by Cat Clayton
“So, I noticed on your chalkboard you’ve been doing a little sleuth detective work,” he said.
I shrugged. “I’m not sure what you’re referring to. I don’t see anything on the chalkboard.”
He grimaced. “Very cute, Lamarr. Well then, can you recall the details from the bank robbery four days ago at the Buckleville Bank?” He strutted over to the couch. He plopped himself down, stretched out, and made himself at home.
As of late, I’d had my fill of cocky cops.
Cuff, who’d been standing guard over Seth Welton, trotted over to the couch. The fat one smells like donuts. Cuff sniffed at Agent Metzger’s boot and started to lift his leg.
“Cuff, no!” Although it would’ve made my day to let him pee on the agent, there was probably some law against urinating on a federal employee. Best not push our luck.
Gosh, you never let me have any fun. Cuff skulked to my desk, climbed his doggy steps, and settled into his bed. He grunted in protest and perched his chin on the side of the wicker basket.
“Stay,” I told Cuff. I dropped my handbag down on the desk and slid into my office chair. I swiveled toward the two agents and directed my attention to Agent Metzger and his question.
“Well, there’s not much to tell. And when did the police department call in the feds?”
“Foremost, Ms. Lamarr, that’s not your concern. I’m not able to disclose any information on the case. You were an eyewitness, so, if you could answer the question, and give us as many details as you remember, we’ll take your statement and be on our way.” Metzger issued a wry smile as he fiddled with a loose thread on the seam of the tweed couch cushion. “Please.”
Chiquita, answer them, or they’ll keep hounding you.
“Well, like I said, not much to tell. I heard a commotion out front. I walked to the curb, the bank robber ran out, dressed in all black clothing, and then he took a shot at me. After that, it’s all a blur.”
“You told Agent Welton you never saw the driver’s face. Is that true?”
I glanced over at Seth. He nodded politely. How did I miss this guy was not who he said he was? Am I that terrible at detecting clues?
You could sharpen your skills, Chiquita.
I frowned at Cuff.
“Ma’am? Did you see the suspect who robbed the bank or not?” Metzger asked.
“No. I never saw much of his face. He wore a bandana and sunglasses.” I recalled the awful moment. “Just the black hole of the barrel. It’s all I could focus on, really. Everything else melted into the background.”
“Did you witness any accomplices?” he asked.
“No, I didn’t see anyone else.”
Agent Metzger’s shoulders sagged slightly as he let out a breath. “What about the other vehicle? The black Buick at the burn site. Can you give us a description of the driver?”
“No, I didn’t see him either. Sorry. Guess won’t be much help,” I said.
“What makes you say the driver was a male?” Metzger twisted his head, eye-balling me. I counted the rolls of skin under his chin. Four.
Hence, the scent of donuts.
I stifled a giggle at Cuff’s thought. “I’m merely assuming it was a guy. That’s all.”
“Do you find something humorous, Ms. Lamarr?” Agent Metzger raised an eyebrow.
I pinched back my grin. “No, Sir.”
I heard a click-clackety racket coming down the hallway and Gertie burst into the office like a tiny tornado, bumping into Agent Welton. He wavered and quickly regained composure.
“S’cuse me, ma’am,” he said.
“Move it or lose it, buster,” she said. She twirled around. “Ta-da! Guess who’s back to work?” she mumbled through pinched lips, an unlit cigarette dangled. She grinned at me, pushing up a pair of aviator sunglasses on her head. Her silver hair stuck out in frizzy feathers on both sides. She glanced about the room and removed the cigarette from her lips and carefully tucked it behind her ear.
“What’s hangin’, fellas?” She strutted over to Metzger and stabbed her fists on her hips. “Gertrude Lamarr, but everyone calls me Gertie. What’s this I hear about you two nim-wits interrogating my granddaughter at our place of business? And before I’ve had my morning coffee. That my friend is not a smart idea.”
The two men did not understand what sort of trouble they were dealing with. I debated warning them, but it might be better to let it play out. I assumed Daniel must’ve intercepted her when she came through the front door and told her they were back here questioning me.
“What’s wrong? Cat got your tongue?” she asked the gaping federal agent.
Gertie’d somehow poured herself into a pair of black yoga pants and a skintight fuchsia tank top, both looking suspiciously like mine. Her well-endowed bosom pushed the boundaries of the thin cotton. My spiked camo boots adorned her tiny feet. Good gravy as my Pop would say. She and I needed to have a discussion about her wardrobe.
Sooner than later, Chiquita. Before she breaks a hip.
Metzger’s jaw dropped like he’d signed up for some kind of fly-catching contest, his simple brown eyes studied her, head to boots. He cleared his throat.
“This is official business, ma’am. Now, if you’ll kindly—”
Gertie waved her hand. “Official my ass. Y’all got a search warrant?” She made her way to my desk and leaned up against it. With twinkling faded denim eyes, she winked at me.
They weren’t here to search the premises, but I didn’t interrupt her. She’d shaken up the atmosphere in the room and I appreciated it.
The woman’s got guts. Cuff mumbled.
Welton repositioned himself at the doorway and gawked at Gertie.
Metzger struggled to get off the couch, straightening his ugly plaid tie. He took a wide stance, shoving his hands in the front pockets of his rumpled trousers. His belly roll protruding under a wrinkled white dress shirt suggested Cuff was spot on with the donuts. His disheveled appearance shocked me. Didn’t the FBI have a dress code they had to follow? What about a weight management program? When Pop and Mama were with the police department, their uniforms were always clean, crisp, and professional, and both of them stayed in shape.
“We’re asking your granddaughter a few questions. We don’t need a search warrant. If you’d like to take a ride down to the local station, I’m sure the police department would be happy to explain to you how impeding an investigation is not advisable,” Metzger said. His eyes narrowed to two slits, his lips pinched into a thin line, and his face flushed an unhealthy shade of red.
This will not end well, I thought.
Gertie’s feathers ruffled. “Now, you listen here, big fella,” she said, wagging a finger at him.
Time to intervene before she found herself locked up in a jail cell. Pop would flip his lid if that happened. I sprung from my chair and pulled Gertie over to stand next to me by the desk. “It’s okay. Let the agents finish up, so they can be on their way.”
Gertie slumped against the corner of my desk, plucking the unlit cigarette from behind her ear. She placed it between her lips, glaring at Metzger, and folded her arms over her chest. “Fine, proceed.”
Agent Metzger’s eyes shifted between Gertie and me. “Thank you. Now, Ms. Lamarr, and I mean the younger Ms. Lamarr,” he specified and continued, “Have you had any other interactions with this person driving the black Buick?” Metzger asked.
“Well, before the Buick ended up at Ziggy’s car lot, it’d been following me, and the driver left a threatening note in my mailbox.”
“Yes. We have the note. We’re also aware of your meddling in this case, which you need to stop, or you may find yourself in real trouble,” he said.
Welton didn’t even blink. He stood there with a blank expression on his face, as the big guy barked at me.
Metzger strolled over, handing me his card. “Call me if you remember anything else or if you think you can identify either the man who shot at you or the driver of the Buick.” He paused, inches away,
his beady eyes studying me. A dime-sized muddy brown birthmark perched above his left eyebrow, a few stubbly hairs sprouted from it.
“Have you questioned Mr. Peters? He owns the hardware store in town,” I asked.
The veins in Agent Metzger’s neck bulged, his teeth grinding behind closed lips. “I won’t allow you to bait me, Ms. Lamarr,” he said. He backed up a few paces and regained his composure. “Now, if there is nothing else, we’ll be on our way.”
“Mr. Peters had contact with the first victim. I saw him the night of the murder leaving the area. They’d been arguing days before about something, and Peters has a serious anger management issue. He’s definitely hiding something. As far as his motive, that’d be money. According to the stack of bills I saw on his desk, he’s in financial ruin or damn near it. And then, there’s the widower, Mr. Schirmack. Y’all should look at him,” I said.
The agent crossed his arms over his chest and shook his head. The next thirty seconds felt like an eternity as I waited for him to thank me for my information. His top lip twitched. He opened and closed his mouth. Maybe I stunned him with my reporting.
“If you continue to involve yourself with this case, I will personally apprehend you,” he said, turned, and strode out my office door. “Agent Welton!” he bellowed.
Seth Welton nodded his head. “Thank you for your time.”
Gertie pulled her aviator glasses down over her eyes. “Listen, my baby girl’s life is at stake here. You fellas do your damn job or you’ll have me to deal with.”
I cringed. One thing about Gertie, she had balls.
You can say that again.
Agent Welton disappeared without a word.
I slumped in my chair and collapsed my head on the pile of paperwork strewn about my desk. Not only was I struggling to keep myself out of trouble, but now I had Gertie to worry about.
Chapter 18
Gertie adjusted her mirrored sunglasses, seeming rather pleased with her performance.
“Well, I guess we told those two nincompoops,” she said. “Hey, why didn’t you wake me up this morning? I wanted to come with you. I’m thinking now that I’m out of the old stiff’s joint, it’s high time I came back to work.”
“Sorry, I had other things on my mind,” I said. Like getting myself out of this hellacious hailstorm of a mess.
“Well, that’s okay, baby girl. Can you believe your father tried making me get out of bed at the crack of dawn yesterday to help get your car from the Pieper’s?”
“It was you that helped him?” I asked.
“No, but that dreamy Officer Jackson called and offered to help him.” She put her hands on her hips. “So, I’ve been thinking; you ought to find out what that Jackson boy has to offer. Damn, he’s got one fine package.”
I cringed at her outrageous comment. If she planned on hanging out around the shop, we would have to work on her language and her wardrobe.
Good luck with that. You know what they say about old dogs and new tricks. Cuff hopped up on the couch and curled up.
So, it had been Officer Jackson who’d helped get my car. I hoped Pop had returned the favor and helped him get his. Letting out the breath, I’d apparently been holding in. I leaned my head against the wall behind me. I looked over at Gertie. Really looked at her. I took in her entire ensemble.
“What?” she asked, pushing the sunglasses on top of her head, her silver wings of hair on the sides of her head stuck straight out sideways. She looked like a bird in flight.
“My boots. Really? If you’re coming back to work, you can’t wear those. You can barely walk in them. And are those my yoga pants?”
“Yep. I used your flat iron, too. And Steely, I was walking in spiky heels before you were born. I can manage these just fine.” She tapped the toe of one boot.
No wonder the sides of her hair were uncontrollable. She must’ve fried the ends. For the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why she insisted on using my things.
“Why on earth are you wearing my clothes and not your own? Didn’t Pop buy you new things yesterday?” I asked her.
She shrugged. “Yeah, but I like your stuff better. It keeps me looking fresh and hip.” She pulled out a lighter from her purse and attempted to light her cigarette. Thankfully, the lighter wouldn’t catch. “Besides, you don’t do yoga.”
“Gertie, you can’t smoke in here. Go out back, for Pete’s sake!” I needed to look into ordering her one of those vapor things, especially if she insisted on hanging around here. I’d recover my clothes and boots later. The yoga pants reminded me I needed to sign up for the next beginner’s yoga session at No Place Like Om.
“Don’t use that tone of voice with me, missy. If you want me to smoke out back, ask politely. And quit calling me Gertie. It’s disrespectful,” she said, clomping out of the office. My camo boots clicked down the hallway as she hobbled her way out the back door.
“Daniel!” I sprinted up front. I found him at the front counter, slumped over, reading something. I’d spent the past twenty minutes being harassed by federal agents and dealing with my rambunctious grandmother, and he was taking a break!
“You could’ve warned me those guys were in my office.” I nudged him in the back. “And can you believe it? Welton’s a fed. And they erased our suspect list!”
“Yeah,” Daniel muttered.
Cuff trotted into the room and parked himself in the middle of the waiting room floor and gave himself a good scratch. When’s lunch, Chiquita? I’m starving.
I ignored Cuff and directed my attention on Daniel. “Listen, about Gertie. She wants to come back to work. Now that we’ve lost Samson, we could use another hand around here. Can you work with her?” I winced at the mention of Samson’s name.
Guilt about his death had settled around my shoulders like a heavy wool scarf. I knew I had nothing to do with his murder, but he’d been living here and night cleaning for us, which left me feeling responsible. Not to mention, we hadn’t located poor Virgil yet either.
I glanced over at the pet picture board on the wall. Pinned to the top left corner with a thumbtack was a snapshot of Samson and Virgil. It reminded me of the special bond they had shared. Instead of allowing the sadness to overcome me, I focused on my motivation to find Virgil.
Forget lunch, I’ll settle for a biscuit. A crumb. Anything!
Drama much? I thought back at Cuff. I reached into the jar of doggie treats on the counter and tossed one to Cuff.
He caught it in mid-air. Thanks.
“Daniel, did you hear me?” I asked.
“Sure. Gramma Gertie’s great. Do the cops still consider you a person of interest?” Daniel flipped to the next page of the daily paper.
He seemed very distracted. “I don’t think so, but honestly, I’m not sure. Gertie had perfect timing though,” I said.
“Uh huh,” he muttered.
“She put the big dude in his place,” I said.
“That’s nice.” He kept his eyes peeled on the newspaper.
“You should’ve seen their faces when she blew in there,” I said.
“Yeah.” Daniel snickered. “Gotta love her.”
“So, she’s out back smoking... crack. In case you’re wondering,” I said, testing him.
He didn’t even blink.
“Helloooo!” I said.
He glanced up. “Your Gramma Gertie has done a lot of things in her life, but drugs? Please, girl. And I told you Welton wasn’t who he said he was.” He drummed his fingers on the counter, giving me an I-told-you-so expression.
“Yeah, but you thought he was the murderer and the bank robber,” I said.
He thumped the paper in front of him. “We made the news.”
I perched on the stool next to Daniel’s and peeked over his arm. An image of the Buckleville Bank topped the page, and underneath, a smaller picture of Scrubadub. “What’s it say?”
Stretched out in a sunny patch of the checkered linoleum floor, Cuff savored his treat.
“Says
here, a ‘stray bullet’ hit the shop by accident.” He held up quotey fingers, rolling his eyes. “Stray, my fanny. That whack-job took a shot at you!”
“No kidding. It definitely wasn’t an accident.” The paper downplayed my attempted murder. “Chief Becker and the mayor are avoiding bad publicity for the town,” I said.
“I think it’ll boost interest. All those thrill seekers wanting to visit the small town where two murders and a bank robbery took place,” Daniel said.
Does the paper mention Virgil, Chiquita?
“What else does it say? Any mention of the missing dogs?” I asked.
“Nothing. But they think there might be more than one person involved,” Daniel said and shook his head. “I can’t believe it’s 2016, and we had a bank robber dressed up like it’s the old days, who waltzed into a bank with a loaded gun, and then got away with murder, literally.”
“Even crazier, is that in these parts of Texas you can carry a gun inside of a bank,” I said.
Daniel snorted. “No kidding!”
The back door slammed shut, causing us both to jump. Seconds later, Gertie rounded the corner and attempted to sashay into the room, but it was more a wobble. She clutched the counter for support, a waft of cigarette smoke followed in her wake.
“What’s shakin’ people?” she asked.
I folded the paper and set it to the side. I flipped open the appointment book and skimmed over the day’s schedule.
“So, let’s talk shop. Gertie, if you’re hanging around here, we might as well put you to work,” I said. “You can help with answering calls, making appointments, helping Daniel with grooming, and keeping this place tidy. And let’s clean up the language. Deal?”
“Fine by me,” she said. “Beats staying at home with your mopey father. That man needs a hobby. Or a woman.”
I felt for the locket around my neck. “Don’t you think it’s too soon for him to find someone else after Mama?”
