by Teresa Trent
A thief who liked big animals and smelled of paint—that could be anyone in Pecan Bayou. Around here, art in Pecan Bayou often consisted of paint-by-number specials bought at Super Walley. Holding the light closer to the wall, a yellow figure came into view. It was a smiley face. I knew who the thief was.
I flicked off the flashlight and hurried back to the car where Aunt Maggie and Danny waited.
"Did you see the bad man, Betsy?"
"Nope. He got away."
"Don't worry. Uncle Judd will get him. He always gets the bad men."
"That's right honey," Aunt Maggie said, stifling a yawn.
Birdie pulled in front of the diner, her tires squealing.
"Birdie, I didn’t expect you down here this quickly." My father looked from Birdie to a man who stood with his arm around her. "And this is?"
"Sorry, Judd. This is my boyfriend. Jeff Ellis."
Ellis looked up at the roof.
"Dagnabbit." He hit his ball cap on the leg of his jeans. "I knew it. I called the police department right after the cow was stolen. The guy told me they don’t do protective patrols for inanimate objects."
"Normally, we don’t," my dad replied. "Who did you talk to, exactly?"
"That big guy with the high voice."
"That would have been Officer Beckman."
"Right—that dude."
"Who would steal a chicken made out of soup cans? I mean, what would it be worth to anybody?" Birdie said.
Jeff withdrew his arm from around Birdie’s shoulder and faced her.
"Are you saying my chicken wasn't worth stealing?"
Realizing her error, Birdie backpedaled. "I’m just so upset."
I couldn’t be sure, but I thought I saw a little relief in Birdie’s eyes. Bad gifts from new boyfriends could be hard to say no to.
Birdie and her boyfriend talked to my father for a few more minutes. I stepped back to the car where Maggie was waiting.
"Well I guess this evening is a bust," I said.
"These things happen. Let's head home to get some sleep. I think we’re all tuckered out."
Maggie was right. Suddenly, I was incredibly exhausted. Not only that, but I hadn’t called Leo in the last few hours. If he were to get home before me and find out I had been trying to catch a thief all night, there would be hell to pay.
I dropped Maggie and Danny off and headed straight home. As I let myself into the house, my phone started ringing.
"Hey Betsy, sorry I'm so late calling. I'm on my way home right now. How are you feeling?"
"Oh… fine. Just fine." Leo did not respond immediately. We were getting to the point where he knew when I was trying to hide something.
"Are you sure? You not feeling the twinges of any kind of labor are you?"
"No. The baby is fine."
"Good. I'm so glad to hear that. I’m proud of you for taking a night to relax. We have a big delivery coming, and you need all the energy you can get."
I had a pang of guilt as I remembered how close I had come to climbing up on the air conditioner earlier. Should I tell him the truth, or should I just let him find out about it later? I decided to save it for later.
"It’s all about taking care of yourself," I said.
"You’re so right. I'll be home soon."
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
After a lousy night’s sleep, and once Leo left for the day, I decided to head over to Benny’s Barbecue to have a talk with Sasha.
Sasha Holman, the waitress at Benny's, had mentioned her ex was a painter. She also mentioned her disapproval of his signature smiley face.
Would this guy be stupid enough to steal something and leave behind a signature? Signing a piece of art work is one thing, but signing a theft seemed a little out there, even for creative types.
"Well now, if it isn’t Betsy. My most frequent customer. Aren't you just a few hours too early?" said Benny as I waddled in to his place of business.
"It’s never too early for a good day. Isn’t that what you told the boys when you made them get up at sunrise on all of those scout trips?"
Benny’s smile took on a smirk. "Good times. What can I do for you?"
"I was wondering if Sasha was in yet."
"She's in the back. I'll get her." A minute later Sasha came out wearing a kitchen apron, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. Her luscious blond hair, crammed into a netted kitchen cap, transformed her from sexy to haggard. I wondered what Baxter Digby would think of this version of Sasha.
"You wanted to see me?" She looked nervous. It was unusual for a customer to ask for her by name, even if it was a pie-craving pregnant woman.
"Yes. Sorry to bother you, but I had a quick question. Didn't you say your ex-husband was a painter of some sort?"
She laughed, relaxing a little. "He fancies himself a painter. Does that count?"
"Can you tell me what kind of portraits he painted? I was thinking about maybe having a mural painted on the baby’s wall."
"Well, if you want a picture with a bunch of cows in a pasture, then he’s your guy."
"He paints mostly outdoor scenes with animals? Does he paint on location, or does he use photographs?"
"If you want to see an example of his work you just need to go over to Cattleman’s Call. He painted a mural for that Carello guy. I really thought when he started the job at the steakhouse, things would pick up for us. Maybe his idea of being a painter wasn't so crazy. But no, my ex-husband messes it all up again, ending his chance at any future employment."
"What?"
"He puts his freakin’ smiley face right there in the corner of the painting. Just ridiculous. Mr. Carello was so angry. He told him to go back and paint over it. Connor wouldn’t and said it was his artistic license. Hell, he even painted one on the back of my car. You can bet I scratched that sucker off. He said that smiley face was his unique signature. That explanation works if you’re a sixth grade girl."
"Did he paint over it?"
"Eventually. I made him. We had rent to pay."
"Would you mind telling me your address? I’m just finishing up the nursery and I’d like to talk with your ex-husband."
"No problem at all." She pulled out her order pad and started scribbling down an address. She ripped it off with a flourish.
"There you go. I hope you hire him. He needs the money."
I was already starting to get some cravings and felt the baby moving. I rested my hand on my offspring for just a moment.
"Do you want me to get you some pie?"
"It’s a little early for it," I admitted, not wanting to tell her I left the house without breakfast. The baby shifted again.
"Are you getting kicked?" The woman across the table from me looked fondly at my belly. "I wish it were me. I would love to be having a baby right now."
The irony was, I would love not to be having a baby right now. I couldn't wait to see my new baby, but I couldn't wait to see my old waistline. I dreamed of wearing something as simple as a belt.
"Yes it's a wonderful time. Leo and I are very excited."
"Oh, yeah." Sasha snapped her fingers and pointed at me. "I forgot Leo Fitzpatrick is your husband. You are one lucky girl. I loved it when he did the weather on NUTV every day. I almost never missed the five day forecast." She smiled and gazed up in the air as if having a brief fantasy about my husband. I stopped her imagining cold.
"I know about Baxter Digby." She jerked out of her dream as her face registered shock. I shouldn’t have blurted it out, but I just couldn’t help myself when she started thinking about another married man. My married man. She had been so kind to me just a minute before. Now she looked as if she wanted to shoot me, or at least give me the wrong kind of pie.
"I don't know what you're talking about." Of course, she would deny it. How could she let it out she was sleeping with a married city council candidate and still come off as the victim of a crazy ex-husband?
"I saw you."
"What do you mean you saw me?" Sweet Sasha Holman
’s demeanor was growing very icy. Something pretty hard to achieve in the heat of August.
"I saw you at the Super Stay Motel."
"I don't know what you hoped to accomplish here," she said, turning away from me, "but I am not going to stay here and listen to your lies. Baxter Digby and I are friends. What does it matter anyway? I'm single."
She started to leave and I put my hand on her arm.
"But he's married. I think we both know that."
She tried to pull away from my grasp, but then turned toward me. "In name only," she muttered. For a woman who was madly in love, she didn’t look too happy. Her eyes met mine.
"So, what is it you want from me? Is it money? Because I don't have any. I spent all my money on my divorce. Why do you think I’m working in this barbecue joint? I go home at night and I can’t get the smell out of my clothes."
Benny, who had returned to the kitchen and was now flouring a load of chicken, looked up briefly, his lips thinning. This would probably be Sasha’s last lunch break.
"No. I don't want your money. You've completely misunderstood this. I'm not here to try to get something out of you. I'm here because I need to let you know that Rocky Whitson at the Pecan Bayou Gazette is on to you."
"How did he find out?"
I lowered my gaze as the guilt took over.
"Somebody told him?" Sasha asked.
"Sort of."
"Who? Whoever it is better put their affairs in order, because I’m going to kill them. Who would do such a hateful thing? Was it Connor? He was plenty mad when he found out, but I didn’t think he’d resort to putting it in the paper." She paused and then continued. "Was it Baxter’s wife? Does his wife know?"
I squeaked out my answer. "Not yet. It was me."
Sasha’s jaw dropped. "Why would you do that? What harm was a few little lunch dates doing? Two people finding some joy in the middle of the day? What would possess you to tell the newspaper about it?"
"Listen, I know this won't give you any comfort, but it just happened. I was writing this silly article on Baxter about grilling, and one day I noticed his car at the hotel. There was another car parked next to his. At first, I had no idea it was yours. The next day as I was driving back from getting pie, I saw the two cars side by side again. When I turned in my article to Rocky, it just kind of slipped out."
"Slipped out? Are you going to ruin my life because it just slipped out? If this gets out…well, you don’t really know Baxter. He’s going to be boiling mad. I wouldn’t want to be Rocky Whitson if he goes after him."
"I know. What happened is my fault, and that's kind of why I'm here right now. So, there’s that and one other little item."
"What, now are you going to tell me he has a sexually transmitted disease or something?"
"No. I mean, I don't know."
"Then what?"
"I was wondering what you could tell me about your ex-husband." She slammed her hand down on the table.
"Really? You want to know about him? Are you tracking my love life? Are you some kind of twisted pregnant stalker? You’re sick, you know that?"
I began to think she was right, but twisted or not, I went on.
"Do you think he could be behind all the animal thefts in town?" I asked.
"What the hell?…." She stopped mid-sentence, before launching a new string of insults. I could tell she was picturing her ex and his love for animals.
I asked again. "What do you think?"
She stood up, throwing the towel on the table. "I think you need to get out of here. I’m finished talking to you. March your butt over to that thing you call a newspaper, and tell Rocky Whitson if he publishes any part of this story, I’ll sue. Let alone what Baxter will do to him. Got that?"
"Got it." I grabbed my bag and left Benny’s as quickly as I could. Once in the car I phoned Rocky.
"So she's going to sue me. How?" he said, after I relayed the information.
"You can't blame her. You're ruining her name and her reputation in this town."
"She ruined her reputation all by herself. I wasn't the one who was checking into the hot sheets motel every day with the local superstar real estate agent. I don’t think she was checking out his new listings."
"She kept talking about how violent Baxter could become if he found out about our little spying adventure. I think she’s really kind of scared of the guy."
"True love ain’t what it used to be, I suppose. Why were you there so early? You usually load up on calories a little later in the day."
"I needed her old address to visit her ex-husband. I have a theory on the animal thefts."
"Do tell."
"It's probably nothing, but I smelled paint at Birdie’s Diner last night. Then I saw a smiley face on the wall."
"You've lost me."
"That's Sasha’s ex-husband’s trademark. He's a painter. I just thought I would go talk to him on the pretense of wanting a mural on our nursery wall."
"You never know. He could be a dangerous criminal. Give me his address and I'll meet you there."
I debated giving him the address given how quickly he ran with the last bit of information I gave him.
"I'm grabbing my keys right now," he said.
He was right. If this smiley-face painter was the thief, he might not be right in the head. Having someone else along could be safer. I tried not to think about the fact that I was bringing the privacy-invading Rocky along as my bodyguard. I gave him the address, and we met at the curb just a few minutes later.
The house at one time had been a springtime blue, but now paint was peeling around the shutters and had faded to a dingy gray. For a guy who was a painter he didn't take very good care of his own property. Sasha had said it was a rental, but what landlord would keep a house in this condition? Living in a depressing place like this would make any wife leave. The front door hung slightly askew from the hinges. We tapped on the dirt-smudged glass.
"Yoo hoo? Anybody home?" I said in my most nonthreatening voice.
"Who says ‘yoo hoo’?" Rocky said, eying me sideways.
"Friendly people?"
"Oh right. We're being friendly. Uh…Yoo hoo…" He turned to me. "Sounds stupid."
"What do you want to say? ‘It's the media. Give us a statement?’"
He grinned. "I kind of like that."
I knocked again, causing the cheap tin on the door to rattle. Still no answer.
"Doesn't look like anybody's home." We heard the sound of a door closing, coming from the back of the house.
"Maybe he's coming in from the yard. He could have been rinsing out brushes or something."
We waited for a few minutes more, listening for footsteps nearing the front door. Rocky knocked on the door again. If someone was in the backyard or even somewhere in the house, they had to hear us now.
"Could it be what we heard was someone going into the backyard instead of inside the house?" I asked.
"Worth a try."
We stepped off the front porch and went around to the backyard. Rocky looked over the six foot pine privacy fence as a car sped by on the street behind us.
"Hot damn."
"What?"
Ignoring all rules about breaking and entering, Rocky opened the gate.
"Aren’t we committing some sort of a crime here?" I said.
"Not when someone is in possession of stolen items," Rocky said.
Lined up as if on display at a museum were the three stolen animals. The summer sun beat down on the cow from Cattleman’s Call. He looked a little worse for wear with the move. Lonnie Carello would not be happy to see that Holman made a small hole and a scratch in the side of the cow. The soup-can chicken from Birdie’s Diner had a stray can dangling near a wing. Luckily Charlie Loper's prize horse came through without any damage. If you squinted your eyes a bit, they almost looked real. Rocky pulled his camera out of his bag, and began snapping pictures at a furious pace.
"This is rip-snortin’ wonderful. You and your smiley face t
heory have led us to the thief, or at least the stolen items. Maybe I can print these in color. I’ll use the headline ‘Crazy Smiley Face Painter Hoards Herds.’ It’s like poetry. If I hurry, I can get it in the online version of the paper within the hour."
He stuffed his camera back in his bag and headed out the fence gate.
"Where are you going?" I asked.
"This is big news. You have your car. You’ll be fine."
He left me standing there alone in the backyard. What would possess a person to want to steal these tacky things, I thought. I pulled out my cell phone and dialed the Pecan Bayou Police Department.
"Pecan Bayou Police, " Mrs. Thatcher answered.
"Hi. It’s Betsy. I think I’ve found the missing animals. " Mrs. Thatcher announced my news to anyone within hearing distance. A whoop went up behind her.
"Hold on, dear. I’ll get your father on the phone. He’s in a meeting, but he’ll want me to buzz in for this. Oh, and be sure to get off your feet. That baby needs his rest after all this. "
Within the minute my father came on the line.
"That's great, Betsy. Unfortunately I'm in the middle of a hurricane planning meeting right now. I’ll get over there just a little bit later with the truck to pick up the evidence."
"Okay." It didn’t look like the animals were going anywhere.
"Do you see Mr. Holman anywhere?" my dad asked.
"Rocky and I knocked on the door several times but there was no answer. He’s not here. Maybe he’s out casing the giant weinerschnitzel in front of Helmuts B & B."
"Good. We’ll have to put out an APB on him. Now get out of there and get home." He was right. I was starting to feel very unsafe. I couldn’t be sure, but the soup-can chicken seemed to be glaring at me. I backed out of the yard, closing the gate securely behind me.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
When I made it back home, the excitement of talking to Sasha and then finding the stolen animals started to take its toll on me. Back in my non-pregnant days I probably would have fired up the computer and cranked out a column. Not today. I had my feet up on the couch when Leo called.
