by Janet Leigh
I have two days until the full moon cycle begins and the portal opens for the defenders to go back in time and stop these lying, thieving brigands from screwing up the past.
Two days to figure out where Mitchell is jumping back in time.
* * *
A black BMW pulled to the curb and Mitchell exited the terminal. I almost didn't recognize him. Mitchell had been at our last bust involving the Mafuso family. It had been nighttime and dark, and he’d been an afterthought. I hadn’t paid much attention to him. In the daylight, the Justin Bieber days were behind him. He seemed taller. His sandy blond hair had been cut short, and apparently, he had seen time at the gym. The driver greeted him and tossed him the car keys. Mitchell relieved him of his duty.
He gunned the car and pulled into traffic. I followed Mitchell’s BMW south from Dallas, staying far enough behind to keep a bead on him but not lose him. I hoped this wasn’t going to take long, because I needed to be back at the chiropractic office by one. I was scheduled to work the afternoon shift. Eli knew I had an assignment, but I hoped to make it in to work today. I took a sip of my latte and tapped in time with the Blake Shelton song on the radio.
My pay-as-you-go phone rang. Jake. He issued these phones to make tracing our whereabouts difficult for the brigands.
“How’s it going?” he asked.
“Fine. I’m following him south on Interstate 35.”
“Keep your distance. I want to know what that little fucker is up to, but I don’t want you to make contact.”
“I’ve got this.”
“Mmhmm. Check back in at 1200 hours.”
“Roger that.” I disconnected, well aware Jake rolled his eyes at my good-bye.
About an hour and a half later, Mitchell exited the highway in the city of Waco and parked at the Texas Ranger Museum. I motored my white Ford Mustang past the museum and into a parking lot of a nearby cemetery. Mitchell got out of his BMW and went inside. What was the little sneak up to?
I put my car in gear and drove over to the museum lot. There was an empty space next to a rusted-out horse trailer with a flat tire. My sports car would be hidden from view behind its girth. I adjusted the black wig I wore, then pulled a baseball cap down low and donned my green Lululemon jacket and pocketed my phone. I stepped out of my car and smiled down at my new Tory Burch wedge lace-up espadrilles with the cute pom-poms. They cost me two days’ pay, but oh they were so worth it.
The June sun beat down, and I sweated the short walk to the museum’s entry. A six-foot wooden Indian Chief greeted me in the foyer. Posters and paraphernalia regarding the history of the Texas Rangers hung on the walls or stood on pedestals. I snaked my way around them in search of Mitchell. The foyer opened into a large room with glass display cases that reminded me of Tiffany’s New York store minus the blue velvet staircase and the diamonds. I browsed the glass cases in the front while searching for Mitchell. He was speaking to a man behind the counter and had his back to me. I moved closer to eavesdrop on the conversation.
“How much for the glasses?” Mitchell asked, pointing at a pair of spectacles in the case.
“These things are not for sale,” the man said, his thin finger wagging back and forth like a disciplining schoolteacher. “The museum acquired the items for the outlaw exhibit next week. They’re our feature pieces along with recorded video footage of the ambush.” He waved his hand across the case like Vanna White on Wheel of Fortune.
“I will make it worth your while if I could borrow these two items for a short period of time.”
The man paused as if Mitchell had provided the answer to his prayers. He quirked his lips and glanced around the room. I made myself busy looking at postcards shelved in a tall rack that kept me partially hidden from Mitchell’s view.
“I might be able to loan them to you, but it would be very expensive. You would have to get them back to me by Monday. These items are priceless.”
Standing on my tiptoes, I peeked through the card rack to see what Mitchell was borrowing, more likely confiscating. Poor guy would probably be fired. The man removed a leather-bound book and a pair of spectacles from the case and handed them to Mitchell. He tried on the glasses and thumbed through the journal, then handed both items back to the man.
“Yes, these are the things I need.” Mitchell unrolled a wad of cash from his pants pocket and peeled a few hundreds off the top until the man smiled.
The man took a pad of paper from behind the counter and wrote something on it. “I will place a notice that these things are temporarily on loan, and will be returned in a few days?” The man questioned.
“Within the week,” Mitchell promised.
The man placed the items in a sack and handed them to Mitchell.
After thanking the man, Mitchell headed my direction. I ducked behind the postcard rack, pulling the brim of my baseball cap low over my face, and pretended to be enthralled in a book about the history of Dr Pepper. My stomach grumbled at the word Dr Pepper. I would grab lunch on the way to the clinic after I figured out what Mitchell was up to. Mitchell sauntered past me. The bell on the door tinkled. I put the book down and turned to leave when a hand caught my arm making me jump.
“Do you need help miss?” Vanna had come out from his roost behind the counter.
I removed my arm from his grasp. “No, only browsing.” He started to turn away, and I sighed. What the hell. I needed to find out what Mitchell had his hands on. “Excuse me, what did that man borrow from the museum?” I asked.
The man turned around and flushed a shade I would call flamingo. “Are you from the curator’s office?”
He had that deer in the headlights, about to fly the white flag of surrender expression.
I shook my head. “I’m from Terrell State Hospital, my friend has a mental condition. He’s a compulsive hoarder.”
“What do you mean?”
“He sees things he wants and buys them to add to his uhm…collections. It’s a form of OCD, but we treat it with medication. He can integrate with society, but he forgot to take his meds today.”
A bead of sweat sprouted up on the man’s forehead just below his receding hairline. “I’ve got to get those things back or I’ll be done for.”
“You should have thought about that before you gave them away.”
“Loaned.”
“Did you get anything for collateral?”
“No.”
I gave him my best scowl. “What did he take? I’ll get them back for you.”
“He took a journal that belonged to Bonnie Parker and a pair of reading glasses that belonged to Clyde Barrow.
“Bonnie and Clyde, did you say?”
The man nodded. He wrung his hands and I was afraid he might go postal and take off after Mitchell.
“The journal is part of a set. The second is being rebound. Of course it's the most valuable one because it was found in the car Clyde was driving when they were killed. I'm glad your patient didn't steal that one. I'd lose my job.”
“No worries. I almost always return items my patient borrows.” I used my fingers to make air quotes.
“Can you please get them back by next week?” His tone took on a begging note. “My boss is on vacation and he will be hopping mad if those things aren’t returned.”
“I’ll see what I can do. Have a nice day.”
I left the museum hoping I wasn’t too far behind Mitchell. His car was gone. Traffic on the highway was light this time of day, so maybe I could catch him.
About the Author
Janet Leigh is a full-time chiropractor and acupuncturist. The Shoes Come First is her debut novel in the Jennifer Cloud series. She lives in Texas, where she splits her time between seeing patients and working on her next Jennifer Cloud adventure.
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The Jennifer Cloud Novels
The Shoes Come First
Dress 2 Impress
3 Ways to Wear
Red
In Style 4 Now
