by Ann Charles
“There you go.” Ronnie slapped her thigh as if the judge had spoken and the trial was over.
Claire sat forward. “You know, I’m still not sure this guy is the Polar Bear, Kate.” When her sister sputtered, she interrupted with, “Don’t go getting all pissed and throwing monkey poo at me for saying that. I just want to point out that this guy has not made a single threatening move toward Ronnie.”
“He cheated me on a tip,” Kate griped.
“Oh, well,” Claire stood and stretched, “in that case, he’s guilty as hell. Let’s pull a Wyatt Earp and demand he meet the three of us at the O.K. Corral. We’ll teach him a lesson about shortchanging a Morgan sister on a good tip.”
“Kiss my ass, Claire.”
“No thanks. I’ll leave the dirty work to Butch.” She stepped up onto the porch and held the door open. “Come on, you two hooligans. Let’s go see if Mom is wearing a lampshade and dancing on the kitchen table.”
“Not again.” Ronnie stood and offered Kate a hand up. “Chester told me he was afraid to watch her shake her booty last time for fear he’d turn into a pillar of salt.”
“If she’s up there getting all bootylicious,” Kate said as she passed over the threshold, “let’s just hope Manny isn’t up there with her.”
Ronnie groaned, following Kate inside. “If I have to watch those two reenact Dirty Dancing one more time, I may need to fall in behind Claire in the lobotomy line.”
Grimacing at what the evening might have in store for her, Claire followed her sisters inside. “I believe I’m going to follow in Chester’s footsteps tonight and find my Zen at the bottom of a bottle of beer.”
She closed the door behind her and locked it, shutting out the rest of the world and its troubles.
Tonight she was going to focus on one thing and one thing only—kicking butt at Euchre. After that she’d see what she could do about saving the day.
Chapter Seventeen
Monday, November 12th
“Have you thought about Thanksgiving?” Kate asked.
“Thanksgiving?” Claire shot a frown across the front seat of Ruby’s pickup. Her sister nibbled on a granola bar she’d grabbed on the way out of the General Store. “We’re on a stakeout here, not a grocery run.”
Here being across the street from the Tucson Electric Power building in Yuccaville where two white trucks were parked in the lot. Claire assumed one of them was Dory Hamilton’s work truck, since they’d watched him pull up in it and stroll into the building thirty minutes ago.
“That’s what got me thinking about food,” Kate said.
“What got you thinking about food?” Claire focused back on the main door to the building, willing Dory to get his butt back out here and in that truck. There was no way she was going to confront him on his home turf. The plan was to follow him until he was well away from here and then catch him off guard.
“Stakeout,” Kate answered. “That word always makes me think of a takeout joint that specializes in steak. Better yet, it’s the perfect theme for a food truck. I could name it,” she lifted her hands in front of her, as if displaying an invisible banner in the air, “The Stakeout Mobile. Like the Batmobile, you know. I could drive it around as if I’m on a stakeout. Get it?” She didn’t wait for Claire to weigh in or to tell her to shove the rest of the granola bar into her pumpkin pie hole and shut it. “Maybe I should name the business The Stakeout Lady. Unless you want to be a partner in my venture. Together we could be The Stakeout Babes.”
Claire stared at her sister in baffled silence. Who in the hell was this woman sitting next to her and what had she done with Kate? And where had this desire to cook food for people come from? Kate had been born with a case of bad-chef-itis that hadn’t gone away in her thirty-one plus years.
“What does any of that have to do with Thanksgiving?” Claire asked after easing her tongue out of its state of shock.
The look Kate gave her made it clear that she thought Claire was the one with the cotton candy brain. “The word stakeout makes me think of steak, which makes me think about a restaurant, which makes me think about eating, which makes me think of my favorite foods, which reminds me that we haven’t made any plans for Thanksgiving dinner yet. So, what do you think?”
“I think the real Kate was abducted from Gramps’s R.V. last night by aliens from the planet Goofball, and they sent you down here to muddle our brains while they are busy up in their spacecraft repeatedly probing her.”
Kate wrinkled her nose at Claire. “I mean what do you think about Thanksgiving dinner?”
“Turkey, rolls, cranberries, and stuffing. The rest I don’t give a hoot about, because I’ll be so gorged after those four comfort foods, not to mention I’ll be borderline catatonic from the carb overload, that nothing else on the table will matter.”
“Well, we must have some pie and potatoes.” Kate tapped her chin. “I wonder if Mom will be sober enough to make her infamous eggplant and pea casserole.”
“I sure hope not.” That dish should come with a skull and crossbones label. “Maybe we should keep topping off Mom’s glass of cognac to ensure that concoction does not end up on the dinner table this year.”
“I don’t know. It’s not so bad tasting.”
“Butch wasn’t lying. You’re getting loonier every damned day.” She was dodging Kate’s fist when a movement in her peripheral vision made her turn back to the building. “Hey, there’s Dory. Get down!”
Claire slid down the seat peeking out the side window, watching him climb into his pickup and back out of the lot. She waited until he was a block away and then started up Ruby’s truck and rolled after him.
He stopped at the mini-mart in Yuccaville and came out carrying a two-liter of soda pop and a bag of doughnuts, one of which he held in his mouth while he unlocked his truck. He took off out of the parking lot and headed toward Jackrabbit Junction.
Kate ducked down in the seat again as they passed the Sheriff’s office.
“Feeling guilty?” Claire asked.
“If Deputy Dipshit sees us he’ll follow, I know it.”
“You’re getting paranoid.”
“He’s got a thing for me.” When Claire hit her with a get-over-yourself glance, she clarified, “Not that kind of a thing—more of a grudge.”
“It couldn’t have anything to do with you insulting him to his face, could it?”
Kate pushed back upright. “He needs to grow thicker skin if he’s aspiring to sheriff-dom someday. Look at what Sheriff Harrison deals with from Ronnie. I’m helping the butthead be a better cop.”
“Right.”
“Just shush up and drive.”
Chuckling, Claire did as ordered, following Dory through Jackrabbit Junction and several miles past. When he turned down a dirt road, she hesitated on the shoulder of the highway. Should she follow or wait for another stop?
“What are you doing?” Kate asked. “Let’s go.”
“What if we follow and end up in the boonies and he pulls a gun on me?” Sophy Wheeler and her 12-gauge had made her gun-shy in all senses of the word.
“He’s not going to pull a gun, especially if you take off your jacket and put some extra wag in your walk when you approach him.”
“No jacket? The breeze today is freaking cold.”
“Oh, poor baby. We wouldn’t want you to get a little cold when you’re trying to keep your family from ending up dead now would we?” She blocked Claire’s playful attempt to whack her. “Listen, we are going to find out today why that asshole called and left that message if we have to string him up by his balls to get the answer.”
Claire frowned at the gleam in Kate’s eyes. “Are you running a fever?”
Pointing out the window at the dust trail Dory was leaving, Kate ordered, “Drive, Claire. Before we lose him.”
“Fine.” Shifting into gear, she turned down the road and sped after him. “Your bossiness is growing along with your baby. By the time this baby shows up, I’ll be calling you
Ronnie Jr.”
Kate laughed. It was more of a cackle really, reminding Claire of their mother last night before Manny led her stumbling off into the night back to his Airstream.
“When’s your next checkup?” Claire asked after the cackle quieted.
“In two weeks.” Kate shifted uncomfortably. “Butch wants to go with me.”
“Good.”
“Right.” She didn’t sound too sure about that.
“Is there a problem with Butch going with you to the doctor’s office?”
“It’s kind of an intimate thing.”
“So is making a baby.”
“Funny girl.” Kate wrinkled her nose at Claire. “Butch makes me nervous, if you want to know the truth. I’m worried about what he’ll do when we’re in the exam room together and I’m in that stupid hospital gown.”
“You think he’s going to want to don a pair of rubber gloves and play rock-paper-scissors with the doc to see who gets to go in first?”
“You joke, but how would you feel if Mac sat in with you during a pap exam? Do you have any idea how uncomfortable it will be for me with my ex-boyfriend sitting there while the doctor pokes around under my hood?”
Claire grimaced down at that general area on Kate. “That’s more like your trunk.”
“You know what? I don’t want to talk about this right now.”
“Calm down. I get your point.” Claire squeezed her shoulder. “Hey, maybe I could come with you guys. We could make it a party in your exam room. You know Chester’s going to be hurt if we don’t include him, too.”
Kate’s glare didn’t last when Claire made a face at her.
When they focused back out the front window, Kate grabbed the dash. “Look! Dory made a left turn.”
Claire saw it too. She followed. They made another turn a short way down the road, crossed a cattle guard, and wound their way up a rutted drive.
“There’s his truck,” Kate said. “He’s not in it. Pull up next to it.”
“I know what to do.” Claire parked and cut the engine. She shook her finger at Kate. “You stay in here.”
“Fine.”
“I mean it, Kate. Do not follow me, do not try anything crazy, and do not do anything that will land us back in jail again.”
“I won’t.”
“Pinkie swear.” Claire held out her pinkie.
Kate took it. “Okay, happy? Now hurry up before he gets back to his truck.”
Shoving her door open and sliding out of the pickup, Claire jogged across the gravel drive. She passed in front of the older, half adobe/half wood ranch house and its large wraparound porch that sagged a little on one end. As she rounded the corner post, she nearly ran smack into Dory on his way back to his pickup.
He jerked back in surprise, almost knocking off his Tucson Electric Power cap. A weird squelching noise came from somewhere around his jowls.
Claire held up her hands. “Sorry if I scared you. I just needed to ask you a quick question.”
His eyes narrowed, his lips following suit. “Who are you?”
“Claire Morgan.”
He jerked again, this time not as much but a reaction nonetheless. Apparently he’d heard of her. Or maybe one of her sisters.
“I’m busy right now,” he said, hitching up his blue work pants under his beer belly. “You need to contact our customer service number if you have questions.”
“I have a question for you, Dory Hamilton. Not Tucson Electric Power.”
The red shade that crept up his cheeks and around his brown, scruffy, Elvis sideburns had nothing to do with the Arizona sunshine. His brown eyes darted around as if he were looking for an escape route.
Claire took a step back, bending her knees, ready to chase after him if he tried to run. “Why did you call the Dancing Winnebagos R.V. Park last week and leave a message?”
A movement in the corner of her eye drew Claire’s gaze. When she looked over at the window on her left, the curtain was waving like a breeze had somehow blown through the closed window.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, lady.”
“Really? You didn’t make a call from the payphone at Dirty Gerties and tell my sister, ‘He’s coming for you’?”
He lifted his chin. “Nope. You have the wrong guy.”
“The owner of Dirty Gerties doesn’t think so. She specifically remembers you being there at the time the phone call was made. She also heard your voice from her office.”
“She was wrong. I was already gone by that time.”
Ha! Got him. “By what time, Dory?”
The red crept higher. He puffed out his chest. “Listen, lady, I told you I’m busy.”
She sidestepped as he tried to leave, blocking him. “Whatever game you are trying to play here, Dory, I will figure it out and come for you again.”
“Is that a threat? Because I’m sure the Sheriff would like to hear all about it.”
“I’m not afraid of the law, so don’t try to throw it in my face. Why in the hell did you call the R.V. park? Who is coming for us?”
“Stay away from me, lady.” He pushed past her, his shoulder nudging her hard enough to spin her around. “Or I’m calling the law and turning you in for badgering me.”
She followed on his heels. “There’s no law against merely badgering a person.”
“They’ll know what I mean.”
“Maybe I should call them, too, and tell them about your threatening phone call.”
“I told you I never made a call.” When he reached his truck, he rushed inside and locked the door like she’d turned into a zombie and was hungry for his brains.
“You’re lying, Dory Hamilton,” she yelled through the window, “and I’m going to find out what you’re hiding.”
He flipped her off while starting the truck.
“I’ll teach you not to fuck with a Morgan sister!” she yelled after him as he backed partway down the drive. He yanked his truck around and spit gravel in her direction as he left.
“Well,” Kate said, sidling up to her. “That was fruitful, Shaggy. You and Scooby Doo sure know how to make a bad guy come clean.”
Huffing, Claire jammed her hands on her hips. “Did you see his reaction to me? He’s guilty as hell.”
“I have no doubt and I aim to prove it.”
Claire frowned at her. “Oh yeah? What do you have in mind? Sprinkling him with your truth fairy dust?”
“No, smartass. I’m going to scope out his recent calls list.” Kate held up a cellphone and smiled ear to ear. “That stupid asshole drove off and left his phone behind. Oops!”
Oh, shit! “You stole his phone?” Claire accused more than asked. Would that fall under burglary or robbery in Sheriff Harrison’s book, since Kate undoubtedly had stolen it from Dory’s truck while Claire had him distracted?
“Technically I’m only borrowing it.”
* * *
Ronnie turned Chester’s truck into the parking lot of Dirty Gerties. Apparently Monday afternoon was a good day to hang out at a strip club, because almost half of the lot was full of pickup trucks, older model cars, and a few Jeeps. With not a single minivan or soccer mom SUV in sight, she couldn’t imagine a more testosterone laden place.
She cut the engine. After a quick check for any passing Sheriff vehicles, she headed inside. When Chester had brought her here, the venue had been mostly empty and quiet, echoing even. Today the place throbbed with deep bass. As Ronnie approached the bar, she breathed air heavy with the musty scent of humanity—sweat, cologne, and something else she didn’t want to try too hard to identify.
She stopped at the bar on the way in and ordered a Roy Rogers mocktail since she was driving today. Cherry was nowhere to be seen at the moment. The bartender was a well-built, muscled woman with tattoos escaping the neckline of her T-shirt and crawling up her throat. Her body looked thirty without an ounce of fat in sight, whereas her extra-tanned skin was approaching Medicare eligibility.
Ronnie scoped
out the room while she waited for her drink. Two of the four stripper poles were in use. She tried not to stare at the bottle blondes working the floor, their scantily clad bodies undulating in slow motion more than dancing, their limbs sliding up and down and all around the poles. Some of the men sat in small groups, others were solo, one was with a fully-dressed woman who was obviously not an employee. All were focused on the titillating scene on stage.
Movement in the back corner booth caught her eye. Someone was waving at her—someone whose notorious walker was parked next to the booth. Ronnie grabbed her drink, tossed some cash on the bar, and headed for the corner, weaving through the silent watchers.
Aunt Millie looked up from the scarf she was knitting as Ronnie neared. “You’re late again, dear.”
“Sorry about that. I had to shake one of the Sheriff’s hound dogs.” Even though she was in Chester’s truck, a deputy had glanced her way when she had passed and then had followed her for a couple of blocks. She’d lost him after shooting down an alley and cutting through a parking lot.
Sliding into the booth opposite Aunt Millie, Ronnie set her drink on the table. “I can’t believe you picked this place to meet.”
Her life seemed to revolve around Dirty Gerties these days. She wasn’t sure if she should take that as a good or bad sign. Maybe she needed to check her horoscope and see if a bright career in stripping was in her stars. She glanced down at her sad lack of an ogle-worthy chest, the result of being on the run-for-your-life diet for a couple of months too long.
“When you called,” Aunt Millie said, “you specifically requested that we meet somewhere Grady would never think to look for us.” She spread her hands wide. “Can you think of a better rendezvous location?”
“Nope.” If Ronnie were going to continue living a life of almost crime, she needed to hire Aunt Millie as her mentor.
“Besides,” Aunt Millie nudged her chin toward the dancers, “watching these girls spin and twirl reminds me of some burlesque shows I used to go to in Vegas with my first husband.” She winked across at Ronnie. “He was a real hot rod in the bedroom if you get my meaning. That boy could go from zero to sixty before I even rolled up to the line.”
