Lost Down Deep

by Sara Davison

  Except he had no heart. Only a stone where his heart should be.

  His easy smile, no doubt meant to be charming, didn’t fool her. Chaney slid her sunglasses from the top of her head to hide her own eyes and closed her book.

  “What are you reading?” He bent his neck to read the spine. “Black Beauty. A classic, isn’t it? Not sure I ever read it, but I think I saw the movie.”

  She inwardly scoffed at his vain attempt to make a connection. Before he decided to paw through it, she slipped the book into the tote hanging on the back of her chair. The very thought of him touching one of her beloved books made her want to gag.

  “Why are you bothering me?” she asked.

  He flung out his arms in an expansive gesture, palms open and fingers spread apart. All innocence. As if.

  “The Dogwood Diner here is one of my favorite places to stop and get a cold drink on a hot day.”

  As if she’d been summoned by him to appear at that exact moment, a waitress suddenly stopped at the table. A multitude of rings sparkled on her tanned fingers. “Hey, Detective. The usual?”

  His expression, half smirk and half grin, clearly said, I told you. His gaze shifted from Chaney to the waitress. “That’d do me just fine, Gail. How are the boys?”

  “Growing like weeds.”

  “Boys’ll do that.” He looked at Chaney and pointed at her to-go cup. “Want a refill? Something to go along with your drink? My treat.”

  He surely couldn’t believe she’d ever take as much as a pressed penny from him. But despite how much she wanted to throw her drink at him, toss the table, and run away, her grandfather’s lessons on the art of hiding in plain sight glued her to the chair. Only an amateur would cause a scene or do anything to be remembered by the other diners.

  Though it was probably too late to hope for that since the detective had parked himself at her table. Who could help noticing the gun belt strapped around his waist when he loomed over her? At least he hadn’t slapped his handcuffs on her.

  Yet.

  She darted a smile at the waitress. “I’m fine, thank you.”

  “I’ll bring you a refresh anyway.” Gail’s rings sparkled in the sunlight. “The ice melts fast out here and no one likes watered-down soda. Let’s see, you had a Pepsi with lemon slices, right?”

  “That’s right.” Now, please, go away.

  “I’ll be back in a jiffy with those drinks.” Gail’s broad smile covered both of them.

  When she left, Chaney glanced at Detective Grant, sensing him studying her behind his dark lenses. His amused expression made her feel as small as a mouse trapped by a cat. She wasn’t fooling him with her outward poise and disinterested air. He’d been highly trained, too, and it would be a mistake to underestimate him. Though his training had taken place at an academy and during years patrolling the streets of the City Beautiful. While hers had begun before she’d taken her first steps. A cute and happy pawn in her grandfather’s arms.

  She leaned forward and, with her elbows on the table, rested her chin on her clasped hands. “Don’t you have anything better to do than follow me around? No drug deals going down? No jaywalkers to ticket?”

  “At the moment, no.” He flicked a spot of dust from his pants leg then stared at the businesses across the street. “Interesting view you’ve chosen.”

  She followed his gaze and consciously relaxed her shoulders while mentally preparing for his interrogation.

  “Let me guess.” His tone was as off-handed as if they were discussing the latest movies or the warm February weather. Anything inconsequential. But she was determined not to be tripped up by his easy-going manner. “Giaquinto’s Jewelry. I can practically see all those diamonds and precious gemstones glistening from here. An in-and-out snatch-and-grab for someone who knows what she’s doing.”

  “You’re right. Jewels are easy to steal.” Chaney copied his off-handed tone. “But hard to fence. That is, unless you don’t mind someone else knowing your business.”

  He nodded, that slow annoying nod of his, which seemed so patronizing. As if he understood when he couldn’t understand. She’d done her homework on Benjamin Grant. Decorated officer. Married with three young children. When had he ever gone hungry? Or been left on his own to survive?

  He turned his attention back to the other side of the street. “Surely not the bank? That kind of heist wouldn’t be easy for a gal on her own. And you are on your own now that your cousin is behind bars.”

  He couldn’t have cut her any deeper if he’d used a knife. Though her guilt was already eating her up inside. She casually swept back her long bangs.

  “Not impossible, though,” she said, her tone easy. “And banks provide ready cash. As long as the bills are unmarked.”

  “But?”

  “Too many variables. Besides, I don’t have time to plan a bank heist.”

  “What’s the rush?”

  “As if you didn’t know.” Chaney peered past the detective’s shoulder at two middle-aged women who were taking their time choosing a table and seats that would provide at least some shelter from the mid-day sun. A slender, sharp-nosed punk, probably in his early twenties and wearing a long thin coat, approached them. He said something and one of the women laughed.

  “Let’s see then,” Grant continued. “That leaves the bookstore, the insurance agency, the dry cleaners, and the shoe store.” He turned back to her, his smile and tone confident. “And the hotel. Plenty of marks inside those walls.”

  The luxury four-story hotel with its restaurants, banquet rooms, and meeting spaces, anchored the city block. It catered primarily to a convention crowd. No doubt that’s where the two women, who had finally settled at a table, were staying. They wore lanyards around their necks, giving away their names and new-to-town status. Perfect marks.

  “Most tourists carry debit cards and credit cards,” she said dismissively. “Those don’t help me much.”

  “And yet that’s why you’re sitting here, isn’t it?” Grant leaned closer, as if to see past the dark lenses they both wore to hide their eyes—those windows to the soul—and see inside her. “You’re keeping an eye on who’s coming and going. Sizing them up. Waiting for the perfect opportunity.”

  The punk laughed, bent over one of the women, then walked toward Chaney’s table.

  “The perfect opportunity appears to be now.” She stood and took the lid off her drink. “Watch my bag, will you?”

  Before the detective could answer, she strode toward the man and lightly bumped into him. Soda and ice spilled onto his coat as the cup fell to the ground. As if to keep herself from falling, she grabbed hold of his arm. “I’m so sorry,” she said apologetically then laughed. “I am such a klutz. No harm done is there? Except to your coat. You must let me have it cleaned for you.”

  She kept up a patter of apologies and offers to help while the punk tried to extricate himself. When she stepped back, he hurried on his way. After he turned the corner, she faced the detective and held up a necklace in one hand and a cell phone in the other.

  Grant frowned and started to rise.

  “Stay there,” she ordered.

  When he sat back down, she strode to where the women were looking at their menus.

  “Are these yours?” She placed the necklace and the phone on the table.

  The women stared at the items then both started talking at once. Uncomfortable with the attention, Chaney held up her hands. “Just be careful who you talk to. And keep an eye on your stuff.”

  She glanced at their lanyards and stifled a giggle. “After all, you’re not in Kansas anymore.”

  “How did you know we’re from Kansas?” the older woman asked.

  “Just a lucky guess.” Chaney grinned and pointed at the woman’s lanyard. “Enjoy the rest of your stay.”

  She returned to her seat, picking up the fallen cup along the way, and removed her sunglasses. No more hiding.

  Grant eyed her for a moment then removed his own. “Impressive. But if
you’d given me a head’s up, I could have arrested the guy. Gotten him off the streets.”

  “I would have loved recording a video of you chasing that loser.” Her lips curled into a mischievous grin. “I’d have sent copies to all the news stations, to your boss, to the mayor. Even put it on the city’s Facebook page.”

  “So you think you did me a favor by letting him go? Is that it?”

  Chaney slid a wallet across to him. “This should help you find him.”

  He opened the wallet and held up the side showing the punk’s driver’s license. “What do you know? Home address right here.” He checked the bills. “About thirty dollars. If I weren’t an honest cop, I’d give the cash to you as a thank you.”

  “If I’d wanted it, I’d have taken it before giving you the wallet.”

  “Touché.” The detective unlocked his phone and placed a call.

  As he was reciting the punk’s name, address, and description, Gail arrived with their drinks. “A Pepsi with lemon for you,” she whispered. “An Arnold Palmer for the detective.” When she put the ticket on the table, Grant picked it up, pulled a five from his pocket, and mouthed a thank you.

  After Grant finished the call, Chaney handed him a phone. “I got this, too.”

  “His?”

  “His.”

  “How did you . . . ?” Grant shook his head. “I was watching, closely watching, and I didn’t see you take a thing from him.”

  Pride surged through her despite the warning in her head. Never take anything from a cop. Not even a compliment.

  “I’m good at my job.”

  “Except it’s not a job, Chaney. You’re an intelligent and, okay, I’m just going to say it, you’re also easy on the eyes. You could do something else with your life besides break the law.”

  “When did I break the law?”

  “Are you denying it?”

  She pressed her lips together. Detective Grant wasn’t some small town yokel who could be easily manipulated. Better not to talk at all than to say something she’d regret.

  He glanced behind him at the women.

  “You didn’t have to retrieve their valuables.” He shifted in his seat, stared at nothing as he worked his jaw. She’d rattled him. Good.

  “Doesn’t that violate some ‘honor among thieves’ kind of code?” he asked.

  “If he’d stolen the necklace from the older woman, I might have let it go.”

  He studied her expression, but she refused to be intimidated by his stare. She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms.

  Finally, he shrugged. “Care to elaborate on that?”

  “Look at the way they’re dressed.”

  “Business clothes. Look expensive.”

  “They are expensive. And expensive clothes are usually tailored. You might not have noticed, but the brunette’s sleeves are a little too long and the shoulders don’t sit right. Either she’s borrowed that outfit or gotten it from a thrift store.”

  “Nothing wrong with that.”

  “I didn’t say there was. It’s just . . .” She pressed her lips together again. She was saying too much. And yet she wanted to make him understand that she had her own code. But could he step outside of his black-and-white world to enter the gray area where she operated? Even for a minute?

  “Look at her shoes.”

  “Her shoes? What about them?”

  “The heels are worn down. She’s obviously had them a long time.”

  “Let me see if I’ve got this straight. You recovered her stolen necklace because she doesn’t have new clothes and new shoes.”

  “She’s wanting to look her best. That necklace is her best. Maybe it’s the only jewelry of any real value that she has. Besides, it was a locket. It probably has sentimental value.” Chaney looked the detective square in his eyes. “No one should take that away from her. No one.”

  Grant didn’t flinch from her direct gaze but seemed to be sizing her up. Finally, he took a long sip of his drink then leaned forward. He gripped his cup. “Taking someone else’s property is always wrong. Even if they have a lot of it or it doesn’t have sentimental value. This isn’t Sherwood Forest and neither you nor your cousin is Robin Hood.”

  “We never claimed to be.”

  “I guess not. At least Robin Hood gave his stolen bounty to the needy.”

  When she didn’t respond, he stood. “I’m going to get statements from those women. Wouldn’t mind having an official one from you, too.”

  “You want me to go to the police station? No, thanks.” She stared at the luxury hotel. Despite what she’d said earlier, the guests who stayed there were pigeons waiting to be plucked.

  But instead of sitting at the bar inside that hotel and sizing up enough marks to get the money she needed, she’d sat, lost in Black Beauty’s world, at this sidewalk table. And as much as she’d like to think otherwise, it wasn’t because she had a sense that Detective Grant was somewhere near by watching her. She’d been able to hide her surprise at seeing him, but the truth was, she’d been shocked when he sat next to her.

  She had slipped up. Allowed her worry over her cousin Marshall to dull her observational skills . . . something she couldn’t afford to do. Especially not now when she was desperate for money. Five thousand dollars. Minimum.

  “Stay out of the hotel, Chaney,” Grant said. “All the hotels.”

  “Are you going to keep following me to make sure I don’t?”

  “I wouldn’t have to stay on your tail if your cousin wasn’t so loyal.” Grant smiled, but the expression in his eyes remained serious. “Usually I admire loyalty, but in this case . . . let’s just say, I wouldn’t have to follow you if you were in a cell next to Marshall.”

  “You’ve got nothing on me.”

  He stood and loomed over her, his shadow blocking the sun. “Not yet,” he said with a smile as he put on his sunglasses. “Just give me time.”

  The story continues. Read more at bit.ly/MosaicMischief

  About Johnnie Alexander

  Johnnie Alexander creates characters you want to meet and imagines stories you won’t forget. Her award-winning debut novel, Where Treasure Hides (Tyndale), is a CBA bestseller. She writes contemporaries, historicals, and cozy mysteries, serves on the executive boards of Serious Writer, Inc., co-hosts an online show called Writers Chat, and interviews inspirational authors for Novelists Unwind. She also teaches at writers conferences and for Serious Writer Academy. Johnnie lives in Oklahoma with Griff, her happy-go-lucky collie, and Rugby, her raccoon-treeing papillon.