’s smoke away and went with a version of the truth. “I’m interested in the black Grand National outside,” I said, surveying the room. Four certificates from the Better Business Bureau hung over a cluttered desk. Somehow, I doubted the authenticity of them.

  “Ain’t for sale,” the Zigster said, hobbling over to his desk. Squinting, he waggled a finger at me. “Lamarr, this here your granddaughter? Man, she’s a spittin’ image of you.”

  “Yeah. What of it?” Gertie said, jutting out her chin. She took a drag on her cigarette, puffing out smoke circles in various sizes. “Now, about the Buick.”

  It was hard to stay focused with the show my grandmother was putting on; I’d never witnessed “Gamblin’ Gert” in action. I shook my head.

  “It’s mine. But if you’ve got nineteen thousand smack-a-roos. Cash only. I’ll think it over,” the Zigster said, squinting hard at Gertie. “And no IOUs. Last time you stiffed me.”

  “Did not!” Gertie argued.

  We didn’t have time for rehashing old vendettas. “Look about the Buick, can I ask where it came from?”

  “I said it’s mine.” He dissected me with muddy-brown eyes.

  “But you have a price on it,” I said.

  He narrowed his eyes at me. He was definitely hiding something.

  “Fine. It’s yours. But who sold it to you?” I asked, aware I was pressing my luck. I eyed him up and down. If the car was his as he claimed, was he the bank robber and murderer? I glanced around the office and noted his provisions weren’t good, the trailer cramped and filthy trailer. I bet he didn’t sell a lot of cars. Money could be a motivation to kill. But did he have any connections to the victims?

  “Did you know Samson? What about Flora Schirmack?” I asked him.

  “What does that have to do with buying a car?” he growled.

  “Just answer her question, numb-nuts,” Gertie said.

  He shot her a go
-to-hell-look. “Sure, I knew them. What of it?” he said, his upper lip twitching.

  “Can you account for your whereabouts on the night of both murders? I’m sure Chief Becker would be interested.” I threw the last part in to scare him into answering my questions.

  His 80-proof eyes widened. “Ballsy, just like your granny here.” Slithering around the desk, his right foot dragged the floor. He set the whiskey to the side and collected papers strewn about his desk. He quickly shoved them into a manila folder and hastily tossed the folder on top the filing cabinet behind him. “I don’t need the damn cops sniffing around here. I run an honest sales office, ya know.”

  Uh, huh. Honest my butt. I needed to get my hands on that file. I stalled, thinking. “Of course you do.”

  He snickered as if he read through my patronizing statement. “So, you wanna buy the Buick or what?”

  “I don’t—” I began, but Gertie’s actions distracted me.

  Behind him, my grandmother had skirted around the desk and was peeking at the file folder on top of the cabinet. Smoke billowed over her head. The Zigster wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer.

  “I, um,” I said. “Well, I don’t know.” I pointed out the smudged window. “I think it’s out of my price range. But what about...” my eyes landed on a beat-up green Corolla, “that adorable green Toyota over there?”

  $10,000 in bright orange paint stretched across the windshield.

  The Zigster limped over, furrowing his eyebrows. He peeked out the door window and then raised a bushy eyebrow. “Ten, and not a penny shy.”

  I cut my eyes at Gertie as she carefully set the folder back down. She tossed her cigarette in a coffee mug on his desk, gave me a thumb-up, and waddled in my direction.

  I grimaced and hoped the guy didn’t get a hankering for caffeine soon.

  “On second thought, ten thousand’s steep for that year model,” I said. “So, did you remember where you were the nights of the murders.”

  “Wait a cotton-pickin’ minute.” The Zigster pointed a crooked finger at me. “What’re you? Some kind of spy?” he asked, catching sight of Gertie. His head ping-ponged between us. “What’re you two up to? I smell something fishy around here.”

  That would be your breath.

  He inched toward me, scowling, enveloping me in a cloud of sardine and hot sauce fumes. I pinched my nose. “Little girlie, I suggest you scramble. And take the old bag with you!”

  Gertie gave him a hip bump, shoving him away from me. “Move it or lose it, chump. Let’s get out of here, baby girl. You don’t want to do business with this crook, anyway.” She yanked the door open and wobbled down the steps.

  I followed her out.

  “And don’t come back here unless you’re ready to do business!” His voice ricocheted off the cars in the lot.

  “Yippie-ki-yay mother—”

  “Arrgh!” I slapped my hand over Gertie’s mouth.

  Gertie wiggled away from my hand, reached around me, flipped him both of her middle fingers, and dropped the f-bomber despite my efforts.

  The Zigster slammed the door, rattling the whole trailer.

  I pulled Gertie all the way to the Bug and ordered her to belt up. Seconds later, I steered the car out of the driveway.

  “That was close! I thought he would turn around and catch you digging in the file. Did you see anything?” I asked.

  “Well, there wasn’t time to find much,” she said.

  “We’ve got to find out who sold the car to his lot. Or do you think he’s telling the truth about the car being his? You’ve known him for a while. Do you think he’s capable of murder?” I asked.

  She shrugged. “He’s dumb as a bag of rocks, lies and scams out his butt, but no, I don’t think he could kill anyone.”

  “I have a feeling if we find out who the driver of the Buick is, it’ll lead us directly to the killer,” I said. “This means I’ll have to come back later so I can have another look around.”

  “I bet he hits the bourbon all night. It’s likely he’ll pass out,” Gertie said.

  I nodded. “True. Well, I guess this mission was a bust.”

  “Speaking of bust,” she said, reaching into her shirt and fished out a crumpled piece of paper.

  “Oh my gosh! What did you do?” I yanked the wheel, veering over to the side of the road. I took my foot off the clutch before putting it into neutral and the car lurched forward, and then with a choke, the engine died.

  Gertie’s lips stretched into a smug grin, flashing her pearly dentures. She smoothed out the piece of paper on her lap, the red silk dress rustling.

  “I’m telling you, even after all these years, I haven’t lost my touch. You know, I did some gum-shoeing back in my day.” She handed it over.

  Gum-shoeing? My eyes scanned over the document. Motor Vehicle Bill of Sale. Two things stood out. July 2nd, which was the date of sale—two days ago—and a name I’d never heard of before. William C. Clemons.

  “Who’s Seth Welton?” Gertie asked, interrupting my thoughts.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “The name, there, written on the back. Duh,” she said with an eye-roll.

  I flipped the paper over. “Holy crap.” Penciled in messy handwriting, it read Seth Welton.

  I filled Gertie in on the Seth Welton situation while we drove to the party.

  When I’d finished, Gertie twisted her head like a curious puppy.

  “But how’s he connected to this Clemons fella who sold the Zigster the devil car?” she asked.

  “I don’t have the foggiest,” I admitted. “But I intend to find out.”

  “That’s my girl,” she said with a grin.

  The police department needed to know, but I couldn’t quite tell them without disclosing we’d been in Ziggy’s office inquiring about the Buick, which might send me to jail or even get my grandmother in trouble for taking the Bill of Sale. I had to come up with a plan, but it’d have to wait. We had a party to attend.

  The Pieper’s property was some of the prettiest in Wallerton County. On the tall hill, you could see miles of the Texas Hill Country from their front porch. The plantation-style home stood grand amongst the lush landscape. I parked the Bug amongst thirty to forty cars already lining the gravel driveway. Standing outside the car, I smoothed down the skirt of my sundress and noticed my Pop sitting in the jeep. He climbed out and strolled over.

  “What took y’all so long?” Pop asked, concern lining his forehead.

  “We stopped off at Zig—” Gertie began, but I yanked a short strand of hair on the back of her head. “Ow! What was that for?” She rubbed her head, scrunching up her face.

  “We had to make an extra stop because she needed something. Right, Gertie?” I forced a smile, willing her to do the same and to go along with my story.

  She raised an eyebrow and smirked. “That’s what I was fixin’ to say before you so rudely ripped the hair out of my head. We stopped at the corner store and I got to talking. You know how I can be.” Gertie play-punched Pop in the arm.

  Pop’s eyes darted back and forth between us. “Uh, huh. Somehow I’m not convinced, but I probably don’t want to know, do I?”

  We both shook our heads, our lips clamped shut.

  Pop let out an exaggerated sigh. “All right, you two, let’s go.”

  We walked around to the backyard where sounds of children splashing and playing flowed from the pool area. The meticulous decorations screamed Independence Day in red, white, and blue. American flags festooned the scene. As usual, the Pieper’s had gone all out.

  A familiar, sweet voice interrupted us. “Randall! Steely! Yoo-hoo! Oh, and you brought Ms. Gertrude, too. How delightful!” Mrs. Pieper waved from the wrap-around deck. Dressed in a crisp, white linen dress, Mrs. Pieper wore her black hair cut in a bob and it framed her flawless face. “Honey, look who’s here!” She nudged her husband.

  Mr. Lowell Pieper was the Wallerton County Justice of the Peace and he saluted my father as we appr
oached. “Randall, my old friend. It is good to see you.” Tall and distinguished and dressed like a Sunday golfer, Judge Pieper handed my dad a beer from the cooler.

  “Lowell, it’s been too long,” Pop said, accepting the beer. He smiled warmly at Mrs. Pieper and tipped an invisible hat. “Collette.”

  Mrs. Pieper returned Pop’s smile. “Gertrude, what can we get you? Coffee?” She smiled, taking in Gertie’s attire and gave me a kind look of sympathy. “Care for a beer, Steely?”

  “No, thank you,” I said, scanning the spacious yard, searching for Nick. I didn’t see him. Suddenly feeling vulnerable and unsure of myself, I scooted closer to Pop. Did my dress look all right? My hair? Maybe I should’ve opted out of coming.

  “I’ll take a beer. Thanks,” Gertie said, bending over and reaching into the cooler helping herself.

  I winced, hoping the dress didn’t split up her backside.

  “How about a glass of sweet tea?” Mrs. Pieper asked me.

  “Tea sounds great.” I figured I’d better stick to non-alcoholic drinks this evening. I wouldn’t want a repeat of the other night at Caylee and Brandon’s. And chances were, given my vulnerable state, it could very well happen again. I accepted a perspiring glass of sweet iced tea from Mrs. Pieper. No red Solo cups served here. “Thank you, ma’am.”

  “You’re welcome, sweetheart. Caylee’s over by the pool with the kids if you want to head over,” Mrs. Pieper said, smiling sweetly.

  I guess she knew about Nick and me, since she didn’t ask why I’d shown up with my father instead of him.

  “Come, Gertrude. I want to introduce you to my dear sister.” She and Gertie drifted off to mingle.

  Pop nudged me. “Go on over and talk to Caylee. I need to visit with Lowell,” he said, as if he sensed my anxiety.

  I stepped off the deck and strolled under a line of magnolia trees leading to the pool. The gentle breeze up on the hilltop carried the sweet fragrance of the giant, creamy blooms swiftly past me, reminding me of Mama. Magnolias were always her favorite.

  Spotting Caylee, I joined her on the pool patio.

  “Hey, there,” I said.