Apple of My Eye: Tiger's Eye Mysteries

by Alyssa Day

  Emeril glared at him. "That's rude. You can't ask somebody to make you a pie, it has to come from the kindness of her heart. Right, Tess?"

  He beamed at me, and I had the feeling I was being played.

  "Exactly right, Misters Peterson. But I have a feeling you'll be able to get plenty of pie this weekend."

  They flashed identical smiles.

  "Festival pie is some pretty great pie," Harold said. "We'll be in the parade too."

  They returned to their lunches, and I watched Jack making a pyramid out of butter packets for a moment, and then I remembered.

  "My suspect," I whispered. "I forgot to tell you about him."

  Jack raised an eyebrow. I quietly filled him in on Mrs. Nash and the peppermints.

  He leaned back in his chair and gave me a skeptical look. "Nash? The pastor?"

  "Quiet," I hissed.

  He lowered his voice to a murmur. "Tess, lots of people like peppermint candy. Trust me, as someone who hates the smell, I am well aware. I can't really see Pastor Nash hanging out in your back yard, let alone cutting body parts off people."

  I sighed. "I know, it sounds absurd. But then I was thinking about the nuns—"

  "What nuns?"

  I explained about the horror movie nuns.

  Jack's grin broadened. "I think we're safe from possessed nuns, Tess."

  When he said it like that, sure.

  "But we should at least check him out. The real culprit is usually the last person you'd expect it to be," I told him, just before Lorraine returned with our glasses of water and lemonade.

  Jack mouthed the word culprit at me, and I could tell he was trying hard not to laugh, but I ignored him. You never knew about a person. Until I had proof that Pastor Nash was not involved, he was staying on my list.

  "Special is double cheeseburgers with fries or onion rings," Lorraine said. "How many do you want?"

  This was directed at Jack.

  "Three with fries, two with onion rings," he said. "I only had a donut or two for breakfast."

  "Or twelve, probably," I muttered. "Lorraine, I'll have a salad. Too many donuts lately. My jeans are getting tight."

  "Not that I could tell," Jack said with a lazy grin.

  My face heated up again, and Lorraine laughed.

  "You will not have a salad, all we have is day-old iceberg lettuce. I'll throw an extra pickle on your burger, and you can consider that to be a vegetable. Fries or onion rings?"

  I sighed. "Fries. Thanks, Lorraine. Oh, by the way, I hear you're going to goat yoga with me and Eleanor this evening."

  She grinned at me. "Yep. You know me. I love watching those goats do yoga."

  After she'd left to take our orders to the kitchen, Jack tapped his long fingers on the table. "Whatever you're up to, it has nothing to do with goats or yoga, does it?"

  I have a teensy problem. I can't lie worth a darn. Everything shows up on my face. I'd be a lousy poker player.

  So I changed the subject. "I had a really wonderful time last night, Jack. I still can hardly believe you took me to Atlantis. And Ven and Erin were great. It was so much fun. I can't wait to tell Molly. And Aunt Ruby. And Uncle Mike. And Eleanor. And…"

  He reached out and took my hand. "We could just put a notice in the Dead End Gazette."

  "I know you're teasing me, but my first time out of the country and it's to Atlantis. It was like a dream."

  His grin faded and his eyes warmed. "I felt that way too. Tess—"

  "Six specials," Lorraine announced. "And four milkshakes."

  She and the new waitress—one of Susan's cousins, maybe?—unloaded the food, leaving our table completely covered with plates and glasses.

  "Thanks, Lorraine," Jack said. "You're a peach."

  "I know," she said airily.

  We ate in silence for a while—Beau's burgers deserve all of a person's attention—and then Jack finished off his second burger and wiped his mouth.

  "Tess, I got a call on the way here from Dallas. He was looking into the Brigham Hammermill the Fourth thing, and he found something funny."

  "Funny ha-ha or funny peculiar?"

  "Funny peculiar."

  Jack's friends—now my friends too—Dallas and Austin Fox were two ex-Special Forces guys who lived out on the edge of the swamp with Lucky. I called them the swamp commandos. They'd liked the name enough that they'd named their new business Swamp Commando Airboat Rides.

  Dallas and Austin were also computer geniuses.

  "Peculiar how?"

  Jack nodded. "Apparently there has been some almost untraceable activity on some accounts that are tangentially related to Hammermill's. Which shouldn't be happening unless one of two things are true. Either he had business associates who are raiding his accounts now that he's gone—"

  "Or he's not really dead," I said.

  "Or he's not really dead."

  "Wow. The plot thickens."

  "I don't think you can say things like 'the plot thickens' unless you're a character in an Agatha Christie novel," Jack said.

  "Tough. Wow. So what now?"

  "I'm not sure it's anything, but after our conversation with the sheriff this morning, I conveyed the news. Since Dead End doesn't have access to computer specialists with Dallas's skills, she asked me to investigate and let her know, which we plan to do." He started on his third burger.

  "What if he faked his own death to avoid all his debts?" I pushed my plate away, not hungry anymore. "Still. Even if all of that is true—and it's just wild speculation at this point, I get that, but even if it's all true, what reason would he have to be chopping off fingers and sending me presents? That makes no sense at all."

  "The kind of person who would chop off fingers isn't necessarily the kind of person who makes sense in the way normal people would understand," he pointed out, his eyes darkening. "The things I've seen… Tess. There are evil people in the world. You are too good to ever understand that kind of person."

  I glanced out the window and saw Andy. He walked in, scanned the room, and saw us. He paid Lorraine for a big carryout bag and then headed over to our table.

  "Tess, Jack."

  "Deputy Kelly," Jack said. "Any news?"

  Andy shook his head. "No, and it's damn frustrating." He looked around at the people seated nearby, who were all watching us in case there was a hint of gossip, and then he took a chair from an empty table and brought it to ours and sat down.

  "No fingerprints on the candy wrappers," he said quietly. "Not even partials. Whoever it was must have been wearing gloves."

  I debated telling him my suspicions about Pastor Nash, but Jack, who evidently knew what I was thinking about, shook his head. He was probably right. A fondness for peppermint candy is a very slim clue when you're accusing a beloved town pastor of being a finger-chopping-off stalker.

  Jack frowned. "Any luck finding Ann Feeney?"

  "Not yet. We're talking to everybody who knew her. Her roommate said she had a date one night that she never returned from. The problem is, nobody seems to know who she was dating."

  "I find that hard to believe," I said. "Friends always know who you're dating. Even if they don't entirely approve, they hear about it."

  Jack raised an eyebrow, and I realized I'd given away more than I meant to. Anyway, it was true.

  Andy was shaking his head, though. "They're not that kind of roommates. Just sharing the rent and didn't interact all that much. The roommate was usually at work or out with her boyfriend, and she said Ann was off doing her own thing too."

  I sighed. "I hope you find her soon, and she's okay."

  Both of them looked at me.

  "I know, I know. She will be missing a finger. But that's a whole lot better than dead."

  "We're doing our best, Tess," Andy said. Then he stood. "I need to get going. I dropped off our donation for the festival raffles at the church on my way here. The Ladies' Society was busy working away on the booths and putting baskets together, and they offered me coffee and
donuts, so I've already been away from the office too long. I'll see you later."

  "Good luck, Andy," I said impulsively. I knew it bothered him a lot when innocent people were harmed or in trouble. Sometimes I thought he was too nice to be in law enforcement.

  He nodded and left. Jack started in on his fourth burger, and I grabbed my purse and put money on the table for my lunch.

  "Jack, I need to get going. Call me if you find out anything about Brig. Either way, I'll talk to you later, okay?"

  "After goat yoga?" The gleam in his eyes said he wasn't going to let it go until he found out the truth, but I just smiled, pretended not to hear him, and headed for the door, wondering if I should take the stealth spy team of Eleanor and Lorraine over to spy on Pastor Nash after we staked out Mr. Oliver.

  When I got to my car, I leaned my head on my steering wheel and sat there for a long minute. When had my life turned into amputated body parts, spy missions, and goat yoga?

  Would I ever just be normal?

  On the other hand, ordinary women didn't get to go to Atlantis for dinner.

  I smiled and started the car.

  11

  I'm happy to report that I had a nice, ordinary afternoon. No mysterious, magical items came in for pawn, no threatening or odd or otherwise suspicious customers darkened my doorstep.

  It was great.

  Eleanor texted me three times after she left at two, and all of them were about the impending stakeout.

  Tess, what should I wear?

  Tess, I don't have any black clothes except the dress I wear to funerals, but I can't crouch in bushes wearing my good funeral dress.

  Tess, do you think yoga pants will be okay? They're a deep purple, which will look black in the dark.

  By the third text, I was seriously questioning my judgment. What had I gotten myself into? Or, more to the point, what had I let Eleanor get me into?

  At five, I started the closing-up process and realized I hadn't heard from Jack, so I shot him a text.

  Any news?

  A minute or so later, he responded.

  Believe it or not, my day is actually getting stranger. Be careful at goat yoga.

  Then he texted me a goat emoji, and I didn't know what to do with a tiger texting me tiny cartoon goats, so I just put my phone in my pocket, locked up, and went home.

  When I got to my house, I was delighted to see that there were absolutely no gifts or packages of any kind on either of my porches. I fed Lou, looked at my mail, which was all catalogs for things I didn't need, and made myself a grilled cheese sandwich, which my cat and I ate sitting on the front porch in the swing. Then I called Shelley, so she could tell me all about her weekend in St. Augustine, because Eleanor had been too depressed to even mention it.

  "And we collected lots of shells! And I saw dolphins! It was great!"

  Shelley was nine and spoke mainly in exclamation points these days, which made us all happy because she'd had a lot of tragedy in her short life. Living with Aunt Ruby and Uncle Mike had been great for her, and I spent as much time as I could with her, but I had to work around her packed schedule of school and activities and my job.

  "That sounds amazing. Do you want to come over for pizza tomorrow?"

  "How about tonight?"

  I sighed. I'd much rather spend the evening having pizza with my new sister than staking out Mr. Oliver's house to catch the hussy.

  "I have plans with Mrs. Wolf tonight, honey, but tomorrow for sure, okay?"

  "Okay! I hear Jack is back! Be sure he comes too! I missed him!"

  "I will," I promised.

  Five or so minutes later, when Shelley had finally finished catching me up on her life, we hung up. It was astonishing how much I loved that little girl. She'd walked her way right into our hearts, and I was glad. She loved Jack too, and he'd played a big part in helping her begin to heal from the deaths she'd suffered.

  I cleaned up my grilled cheese pan and plate and then, unable to avoid it any longer, texted Eleanor:

  What time? Who's driving?

  I saw the little dots that meant she was replying and held my breath. Maybe she'd come to her senses and would call it off! Maybe…

  8. Just after dark. I'll pick you up in the station wagon.

  Oh, goody. Because station wagons were made for stealth.

  It was only just after seven, so Lou convinced me that we should have a nap—cats were great at napping. I set the alarm on my phone for seven forty-five and stretched out on my couch. Before I knew I'd even fallen asleep, the timer went off. I sat up blearily and looked at my cat, who was giving me a slitted-eye glare. Lou did not like to be woken up from naps before she was ready.

  We had this in common, in fact.

  "Okay, here we go." I changed into a pair of black jeans, black sneakers, and a black T-shirt, which made me look ridiculous, so I decided to go all the way and added a ball cap and a pair of sunglasses, the better to sneak around with. I was threading my pony tail through the back of the cap when Eleanor drove up. I stepped out onto my front porch and prayed for divine intervention.

  Or at least a good excuse not to go.

  Lorraine climbed out of the car first, and she was a sight to behold. She wore black yoga pants, a black long-sleeved sweatshirt, and—yep—black orthopedic shoes. She even had a black scarf covering her hair. Eleanor, on the other hand, wore dark purple yoga pants, as promised, with a dark green shirt and black sneakers.

  She looked like the Hulk's grandmother.

  "Hulk smash," I muttered.

  "Are you ready?" Lorraine grinned at me. "Girls' night!"

  I think I moaned, just a little, but my mind was fresh out of ways to get out of this, so I trudged down the steps and over to the station wagon. I climbed in the back, pulled the brim of my cap down low, and slouched in the seat. With any luck, nobody would see me at all.

  I smacked myself in the forehead for even thinking it. "With any luck" was just as bad as "what could go wrong?"

  We were doomed.

  Eleanor drove the short distance into town and started to turn onto Mr. Oliver's street, but Lorraine grabbed her arm.

  "What is wrong with you? We can't just drive up to the front of his house!"

  "I was going to park a few houses down," Eleanor said indignantly.

  Yep. Doomed.

  I sighed and leaned forward. "We can park one street over, behind the gas station. They close at five on Mondays. Then it's only a short walk to Mr. Oliver's house."

  "And we can make a fast getaway if the hussy sees us," Lorraine added.

  "Are you sure you don't want to just call him?" I used my best "let's be reasonable" voice. "I'm betting this could be cleared up with one phone call."

  "I'd stab myself in the eye before I'd ever call that two-timer about this!"

  So much for reasonable.

  We parked behind the gas station, and then I stopped them before they could jump out of the car.

  "What's the plan?"

  Lorraine blinked at me. "Plan?"

  "The plan is we go hide in the bushes on the left side of his house, because those have the most cover, and peek into his living room to see what's going on," Eleanor said firmly.

  "How do you know the hussy is even still there? She might have gone home," I pointed out.

  "Her car is still there."

  "How do you know it's her car?"

  Eleanor gave me a surprised look. "It's the only car near his house that I don't recognize. A little red Jeep."

  Lorraine and I nodded. One thing about small towns is that you get to know what everybody drives, at least by sight if not by make and model. Nobody on Mr. Oliver's block owned a red Jeep, as far as I knew.

  They put their hands on their door handles, but I stopped them again.

  "Okay, wait. That's a terrible plan. We can't all three sneak over there—if 'sneak' is even the right word for three women dressed like wannabe cat burglars all walking together—and all hide in his bushes. One of the neighbor
s will definitely see us and call the sheriff or, and remember this is Dead End, shoot us."

  I did not want to be shot before Jack and I had even had a second date. Plus, I'd been shot before, and it was awful.

  Eleanor threw her hands in the air. "What do you suggest, then?"

  "I suggest we go to my place and make margaritas," I said glumly. "Or even find an actual goat yoga class. Anything but this."

  Eleanor's eyes got shiny. "Fine. You can leave. But I'm going to do this, with or without you."

  That's what I was afraid of.

  "Okay, okay. I'll help, but here's how it's going to go. I will go see what I can see in Mr. Oliver's house, although this is a terrible idea, did I mention it's a terrible idea? And you two will stay here in the car, ready to make a fast getaway when one of his neighbors starts chasing me down the street with a shotgun."

  They agreed so fast I was skeptical, but they sat there giving me innocent faces when I got out of the car. I glanced back twice on the walk to the edge of the gas station, but both times they were still in the car, watching me. I sighed, gave a little wave, and cut through Bubba McKee's backyard, hoping his pet boa constrictor wasn't lurking around, and then walked at top speed down the street. I stayed in the shadows of the trees lining the sidewalk as much as I could, but I couldn't exactly skulk from tree to tree without looking even more suspicious than I already did, out walking on this street after dark for no apparent reason, dressed in black.

  I'd at least left the sunglasses in the car—a person had to draw the line somewhere on stealthy spy missions, and my line was apparently wearing sunglasses in the dark.

  Too bad I didn't have a better line.

  Like not being part of this at all.

  Sure enough, the red Jeep was parked right in front of Mr. Oliver's house, and his porch light was on. The lights in the living room were all on too, and his curtains and blinds were open.

  Whatever he was up to, he wasn't trying to hide it. He could have made the hussy—argh. Now I was doing it. He could have made his guest park in the garage and at least closed the curtains. Surely that meant there was a good reason for all this that didn't involve an illicit relationship?