Lucky and the Axed Accountant

by Emmy Grace

  “The parrot. I already told you once. Keep up.”

  “What did he do?”

  “He helped me solve the mystery of the black book.”

  I run to the bathroom, slam the door, and get dressed. Through the wooden panel, I hear Liam ask, “How did a bird help you solve a mystery?”

  I grin at my reflection as I sweep my hair back into a short ponytail. “You’ll see, Mr. Dunning. You’ll see.”

  Without giving him any explanation, I walk right back out, stuff my feet into shoes, and head for the door.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Where are we going,” I clarify over my shoulder. “Come on. We’re going back to Andrew Ames’ house. The black book is with his mother.”

  “I thought his mother was dead,” Liam says as he follows me out.

  “She is, but he still keeps her close.”

  Liam drives us to Ames’ house. We park down the street and sneak in much the same way I did before. Once inside, I go straight to the telephone table and the memorial box sitting on top of it.

  I hand Liam my flashlight, the beam of which is directed at the face of Andrew Ames’ mother. Well, her pictorial likeness anyway. “Here, hold this.”

  I open the wooden lid and take out the album. It rests so peacefully inside that I feel for a second like I’m desecrating a grave. This is how Andrew remembered his mother. It’s as though he laid her memory to rest here, in this box. He gave her a position of honor and dignity right here in his home. It’s really kind of sweet. Maybe a tad creepy, but mostly sweet.

  I take the flashlight from Liam and shine the beam right into the corner of the box. There’s a line that goes all the way around the perimeter. It glistens in the light. I missed it before because it’s translucent, but I see it now. Now that I know what to look for. It’s a narrow bead of glue and it’s holding a false bottom in place.

  I tap the thin wood with my fingernail. It has a hollow sound, which it shouldn’t since it’s sitting directly on the table.

  I pick up the box to look underneath. The bottom is just another flimsy piece of wood, but tucked against the frame on either side are tabs. Two pieces of ribbon, barely noticeable, sticking out the tiniest bit. If I weren’t always looking at things for what lies just beneath the surface (literally and figuratively), I would probably think they were some kind of protective pieces that keep the box from scratching whatever it’s set upon. Even though the placement for that purpose makes no sense.

  But that’s not how I roll. I rarely ever take things at face value. I look for what’s underneath in everything. Even in people. Because there’s always something there. We all have dark creatures, lurking in the deep waters of our souls and our lives. It’s just a matter of bringing them up to the surface and out into the light.

  I hand the flashlight back to Liam, who makes an irritated grunting sound. “You’re worse than Gumbo with all your grunting.”

  To that, he only grunts again. This time with more antagonism. I’m starting to be able to read them for what they are. Like a second language. Instead of Morse Code, it’s Horse Code. You know, since he has a farm?

  I snigger a little at my own thoughts, which just earns me another noise.

  I flip the box over and lay it on its top. I pinch the tabs between my fingers and pull. It’s a tight fit and I have to shimmy, but a little patience pays off.

  The box’s false bottom pulls out.

  “What the—”

  My smile is smug. I’m sure of it. Having Liam here to witness my shining moment is better than chocolate cake with chocolate ice cream and a chocolate drizzle.

  This is crack for my ego.

  “Andrew cut a thin piece of wood and stained it to match the box his mom’s photo album is in to make this cute little hidden cubby between it and the real bottom. With the photo album inside it, you don’t even notice it. But it’s there. And look what’s inside.”

  I remove the book and wave it.

  Solid black leather, no writing on the cover. I flip through the pages and only the last few are empty. Hundreds of pages are filled from top to bottom with scribble. Dates, names, events. Entry after entry.

  It’s Miss Haddy’s “history book”. I’m sure of it.

  “How did you know it was here?”

  “Ames thought that people would assume he would keep anything valuable down in the basement under security. And rightly so. I did. And by the looks of the basement, someone else did, too. It’s the perfect decoy. But somehow, probably through Barry’s mom, Venus the Flytrapper—”

  “Wait, the flower hippie is Barry the dentist’s mom?”

  I nod. “There were flowers at his office. The receptionist told me she made them for him. For her son.”

  “Ahhhh. Sorry. Go on.”

  “So someone, probably sneaky Venus, found out he kept it with his mother. She assumed that meant her grave. Maybe because Ames bought flowers to take out there periodically. I’d probably think the same thing. But Andrew was too smart for that. He hid it almost in plain sight, beneath something totally mundane. It was brilliant.” I raise my hand and pretend to take a hat off my head. “Tip ’o the hat to you, Mr. Ames.”

  “As much as I hate to admit it, this is good work, Boucher.”

  Now my name has gone from being a slur to sounding like I’m one of the guys out on the field at a football game. He’d better not slap me on the butt.

  I breathe a sigh of relief. “The blackmail material for the citizens of Salty Springs is officially safe. I’m pleased about that. Now, there’s just one more thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “We gotta make Andrew’s killer confess. And I think I have just the way to do it.”

  18

  I bound out of bed first thing the next morning. It’s not even eight A.M., which is early for me, but I’m unusual, so I take a chance and text Miss Haddy, figuring her for an early riser.

  Me: NEED TO MEET ASAP

  It doesn’t take Miss Haddy even a full minute to respond.

  Miss Haddy: Coming to you.

  Me: No, I need to come to you. Just tell me when.

  Miss Haddy: Come on then. I’ll have coffee waiting.

  I’m pulling on clothes and swishing mouthwash as I fill animal food and water bowls. I’m out the door in a record six minutes.

  I follow the same protocol I used before when I visited Miss Haddy, but I don’t get the opportunity to knock. Malcolm is at the bottom of the basement steps, holding the door open with one hand and a mug of coffee with the other. I pause as I pass him.

  “Is that for me or for you?”

  His old eyes twinkle. “It’s mine, lass, but you’re welcome to it if you don’t mind swapping spit with an old man.”

  I grin. “I don’t mind the spit, but I do mind stealing someone’s coffee. Caffeine is a sacred thing.”

  He raises his mug in a silent salute as he shuts the locks the door behind me. After my eyes adjust to the dark, I see that Miss Haddy isn’t in her easy chair and the television isn’t on. I’m not sure why, but I assumed that’s where she parked day and night when she’s not out godfathering. Maybe even when she is.

  “She’s upstairs. This way.” Rather than climbing the stairs like I would’ve expected—and been duly impressed by—he opens a small door, behind which is another door. It’s an elevator.

  He motions for me to step inside. When I do, he closes the little grate-like door and nods. Then I’m being lifted smoothly to the next floor. When I stop, I hear a latch pop. I try to open the door and it slides back easily. I step out, looking behind me in amazement.

  “Fancy stuff, ain’t it, sugar pie?”

  I turn to find Miss Haddy standing in a kitchen that looks like it saw its last update in the early part of the 1900s. Probably around the time she was being conceived. Although it’s rustic with its wood-burning stove and deep farmhouse sink, it’s as warm and cozy and charming as its owner. And as well-maintained, too. Even the window
s, which are likely original with their thick, wavy appearance, are clean as a whistle.

  I inhale and draw the delicious air into my lungs. “Homemade biscuits. Smells just like Beebee’s kitchen in here.”

  “Your nose must be as sharp as your mind.” Her smile makes her eyes crinkle at the corners and the apples of her cheeks glow.

  “It’s the best scent in the world. Makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.”

  “Beebee? Is that your momma?”

  “No, she’s my grandmother. Adopted grandmother.”

  “Ah,” she nods in understanding. “She must be somethin’ special for her adopted granddaughter to love her like you do.”

  I don’t ask how she knows that. My love for Beebee has always been obvious to anyone who knows me at all.

  “She is. I miss her.”

  “One of these days, I hope you’ll tell me all about her, but I’m guessing that day won’t be today.”

  It’s amazing to me that I could forget for one instant why I’m here. “Oh, right. No, not today.” I glance around and see that we’re alone. “Is it okay to talk up here?”

  “This is the most secure place in all of Salty Springs. Maybe all of South Carolina. I can’t say for sure what kind of setup the governor has.”

  I laugh, but it dies quickly. She’s being completely serious. “Then why all the cloak-and-dagger downstairs meetings?”

  “I don’t let many people up here. Don’t want ‘em getting ideas.”

  She slips her hand into an oven mitt and turns to remove a pan of perfectly golden biscuits from the oven. As she’s putting them off onto a platter, I take the time to look around.

  I didn’t notice any of it at first, which is probably by design so that Haddy doesn’t feel like she’s living in a prison, but there are hinged wrought iron cages that are clamped at the ceiling and no doubt drop down over the windows for security at night. The front door looks like one solid piece of oak that’s been shaved down to fit the space. I doubt anything but a bulldozer could get through that. But if that didn’t do it, the enormous metal bar that drops down over it would. And beyond the physical barriers, I see telltale lights flashing here and there, so there’s technology, too.

  “At first glance, it doesn’t look too sophisticated, but lemme tell ya, sugar, if someone ever tries to break in here, my booby traps have booby traps. They’d only try it once.” She nods resolutely, and then her expression melts into her normal Mrs. Claus façade. “Biscuit?”

  Miss Haddy and I sit. I don’t tell her my business until every last crumb of that biscuit has been devoured and washed down with some of the best coffee I’ve ever had.

  “Do you still have the decoy book that I found at Ames’?”

  “I do. Why?”

  “I need it.”

  “Care to tell me what you’ve got up your sleeve?”

  “I’m gonna catch a criminal or two with it.”

  “Does that mean you know who stole the real book and where it’s at?”

  My lips curve up into a grin and I reach into the back of my waistband. I pull out the book and slide it across the table to her. “You mean this one?”

  Miss Haddy gasps, both hands flying up to cover her mouth. “You don’t know what you’ve done for this town, Lucky Boucher.”

  I can’t help feeling a little proud and satisfied. “It’s my pleasure to help, Miss Haddy. Salty Springs is my home now, too.”

  “I’m glad you feel that way. We’re awfully fond of you. Your sweet friend, too. It’s like you two were born ‘round here.”

  “It feels as much like home as anywhere that isn’t actually home.”

  She reaches over to pat my hand. “Invite your Beebee to visit. People visit here and never want to leave. Maybe she’ll want to stay.”

  “Maybe,” I respond, but I doubt it. Beebee is Cajun through and through. I’m not sure regular people could understand exactly what that means to her. But if any particular culture could, it might likely be the one right here in Salty Springs. It’s as quirky as Cajun, just in a different way.

  “Liam’s helping you, right? Don’t you go putting yourself in danger with no one around to lend a hand.”

  “I’m sure Liam will help if I need it.”

  “It’s him or I send Marge to help.”

  “Who’s Marge?”

  “Your landlady, sugar plum.”

  “Oh. I never knew her first name.”

  “She’d walk right into a burning building if she needed to. You could do worse than having her by your side.”

  “I’d never want to put her in danger. Liam is used to it, I guess. He’ll help me.”

  “Just so long as you use him.”

  “Miss Haddy, before I go, I wondered if you knew much about either Barry Sleighbaugh or his mother, or his fiancée, Trisha?”

  “Not much a’tall. Venus as she calls herself these days liked quite a few recreational drugs in her younger years. I don’t know if she still dabbles. She keeps her business as far from me as she can get it. Business other than her flower shop, I mean.”

  “Okay. Well, thank you for the coffee and the biscuit.” I hold up the fake book as I stand. “And the book.”

  “Any time, sugar. Come back and see me when it’s all said and done. I owe you one.”

  Yeah she does. A big one.

  I take the decoy book home and spend the next three hours writing fake names and fake dates and fake events in it. Page after page of them. Half of it doesn’t even make sense, but I’m betting on no one looking into it that thoroughly when we make the exchange I’m planning to set up.

  After the book is mostly full, I get some coffee on my fingers and make splatters on a few pages here and there, then make a couple of thumb and finger prints at the tops and bottoms of some pages. Then take it outside and throw it around in the yard. I toss it as far as my arm will throw it then go get it again. A few times I even slam it down like I’m doing a touchdown dance. Then I take it into the driveway and rub it around in the gravel. Kick it a few times for good measure. Lastly, I open it and stomp on it, then close it and stomp on it again.

  When I’m disturbingly winded from doing that tiny bit of exercise, I glance around for other things that might age the book. My eyes fall on my car. I’m about to turn and get my keys when I hear the crunch of gravel at the main house. A car is pulling up.

  A familiar car.

  Mrs. S’s car.

  Sweet Mary, I forgot to go back for Mrs. Stephanopoulos’ car!

  I rush over to meet her. She’s sitting up straight as an arrow behind the wheel, peeking over the hood as she guides the car toward the garage.

  I run toward her and start apologizing immediately. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. S! It was such a crazy night and I had an accident in my pants, and by the time we got back from Ames’ place, it was late and…and…”

  Good grief, I feel terrible. She told me plainly how much she treasures this vehicle. How could I be so careless?

  My landlady parks the car, gets out, and lovingly runs her hand along the trunk as she rounds the back toward me. “That was my Wilfred’s car. If something had happened to it, I’d have skinned you alive.” My mouth goes dry. “Lucky for you that Liam Dunning has more sense. He brought it back to me last night. I was just taking her out to fill up with gas.” As she closes the garage door, she gazes at it as though it still contains Wilfred. When she turns, her sharp eyes click to a stop on mine. “Did you do any good?”

  I nod. “Went to visit Miss Haddy earlier this morning. Everything’s okay.”

  “Good. Good.” She spies the book in my hands. “What in tarnation is that? It looks like it’s been run over.”

  “I’m getting ready to do exactly that. I’m trying to make it look aged.”

  “It worked. It looks like it’s been in King Tut’s tush since he died.”

  I glance down at the battered book and shrug. “As long as it fools the bad guys, that’s all I care about.”

&nbs
p; At that she perks up. Her eyes bead on me. “D’you need some backup? I can go grab my pistol right now and—”

  “No, no, Mrs. S. I’m a ways from anything like that. I’m still working on my plan.”

  She deflates a little. I bet she gave old Wilfred a run for his money back in her heyday. “All right then, but if you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m really sorry about the car, Mrs. Stephanopoulos.”

  “Go get some criminals put behind bars and we’ll call it even.”

  “I’m on it.”

  “Watch yer back, Boucher,” she says, her intonation the same as Miss Haddy’s.

  I can’t help grinning. “I’ll be careful. I promise.”

  Now, to go set up a meeting with a killer.

  19

  I’m listening to ringing on the other end of the phone line when there’s a knock at the door. Of course, Mr. Jingles starts growling like he’s going to take off a leg, so I grab him and head to the door before the whole untamed chorus can begin. I toss him out the back door as the pounding on the front door becomes more insistent. I give a growl of frustration myself as I swing it open. I already know who it is.

  “What do you want?” I whisper, holding my hand over the bottom of my phone. “I’m in the middle of something.”

  Liam Dunning pushes me out of the way and bulldozes his way right inside. I have several things to say about that, but a girl’s voice greets me, so I have to put it on hold.

  “Hi, Felonious. This is Lucky Boucher. I need some help. But I’m kind of on limited time. Is there anyway I could set up, like, a tab or something? You give me information and then I do whatever crazy things you want me to do later?” When she doesn’t answer right away, I add, “Pretty please with cherries and chocolate chips on top.”

  “Fine. But you’ll owe more.”

  “How much more?”

  “Two for one.”

  “Two of your stunts for one favor?”

  “Yep. I won’t make them at the same time, though. Unless they’re elaborate.”