The Vigilante Vignette

by Larissa Reinhart

  Cherry Tucker can get herself into the worst predicaments without even trying. This time, a mercy call on a neighbor gets her roped into a quid pro quo deal—if Cherry recovers a stolen family heirloom that is both somewhat embarrassing and due to be discovered missing very shortly, the neighbor will use his family clout to help her with some zoning issues. But if she fails, the expression “someone’s got her goat” will take on a whole new meaning for Cherry. And when she discovers a thievery ring, illegal auctions, and some green-eyed emotions after spotting Luke where she doesn’t expect him—well, it’s just another hilarious day in Halo, Georgia.

  To the Mystery Minions

  xoxo

  ONE

  JOSIAH SWEETON WAS who people in Halo, Georgia, called an odd duck. However, odd duck-ishness is forgiven when you’re a Sweeton. Since I’d moved into Great Gam’s 1922 in-town cottage four years ago—two months after graduating from art college in Savannah—he’d been my neighbor. Not real neighborly. Real unusual for Halo. If you’ve died, birthed, gotten sick, or in trouble, Halo is white on rice with all manners of casseroles and advice. Whether you want it or not.

  This was the situation I currently faced with Josiah Sweeton. I’d heard he’d been laid up. Odd duck or not, I showed at his Victorian (passed to him on his mother’s side) casserole in hand. I got the casserole from my sister, Casey, as I never did master the art of casserole making. To make up for it, I painted him a bouquet of flowers on a 4x4 canvas.

  “What am I going to do with this?” Having hollered me inside, Josiah studied the still life from his couch lay. One casted leg had been propped on three pillows.

  Josiah Sweeton’s sweet tea was always half-empty if you know what I mean. Probably fifty years of bachelorhood didn’t help.

  “I thought it would fit as easily on your bedside table as a vase of the real stuff,” I said. “It’s a still life.”

  “I suppose Mother will enjoy it.” He grabbed a pencil, shoved it into his cast, and scratched. “Just put the casserole in the fridge. I’ve got casseroles coming out of my ears.”

  “Glad to hear it.” I returned from the kitchen and sat on a chair opposite the couch. “If you need anything, just holler. I can bring in your mail, go to the store, or whatnot.”

  “Thank you.” Josiah kept his eyes on his pink toes peeking out of the cast. “Miss Tucker, it has been brought to my attention that you’ve a knack for more than portraits.”

  “Sir?”

  “You’ve helped people in the past with uncomfortable situations. Sensitive matters. Assisting victims in distress. Like the theater director. And the family in the trailer park.”

  “My Uncle Will is sheriff, so I’ve picked up some tips from him. However, I’m an artist. I’ve only helped folks who didn’t have anywhere else to turn.”

  “I am in that sort of predicament.” His eyes zipped back to his toes. “I’d rather not elaborate, but some personal belongings have been stolen from me and I want them back.”

  My nerves prickled, but I shut down my excitement. Those previous escapades had done much for my notoriety. In a notorious sort of way. “Did you try the police?”

  “Obviously not. This is a criminal matter, but not one to involve the authorities. I told you it’s sensitive. Sensitive and personal.”

  “Sensitive and personal in an illegal sort of matter?” I shot out of my chair and inched toward the door. “Because I don’t do illegal. Some people in this town—namely the Bransons and most namely Shawna Branson—have spread rumors that may border on the truth, but I do not go in for any illicit stuff, no matter what you’ve heard. And if there’s any mention of pornography, I paint nudes and that’s entirely different. It’s a classical art subject.”

  “It’s nothing illicit nor illegal. But I don’t want to involve the authorities. Please sit down.” His voice lowered. “If word gets out, it’ll get back to Mother and I could not live with the humiliation. You can’t tell anyone.”

  Despite my qualms, the scent of gossip was too strong to resist. “I promise.”

  “You might have heard I received my injury at Line Creek Country Club.”

  “Word’s gotten around you slipped on the sixteenth green.”

  “Better than the unfortunate reality.” He rolled his eyes. “The club hosted their annual Halloween party two weeks early this year, as someone rented the clubhouse for a party on the actual weekend. I met a young lady at the party. At least I thought she was a lady.”

  “No wonder this is sensitive. I’ve met several female impersonators in my time, having lived in Savannah and stayed at a particular motel in Memphis. Some are quite skilled at presentation. It’s nothing to be ashamed—”

  “That’s not what I mean. She was definitely female and young. Most definitely. She wore a Catwoman costume.”

  “Okay, still, I’m not here to judge—”

  He held up a hand. “My last memory of her, we decided to become further acquainted behind the trophy case in the lobby.”

  “A glass trophy case?”

  “They used black light that night. For a Halloween effect.” His cheeks flared to Rose Madder. “The moment was, shall we say, heated. But we were not detected. Although I don’t remember much else until a janitor found me later. After the party had ended.”

  “And your cat lady date?”

  “Absconded with something very valuable to me. Something very valuable to our family. As well as money from my wallet. And my lightsaber. Which was also valuable. I ordered it from a Japanese maker of actual lightsabers.”

  “An actual lightsaber?”

  “Exactly as it sounds.” He must have detected the doubt in my tone. “I attended the party as the Sith Lord, Darth Maul. Black and red. Caped. Which further protected me and my acquaintance from detection during our trophy case rendezvous. But my costume is not of any importance. The question remains, can you get my valuables back?”

  “I don’t know. This is a first for me. But why don’t you go to the police? I don’t see the sensitive issue unless this lady is not actually—”

  “The police may be skilled in apprehending felons, but recovery of stolen materials is not in their interest unless the felons have it on hand. I believe my valuables will be fenced fairly quickly. And as I am incapacitated, I’d like you to find them.”

  “Now, I’m getting you. You want me to check local pawn shops and such, to see if an actual lightsaber has turned up.”

  “Not just the lightsaber. Although if the perpetrator has any intelligence, they’ll try to sell that online. I can do an online search.” He shifted on the couch, his voice dropping to a whisper again. “It’s the family heirloom that concerns me. It requires the utmost secrecy.”

  I made the zip-the-lips sign.

  He hesitated, studying me. “I need you to find it. Quickly. And then return it to Mother’s before she realizes it’s missing.”

  “Which means, you also want me to B and E your momma’s house? To return an heirloom you stole from your momma?”

  “I didn’t steal it. It belongs to the family. Mother felt the item inappropriate and kept it in the family safe. Although contemptuous, she did realize its value.” His speech rose and revved, the words almost tripping over his thick tongue. “She will open that safe on November first and find it missing. It’s her habit to examine the contents of the safe the first of every month. That’s Tuesday. Only a week to get it back.”

  I wanted to ask why, but if the mother was half as odd as her son, I could chalk it up to crazy and get on with my life. “What is this contemptuous heirloom? I’m not that familiar with the Star Wars franchise, but I can’t think of any sort of heirloom a Sith lord would wear.”

  “It was not
meant for the costume. I just like to wear it. On special occasions. I didn’t steal it.” His face reddened.

  With his gaze fixed on his toes and his voice dropped again to hush, I had to lean forward to hear him.

  “I showed it to that contemptible woman. I should have heeded Mother’s warnings of Eve,” he muttered. He cleared his throat. “The item is an antique, brought to Georgia from England in seventeen-forty-three. Father’s mother was a DAR, like Mother.”

  “Just what is this fancy heirloom you wore under a Star Wars costume?” My voice betrayed my impatience.

  “You must swear never to tell anyone.”

  I crossed my heart and waved him on.

  “A codpiece.” Fire consumed his neck and cheeks. “A sixteenth-century jeweled codpiece.”

  Having done backstage Shakespeare work at SCAD, I had an idea what that was. And that idea gave me pause. There are some places you don’t want your mind to go.

  “I don’t know about this. I like helping folks, but if word got out about what I’m looking for...” I almost choked on the idea, let alone the words. “You have to understand, my standing in the community is worse than awful. There’s already a lot of tongue-wagging about my brother being in jail. And the man I’m purportedly dating who put him there. And my so-called ‘obsession with nekkid paintings.’”

  “Can you imagine if Mother finds out that I’ve been wearing it in public?”

  I didn’t want to imagine any part of this. This seemed to be a Josiah Sweeton problem, not a Cherry Tucker problem.

  “I’m sure your momma will have a hissy. That’s what they do, but she’ll get over it, because they do that, too.”

  “A hissy at her age could kill her. She’s suffered personal humiliation this heirloom has been in Daddy’s family all these centuries. She’s not allowed to sell or get rid of it. Not even give it to a museum. There’s a trust attached. I’m ashamed to admit my obsession began as a young lad, partly because it was prohibited. Or so said my recent therapist.” He sighed. “I’d hoped because you have not been found favorable in the eyes of Halo, you’d understand my plight.”

  I chewed my lip. The very idea gave me the heebies, but Josiah knew how to push the right buttons.

  “I’m willing to pay you.”

  Another button. Big one at that.

  “And as a city councilman and member of a long-standing Halo family of good repute”—a certain reminder that although mine was also long-standing the repute situation was not so good—“I can speak to our neighbors and the city on your behalf.”

  “On behalf of what?”

  “You haven’t heard there’s a petition to put you in front of the zoning board? A studio in your house is a business. Besides zoning, there are ordinances. Mercantile and vendor. OSHA and ADA. Traffic. The fire inspector will have a field day on your decrepit house.”

  “Traffic? What kind of traffic is there in a town of five thousand people?” My stomach lunged up my throat. “A petition before the zoning board? This sounds like a Branson scheme. How much will this cost?”

  “You could apply for a variance but they’re usually turned down, even after all the work for compliance. We’re talking thousands of dollars of work.”

  “Thousands?” I squeaked.

  “Also there’s a goat in your backyard. Animal control could be contacted.” He steepled his fingers beneath his chin. “I can help you if you help me.”

  Dagnabbit, I knew that goat would be my undoing.

  * * *

  THE GOAT IN question, Tater, was recovering from buck bullying. The current herd queen, Snickerdoodle, had taken a shine to him, which had not won Tater any favors among the other bucks. On my last trip home from Grandpa Ed’s farm, Tater had snuck into my truck bed and laid low until I pulled into my drive. Nearly had a heart attack when he jumped out of the truck bed and danced around my carport.

  Having had a rocky relationship with Tater, particularly when it came to ramming my truck in his attempt to play chicken, I was surprised to find him agreeable to living in my backyard. I thought he’d surely escape. Almost hoped he would.

  Turns out, I couldn’t force him to leave.

  Okay, I felt sorry for him. He had a mess of injuries. Even a partially chewed-off beard.

  Grandpa Ed had visited, a rare occurrence despite the fifteen-minute commute. After giving up on wrangling Tater into his truck, Grandpa Ed hung over the back fence and watched Tater work at putting a sizable dent in my garden shed. “He’s building up his strength in peace.”

  “I can’t have a goat in town.”

  “That’s the problem with town.” He left me to healing Tater.

  I had a goat in my backyard. A goat who didn’t want to go back to the farm. Have you ever tried to force a goat to do anything? There are proverbs written about that kind of thing.

  Tater didn’t make a lot of noise or stink or bother anyone. However, Josiah Sweeton was so desperate for the return of his family heirloom, he would hold Tater’s fate and city fines over my head to get me to do it.

  Like a stubborn old goat.

  TWO

  “LUKE,” I SAID, with my mouth mostly cleared of barbecue. Deputy Luke Harper and I often communed over barbecue. A check in the pro column of our star-crossed relationship. “I am in a kind of predicament.”

  “Sugar.” He gathered my hands in his and kissed my knuckles. His eyes—a gorgeous silvery indigo although the hue is hard to capture—darkened to a Payne’s Gray.

  “Not that sort of predicament.” I stowed the look on his face for a later analysis. “I’ve been asked to help someone who is in a situation where they don’t want to involve the police.”

  His expression changed considerably.

  “Not because it’s illegal,” I added quickly. “Because it’s sensitive and has to do with a family heirloom taken during a date. I don’t think he wants to punish the gal. Just recover the heirloom. And his lightsaber.”

  “You lost me.” He ran a hand through his short curls—warm sepia with oxide-red lake highlights—and eased back against the seat of our booth. “Somebody’s date stole their lightsaber?”

  “And a family heirloom. At a Halloween party. I’ve been calling pawn shops, but no one’s seen the items in question. I want to see their security video from the party, but thought I might have a better chance of accessing the video if you came with me. In an unofficial-official sort of capacity.”

  “You want me to flash my deputy badge so you can watch security video?”

  “I think my best chance of finding the item in question is to find the man’s date. She was a cat and that’s all he knows. His memory of the night is vague at best. Except they got friendly behind a trophy case.”

  “A cat. How much did he have to drink?”

  “That’s the thing. He can’t remember.”

  Luke rolled his eyes. “Who is this lush with the lightsaber?”

  “I’d rather not say at the moment. But his family’s been in the county longer than mine or your stepfamily’s, and that’s saying something.”

  “Trophy case? Where did you say this Halloween party happened?”

  “Line Creek Country Club.”

  Luke took a bite of pulled pork, taking his time chewing. “I think you should tell this guy to talk to me.”

  I shook my head. “He won’t do it.”

  “Alright. Let’s see that video feed.” A dimple winked as he chewed. “Only for you.”

  * * *

  THE CAMERAS AT the country club didn’t tell us much. They were focused on the parking lot, driveway, and pro shop. Also, a few on the links to catch sneak-on golfers. Earlier in the night, Darth Maul had marched up the stairway. Later, his exit was less dignified.

  “He must have had quite a few at the party to pass out,” said Luke. “Steady on his feet in the beginning. Hope he wasn’t planning on driving home.”

  “Either way, he had an EMT escort from the club. Stop looking for ways to question my guy
. There’s a ton of Catwoman costumes. Party Barn must have had a sale on ears and tights. How do I know which cat is his?” I turned to the manager. “Why don’t you have any cameras pointed on the party?”

  Mr. Line Creek Country Club all but rolled his eyes. He thought I sought a member’s lost date, so I forgave him his irritation. “We’re trying to catch thieves, vandals, and illegal golfers, not our members partying.”

  And yet, a light-fingered cat had escaped his detection.

  “Let’s try the parking lot feed,” I said. “Maybe we’ll see a cat prowling around the cars.”

  “Good idea.” Luke leaned forward, eyes steady on the computer screen.

  “You sure are interested in this cat, Deputy Harper,” I said. “But you can’t go after her without evidence of a crime, right? What I told you is hearsay.”

  “What crime?” said Mr. Country Club.

  “Crime of passion.” I waved him off and pointed at the screen. “Stop and rewind. What’s going on with that Porsche?”

  “We had to wake him up, too.” Country Club glanced at Luke. “But he didn’t drive home. We have procedures for cutting people off.”

  “You need to try harder,” said Luke. “Because that’s two men who passed out at your party.”

  I fiddled with the arrows, magnifying the view. “Can’t you make this bigger? Like they do on those TV shows?”

  “They must have brought a flask or something.” Sweat gleamed on Country Club’s forehead. “We can’t be liable for that.”

  “Tell it to the jury when one of your patrons kills someone.” Luke glared at Country Club. “Who is that guy?”

  Country Club hesitated.

  Luke’s glower intensified.

  “Sterling Childs,” he said. “We called him a cab.”

  “I wonder if Sterling Childs knows a cat,” I said. “Or if he just collects lightsabers. There’s one under his car.”

  THREE

  LUKE TOOK OFF without a goodbye kiss, making me consider his interest in my missing heirloom. He’d been putting in long hours on an investigation that had him on late night surveillance and mid-afternoon stakeouts but hadn’t revealed the case. In the midst of his own work, why he’d bother with a Halloween mugging where the guy had no interest in reporting the crime made me suspicious. Suspicious and regretful I’d sought his unofficial-official help.