The Vigilante Vignette

by Larissa Reinhart

  “To feed him.” I pointed to the steaming bag.

  “And?” Her look was what you’d call pointed. So much so I winced.

  “I’m curious about certain burglaries in the area. If there was a current investigation into that sort of thing.”

  “Are you here to report a burglary?”

  “No, ma’am. What I’d like to know…” I leaned on the counter. Tamara stared at my elbow. I straightened. “If there’s some kind of robbery ring going on in the area. Even in Line Creek, which is not your jurisdiction. I am searching for something a friend lost and I’d hate to find out it was stolen.”

  “I’ll have a deputy speak to your friend.”

  “They’d rather I handled it.” I gave her my best customer service smile. A wasted effort as Tamara had known me since my teenage years where she learned not to trust that smile for good reasons. “Come on, Miss Tamara. Just a yes or a no?”

  “You’re going to have to find out some other way.” She arched her brows. “And Deputy Harper won’t tell you a thing.”

  Which meant Luke was working a big case. Possibly a robbery ring. “I had to try.”

  She smiled. “I give you credit for your tenacity, baby. And for wanting to do good. Problem is, you always go about it wrong and get yourself in situations. Remember, the Lord said the road to hell is paved with good intentions. Get yourself right with Jesus, Cherry, and stop messing about in police business.”

  “I don’t recall anything about police business in the Bible.”

  I should know better than to get sassy with Tamara. She used a finger to accompany her eyeball point. “You better not talk like this to the zoning board. Yes, ma’am, I heard about that, too. Cherry Tucker, you’ve got ninety-nine problems and police business ain’t one of them. Get out of here. And leave your barbecue.”

  I left to return to road paving. Hell was on its way.

  SIX

  I NEEDED TO do reconnaissance on my deputy boyfriend. Just to make sure I wasn’t interfering in his investigation during my effort to recover Josiah’s royal codpiece. Not to see if Luke was visiting the cheating side of town. But I’m a believer in the two birds, one stone principle.

  Reconnaissance on Luke meant visiting Honkers. His trashy-date-who-was-not-a-new-partner had been known there. And I still hadn’t heard back from Chris Dozen.

  First, I had other checks on my Honey-Do list. Like the return of the fabled lightsaber. Because I feared this Halloween mugging went deeper than codpiece swiping, I dusted the lightsaber for prints and saved the results for the sheriff. Ground drawing charcoal and Scotch tape work just fine. Unfortunately, there were more prints than lightsaber.

  Josiah cradled and cooed, then stroked the lightsaber with a sock. Taken from his uncasted foot.

  I shook off the willies and hid my disgust. “Your Catwoman left it in the parking lot.”

  “You can’t account for taste. I hope I can get this charcoal grit out of the emitter matrix.”

  No idea and didn’t want to know. “I’m still trying to hunt Catwoman down. There was another man who had a run in with her.”

  “Who is the cur?”

  “Sterling Childs. He was dressed like Dracula. I think she may have a thing for capes.”

  Josiah sighed. “She played us both for fools.”

  I was getting better at keeping my mouth shut.

  “I have a lead for you.” Josiah pointed toward his laptop resting on the pork rind and vitamin water infested coffee table. “I’ve been poking around the historic artifact sales, looking at codpieces on certain websites and received a private message. Offering me a chance for a private bidding on a certain Tudor artifact.”

  “You think that’s your codpiece? Where’s this private bidding happening? Online?”

  “In the Atlanta area. They didn’t give an address. At a special auction.”

  “Perfect. I’ll find out if it belongs to your family, then tell the auction folks it’s stolen. Easy peasy.”

  “In our private exchange, I mentioned that it was stolen. The purveyor revoked my invitation. Then sent me a virus that blanked out my computer. I now have the blue screen of death. I can’t even search from my laptop.”

  I took a moment to reflect on the kind of person who ran private auctions and would send computer viruses as an un-invite. “I’ve got a friend who enjoys auctions. Mostly Old Reb type artifacts, although he is an art appreciator. He might know someone who can get me in.”

  This particular friend would also have connections to auctions of stolen items. Max Avtaikin aka the Bear entertained the rich and famous of Forks County with illegal gaming, then used that booty to buy War Between the States memorabilia.

  “I knew I could count on you,” said Josiah. “You’ve got underworld connections. Just as I heard.”

  My underworld connection was bankrolled by Josiah’s middle-aged friends. “Your cat lady is still the best lead, so I’m going to find me some bait to trap her.”

  Except I’d use a Bear instead of a mouse.

  * * *

  ALTHOUGH MAX AVTAIKIN’S hometown was far east of the South—in a country that had thawed some since the Cold War—his favorite historical period was our War of Northern Aggression. This had led him to purchase property in Georgia. Low real estate taxes accompany the historic appeal. He brought his knowledge of casinos and smuggling with him. Illegal in Georgia. Probably illegal in his home country, too. His nickname, the Bear, also traveled with him. It served as a warning or a description. Or both.

  Deputy Luke Harper neither liked nor trusted the Bear. The feeling was mutual.

  By asking the Bear for assistance, I’d be furthering my trouble with Deputy Luke Harper. But the way I figure, by not admitting he’d been with some trashy Honkers girl, the trouble was reciprocal.

  Besides, I had a goat to save. And a man’s dignity to restore. Or Josiah’s mother’s dignity.

  Whatever.

  The Bear greeted me with affection, which meant not kicking me off his porch. After settling me in his office of leather, wood, and Civil War artifacts, we got past pleasantries and to the point.

  “I’m on the hunt for a historical item of considerable value, stolen at a Halloween party. The victim was invited then uninvited via a computer virus to bid on his possibly stolen legacy at an Atlanta auction. What do you know of these things?”

  “You were right to call on me.”

  Sometimes you had to wait out the Bear’s braggadocio. “And?”

  “There is many private auctions in Atlanta. But a stolen item of major historical value? I know of only one such auction. The address is only revealed to certain customer and never held in same place twice. What is plan? Are you paying top dollar for this heirlooms?”

  “No, if the piece in question is there, I’m going to prove it’s stolen with the provenance and return it to the owner. Can you get me an invitation?”

  “This is what I thought.” He sighed. “Getting invitation is not the problem.”

  “What’s the problem?”

  “Your scheme is problem. The point of stolen items is not to return to rightful owner.”

  “Then we’ll leave and I call the police to raid them. Or we have the police raid the place before the auction begins, although this wouldn’t please my friend. He’s hoping to keep this legacy under wraps.”

  “They will not bring the items to auction until all invited have arrived. This traps buyers. It’s not possible to leave until auction is finished. They confiscate your phone. You see, they must protect their identity and the identity of the purchasers.”

  “Because they’re moving stolen goods. So if you get me an invitation, we have to purchase the artifact? I don’t think my neighbor has that kind of cash.”

  “If it is an actual neighbor of yours, I am sure they don’t.”

  “Dammit. I guess I’ll have to appeal to the person buying it. Maybe if I can befriend them, they’ll give it back.” I didn’t need the Bear’s low, mo
cking laugh to understand the idiocy of the plan. “What else can I do?”

  “Is this valuable heirloom large?”

  “For its purpose, yes, but objectively, no. You wear it.”

  His left eyebrow rose, boosting the small scar above it.

  I gasped. “Don’t tell me you want me to steal it from the fencers. I am many things, but a thief is not one of them.”

  “Then you must tell your neighbor that you have given up.”

  “I can’t give up.” I chewed my lip. “But just in case, do you have room at your house for a goat? And an unemployed artist?”

  “Are we done?” Max turned to his phone. “I have much work.”

  Considering his work was usually after hours, I didn’t feel rushed. Which brought me to a big idea. “You should have a Halloween party. You’d attract the kind of man Catwoman wants.”

  “Artist, I am flattered.” He smirked. “However, even with the citizenship, I am not American enough for your Halloween silliness.”

  “A private costume party. For the geezers who play poker in your basement.”

  “Why?”

  “The missing heirloom was stolen from a certain upstanding Halo geezer at the Line Creek Country Club Halloween party. Another geezer tangled with her, too. I want to entice this Catwoman to your party.”

  He leaned back in his leather chair and folded his hands on his desk. “I see how this helps your geezer. However, what is the benefit for me? Other than submitting my home and friends to possible burglary.”

  “Don’t you usually make money off these parties? Don’t worry, I’ll nab the Cat before she takes anything. But lock up your good silver. And priceless artifacts.”

  “What is this ‘upstanding geezer’ doing for you that you would hunt down a Catwoman for him? There is more to this story or he would simply use the authorities to solve his problem.”

  “I can’t reveal who he is. I promised. But he is helping me with some city ordinance issues I am suddenly facing.”

  His ice blue eyes bore into me with the subtlety of a jackhammer on concrete. “I will have your costume party. On certain conditions. First, you will assist me in hosting it.”

  “I’m in charge of decorating. And making our costumes. Although I’ll charge you for that.”

  “No. Second, I want introduction to the ‘upstanding geezer.’”

  “Why?”

  He blinked. “I am a collector of the American antique.”

  “He won’t sell it. And besides, it’s not even American.”

  “A family heirloom that’s not American? And his ancestors came to the America when?”

  “I don’t know. Before it was America?”

  “Excellent.” Bear’s smile gave me the jitters. “First, party. And if you cannot catch your thief, then we turn tables and steal back your item at the auction.”

  I’d better catch that thief. Or Luke and I’d have bigger problems than his possible cheating between us.

  Like a felony.

  SEVEN

  IT’S AMAZING HOW quickly a party can be thrown together if you have the right sort of venue and know the right sort of people. For example, a walkout basement with a hidden casino and folks who punch their own job clocks.

  “You’re late,” said the Bear. “And you look ridiculous.”

  I scowled. I had overlooked the proportions of my costume—the Mona Lisa complete in frame—and had to enter his doorway sideways. “I had a recon mission at Honkers. But it was a bust. Also, it took several shades of makeup to get the right sepia tones for my skin. I’m still not satisfied with the line crackling. Painted them on with a sable detail round and still got streaky.”

  The small scar rose with his eyebrow. “Your dedication to classic art is admirable. But not practical. Perhaps next time a Venus de Milo or the like would be simpler?”

  “How would I do Venus? Saw off my arms?”

  “I am thinking the ease of a toga.”

  “She’s topless, too, remember?” I snorted. Then noticed his expression and changed the subject. “Where’s your costume?

  He gave me a look that would wither candy corn.

  “I brought chips for the party.”

  Rolling his eyes, he tossed my chip bag onto a hall table and pointed me across his marble foyer to the basement door.

  I stepped sideways down the stairs, my frame bumping the rail. Closed doors lined a hallway. His nimble fingers stroked a security keypad before I could catch the code.

  We entered through one door, that led to another, and into a large carpeted room. An odalisque hung above a brass bar like in a Western, but the rest of the room spoke of Vegas, Atlantic City, or maybe, Monte Carlo. Not sure. I’ve only seen Vegas. Once.

  Didn’t end well, but that’s another story.

  The poker, roulette, and baccarat tables had been removed. A small jazz ensemble played while costumed partiers milled around, chatting and holding drinks. No Catwoman yet. And no chips.

  As Halloween parties went, I’d call it a snoozer.

  “You need to get some games going. And a costume contest,” I said. “You don’t even have decorations. Where’s your jack-o-lanterns? No one will hang around for this. If Catwoman shows, we want her to stay.”

  “She will come. Look at the women.”

  I saw a sparkly array of jewelry on Cleopatras, Marie Antoinettes, and Queen Elizabeths. “Where are all the cheerleaders, naughty nurses, and sexy angels? Anyway, Cat Woman doesn’t steal jewelry from women. She steals luxury items from rich, horny men.”

  “There is also the rich, horny men here.”

  “They’re with their wives. This isn’t going to work.” I tried to cross my arms, but couldn’t get them to meet around the frame. “You better get me into that auction.”

  “You know what the auction means,” he grumbled. “Why I do these things for you? No gratitude. I must circulate.”

  “Dangit.” I parked my hands on my hips. The frame swung out and bumped a pirate.

  He bowed, sweeping his coattails behind him. “Milady. Might I interest you in a spot of rum?”

  “Better make it a beer.” I followed him to the bar. Standing on my toes, I reached for a beer from a long, copper ice bucket. The frame smacked a wine glass, shattering it. I swung around to grab a napkin and a knocked over a glass of scotch. Giving up, I leaned my back against the bar and sighed.

  “I was so proud of this costume.”

  “And who are ye? The Mona Lisa? Argh.” His ruffled sleeve caught on the corner of my frame. “It’s not you. Damn lace keeps dipping in my drink, too.”

  “You could stuff them inside your coat sleeves.” I helped him slide off the doublet and fingered the heavy material. “Velvet? This is no Party Barn costume.”

  “Thank ye, milady. Yes, it’s a copy of the original dress of one of my ancestors, Henry Morgan. Was forgiven for his acts of piracy by the crown when he took Panama from the Spanish. England knighted him and made him governor of Jamaica.” He pushed back the lace sleeves and I helped him slide the tight-fitting coat over it. His chin rose with his eyebrows. “A rogue and a hero. The painting’s from the late seventeenth century.”

  “Why aren’t your people still in Jamaica?”

  “We got around. You ever heard of Captain Morgan’s Rum?” He winked. “His great-grandnephew was a Revolutionary War hero and his descendant was the Confederacy’s General John Hunt Morgan. I had this made and go as Captain Morgan every year.”

  “A DAR and UDC son. I understand why you’re a friend of the Bear—I mean, Max Avtaikin’s.” I eyed the expensive costume. “By chance are you wearing a codpiece?”

  He grinned. “I thought you’d never ask.”

  Across the room, a caped Darth Vader caught my eye. His lightsaber was of the cheap plastic variety, giving me a new appreciation for Josiah’s treasured accessory. Darth stood alone, watching a small group of flappers and zoot-suited gangsters dance before the three-piece band. A door opened behind Darth a
nd a cat slithered out, followed by three superheroes. The cat slunk toward Darth.

  She did have a thing for capes.

  “I want to hear about your codpiece, but first I’ve got to talk to that cat.”

  “I’ll be waiting, milady.” Captain Morgan held up his drink, his smile wide and his eyes appreciative. “Shall I order another round in the meantime?”

  “Sure.” He was going to be disappointed in my real interest in his codpiece.

  I maneuvered through the dancers, my frame catching on Flapper fringe and smacking into Tommy guns. Darth Vadar had not moved, standing sentinel on the edge of the party. I admired him for staying in character even while a cat stroked his lightsaber. Her tail swung, brushing the tops of thigh-high stiletto boots. I understood why Josiah and Sterling had been seduced into a stupor. Literally.

  It seemed the cat had stayed in character, too, what with her obsession for capes and sabers.

  “Trick or treat,” I said to the pair. “Miss Kitty, I need a word with you.”

  She turned, side-stepping away from Darth. No mask. Just a pointy-eared headband and a black bodysuit. Not Catwoman at all. Only a cat. She hadn’t even bothered to draw whiskers on her face. She had the bodily description of Sterling Childs’ fantasy, but the glittery blue-green eyes and auburn mane were unmistakable.

  “Shawna Branson.” For a half-second, my disappointment flipped as I considered Shawna as the codpiece burglar. I’d strew roses at the feet of the arresting officer. But my conscience kicked out my pettiness. “What are you doing here?”

  “What am I doing here?” she drawled, eyeing my Mona Lisa creativity. “This is my crowd. Shouldn’t you be trolling the County Line Tap?”

  I attempted a dignified Mona Lisa smile. “My patrons are in this crowd.”

  “Not anymore.” Her tail twitched. “Like I said, this is my crowd. As in...”

  “You don’t have to spell it out for me. You’ve besmirched my career with these art buyers.”

  “Just the local art appreciators with money. And now they come to me for their family portraits.” Her shoulders lifted along with her cleavage. “There’s still the NASCAR crowd. Maybe you could paint, what is it your Grandpa farms? Goats?”