by Ann B. Ross
Good grief, I thought, he’ll scare them to death. But I knew she’d do whatever he told her without question.
Mr. Pickens came back into the study, then leaned over again to stare at the device. Even I could tell that the beeping was quieter and less urgent. The blinking red light was as bright as ever, but it, too, was settling into a slower, regular rhythm.
Mr. Pickens and Sam stared at each other. “Latisha!” they said at the same time.
And to prove it, Mr. Pickens went to get her, bringing both Lillian and Latisha back to the study. And, the nearer to us they got, the louder and more agitated the device became.
Lillian was almost as agitated, having been sent outside then called back in so precipitately by Mr. Pickens. “What we done, Mr. J.D.?”
“Not a thing, Lillian, not a thing. We’re just thinking that Latisha may have picked up something besides this little box. Did you, Latisha? Did you bring anything else from Miss Julia’s house?”
“No, sir,” Latisha said, her eyes wide. “I mean, yes sir. I brought back Miss Hazel Marie’s glue gun an’ I got my pocketbook.”
Her pocketbook! I’d thought that Rob had been after Latisha herself. But instead of wrestling for her, it had been her pocketbook that he’d been trying to wrest from her.
Chapter 48
Mr. Pickens squatted down in front of Latisha so that they were face-to-face, or, rather, eye to eye. Suspiciously frowning at him as he reached her level, she edged closer to Lillian. As he gazed steadily at her, Latisha squinched up her face and clutched her little red pocketbook tighter.
“Latisha,” he said, fairly gently for him, “may I see your pocketbook?”
She stared right back at him, holding his gaze defiantly for several seconds until his mustache began to twitch, and a little smile started to curl at the edge of Latisha’s mouth. “I guess,” she said, slowly handing it to him. “If you’ll be real careful.”
“Oh, I’ll be careful,” he said, standing. “You can count on that.” Putting the pocketbook on the desk, he opened the clasp and began to carefully pull out what it had been stuffed full of—one thick white sock after another. Three of them.
We all leaned over the desk, ignoring for the time being the crazily active black box, fascinated with what might be in the pocketbook besides socks.
“Uh-huh,” Mr. Pickens said as he laid out the socks in a row and felt the toe of each one. “Feels like something more than toes.” Glancing at Latisha, he went on. “Socks’re good hiding places for something you want to take care of.”
Latisha nodded. “Yessir, that’s where I keep ev’ry cent to my name.”
Taking great care, since Latisha was watching his every move, Mr. Pickens held up one sock by the toe and shook out into his hand a chipped sand dollar. He laid it beside the black device. Then he shook out another sand dollar from another sock, this one cracked almost in two. Then finally the last sand dollar—smooth on the surface and along the edges, thicker in the middle and a little larger than the others—fell out into his hand. He laid it beside the black device and you would’ve thought every first responder for miles around would be responding to its demands.
“That’s it,” Mr. Pickens said. “That’s the tracker. A signal, probably from an embedded chip, is going from it to the scanner.” He first tapped the perfectly formed sand dollar, then moved his hand to the little black box. “These days, chips can be as small as a grain of rice, which this one would have to be.”
Lloyd leaned over to look at the sand dollar. “How’d they get it inside the sand dollar without breaking it?”
“Feel it,” Mr. Pickens said. “It’s not a real shell. Some kind of plastic material maybe, but made up to look like a sand dollar.”
Latisha’s face fell before it began to screw up in dismay. “It’s not real? But I found it on the beach!”
“I’m figuring,” Mr. Pickens went on, “that it went overboard along with the money—whether on purpose or by mistake, there’s no telling. But I’m betting this is what the three on the beach were looking for.”
My hand flew to my throat as I recalled that both Latisha and I had as good as told the three beachcombers exactly what they’d wanted to know. Latisha had volunteered that she’d found hers right where they were looking, and I had offered clarification by saying that what she’d found was something besides hundred-dollar bills.
With a shock, it occurred to me then that we’d been fortunate that Rob and company had not put two and two together on the spot. At some later point, they’d obviously figured out that what Latisha had found could only have been the manufactured and preloaded sand dollar—especially because, all unbeknownst to us, it was signaling every step Latisha made after she’d put it in her pocketbook.
Lloyd, who’d been eyeing the fake sand dollar, said, “I don’t get it, J.D. What good would it have done them to get the sand dollar? They already had the scanner—this little black box—to tell them where the sand dollar was, but now that we have both of ’em, we don’t know any more than we knew before we had either one.”
“Right,” Mr. Pickens said, “you’re right. So I’m thinking there’s something else in the sand dollar—maybe another chip that sends a different signal. Coleman,” he went on, turning as Coleman returned from the porch, “come see what you think.”
The two men put their heads together, occasionally glancing up to include Sam and Lloyd. I heard words like transponders, radio frequencies, RFIDs, satellites, and a few others of like electronic origin, none of which I understood.
Coleman straightened up and said, “Let’s get the Coast Guard in on this. They know what goes on offshore, and I’ll bet they’ve seen something like this before. Oh, and by the way,” he went on, turning to look at me with a grin, “the guy you left on your kitchen floor, Miss Julia, is being looked at in the Emergency Room. He’s got a concussion and some burns on his face and legs, but he’ll survive.”
“I’ll take credit for the concussion,” I said, “but Latisha gets it for the burns. I do, however, hope he’ll be all right.”
“All right enough to go to jail,” Coleman said. “J.D., let’s go to the sheriff’s office and contact the Coast Guard. They’re gonna be de-lighted to hear about this.”
“Yeah,” Mr. Pickens said, a pleased look on his face. “And if we’re right, and there’s another chip in this thing, it’ll be sending a dedicated signal programmed for a specific scanner, maybe to coordinate with an offshore boat. With a setup like that, two or more boats could meet without using GPS navigation or radio traffic—both of which could be picked up by the Coast Guard. Of course,” he went on, scratching his head, “that could be too high tech for a bunch of smugglers, but I wouldn’t bet against it.”
“Why?” Lloyd asked. “Couldn’t they just meet at port somewhere?”
“Not if they’re transferring unlawful goods—drugs, cigarettes, people, whatever. Cash, even. Whatever the plan is, the payoff has to be worth enough for the three stalkers to go to a lot of trouble to get the sand dollar back. So what we’re seeing here,” Mr. Pickens, nodding at the device, went on, “is a backup signal simply to locate the sand dollar in case of loss or theft or a double cross.”
“Oh, my goodness,” I murmured. Then aloud, I said, “But what about the other two? The other man and the woman? Since Rob’s out of the picture, won’t they still be after it?”
“Looks like they’ve flown the coop,” Coleman said. “We have an APB out on ’em, but so far, nothing. J.D., let’s get these things out of Latisha’s purse and our hands. They’ll be safe in the evidence room until we can turn ’em over to the Coast Guard. If we’re right, and the sand dollar is set up to draw in another boat, somebody’s gonna have a big surprise waiting for ’em.”
Mr. Pickens grinned at the thought. Then, squatting again to Latisha’s level, he said, “Latisha, honey, we have to turn in your san
d dollar, but I think you need some compensation for taking such good care of it. How does a nice, new twenty-dollar bill sound to you?”
She studied on that for a few seconds, then said, “Sound like a pretty good swap to me, ’specially if it get rid of all that beepin’ an’ blinkin’ goin’ on. I’m tired of it.”
Mr. Pickens laughed and stood up. “We all are.” Then, with a wave of his hand, he said, “They’re all yours, Coleman.”
Gathering the beeping and blinking scanner and the sand dollar that was causing all the fuss, Coleman said, “The Coast Guard will want to talk to you, too, J.D. Let’s get these things to the sheriff’s office, then put in a call. We can see if anybody’s sighted the other two, as well. I want to be sure they’re gone for good and not still hanging around here.”
Mr. Pickens agreed as he began stuffing the little red pocketbook with two socks holding chipped sand dollars and one sock that was empty. He snapped the clasp closed and handed the purse to Latisha.
“Here you go, honey,” he said. “I’m sorry about your sand dollar, but you’ve been a big help to local and federal law officers tonight, which means you’re one of the good guys.”
“Yessir, I know,” she said, taking the purse and putting the strap over her shoulder—right where it belonged. “But what I want to know is where’s that twenny-dollar bill you promised?”
Chapter 49
“Julia?” Sam said, as he came into the library. It was the Monday morning after our tumultuous weekend, and I’d been reading the newspaper article about it. The reporter had gotten almost everything wrong, but then, I was still trying to staighten out the weekend events myself.
It was nearing lunchtime, and Sam had just returned from one of his downtown jaunts, which usually included talking with Len Burnside about property values. But that morning he had other property on his mind. “Have you been by Thurlow’s house lately?”
“No,” I said, lowering the paper. “Why?”
“You should see what’s going on. There’s a crew up on the roof, carpenters working on the windows, and somebody with a sling blade cutting weeds. And the front door’s open with workmen going in and out. That house is being remodeled or refurbished or re-something. And about time, too. Thurlow let the place turn into an eyesore.”
“That means,” I said, sitting up straight, “that Helen is on the move in more ways than one. But that’s so typical of her. She doesn’t fiddle around when something needs to be done.”
“Helen Stroud? What does she have to do with it?”
“Come sit down,” I said, patting a place on the sofa beside me. “I’ll explain it to you as Lillian explained it to me.”
“Enlighten me,” Sam said, as he sat down.
“Well,” I said, pleased to be able to instruct him since it was usually the other way around, “did you know that it’s not uncommon for a single woman to essentially give up her life, including her own home, and move in to take care of somebody who’s old and decrepit? And in exchange she’ll inherit everything the old person has?”
Sam’s eyebrows shot up. “You mean, Helen and Thurlow?”
“Apparently so,” I said and belatedly told him of seeing Helen and the Delmont lawyer after they’d met with Thurlow. “I expect she made it plain that she wouldn’t live in a pigpen. Thurlow may have two broken legs, but it sounds as if his feet are being held to the fire, as well.”
Sam smiled. “He must’ve broken more than his legs.”
“Broken his pocketbook open at least,” I said, somewhat wryly. Then as the clouds in my mind suddenly cleared, I clamped my hand onto his arm. “Oh!”
“What?”
Springing to my feet, I declaimed, “I have had an epiphany!”
“A what?”
“You know—one of those things you’ve been having.” And I headed for the phone on the desk, punched in LuAnne’s number, and, when she answered, said, “LuAnne, it’s Julia, and—”
“I’m not speaking to you, so you can just hang up.”
“No, wait. Listen, LuAnne, call Helen. Call her right now before—”
“Forget it,” she snapped. “It’s not Helen. It’s Totsie, and you can stay out of it.”
“No, listen,” I said, wanting to shake her. “Helen is moving. Moving, LuAnne, to Thurlow’s house, which means she’s vacating her condo.”
There was a long silence on the line as LuAnne digested the ramifications. “Her condo?”
“Yes, so if you want it—”
“Get off the phone, Julia. I have to make a call.”
—
I declare, with all the climactic turmoil we’d just been through—running from a hurricane that followed us home, fighting off Rob in my kitchen, and learning that Latisha’s beach find was the target of the stalkers—it was about time that I had some relief by the way things had worked out, but I didn’t. A general sense of unease continued to unsettle me, and LuAnne’s coolness just made it worse.
The house was still and quiet later that afternoon—Lloyd was at his mother’s house, Lillian and Latisha at their newly roofed home, and Sam off in the hills somewhere checking property lines. Alone, I had walked around the yard, looking at the state of waterlogged plants on the first sun-filled day we’d had in a while. Then, back in the library contemplating a nap, I had sat down to organize my thoughts.
Sam and I had gone to church Sunday morning as was our wont, but, for all the good it had done me, I might as well have stayed home. I couldn’t even recall what Pastor Ledbetter’s sermon topic had been. The events of the previous evening kept running through my mind, while one seemingly minor incident played havoc with what should’ve been a satisfactory close to a week filled with storms, both atmospheric and emotional.
It was LuAnne in the midst of a raging storm of her own who was weighing heavily on my mind. I shivered at the memory of how I had had my fill of her vacillating over Leonard and had rudely ended a phone call by both telling her off and cutting her off. No wonder she hadn’t wanted to speak to me even though I’d been relaying the good news of a vacant condo.
Objectively, I’d had every reason to point out that the dillydallying and wishy-washing she’d been engaged in—and constantly burdening me with—were keeping us both in a state of turmoil. But, as a friend, I should’ve better understood her situation—after all, who better than I who’d been through the same? So it behooved me to have been able to put up with it without flying off the handle at her. LuAnne and I had too much history between us for me to have cut her off so rudely.
The doorbell jerked me out of my self-critical reverie, so I hurried to answer it. And found myself set back on my heels.
“LuAnne!” Lord, I didn’t know what to say. After just beating myself up for telling her off, I was now covered with shame at seeing her face-to-face on my doorstep. “Come in, I’m so glad to see you. Oh, LuAnne, I am so sorry—”
“Oh, don’t bother,” she said, breezing past me as she entered. “That’s what I came to talk about. Can we sit down? I have a lot to say.”
I was in for it, I knew, and well deserving of whatever she wanted to dish out.
“Yes,” I said, indicating the living room, which was more suitable for a formal meeting than the library. “Let’s sit in here. LuAnne, let me explain—”
“No, don’t,” she said, cutting me off again. “I spent most of last night being furious with you. I couldn’t believe you’d be so cruel, but I finally went to sleep at about four and woke up in a different frame of mind. Julia,” she went on, leaning toward me, “I came to thank you. You made me see that I was doing just what you said—going back and forth and making everything worse. You helped me see that I had to make a decision on my own and stick to it. And now I have, and I will.”
“Thank you, thank you,” I said, immeasurably relieved that she wasn’t taking my head off. “I shouldn’
t have been so short with you, LuAnne. Your call, well, it came at a terrible time, and I just unloaded on you. But I am glad you’ve made a decision.” I wasn’t really glad, because it would be just like her to keep on putting up with Leonard, regardless of his playing footsie with Totsie. So it wouldn’t have surprised me if she’d found some fault with Helen’s condo in spite of my efforts on her behalf.
Then she floored me.
“Yes, I’m leaving him, and I know in my heart that it’s the Lord’s will for me, in spite of what the Book of Ephesians says. Julia, you won’t believe how it’s all working out, because I see now that my call to Helen was predetermined, as yours was to me. It all goes to show that I’m being led, because Helen’s already packing up even though Thurlow’s house won’t be ready for a while. But she wants to be there to oversee the work, so see how it’s all falling into place?”
“Uh, well, I guess,” I said. “You’ve talked to Helen?”
“Yes! And it was perfect timing, because she doesn’t want to sell her condo. She’s going to rent it to me just to have somebody take care of it. It’s not very fancy, because she couldn’t afford the best.” LuAnne stopped and laughed. “Of course she can now, but, Julia, it’s perfect for me! She’s even leaving a lot of her furniture, because, listen to this.” LuAnne’s face lit up with the thrill of telling what she knew. “She has total access to everything Thurlow has! Can you believe that? He must’ve been at the end of his rope to go that far.”
“Oh, my goodness,” I said, even though I already knew it. LuAnne, however, hated it when anyone knew something before she did. “You mean, Thurlow’s turned everything over to her? That’s hard to believe.”
“Isn’t it, though?” LuAnne said, a dreamy look on her face. “She is just so lucky.”
Well, I wouldn’t go that far by a long shot, so I didn’t say anything. But if anybody was lucky in that particular arrangement, it was Thurlow. Which I’d have to think about another time. For the moment, though, I was relieved to have repaired a friendship.
