Lucky and the Axed Accountant

by Emmy Grace

“I don’t really even know how to explain it without sounding like a crazy person. Just trust me. We’re all better off if I don’t date.”

  She watches me with her perceptive eyes long enough to make me uncomfortable. Once again, it’s like she’s peeling back all my layers and getting answers for herself, whether I want her to have them or not. How the heck does she do that?

  “I won’t press then, but I will say that a man like him won’t be available forever. Don’t you be waiting too long, now, you hear?”

  “Yes, ma’am, Miss Haddy.”

  Better to just go along so we can drop it.

  She nods, happy with that. For the moment anyway. “Now, let’s get down to brass tacks, shall we?”

  “By all means.” I settle back against the cushion and Gumbo hops off my lap and stretches out along my leg.

  “I’d like you to look into Andrew Ames’ death for me. I’ll even pay you.”

  “Why would you want me to do that?”

  I’d love to be on the case if I weren’t already, but I’m more curious about why she wants me on the case.

  Miss Haddy glances over her shoulder at Mrs. Stephanopoulos who is sitting at my dining room table, switching between looking suspiciously out my French doors and eyeballing me. Mrs. S. nods once and Miss Haddy explains. “Andrew was my accountant, as he was for most of the people in this town.”

  “Yes, I’ve heard that from several people.”

  “He probably has financial dirt on anyone who’s done so much as fudged a dollar on their taxes.”

  “I hope no one would kill him over something as trivial as that.”

  “No, I don’t believe they would. But, you see, Andrew took care of something else for me. Something worth a lot more than just money.”

  “What was it?”

  “It was a book.”

  “What kind of book? Like a rare book?” I’m immediately excited at the prospect of looking for (and finding) a first edition Edgar Allan Poe or T. S. Eliot. My little nerdy heart might explode from happy just holding something like that.

  “No, nothing like that.”

  And, just like that, my hope is dashed. “Okay, then what?”

  “It’s accounting of a different kind. It’s not about money or balances. It’s about…information.”

  She lowers her chin, her eyes intense on me. A few seconds go by, and then I get it.

  “Oh, I see. So all the information you have on everyone in town is kept in a book. And Andrew had it.”

  She nods. “I don’t have to tell you what would happen if that fell into the wrong hands.”

  “Probably not, but tell me anyway.”

  Miss Haddy’s paper-thin brow pleats in distress. “Marriages would crumble, businesses would fold, lives would be ruined. Why, I daresay that this town as we know it would just fall apart. It’s as simple as that.”

  “Doesn’t sound simple at all,” I mutter. “Miss Haddy, if this information is so dangerous, why keep it? Why not just destroy the book and let people have their freedom?”

  “Because that little black book keeps people in this town in line. Not everyone will do the right thing when they’re free to make choices with no other consequences.”

  “And you feel you’re the right person to decide that?”

  If I were two versions of myself, one smart and the other smarter, the smarter one would pull my other self aside right now, slap the taste out of her mouth, and demand to know what she thinks she’s doing by antagonizing the ruling pseudo-mafia donna of the town.

  Just thinking about that brings me to my senses, and I apologize. “I’m sorry, Miss Haddy. That was out of line.”

  “Don’t apologize, sugar bear. You’re a smart girl, and it’s a good question. I would never have said I was the right person to carry such a weight, but it was passed on to me from the woman who held the book before me. I’ve never felt like I had a choice. I love this place, and I’d do anything for it. Even if that means I have to keep the town’s secrets until it becomes necessary not to.”

  For the first time since meeting her, I see a weariness in the crinkles around Miss Haddy’s eyes. I see the heaviness of the burden she carries. I guess I assumed that she was a busybody who collected dirt on the town and wielded it as she saw fit, but it seems there’s more to it than that.

  “I’m sorry, Miss Haddy. I didn’t know.”

  “Luckily, it’s worked out well so far, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Seems to have.”

  “Something’s afoot, though. I need to be sure that whatever happened between Andrew and his murderer had nothing to do with that book.”

  “Where did he keep it? I could just go get it for you.”

  “That’s part of the problem. He never told me. He said it was better if he was the only one who knew. His father before him kept it, too, and he only told Andrew where it was on his deathbed. But, Lucky, we need to find it. It’s more important than you know. The one who wields that book…”

  I feel like we’re talking about Excalibur.

  “Okay, Miss Haddy. I’ll do my best to find it for you. What can you tell me about it?”

  “It’s got a black leather cover, about yay high and yay thick.” She uses her fingers to indicate about twelve inches tall and two or three inches thick.

  “Does it have writing on it or any other distinguishing marks or features?”

  “No. It’s just a plain black book. It’s that way for a reason. It looks like a lot of other black books. Nothing special. Nothing worth stealing. Unless you know what’s in it. For the folks around here, it’s a history book.”

  “Who in town knows about this ‘history book’?”

  “Many folks, I’d guess. It’s more like a legend. You know how those old town tales start? But there are probably more than a handful that really know of its existence, for one reason or another. Things are handed down from generation to generation, don’t you know?”

  “Okay. Then who would’ve known that Mr. Ames kept it for you? Surely fewer would’ve known that.”

  “Oh, yessiree. That wasn’t as well known at’all. Just some of the more influential ones. They take a bit of a firmer hand, if you get my meaning.”

  She jacks up her eyebrows and narrows her lids. My lips curve into a grin. I’m sure that’s Miss Haddy’s intimidating look, but I still see Mrs. Claus when I look at her, and it’s hard to see Mrs. Claus as a woman with an iron fist. I’m not dumb enough to assume she’s all soft and warm on the inside. It’s becoming more and more apparent that Miss Haddy is a tough woman. What we in the South call a Steel Magnolia. Beautiful and delicate, yes, but strong as steel when we need to be. And she must’ve needed to be for a long time now.

  “Anyone in particular you have in mind?”

  “I think you know of one already. Mr. William Dunning Senior. Could be coincidence that this is happening right as he’s getting ready to announce his State Senate bid, but maybe it’s not either.”

  I nod. “I can’t say that surprises me. I already have my eye on him.”

  Miss Haddy looks to Mrs. Stephanopoulos again. “Told you we had the right girl.”

  “Of course we do, because I told you soon after she moved in.”

  The two roll eyes and wave each other off, but their affection for one another is still plain as day. They remind me of two old spinster sisters, bickering and picking, but still with more loyalty than they know what to do with.

  “Why would you pick me to look into this? You hardly know me.”

  “I know enough. And I… we,” she corrects, flicking her hand at Mrs. S., “have a good sense for people. You’re one of the good ones.” She smiles and I’m getting ready to thank her when she adds, “And if not, you know what we’re capable of, and what crossing one of us might result in, right, sugar?”

  That was, without a doubt, the most sweetly-delivered threat known to man.

  “I wouldn’t dream of it, Miss Haddy. Not only am I a smart girl, but I have n
o interest in hurting anybody. In this town or any other. I’m a big believer in live and let live. If this is how things are done around here, far be it for me to try to change it.”

  “So, you’ll do it?”

  I nod my assent. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll do it.”

  She reaches over to put her crepey hand on mine. It’s warm and as soft as satin. “Find that book, Lucky. I hope you can find justice for sweet Andrew, too, but the main thing is to secure our history book.” She nods, pat-pats my hand, and shifts and wiggles her way to her feet. Miss Haddy isn’t a small woman.

  “Keep me posted,” she says on her way to the door with Mrs. S. who just throws up a hand like she usually does.

  “I will.”

  When the front door is shut behind them, I wait for the sound of the hearse engine to roar to life, then I get to work. First things first. Looks like I’ll be doing some more breaking and entering tonight. Into an active crime scene, no less.

  One thing I know for sure. If I stay in Salty Springs very long, I’m going to need more black clothes.

  5

  I’m just starting to dress for the night’s excursion when a knock sounds at the door. I pull my shirt back down over my head and go to the door.

  “What are you doing here?” I unlock the storm door for Regina and head back to my bedroom. She comes to sit on the foot of the bed while I put on my sleuthing clothes.

  “How’d the stimulator work?” she asks when I peel my shirt off again.

  I reach back and feel for the little patches. I’d forgotten they were even on there. Once they stopped jerking my arm up into the air, they were hardly noticeable. When I peel them off and look at them more closely, I see why.

  I hold up the exposed wires for Regina to see. “I think Mayor Dunning broke them.”

  “Slick Willie? What the heck were you doing with him that would result in that?” All the leads do look quite mangled.

  “He just patted me on the shoulder.”

  “Was he checking you for weapons or something?”

  “No, it was a friendly pat actually. I think these things are just pieces of—”

  She holds up her hand to stop me. “I don’t need to know. Just put it in the report.” After a short pause to consider, she adds, “But maybe phrase it a little differently.”

  “Oh, I’ll make it sound professional and scientific like I always do. ‘While the product has the potential to deliver stimulation to muscle fibers, the physical equipment isn’t constructed in a manner suitable for the rigors of an active life.’ How’s that?”

  “That’s the nicest, most confusing slam I’ve ever heard.”

  “Not me. I was threatened by an old lady today, and I almost thanked her for it, it was so sweet.”

  “Who threatened you?”

  There is very little I don’t tell Regina. Eventually. I’m not great with secrets to start with, but hiding from my best friend is even more problematic.

  “Miss Haddy. She wants me to look into what happened to the accountant. When I asked why she picked me, she more or less said that I’m smart enough to know not to cross her.”

  Regina’s shapely brows fly up under her bangs. “Oh. Wow.”

  “Exactly.”

  She takes in my outfit and deduces what I’m up to. “Breaking into the crime scene tonight, huh?”

  “Of course.”

  “Did you pick this town on purpose? Was it listed on some obscure site for the most murders per capita or something?”

  “Uh, I’m pretty sure there’s no such list. And besides that, evidently there’s not normally this much violence.”

  “So, what you’re saying is that you brought death with you?”

  My mouth gapes open. “What an awful thing to say, Regina. Apologize.”

  Two people insinuating that same thing on the same day. Not cool.

  The corners of her mouth pull into a derisive grin. “Don’t act like you’re not happier than a pig in mud.”

  Gumbo chooses that very moment to trot into the room and oink at me from the doorway. I bend down and snap my fingers at him. “Who’s a smart boy? Yeah, you are.”

  I pick him up and give him a nuzzle. Regina’s expression is one of horror. “My word, he can speak English.”

  I giggle as I set him down. I don’t disabuse her of the notion. Gumbo might actually know he’s a pig. Wouldn’t surprise me. All my creatures are exceptionally intelligent.

  I grab a basket from under my desk and start putting items into my pockets. Lock pick set, flashlight, latex gloves, ski mask.

  “What’s that? Your nefarious activities go-basket?”

  I consider the items I keep in it, and when I use them, and I shrug. “Yeah, pretty much.”

  “You’re like the Robin Hood of detectives. The people’s P.I.”

  A bubble of laughter gurgles up. “Yeah, that’s good. P.P.I.”

  “Product tester by day, private investigator by night,” Regina says in her best movie-trailer voice. “You’re like a superhero.”

  “If superheroes were excessively clumsy with really big butts, I’d be nailing it.”

  “Mr. Tasty Cakes himself, Liam Dunning, doesn’t seem to mind either of those.”

  I stop on my way out the bedroom door and look back at her over my shoulder. “Not you, too.”

  “What?” Regina is terrible at playing dumb.

  “There is nothing going on with Liam.”

  “Tasty Cakes.”

  “We both happen to get dragged into murder investigations. That’s all.”

  “Against your will, of course.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You two are perfect for each other. If you can’t see that, you’re as blind as you are beautiful.”

  At that, I snort. “I’m neither of those, thank you very much. What I am is late. I need to get over to Ames’ place.”

  “Meeting someone?”

  I shoot her the stink eye as I slide my feet into black tennis shoes. “No. I just don’t want to be out all night.”

  “Mmmm hmmm,” is her only response.

  “You staying or going?”

  “I guess I’ll go, too. I don’t want to stay here alone with all your creepy animals.”

  “They’d probably like you more if you didn’t refer to them like that.”

  “You’re so weird,” she says as I shoo her out the door and lock up behind her. “Want me to drop you off as I go home?”

  “Nah, it’s not a long walk.”

  “No, but people might think it’s odd if they see you walking toward a murder scene dressed like a thug.”

  “You make a good point. Yeah, maybe drop me off near the alley behind his office. I’ll go in the back anyway.”

  “Good thing one of us thinks.”

  The drive is short and quiet, and I wave at Regina as I hop quickly out of the car and hurry down to the rear entrance of Ames Accounting Services. There’s enough moonlight that I might not need to use my flashlight to pick the lock. Most of it is done by feel anyway.

  It’s an old door with an old lock, and I’m turning tumblers within fifteen seconds.

  I slip inside and close the door behind me, then click on my flashlight. The back door comes into what looks like a storage room. There are rows and rows of metal shelving that go all the way to the ceiling, and on those shelves are those dark brown cardboard boxes that they use in everything from law offices to police evidence lockers.

  At least that’s what it seems like on television. That’s my frame of reference for a lot of specifics in real life investigation. I did grow up on Matlock reruns, after all.

  I give the shelves a cursory swipe with my flashlight. Each is labeled with a range of dates and they’re organized by year. They’re probably old tax returns and old client files. Not what I’m looking for, although I may end up having to dig more deeply into them to find out who had motive to kill Andrew Ames. If I recover the ledger. First things first.

  I gl
ance around the room, looking for evidence of a wall safe. There are none back here. The only two walls with any pictures are exterior walls, which are made of concrete block. Definitely no safe there.

  I make my way into the main office area and start a search. I walk along, pecking and tapping the sheet-rocked walls, looking behind pictures and sliding over bookcases. As far as I can tell, there is no wall safe here either.

  Next, I go through his filing cabinets, his desk drawers, and open the doors to the armoire that rests against the wall opposite his desk. There is no evidence of a black book anywhere. I even feel up under the bottoms of cabinets and drawers, thinking maybe he secured it that way, but come up empty-handed. I’m sweeping the room with the beam of my flashlight one more time when I spot two big fake potted plants on either side of a credenza.

  “Might as well check,” I mutter to the empty room as I make my way over to them and feel around the base. One of the plants’ fake dirt bottom is loose. I wrap my hand around the thin trunk and pull, and the whole thing comes up out of the pot. And there, lying on the bottom, is a black book.

  “Bingo!”

  “You’re really good at this illegal stuff, you know that?”

  I jump, yes, but I don’t startle as badly as I have the last couple of times Liam Dunning has snuck up on me. Either he’s getting worse at it or I’m getting used to it. One of the two.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “Watching to see if the killer came back to the scene of his crime.”

  “The door was locked when I got here, so unless he broke in and had a look around, the answer is no.”

  “Unless I’m looking at her.”

  Liam shines his light in my face. I tilt my head and give him my most withering stare. “Really?”

  He lowers the light. “Nah. I was just kidding.”

  “You don’t kid well. Has anyone ever told you that?”

  “My dad. He was always more than happy to point out all my shortcomings.”

  Liam is sifting through papers on Ames’ desk with one of his gloved hands.

  “Sounds like you two have a great relationship.”

  “Oh, yeah. It’s a dream.”

  If sarcasm were a liquid, we’d both be drowning in it right about now. “There’s the Liam we all know and love.”