How to Leash a Thief

by Cat Clayton

  Daniel and Pop followed behind, as I tugged Gertie through the viewing line, my nerves growing jittery as we shuffled along. I never understood the whole viewing process. I mean, who wants to look at a dead body? It was both morbid and sad.

  Gertie elbowed me as we drifted by the casket. “Psst! Old man Slater is a wiz with makeup. Wouldn’t ya say?” Gertie said in a harsh whisper, reaching out to Flora.

  I smacked her hand and yanked it down to her side. “Don’t touch her!”

  “What? I wanted to fix the collar on her dress. It has a little crease in it,” she said, moving forward in line.

  Sheesh. What was wrong with this woman? Lately, it seemed Gertie’s filters had grown thin, almost non-existent. They say as people age, some revert back to a child-like state. She acted like a mouthy ten-year-old who couldn’t keep her hands to herself.

  She definitely keeps things interesting. Cuff thought.

  You can say that again.

  After we passed by the casket, the line we’d been following fell apart and folks broke into small groups, quietly talking amongst themselves. Pop, Daniel, Gertie, and I formed a half-circle. Soon, a few others of Pop’s friends joined us. When Pop began talking politics with a few of his buddies, Gertie, Daniel, and I slipped out of the main viewing room.

  I’d come to Flora’s service for more than merely paying my respects.

  “Hurry, you two!” I hissed at them.

  Gertie and Daniel tiptoed into the dim private viewing room behind me. With the door closed, the small room with mahogany walls seemed to seal us in, a musty odor tickling my nose. If anyone asked, we wanted to pay our respects in peace.

  “It reeks of mothballs in here. What’re we doing, anyway? I thought we were going to the little girl’s room. My bladder’s about to bust and I don’t think my Depends will catch it all,” Gertie said, tugging on the back of my little black dress.

  “Shh!” I said, approaching the heavy maroon curtain. I peered out through a crack, surveying the gathering crowd.

  “I’m betting the killer shows up. And if he does, we’re gonna catch him,” I said. My eyes scanned the room, hunting for Mr. Peters.

  What makes you so sure the killer will show up? Cuff thought from inside my bag.

  “I have a gut feeling,” I said out loud.

  “Oookaaay. So, why didn’t we stay out there then? Don’t you think we’ll get a better look at his or her face the closer we are?” Daniel asked.

  “Well, we can’t sit there and stare at people. It’ll be too obvious. And not to be disrespectful, but Flora and I weren’t exactly BFFs. Not that I don’t feel bad about the whole situation, but I’d rather help catch the guy so we can find Virgil and Ranger. Right?”

  Agreed, Chiquita.

  “Does a cow shit in a pasture?” Gertie said. She shimmied up next to me, bent down underneath my arm, and peered through the crack in the curtain. “What about Skeeter Brown over there? He’s all slumped over in his chair, staring up at the ceiling like he doesn’t have a care in the world,” she said and pointed to the old codger who looked like he’d slept in his clothes. For ten days straight.

  “Why would he have killed Samson or Flora? And besides, he’s too drunk to successfully rob a bank,” I said. “I’m sure he’s passed out, not bored.” Everyone knew Skeeter as “old-three-sheets-to-the-wind-Skeeter,” and he didn’t have a mean bone in his body. Whoever committed these murders was somebody evil. Maniacal. Maybe even a sociopath.

  “Now that I really look at him, I think Skeeter might be dead,” Daniel said.

  Gertie sighed. “No, he’s alive all right. Look, there’s drool dripping from his chin. Someone ought to offer him a tissue. It’s rude to let a man sit there and drool on him—” She smacked into the glass with her forehead. “Jesus H. Christ that hurt!” She yelled, falling backwards and rubbing her head.

  A few heads turned toward the glass and looked in our direction.

  I dropped to the ground, colliding with her and knocked an already sore knee against the wall. Arrgh! My poor knees had seen better days. Cuff let out a yelp from inside the bag.

  “You brought Cuff into a funeral home? That’s probably against the law or something,” Daniel said.

  “What was I supposed to do, leave him in a hot car?! And gosh, Gertie, why don’t you pound on the window next time and announce our stakeout hiding place,” I said. “And whatever you do, don’t use Jesus’ name in a funeral home. That’ll bring on some serious bad juju.”

  “Oh goodie! We’re on a stakeout? Why didn’t you say something? I would’ve dressed in all black and wore a ski mask. Black is customary at funerals anyway,” she said.

  “Then why did you wear that?” I asked her, pointing to her gaudy dress. I didn’t bother questioning her about the boots; that argument was pointless.

  “I thought because her name was Flora I’d wear something with flowers. I found it at a resale shop,” she said. “And why did you throw yourself on the floor? They can’t see us in here. This is a one-way glass.” She struggled to stand and pulled back the curtain.

  “Why on earth would they use one-way glass?” Daniel asked.

  “They didn’t. This is a funeral parlor, not an interrogation room,” I said. “Shut those! Someone’s gonna see you!”

  “Good point,” Gertie said and snapped the curtains closed.

  I pulled myself back up, wiggled above her and cracked open the drapery, the hair on my arms prickling. I glanced about the room, trying to find the reason for my sudden sense of unease.

  Mr. Schirmack was a wreck. Poor guy. “Okay, either the widower is a superb actor, or he’s absolutely devastated. Check him out over there.”

  “It looks legit to me,” Gertie said. “I don’t think anyone could put on that kind of show. But I think it’s rude to chew gum at your wife’s funeral.”

  I observed Mr. Schirmack, his jaw moving in a slow, methodical motion. A gum-chewing motion. A young woman, mid-twenties, approached him and handed him a box of tissues.

  Daniel pushed his way in between us. “That must be their youngest daughter. I heard she’s moved back to town to run the bakery, and she’s planning on keeping Flora’s recipes.”

  “Well, at least that means we’ll still get decent pie,” I said, cringing at my lack of sensitivity. “I mean, because good pie is important.”

  “And you have a problem with my manners?” Gertie asked.

  “Fine, point taken,” I said. My eyes landed on Mr. Peters, leaning against a wall on the far side of the room. He looked rather uncomfortable, his dark brown suit hung on him, his expression blank. “There’s Peters. He looks like he’d rather be a million other places than here. He looks... odd,” I said.

  “He looks smug,” Daniel said.

  “I’d say guilty,” Gertie said.

  “Exactly,” I said. “Maybe we should—” I began, but, not too far away from Mr. Peters, my eyes landed on a pair of beady eyes, staring straight at me. I held Agent Welton’s concrete gaze for a few seconds, and then he pushed away from the wall, heading straight for us. We weren’t doing anything wrong, but I panicked anyway.

  “Crap!” I yanked the curtains closed. “Pinch me!” I clutched a handful of cotton hibiscus blooms, tugging Gertie toward the door. “Now!”

  “Why?” she asked. “Jiminy crickets, what’s gotten into you?”

  Daniel sucked in a breath. “Oh my gosh, we are in so much trouble.”

  “Pinch the back of my arm like you caught me when I was a kid with my hands in the cookie jar before supper!” I said.

  “Well, you don’t have to scream in my ear. I’m not deaf, ya know.” Gertie snorted.

  “Just do it!” My pulse raced.

  “All right already,” Gertie said, grabbing the back of my arm and twisting like she’d never twisted before.

  My eyes filled with tears. “Jeeezz Louise! That hurt, Gertie!”

  “Well, you shouldn’t eat cookies before dinner.” She coughed a smoky chuc
kle.

  “Would you two be serious? I think Agent Welton saw us. Let’s get out of here!” Daniel said, lugging us toward the door. He grabbed a handful of tissues before heaving the door open.

  The three of us collided into the dogged agent. Gertie bounced back into the wall behind us and she let out a yowl. I regained my composure, but not before I stomped on Agent Welton’s foot.

  “Ugh!” He grunted.

  Daniel tossed me a wad of tissue and let out a wailing sob. “Oh, Flora!” He sunk to his knees.

  The entire room stopped and observed the scene unfolding.

  Dabbing my pinch-induced tears with a tissue, I flashed a weak smile to the onlookers.

  “Daniel, sweetheart. Are you okay?” I leaned over him, patting his shoulder.

  Chiquita?

  Hmm?

  I bet you could hear a pin drop in this room right now.

  We had quite a captive audience. Now, I needed to figure a way out of this mess.

  Welton cleared his throat, his mouth moving in a side-to-side motion as if... as if he were chewing something. “Ms. Lamarr, may I ask you a few questions?”

  “Why don’t you go talk to him!” I pointed at Mr. Peters.

  The entire room glanced over at Mr. Peters. From across the way, Pop closed his eyes and shook his head. Mr. Peters scurried away. I heard the front glass door swoosh open.

  “You need to go question him before he gets away,” I said.

  Agent Welton’s eyebrows stabbed together. “No, I need to speak with you right now.” His expression loaded with suspicion, his breath sweet... like... son of a Baptist preacher. Juicy Fruit gum. It has a very distinct scent.

  I stood paralyzed, unable to form a complete sentence. No way possible. Seth Welton is a fed. It had to be a coincidence.

  Cuff issued a low growl inside my bag. Let me at ‘em, Chiquita!

  The gathered crowd in the room resumed its mourning process and a low murmuring chatter broke out.

  Welton’s head cocked to the side, casting a curious glance at my bag. “Do you have a dog in there?” he asked me.

  Gertie popped her head around me like a jack-in-the-box. “Young man, do you have any idea how rude you’re being? We are laying a dear friend to rest today.”

  At my feet, Daniel let out a muffled sob.

  Oh, he’s good. Cuff mumbled.

  I kneeled and patted Daniel on the head. “There, there now. We all miss Flora.” The only way to get out of this mess was to get away from him, clear my mind, and figure stuff out. “Agent Welton, my grandmother is right. Can’t this wait?” Dropping my chin to chest, I squeezed out a few remaining tears and then glanced up. The fat alligator tears rolled down my cheeks. “I mean this hardly seems like the time or place.”

  Welton’s face flushed an unhealthy plum, and it scrunched up like he might implode, so I pushed it one step further.

  “May I trouble you for a stick of gum?” I asked.

  His face switched from irritated to perplexed. “What?”

  “Gum,” I said. I mimicked chewing. “Do you have any?” If he didn’t produce his own pack, he might tell me who gave him a slice. It was worth a shot, and I was desperate.

  “No,” Welton said, shaking his head, confusion switching quickly back to irritation. “I’m sorry, I don’t. I got it from my... from Mr. Schirmack. He was kind enough to give me a piece. Now, about those questions.”

  Had my suspicions about Mr. Schirmack been right?

  “I’ve got a question of my own. Do you know if Mr. Schirmack used to drive a black car?” I asked him. Something told me time was of the essence.

  I didn’t believe Agent Welton’s face could turn any more red. But I was wrong.

  “I’m losing my patience—” he growled.

  “S’cuse me,” one gentleman near us said. “You mentioned the old Buick? Boy howdy, she was a fine machine. Her engine purrs like a kitten. Schirmack used to show it in the car show at the county fair years ago. I heard he recently sold it to buy a new oven for the bakery. But, now with Flora gone, God rest her soul, I’m not sure it was a smart move on his part.”

  A second of panic and I swallowed a huge lump. Mr. Schirmack also owned a black Buick, which recently sold. Coincidence? Maybe. Before I jumped the gun and told Agent Welton what I suspected, I needed to be sure.

  “Um, so... about those questions, I can stop by the station later. But we’ve gotta go,” I said.

  Anger flashed across his face. “Ms. Lamarr, I’m losing my patience,” he said.

  “I want another cookie,” Gertie said.

  I snatched her arm. “No! It’ll throw your blood sugar off kilter. Agent Welton, if you’ll please excuse us. We’ve got to be on our way.” I heaved Daniel—who’d resorted to sniffling and gripping my legs—to his feet, and we shoved our way through the crowd. I hoped for our sakes the agent set his sights on someone else for the time being.

  “But I don’t have a blood sugar issue,” Gertie said in protest.

  I dragged them both with me. In a quiet corner of the viewing room, we huddled.

  “Phew, that was close!” I whispered to Gertie and Daniel. “Listen, I think I may be onto something. Back on the first night, I found a gum wrapper. And they found one, same flavor, in the black Buick.”

  “So?” Daniel said.

  “So, it was Juicy Fruit, the same kind Welton is chewing. But he said Mr. Schirmack gave it to him,” I said.

  “That only means the man has good taste,” Gertie said. “Juicy Fruit is great, while the flavor lasts that is. I usually have to spit it out and get a new slice every ten minutes. I wouldn’t mind a piece right now.”

  “Forget the gum, didn’t you hear what that man said? Schirmack owned a black Buick, but he recently sold it!” I could barely contain my anxiety.

  “Oh my,” Daniel said, his blue eyes widened. “Does this mean what I’m thinking?”

  “It’s definitely possible,” I said. “But for now, let’s keep this to ourselves.”

  “Good thinking, boy, I thought we were toast earlier,” Gertie said, patting her stomach. “Speaking of toast, I’m hungry.”

  Daniel’s hand fluttered as he fanned his face. “How can you think of food at a time like this? I nearly had a heart attack back there. Not to mention I cried off all my eyeliner.”

  I love this guy. Cuff popped his head out of my bag and licked Daniel’s arm.

  “I’ll be right back,” Gertie said and tootled over to the table adorned with home-baked goodies.

  I searched the room and my eyes landed on Pop, who stood with a few of his friends from town. We made eye contact, and I waved. “Telling Pop will have to wait until I can get him alone. But I need to get out to the house and pick up the rest of my things. Nick texted me this morning, and he’ll be out of town for the afternoon.” I sighed. “I’ll call Officer Jackson and tell him our suspicions on the way.”

  “I can come with you,” Daniel offered, as he dabbed his eyes with a silk handkerchief he’d removed from his man purse slung around his shoulder.

  Gertie returned with a plate of goodies and started munching.

  My heart warmed, as I smiled at Daniel. My sweet friend. “No, thanks for the offer, though. I appreciate it. But I’d rather you go out to the burial site with Pop and Gertie, on behalf of the shop. Don’t worry. I’ll have my trusty sidekick with me.” I patted my bag.

  You know it, Chiquita.

  “But you can come out with Pop in the jeep to help with the heavy stuff, say 4:00 PM? We can talk to Pop then, and tell him about Mr. Schirmack,” I said. “Hopefully, I’ll have spoken to Jackson, and this will all be over. I think it’s possible we may have found our killer.”

  I took one more glance at the grieving widower who seemed to be in a serious conversation with Agent Welton. As if he knew I was watching him, Mr. Schirmack turned and locked eyes with me, glaring straight into my soul. I shivered.

  “Steely, did you hear me?” Daniel asked.

&nbs
p; “Huh? What? I’m sorry,” I said and tore my eyes away from Mr. Schirmack.

  “I said, I’ll be there,” Daniel said, taking my hand and kissing it. “Anything to make this transition easier for you.”

  “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say y’all were in love,” Gertie said, nibbling on what resembled an oatmeal cookie.

  “You understand I’m gay, right?” Daniel peered down at Gertie.

  She mumbled, “Honey, people can change.” She shrugged.

  I laughed. “Gertie, that’s not the way it works.”

  Daniel snorted. “Yeah, so not happening!”

  Pop joined us and peered over his spectacles, his eyebrows furrowing. “What’re you three up to? Gertie looks like she swallowed the canary, and if I didn’t know any better, it looks like you and Daniel have been crying.”

  “Nothing,” I said. “We’re fine, and Gertie always looks like that,” I said and gave Pop a sugary smile, catching sight of Welton. We locked eyes, and he headed straight for our group. Shoot a damn duck, that man is like a dog with a bone. I needed to get out of here before he bombarded me with his unnecessary questioning.

  No worries, I got this one, Chiquita.

  I elbowed Daniel to alert him. He turned, saw Welton approaching, and bee-lined it for the refreshment table.

  Welton pulled an ID lanyard out of the collar of his black polo and held it up for Pop to see. He extended his left hand to Pop. “Excuse me, Mr. Lamarr, I’m Agent Welton. Mind if I speak to you for a moment?”

  Pop shook his hand. “Ah, I see you’re left-handed. My wife was left-handed. It’s a pleasure to meet you. You can call me Randall.”

  Left-handed? Holy cow! I froze. Welton and I made eye contact, and he scowled.

  Chiquita, are you thinking what I am thinking?

  I don’t know. Is it possible? Is he a fed gone bad? Cuff, we need to get out of here. I need to figure this out and then get a hold of Jackson.

  Okay, here it goes... wait for it... From inside my bag, Cuff let one rip. A good one, too, audible even. Within seconds, his stink filled the air. Both Pop and Welton squinted at me.

  “Don’t look at me, it was Cuff. Gertie shared a can of beanies and weenies with him this morning,” I said.