The Devil Has Tattoos

by Destiny Ford

Gandalf brought me a toy and I threw it. Then he brought it back and I threw it again. I knew this game and it would go on until I stopped it. He’d trained me well.

  My mom’s phone buzzed and she grabbed it from her apron pocket, then made a funny sound and laughed.

  “What is it?” I asked.

  She waved a hand in front of her. “It’s silly.”

  “What?”

  “Well, for the life of me, I can’t figure out why people keep texting me boobs.”

  I pushed my brows together. “People are texting you boobs? Like pictures of boobs?”

  She pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. “Not real boobs, but it’s implied.” She put my grilled cheese down in front of me and I pulled it apart, gooey cheese stretching over the plate. I was practically drooling, and Gandalf, who sat below me with his nose twitching at the delightful smell, definitely was.

  “Implied boobs?” I asked. “What are you talking about?”

  She put her own sandwich on the table and sat across from me. “Ever since the happy chocolate ice cream—“

  “—You mean the little poop.”

  “I mean,” she said, giving me a solid scowl, “the chocolate ice cream with hearts situation, I’ve told people that I’m not using the little text pictures anymore because their interpretation can’t be guaranteed. And ever since, people keep sending me texts with this symbol <3.” She held up her phone to show me. “It looks like boobs wearing a dunce cap. I giggle every time I see it.”

  I shook my head and laughed out loud. “It’s not boobs, Mom. Turn it to the side and look at it. It’s a heart.”

  She turned the phone to the left and gasped. “Oh my stars! You’re right.” She paused. “What does :-O mean?”

  “That’s expressing surprise.”

  “Oh dear. I really need to apologize to your dad. I thought that was something else entirely,” she said, pressing her lips together. “I’ll have to make him more cookies, maybe even a pie.”

  I had a good idea of what she thought :-O meant and was not interested in discussing it.

  “How are things going at work?” she asked.

  “Good. We’re still trying to figure out what’s happening with the robberies.”

  “There hasn’t been one for a couple of days. Maybe the robbers thought there was too much heat on them and decided to stop their criminal ways.”

  I paused mid-bite. “Heat?”

  “You know! Cops, and now the Speedy Superheroes. It’s dangerous to keep committing crimes when so many people are watching for you to make a wrong move.”

  She had a point about that, but my gut feeling was that the robberies weren’t over. Also, she’d undoubtedly been watching detective and cop shows on Netflix again.

  “I wrote a story about the Speedy Superheroes for the next Tribune issue.”

  My mom’s smile widened and she clapped. “That’s fantastic! The superheroes are so fun! I’ve been getting to know them and I’m really happy to be part of their group.”

  “You do things other than fight crime?”

  “We work on assignments as a team. We’re mostly supposed to be around and be a presence so people know we’re there.”

  That was the same thing Nut Man had told me, but I had two robberies where a possible superhero might be involved, so if that was the case, the robbery superhero was probably working alone.

  “Some of us will be at the carnival,” she said.

  I raised a brow. “In costume?”

  “I believe so. I have to help the food pantry with their booth so I won’t get to be a dragon tonight. But I’m sure Cuddles will be out again soon!”

  I had no doubt about that.

  “Thanks for lunch,” I said, giving her hug.

  “You’re welcome.”

  I grabbed the plate of cookies my mom had made for me to take back to the office to share—I was still undecided about the sharing part—then gave Gandalf some pets and went out through the garage to say hello and good-bye to my dad. The Mustang hood was raised and he was standing over it, a towel laid out over the body of the car, protecting the paint while he tinkered.

  “Hey, Dad,” I said, coming over to look at what he was doing. The car had been in great shape until my mom recently took it for a soggy drive straight into a very wet pond.

  “Hey, Kate,” he said, putting his wrench down and giving me a hug. “How’s work going?”

  “It’s going,” I said. “These robberies are strange. Nothing really ties them together, but they keep happening. The police don’t have any leads, and even Hawke and I haven’t been able to come up with something yet. I hope we turn up some new information soon.”

  He leaned against the car and picked his wrench back up. “I heard about the Ron Storm sculpture being stolen from the Collins family.”

  I nodded, watching him tighten a bolt. “It’s the first stolen item with real value.”

  He looked up, his eyes bigger than usual, like he was surprised. “It’s actually not the first Ron Storm sculpture to be taken.

  “It’s not?” I asked, curious.

  “I know of three others in the area that have gone missing during the past year.”

  I shook my head, stunned. “Why didn’t Bobby mention that to me?”

  He lifted a shoulder. “Most of them went missing before you moved back here. I’m not sure that all of them were even reported to the police. I know about it because I’m friends with Ron’s son, Aaron. Ron’s been sick the last few years and isn’t able to work on his art much anymore. Ron and his family view Ron’s work as his legacy and they like knowing who has his pieces so they keep track of them. The whole family was pretty upset about the missing artwork.”

  My reporter instincts were jumping around and they were almost as hyper as Gandalf waiting for pumpkin penis cookies. “Do you have the names of the people with missing sculptures?”

  My dad thought about it for a minute. “I could probably get them.”

  “That would really help me out. If other people had pieces lost or taken, I’d like to talk to them. Thanks, Dad.”

  “No problem, sweetheart. I’ll let you know when I find out more.”

  I couldn’t help but think these missing Ron Storm sculptures were also related to the robberies that were happening now. I had no idea how, but I was going to find out, and I was excited to have a lead to chase.

  I texted Hawke.

  In addition to the Collins sculpture that was just stolen, three other Ron Storm sculptures have gone missing in the past year. I don’t think this is a coincidence.

  He texted back.

  I don’t think so either. What do you know about the other pieces?

  I texted.

  Not much yet. But I’ll let you know when I find out more.

  I put my Jeep into drive, rounded a corner, and saw a cop car with its lights flashing pulled over in front of a house. I hadn’t gotten a message from Spence that another robbery or some other incident had occurred, but since I was right there, I decided to stop and check it out anyway.

  Two girls, one with blonde braids and another with a dark ponytail, stood behind a small card table that held cups and two pitchers. The sign on the front said: “Spiked Cider and Hot Chocolate $1 a cup.” The ‘spiked cider’ part would explain why the police had been summoned. A woman, who I assumed was the mother of the girls, was standing next to them.

  Officer Bob and Officer Chase Burton, one of the other Branson police officers, were standing in front of the table, drinking out of two cups.

  “Hi,” I said.

  “Hi!” The little girl with blond braids said, flashing a giant smile. “I’m Kara, and this is Kenzie.”

  “Do you want a drink?” Kenzie asked. She had the same disarming smile as Kara, and that coupled with the fact that they both had names that started with a K—naming kids with the same first letter of their name was popular in Utah—made me assume they were sisters.

  “Sure,” I said. “I suppose I
should get the hot chocolate since I’m driving.” I glanced at Bobby and Chase.

  “The cider is pretty good,” Bobby said, tipping his glass back.

  “The spiked cider?” I asked, putting emphasis on the ‘spiked’ and arching a brow.

  Kara giggled, a light chiming noise, and pointed to her sign. “It says: “Spiked with Love”, the ‘with love’ part is just super tiny.”

  I looked down at the sign and sure enough, ‘with love’ was written below ‘spiked’ in super tiny letters. I laughed and looked up at their mom, who was also smiling. The kids were excellent little marketers.

  “Well then, I guess I’ll have a spiked cider instead since Officer Bob recommends it so highly.” I handed them a dollar and they worked as a team with one holding the cup and the other pouring the cider, then they handed the cider to me. I took a drink and the cinnamon and apple flavors were as delightful as Bobby said they would be.

  “Were you out on patrol and saw their drink stand, or did someone call and turn them in?” I asked Bobby and Chase.

  “Oh, multiple people called and asked us to do a check,” Bobby said.

  I was certain of that. Most of those calls were probably from people concerned for Kara and Kenzie’s souls. They were also people who had no sense of humor and didn’t know how to mind their own business. I guessed many of them were members of The Ladies.

  “I also got calls from neighbors,” the little girls’ mom said. “I’m Cindy.”

  I rolled my eyes as I shook my head. “Of course you did. It’s nice to meet you, Cindy.”

  Bobby shrugged. “We stopped to see what was happenin’. Some people were yellin’ about child abuse in their calls. But the girls aren’t breakin’ the law. They’re not even doin’ anythin’ wrong.”

  Cindy shrugged. “The girls came up with the idea and I thought it was hilarious, and smart. They’re making a killing from people who think it’s as funny as I did.”

  “We’re going to do it all next summer with root beer!” Kara said.

  They had a good marketing strategy and I had no doubt they’d continue to do well with it. I felt like it was worthy of a story in the paper, and one that might be picked up by the Utah broadcast news stations. I took a couple of photos of the adorable girls and their sign. I was in the middle of taking some notes when one of my least favorite people, Mrs. Olsen, flew up in a full-fledged tizzy with her arms waving. I was surprised she didn’t arrive by broom. She was wearing a big brown overcoat that was probably very fashionable in 1963, a yellow scarf, and a hat that stuck up on both sides of her head in a way that resembled horns—a similarity I felt was rather fitting. Mrs. Olsen had declared herself the local morality manager years ago and made a point to give her opinion about right and wrong whenever possible. She and I didn’t get along.

  “I can’t believe this,” she huffed, gesturing toward the table and the sign. “These sweet little girls selling alcohol! This is horrible! Just horrible!”

  Kara flashed her a bright smile. “Do you want some?”

  I laughed and was impressed at Kara’s ability to not be intimidated by a woman many people in town were terrified of.

  “I most certainly do not, Kara!” she said. “This isn’t the kind of behavior they teach you in church!”

  Kenzie blinked and flashed a smile. “We’re donating half of our profits to the food pantry,” she said, flashing a smile of her own.

  Mrs. Olsen sputtered, not knowing what to say to that. Because according to her moral and religious foundations, supporting charities was good, but alcohol was bad. Giving money from alcohol profits to the needy was something Mrs. Olsen absolutely couldn’t reconcile. Her face contorted and it was like I was witnessing her blow an actual brain fuse.

  I decided I should step in before Mrs. Olsen said something even more stupid than usual. “Read the sign, Mrs. Olsen. There’s not alcohol in the cider.”

  Mrs. Olsen squinted, then stood up like she’d never been so offended in her life. “Spiked with love?” She turned her judgy gaze on the little girls’ mom. “You know well and good that God wants us to avoid the appearance of evil, Cindy,” Mrs. Olsen said. “Wait until I tell our bishop about this!”

  Cindy gave a sweet smile in return. “It’s not evil,” Cindy said patiently—much more patiently than I would have managed. “It’s a joke.”

  “You’re teachin’ your girls horrible things,” she hissed. “And you,” Mrs. Olsen said, pointing at me. “This is your fault.”

  I stared at her, my jaw slack. “How in the world did I get roped into the blame?”

  She scrunched her face up into an expression I’d only seen in movies—on an orc. “You drink coffee, wear tank tops, and do the good Lord knows what with multiple men. You’re settin’ a bad example for our youth and Heavenly Father will remember.” She pointed her finger at me to give that last part extra emphasis.

  Mrs. Olsen was the type of person who loved playing the victim, and always needed someone to blame; I was an easy target. I tried really hard not to laugh. I did not succeed. “Well, if me introducing new ideas to people is enough to sway them from their own beliefs, I imagine their faith wasn’t too strong in the first place.”

  Mrs. Olsen gave me a solid glare and stomped off down the street, her urine colored scarf swinging in the breeze.

  I turned to the girls and whispered, “She’s just jealous she didn’t think of it first.” I gave them a wink. “The story should be in the next newspaper,” I said to Cindy.

  She thanked me, and I left for the office. I had some articles to write and edit before the carnival tonight.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I walked into the main gate, a long walkway of intricately carved pumpkins, their faces glowing in flickering candlelight spurts. There were carvings of favorite book characters, movies, cityscapes, and pretty much every other possible thing you could think of. The people who carved the pumpkin art were seriously talented and always impressed me. The fall Halloween carnival is almost as popular of an event as the Branson Falls fair—which is saying a lot. Everyone comes to get their fill of candy, cute costumed kids, and socializing.

  The smells of garlic, fresh cheesy bread, and baked sugar hit my nostrils and the scent took me right back to a childhood full of caramel apples, friends, and carnival games. I glanced around at the tents. There was always a plethora of yummy food options to choose from, and I was starving. I really wanted to sit down and have a meal, but I needed to get more pictures, quotes, and cover the carnival first. Luckily, there were plenty of snacks available and I stopped to get one.

  A little girl who couldn’t have been more than eight stood behind the counter wearing an apron and a blue and white paper hat that made her look like a pirate. “Hi,” she said with a wide smile.

  “Hi,” I answered back, flashing a smile of my own. “I want to get a treat. What’s your favorite?”

  Her eyes brightened at the question and her smile got even wider. “The chocolate and candy covered Rice Krispie pop!” she said with excitement.

  A Rice Krispie pop sounded as good as anything else, and it would be quick and easy to eat. “Great! I’ll get that.”

  “It’s two dollars.”

  I handed her the money and then waited as she left her post and went back to an area I couldn’t see. When she came back, she was holding a triangular Rice Krispie the size of a New York pizza slice that had been impaled with a wooden stick, drenched in chocolate, and covered in crushed candy. I had no idea what I was going to do with it.

  “Thanks,” I said, trying not to look overwhelmed. I pasted on an excited smile and hoped she wasn’t good at reading expressions. “I can’t wait to try it.”

  She grinned and I turned around, attempting to eat the treat. The chocolate had solidified, which was in my favor, but as I attempted to eat it, I found that the candy pieces had not all been securely attached and I was leaving a trail of treats. Tonight would be a bad night for me to start a life a crime since I�
��d be relatively easy to find. I also couldn’t easily take notes or pictures since one hand was currently occupied holding my pizza sized pop. So I meandered around looking at the various booths while I ate, and listening to the happy, and very loud, screams from kids playing carnival games.

  Drake’s deep voice managed to slice through the noise. “Hey, Katie.”

  “How did you find me?” I asked around a bite of krispie.

  “I followed the trail of candy.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “I don’t really think that’s fair. I’m not the only one with candy around here.”

  He gave me a look. “You seem to be the only one dropping it.”

  I glared.

  “What is that anyway?” Drake asked, pointing to my snack.

  “A Rice Krispie treat,” I said, taking another bite. At this rate, I’d be eating it all night and not getting any of my work done.

  “On a stick?”

  I thought that was pretty obvious. “Yes. On a stick. Treats on sticks are all the Halloween rage this year.” Really, I’d been as surprised about the stick addition as he was, but I wasn’t admitting that to him.

  He leaned over and licked a piece of candy off the krispie that was about to make an escape, then he took a bite and so help me, it was the most seductive Rice Krispie eating I’d ever experienced. He saw my reaction and grinned, slowly licking his lips as he did so. “Well, it tastes good.”

  While I was waiting for my common sense to return so I could form sentences, another piece of candy fell down my shirt. Fantastic. “Can you hold this for a minute,” I asked him, holding out my cereal stick.

  He took it from me and watched with a high level of amusement as I reached my hand down my shirt.

  “Do you want some help?” Drake asked, his eyes on my chest.

  I rolled my eyes. “I’ve got it.”

  “Because I’m more than happy to help. Really.”

  And I wouldn’t mind him helping. But not here. In this very public place, where all the people were and plenty were undoubtedly watching us—including my mom and dad over in the food pantry booth. I gave them a wave with the hand that wasn’t digging around in my bra. My mom’s expression reprimanded me from all the way across the room. I fished the candy out of my cleavage and threw it in a nearby trash before Drake handed my treat back.