Lucky and the Axed Accountant

by Emmy Grace

  “No, she’s letting Alicia know I’m here.”

  “Alicia?”

  “The owner.”

  “Ah. The friend.”

  About two minutes later, I look up to find a woman weaving her way through the tables. She’s like a dark, exotic vision. Long flowing hair, big eyes, full lips, body to die for. I know before she even makes it to our table that she’s Alicia. She’s too beautiful not to be Liam’s friend.

  I shall dub her Vampira. She looks like she could be a bloodsucking queen of the night.

  When she arrives, Liam stands and kisses her on the cheek. She leans into it a liiiiittle too much for my liking. “You’re looking well,” she says, eyeing him like a slab of mouthwatering meat. “When did you get back in town?”

  “I’ve been back a while.”

  “Ah,” she purrs, her eyes darting to me.

  “Can we talk in private?” he asks.

  Her smile turns positively feline. “Of course.”

  She nods at me before leading Liam away. I’m not a jealous woman at all, but something about her makes me want to swap her shampoo with depilatory cream and watch that lustrous hair jump ship. Picturing her bald is how I’m able to smile so brightly at her as she slinks away with Liam.

  I scan the menu until he returns without Vampira.

  “Well?” I ask when he sits back down.

  “She’s going to look up the ticket that was paid for with his card and let me know if he was alone. If he wasn’t, she’s going to find out if his server remembers who he was with.”

  “I guess it pays to have friends in high places. The mayor for a father, a restaurant owner as an ex-girlfriend.”

  “She’s not an ex-girlfriend. There was never anything between us.”

  “Does she know that?”

  Liam drags his eyes up to mine. “If I’m interested in a woman, I don’t leave her with doubts about it.”

  “Drag her away by the hair, do you?”

  “Naturally. I only use the club if I have to.”

  I grin over at him. “Now I feel bad for picturing her bald.”

  “Why would you do that?”

  “Never mind. It’s a woman thing.”

  “Say no more.”

  We order and are halfway through a delicious meal when Alicia brings a slip of paper to the table and leaves it at Liam’s elbow. She bends to whisper something to him and I can literally see her lips grazing his skin. Yeah, Liam might think there’s nothing between the two of them, but Alicia remembers it differently.

  When she leaves, I lean forward. “So? What did Vampira find out?”

  “Vampira?” Liam looks dubious.

  “Don’t tell me you can’t see it?” He stares at me for a few seconds before he gives a small shrug and nod. I knew he couldn’t not agree with me. She’s got fangs for sure, whether they’re the literal kind or not.

  “Ames was alone.”

  I deflate. “Seriously?”

  Liam nods.

  “That guy’s life just gets sadder and sadder.”

  “Why is that?”

  “He was all alone. No family, no friends, no life other than his work.”

  “Some people would call that heaven.” His comment is made casually, just before he stuffs a forkful of cheesy, tomato goodness into this mouth.

  “You’d really want to be all alone like that?”

  Liam raises his eyes to mine. He doesn’t hesitate in his answer. “Sometimes, yeah.”

  I feel a pang of sorrow for Liam now, too, but I know better than to let it show. “Well, it’s a good thing you’ve got me then. It’s not healthy to be so isolated, and I’m just the kind to bulldoze my way into your life, whether you like it or not.”

  “Ya think?”

  “Don’t knock it. Most people like getting lucky.” I snort at my clever comment before taking a bite of my own scrumptious dinner.

  “Did you really just say that?”

  I tilt my head. “Are you really surprised?”

  Slowly, Liam shakes his head back and forth, mumbling around his fork, “You need help.”

  I just shrug. He’s probably right.

  15

  Since the flower shop and the restaurant didn’t turn up any new suspects last night, I’m left with tackling the only remaining stray charge listed on Ames’ account. It happens to be the visit every person on the face of the planet dreads. The visit most people put off until they absolutely have to go. The visit I, myself, would be willing to trade for a colonoscopy.

  That visit is to the dentist.

  Rather than calling to make myself a new patient appointment, I decide to drop by just before lunch. When I arrive at the tranquil office, the happiest receptionist in the history of receptionists greets me. Her smile is so wide I’m left to wonder if she dips into the nitrous oxide between patients.

  “Welcome to Dr. Sleighbaugh’s office. How may I help you today?”

  I smile, but I do it like a normal person who’s not trying to show how many molars they’re still in possession of. “I need to make a new patient appointment, please.”

  “Of course. Yes, I can do that for you.”

  She pokes around in the computer for an opening and she’s almost gleeful when she drags her wild, wide eyes up to mine. “You’re in luck. He just so happens to have an opening tomorrow morning at eight-fifteen.”

  “Eight-fifteen? I was really hoping for that time.”

  Said no one. Ever.

  It’s bad enough to have to pay a perfect stranger to stick his fingers in your mouth and jab at your gums with sharp objects, but to be forced to endure it at such an indecent hour? It should be a crime punishable by forty wax strip applications.

  “Oh my gosh, how weird is that?”

  “Very!” I exclaim, laughing like I’m giddy, too.

  The girl just keeps smiling at me. It’s almost like her face is stuck this way. Maybe she used some of the Joker’s face cream. “So, do you want me to pencil you in?”

  “I might die if you don’t.” I laugh again. She keeps smiling. It just gets weirder and weirder.

  “If you have a few minutes, I could give you the new patient packet to fill out. It would save you a few minutes in the morning. Every girl needs her morning time.”

  “Right? I was just thinking that very same thing. You don’t want to see me in here before I’ve had time to pluck my unibrow and shave my knuckles.”

  At this point, I’m not even sure what I’m saying. Not that she seems to notice. She just keeps smiling and gives me a twittering laugh like a hummingbird on crystal meth.

  “You’re funny,” she deduces.

  “Then it must be Thursday.”

  She hands me a clipboard loaded with papers. A pen is trapped under the jaw. I sympathize. “If you’ll just fill out the first six pages, read and sign the last four, and then bring me a copy of your driver’s license and insurance card, you’ll be all set. My name is Roxanne, by the way. Just give me a shout if you have any questions.”

  “Thanks, Roxanne. Are you ordering in for lunch? I may need a sandwich. I think I’m going to be here all day.” She laughs and waves me off like I’m teasing, even though I’m not entirely certain that I am.

  I walk through the waiting room to a seat in the corner near the window. At least I’ll have a good view for the next wasted ten hours of my life. I plop down and toss my purse into the chair next to me. That’s when I notice the lovely flower arrangement on the coffee table diagonal from me. The hydrangeas are real and fresh and vaguely familiar.

  “Uh, Roxanne?” I hate to get her attention again; I almost didn’t escape last time. But this could be important. She spins around in her chair and smiles over the raised countertop at me. “These flowers are just beautiful. Where did you get them? You never know when you might be in need of a good flower shop.”

  “Oh, Dr. Sleighbaugh’s mother made those for him. She owns Venus’ Flytrap.”

  “Oh!” I don’t have to feign s
urprise. “Good to know.”

  Salty Springs is a small town. In a small town, it’s probably nothing to raise a brow at that the dentist is related to the owner of the flower shop. Normally, I wouldn’t bat an eye.

  Unless there’s a murder involved.

  Is it strange that two of the last few charges on Andrew Ames’ bank statement were to a mother and her son?

  Maybe.

  Maybe not.

  But I wouldn’t be the charmingly nosey and suspicious woman I am today if I hadn’t learned one particular truth early on—there is no such thing as coincidence.

  I make my way back to my corner seat and try to concentrate enough to fill out the forms, but my mind is gnawing away on everything except my medical history and whether or not my jaws click.

  I hear the snap of the door opening and I look up. A tall, pretty woman with dark cherry hair glides through the door and pauses in front of Roxanne. “Where is Barry?”

  Something about her tone grabs and holds my attention. This is an angry female if I’ve ever heard one.

  “He just finished up with his last patient of the morning. He—”

  The redhead cuts her off. “Never mind. I’m going back.”

  She stalks off around the edge of the curved reception area and disappears behind the wall. A small sign catches my eye, and I hop up and lay my forms to the side. I walk hurriedly to Roxanne and give her my most embarrassed grin. “Would you mind pointing me to the restroom? I had one too many lattes this morning, I think.”

  “Of course,” she replies cheerfully. She points at the sign I already noticed. “Right through there.”

  “Thanks.” I rush off like I’m running out of bladder space, and as soon as I get out of sight, I duck into a tiny alcove behind Roxanne’s desk. I creep to the far corner and stick my head around. I can just see a sliver of a man in a white lab coat, presumably Dr. Barry Sleighbaugh. His spine is stiff and there’s something about the set of his shoulders, even though unfamiliar, that looks defensive to me.

  I strain to listen to their hushed words.

  “What do you mean she couldn’t get it? He said it was with his mother. His mother is dead. How difficult can it possibly be?”

  “I can’t just go robbing a grave, Trisha.”

  “Why not? After everything else…”

  “I’ll get the book. You just need to calm down and give me time.”

  “We’re running out of time. Unless we can prove to him that his secret is safe, we’re in danger.”

  Barry raises a hand to rub at his forehead. I can practically feel his tension. “I don’t think he’ll burn me unless he has to. I’m not even positive that the accountant overheard, or if he did, that he told Miss Haddy.”

  “How does he even know about them?”

  “He makes it a point to know the people he’s working with. And anyone that might be a threat. Miss Haddy’s well known for her trading in information. I’m sure it didn’t take him long to find out that Ames kept the notorious book.”

  “Maybe he should take her out. It’s not like he’s opposed to killing.”

  “He won’t risk that unless this gets out of hand. I have to make sure it doesn’t. For all our sakes.”

  I hear the woman’s long sigh from just out of my line of sight. “Well, until we can find the book, it doesn’t matter.”

  “He’s coming in tonight. He wants an update and to talk about another job. He wouldn’t be doing that if he planned to kill me. I’ll explain the situation and smooth things out.”

  “You’d better. He could ruin everything.”

  “I’ll take care of it. Just trust me. The wedding will go off without a hitch. You’ll see.”

  “Good. I’d rather not be dead for it.”

  I see the dentist reach forward and draw the redhead into his arms. I duck back around the corner and slink off silently the way I came.

  I rattle the bathroom door handle and put on a smile before I reappear to Roxanne. “You know, I just realized it’s lunchtime and I’ve got several pages left to fill out. Would it be okay for me to take them home and bring them in tomorrow morning?”

  “Of course. That would be just fine.”

  “Thanks, Roxanne. You’re a peach.”

  She practically glows under the compliment. And with her round face, and the way her warm skin turns a soft pink in the cheeks, she actually looks like a peach. It’s a little freaky. All she needs is a green stem poking out of the top of her head. I try not to picture her noggin with a big bite taken out of the side.

  My mind is already onto a thousand different things as I gather up my purse and slew of documents and head for the door. With any luck tonight, I won’t even have to keep my dreadful appointment in the morning, in which case I’ll burn the torturous packet of papers. But that’s another task for another day. Right now, it’s time to get ready for a stakeout.

  16

  When the sun is just starting to make its final colorful display on the horizon, I walk my way over to Mrs. Stephanopoulos’ back door. I pull the chain that dangles from the old timey bell. It doesn’t get used much, as evidenced by the thick layer of webbing stretched across the inside of it.

  After I ring the bell, I settle in for a wait. There’s not point in getting in a rush. I’ve visited my landlady at her house before and the woman doesn’t believe in hurrying. She heard the bell and she’ll come to answer the door in her own good time. The first time I came, I thought she didn’t hear me. She’s old and it took her forever to appear. What else was I to think? Well, that wasn’t the case. Mrs. S. made a point of letting me know that her hearing is just fine and that ringing the bell more than once wasn’t going to get her to the door any faster.

  Finally, after a full three minutes, I see a shadow move in front of the light pouring through the kitchen. Through the sheer curtain that hangs over the back door window, I watch Mrs. Stephanopoulos hobble her way toward me, pausing once to get something out of her teeth. When she swings open the door, she looks annoyed. As usual.

  I wonder if she and Liam are related.

  “Lucky,” she says with a nod.

  “Hi, Mrs. Stephanopoulos. I hate to bother you, but I was wondering if I could ask a favor.”

  “Favor? What kind of favor?” she asks in the same tone that she probably uses to yell at small children from her front porch. Get off my lawn!

  This woman is not for the faint of heart. If I were a more easily intimidated person, she would scare me.

  “I was wondering if you’d let me borrow your car. Not your Oldsmobile, but the old Plymouth in the garage.”

  She tips her head back and stares down her long Snuffleupagus nose at me. “What do you need with my baby?”

  It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that Mrs. S. prizes that car. It’s a 1966 Plymouth Barracuda, and she pulls it out of the attached garage to wash it once a month, even though I’ve never seen her drive it to get it dirty.

  “I need it for a stakeout. I thought fewer people might recognize it than, say, my car or your Olds.”

  “Car won’t matter. They’ll recognize you. Pretty blondes aren’t exactly a dime a dozen ’round here.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Stephanopoulos,” I beam. I’m never one to not appreciate a compliment, even when it’s delivered in nearly the same way as an insult. I take ’em where I can get ’em. “I’ve actually got that part taken care of already. I just need a lesser known vehicle to sit in.”

  “Is this part of the work you’re doing for Haddy?”

  I nod. “It is.”

  “Guess I’d better say yes then. The quicker we get to the bottom of this and get that book back, the better.”

  “I agree.”

  She stares at me for a few seconds, chewing on something. Probably what she dislodged from her teeth on the way to the door.

  Blech.

  But then she grunts once and turns back into the kitchen. I stand there, because, what else am I to do? I’d never actually f
ollow her inside without an express invitation. For all I know, she has the place booby-trapped.

  She returns with a single key dangling from a green plastic triangle that advertises an insurance company that probably went out of business in 1902.

  “I’ll expect it to be washed and waxed before it’s returned to my garage. And the gas tank filled up, of course.”

  “Of course,” I agree, even though I probably won’t use a hundredth of a tank of gas just driving it to the dentist’s office and back. But it’ll be worth it to piece together what happened to Andrew Ames and hopefully find the book.

  She hands me the key and I thank her.

  Before I can get away, she asks, “Do you want a gun? Will this be dangerous?”

  “It’ll only be dangerous if I take a gun. I’d probably shoot myself in the foot.”

  She harrumphs again. “One of these days, I’ll teach you how to shoot at other people.”

  I know she doesn’t mean that the way it sounded. At least I hope not. Although, I can envision Mrs. Stephanopoulos in a zippered dress and her orthopedic shoes, lying on her belly, on a hill, picking off people she suspects of being criminals. That isn’t hard to imagine at all.

  I’m not sure whether to laugh or to be a little bit afraid.

  “Maybe one day I’ll let you,” I say lightly as I turn back toward my place, which is only a few yards from hers. “I’ll have it back in the garage before you know it.”

  “Not a scratch on it either.”

  “No, ma’am. Not a scratch.”

  Please, God, don’t let me scratch it.

  Back at my place, I lay out all my supplies and start to work on my disguise. Regina always thought I was silly for keeping our old Halloween costumes, but in recent years, she’s come to understand the wisdom of my decision. A girl never knows when she might need a Captain Jack Sparrow wig and goatee set, and a Joan Jett outfit. It doesn’t really matter to me that I look like a deranged rock star pirate, just as long as I don’t look like myself. And when I take a good look at my reflection, the only thing I can say is, “Mission accomplished.”

  I throw my stakeout necessities and my “I might have to break and enter” tool kit into an empty guitar case (which goes perfectly with my Joan Jett attire) and head for my landlady’s garage.