“Pretty ugly girl,” said Tyrone. “His eyes were closer together.”
I gummed out the eyes and reapplied my pencil, a sanguine oil, perfect for warm, heavy tones which erased easily on my seventy-pound, smooth sketch paper. Erasing was necessary when drawing a face from Tyrone’s memory. His first description began with “a skinny, blond dude.”
Tyrone yawned, and as they were catching, I followed with one of my own.
“Maybe you could get us a cup of coffee, Deputy?” I asked in my prettiest drawl.
“And leave you alone with a junkie copper thief? I wouldn’t do that to Tyrone.”
“You’re a copper thief, Tyrone?” I said as I crosshatched shadow lines to emphasize the composite’s cheekbones. “Now why would you want to spend your nights stripping air conditioner units when you could be doing something more productive?”
“I don’t strip A/C units.” Tyrone tapped on the sketch pad. “His nose needs to be longer.”
I grabbed my gum eraser and scrubbed at the end of the composite’s nose.
“Air conditioners are not enough of a challenge for Tyrone here,” said Luke. “He likes to shimmy poles for his wire.”
Tyrone smiled. “They call me the Flying Coderre.”
“Were you up on a pole when you saw this guy?”
Tyrone cut his eyes to Luke. “Allegedly. At the rest stop on the interstate near the Line Creek exit.”
“What was the guy doing?”
“Helping himself to a truck.”
“You don’t need to know that information,” said Luke. “Just draw.”
“I’m just curious. It’s not like I’m going to look for the guy.”
Luke snorted, which was his way of saying “I don’t believe you.”
We’ve had some past misunderstandings on the difference between “being helpful” and “interfering with the law.” Luke refused to acknowledge I can gain information as good as any cop just through my local gossip network. I call myself inquisitive and creative. He calls me nosy and harebrained. He forgets my interest for crime had been honed from growing up around a county sheriff. I never wanted to be a cop, though. Not unless I could bedazzle my uniform and stonewash the polyester out of the cotton/poly blend. And those cop shoes? Forget about it.
“I don’t think the deputy trusts you.” Tyrone eyed my drawing. “The dude was wearing a track suit. Shiny blue or black. It was hard to tell the color in the dark.”
I began sketching in a track suit collar. “I’ve given the deputy no reason not to trust me.”
Luke snorted again.
“Are you catching a cold or something?” I said. “Do you need a tissue?”
“I need you to finish up and stop talking to the perp.”
“Tyrone, let me ask you this,” I said. “If you had a girlfriend who was an artist, and you knew she had a painting deadline that involved a life study, and then found her innocently drawing this model, would you accuse her of cheating?”
“Do not talk to her, Tyrone,” said Luke.
“What’s a life study?” said Tyrone.
“Drawing the human figure using a live model.”
“Drawing somebody naked,” said Luke. “And not just anybody. Her ex-husband.”
A knock sounded on the door and we glanced at the narrow inset window to see Uncle Will glaring at us. He twirled his finger in the wrap-it up sign and nodded at Luke.
“Dammit,” said Luke. “How did you pull me into that?”
“Todd’s not really my ex-husband,” I said quickly to Tyrone, needing to defend myself despite Uncle Will’s strange ban on gossip in the interrogation rooms. “Our Vegas wedding was annulled before it even began. Todd’s just a friend.”
“Why don’t you draw naked chicks?” said Tyrone. “Then everybody’d be happy.”
I glared at Tyrone for a millisecond. “The subject had to be male. And the boyfriend refused to participate even though he had the perfect physique for this specific painting.”
“Finish your picture,” said Luke.
“I don’t know about painting, but I do know something about cheating,” said Tyrone. “By the way, I’m pretty sure he had a necklace. Something shiny around his neck anyway. Unzip his jacket some.”
“So what do you know about cheating?” I kept my eyes on the paper. “How far down his chest did the necklace go?”
“My girl cheated on me. Not with her ex-husband though. She cheated on him, too,” said Tyrone. “The eyes still don’t look right.”
“No more cheating talk,” said Luke with a glance at the two-way mirror. “You sure you didn’t get a look at the other guys?”
“Luke might know something about cheating, too,” I said. “The subject makes him a tad uncomfortable. The grapevine says he has many admirers. They are called badge bunnies and they call him Luquified—”
“That’s enough,” snapped Luke. “What about the other guys?”
“Naw, they kept their ski masks on,” said Tyrone. “This guy was the only one who pulled his off.”
“Ski masks,” I said. “A hold up? In Forks County?”
“I tell you what,” said Tyrone. “I’d never been so scared in my life. Thought I’d fall off my pole. I didn’t move until long after they’d gone.”
“Poor Tyrone,” said Luke. “So scared he didn’t even get to collect his wire.”
“I thought the driver was dead,” said Tyrone. “These guys were pretty bad-ass.”
Luke pushed out of his chair and moved behind me. “This is a good likeness.”
“Thank you,” said Tyrone, as if he had sketched it himself.
The door unlocked and Uncle Will strolled in to stand over the drawing. “Very good,” he said. “Let’s take this and scan it into the system.”
“Yes, sir.” Luke bent over me to tear the paper from its perforated edge.
I sat beneath the cage of his arms and tried not to breathe in that specific Luke blend of pheromones and aftershave. That particular concoction can prove deadly to the female libido and I didn’t want my libido getting any funny ideas. My libido had already done that dance and lost.
“By the way, Cherry,” Luke slid the whisper past my ear as he righted himself. “You might wear a bra next time you visit the sheriff’s department.”
I crossed my arms and felt my cheeks hit every shade of pink from ruby lake to vermilion extra.
“You done good, girl,” said Uncle Will. “I’ll cut you a check for your time and service. Tyrone, you sit tight.”
Tyrone blew out a sigh and laid his forehead on the table.
The three of us ambled out of the room, the sketch now in Uncle Will’s hand. He studied it before holding up the copy to Luke.
“I’m going to make some calls,” said Will. “Someone in Atlanta might recognize him. Every county with an interstate running through it gets an occasional hijack. Guess it was our turn to get lucky.”
“Yes, sir,” said Luke.
I held my breath, knowing that anything exiting my lips could blow any chance of hearing something interesting.
“I know that look. You’re not getting any classified information from us.” Uncle Will leaned to pop a kiss on my forehead. “Go get you some sleep, sugar. Are you going to have trouble staying awake on the way home?”
“I’ll be all right,” I said, yawning. “Maybe I’ll get some breakfast. It’s close to five, isn’t it?”
“You go with her,” Uncle Will nodded to Luke. “Don’t want to hear that broken-down truck left her in a ditch. Might as well swing by the Waffle House on the interstate and see if they recognize this mug.”
“I could go for a pecan waffle,” I said. My stomach woke from its slumber and made a noise similar to a Harley with an engine knock. “Maybe some grits and bacon, too. And more coffee.”
“I’m sure the sheriff wants me to take you home first,” said Luke, barely masking his impatience.
“The least we can do is treat her to a pecan waffle. While sh
e’s eating you can ask a few questions.” Will fished a ten out of his wallet and handed it to Luke. “Son, where’s your manners? I pulled Cherry out of bed to do this.”
“Yes sir,” muttered Luke, “but whose bed did you pull her out of?”
Two
At the Waffle House, Luke ordered his regular artery clogger and slipped out of the booth to talk to the waitress hovering near the cashier stand. My early excitement had fizzled and I now felt tired and drained. I watched as Luke, holding out a copy of my sketch, strolled to the few customers sitting at the counter. Heads shook. At the last seat, a cadaverous, partially toothed man grabbed Luke’s sleeve. Luke slid onto a stool and leaned in to hear the man’s story.
I held out my coffee cup to my bottle red-haired waitress. “Did you see that picture the deputy is showing around?”
She nodded and poured. “Yeah, don’t think I’ve seen him before.”
“Heard about a robbery around here? Of a truck? At the rest stop?”
“No. What like a hijack?” Her hazel eyes gleamed, and she set the coffee pot on the table for a chitchat.
“Probably a hijack,” I said. “At our interstate rest stop. That’s all I know. I’m curious, though. Not like we get a lot of hijacks around here.”
“No kidding? Truckers will sleep at that rest stop. Ones on a long haul, you know. Sometimes they’ll come out to the Gearjammer for a bit of fun. Me and my girlfriend have some good times there.”
“That’s over in Line Creek, right? I’ve not been to that particular establishment.”
“Sugar, you should go. Them truckers are a lot of fun. We dance and they buy us drinks. Sometimes other stuff. They sure know how to party,” she giggled and glanced over her shoulder. “Oh, you’re with that cop. Never mind. He’s cute, though.”
“I am not with that cop,” I said, directing my gaze to the broad shoulders enveloped in the starchy, brown uniform. “Not anymore, anyway. I’ve never hung out with truckers, but that sounds like the kind of fun I could use in my recently single state. I don’t suppose truckers are art appreciators?”
Ponytail picked up her coffee pot. “Some of them have unique art on their cabs. And there’s always the mud flaps.”
“I did pick up some good brushes at a detail shop once,” I said. “Okay, I’m in. What’s your name anyway?”
“Dona Sullens. Thursday night is ladies’ night. Mixed drinks are free for the gals.”
“I’ll see you there,” I said. “Might bring my sister, too.”
She frowned. “Don’t bring too many girls. I don’t want an unbalanced ratio.” Her ponytail bobbed behind her as she wandered back to the counter. Approaching Luke and his grizzled friend, she stopped and shoved a coffee pot between them. Luke held his hand up, hopped off his stool, and strolled back to our booth.
“Food’s not here yet?” Luke slid onto the seat opposite me. He picked up his coffee, sipped, and curled the corner of his mouth. “Cold.”
I felt eager to get beyond Luke’s earlier rebuff and soothe the tension between us. I tuned my voice to casual and disinterested. “Did that guy on the end know anything?”
“No,” Luke set his coffee down. “That’s Clinton Hackley. He’s a couple fuses short of running on full power. Poor guy.”
“You’re getting to know a lot of people on the job, aren’t you? And a different picture of Forks County than what you grew up in, I’m sure.”
“A high schooler’s view of their world is pretty limited. Especially if your stepdad is a Branson.” The Branson family had ruled our little neck of the woods for generations. My Grandpa’s family, the Ballards, had been around as long as the Bransons, except we didn’t have as much to show for it.
“I couldn’t wait to get out of this backwater,” Luke mused. “Funny how your view changes when you come back. Of course, now much of my meet and greet’s done from a patrol car.”
“It’s not so bad here in Backwater, Georgia,” I smiled as a plate full of waffle and bacon slid in front of me. “Thanks, Dona.”
“Sure honey,” she said. “See you Thursday night.”
“What’s Thursday night?” asked Luke.
“I’m meeting Dona and her friends down at the Gearjammer. For Ladies’ Night.”
“You know Dona?”
“Nope. But she seems nice.”
Luke ran his hands through his curls, massaging his head. “Isn’t the Gearjammer a trucker hangout?”
“Could be,” I shrugged. “Never been there. I’m always up for trying something new.”
He laid an arm on the table. “We’ve been through this before. Just because Sheriff Thompson asked you to draw that composite, does not mean you can nose your way into this investigation.”
“Did I say I have any interest in this investigation?” I waved my fork at him. “What do I care about truck hijacks and copper thieves?”
Luke’s gray eyes narrowed into thin, steel slits. “I never said this was a hijack.”
“You said plenty, but Tyrone said more.” I grinned and slurped my coffee.
He shoveled a forkful of sausage into his mouth and glared.
“Anyway, if I was going to hijack a truck, I don’t think I’d stop by a Waffle House on my way back to the hideout.”
“You are actually smarter than most criminals.” Luke smiled at my brow raise. “But we need to be thorough. Not many places are open twenty-four hours.”
“What about the new gas station at the interstate exit? The SipNZip?”
“Next on my list.” He swished his biscuit in the gravy. “After I make sure you get home.”
We ate in silence, tension driving us to shovel our food like starving Dickensian orphans.
“Why are you driving Casey’s Firebird?” said Luke, breaking the strain.
“It was blocking my driveway. She moved in to get away from Pearl,” I sighed heavily on that note of family drama. It didn’t do to have your Grandpa stepping out with women who cooked better than my sister Casey. “At least there’s food in my house now.”
“Casey’s living with you, too?”
“Too?” One of those nervous giggles slipped through my teeth. “Why don’t we go to the gas station together? I’m wide awake now. They’ve got a case for donuts at the SipNZip.”
I wiped my mouth with my napkin and hopped out of the booth. “I can pick up some donuts to bring home. See you there.”
“Who’re you bringing home donuts for?”
I waved at Dona and skipped out the door, pretending I hadn’t heard Luke. I needed to get to the gas station before he figured out he hadn’t stopped me.
And I didn’t want to have the conversation about my nekkid picture posing ex, Todd, living with me.
The SipNZip was a new establishment and therefore busy even at six in the morning. New businesses made us locals curious, particularly if we didn’t know the owners. Also made us a tad suspicious, but we’re willing to give new places the benefit of the doubt as long as they didn’t put on airs and gave a senior discount.
The SipNZip definitely didn’t put on airs. I roamed the aisles, exploring my favorite preservative laden foods, while Luke spoke to the staff. I loved shops that offered glass caged hotdog wheels and Slushy machines with neon flavored drinks. They had a carnival air that appealed to my inner kitsch. At the refrigerated wall of beverages, I found my favorite junkie copper thief rooting through the soda choices. As Tyrone was out among the public, I figured I could say hello without inducing any restraining orders.
“Hey Tyrone,” I said. “You’re out already?”
“Hey, the artist lady. Just got out and thought I’d grab some breakfast.” He grinned, holding up a bag of pork rinds and a Mountain Dew. “Watch your back, there, hon’.”
I glanced over my shoulder and saw a girl in a SipNZip vest pushing crates of soda toward us. She waited while Tyrone and I moved a few paces down the aisle. We watched her prop open the cooler and begin filling the plastic dividers.
“Look at that,” I said. “RC Cola and Cheerwine. This place has everything.”
“I’m more of a Dew man,” said Tyrone. “They didn’t give me anything to drink at the station other than coffee.”
“What happened? They didn’t hold you for stealing copper? Let you off for giving them the composite?”
Tyrone put a finger to his lips while we waited for a customer to move around us and snag a bottle of water from the fridge. We watched the man move down the aisle, toward the donut stand.
“Truth is,” a smile indented Tyrone’s round cheeks, “I wasn’t found with any copper on me, just in a terrible location. I was about to slide off my pole when the po-po pulled in, blueberries and sirens blazing. The truck driver must have dialed 9-1-1 right quick. I was too scared to move, so I held on to my pole. It was dark. I figured someone would see me if I tried to get down and run.”
“So Deputy Harper found you on the pole?”
“Yes, ma’am. That he did. And I did my good deed by telling the Deputy what I saw. He just got lucky that jacker took his mask off and looked up. Don’t think he saw me, though.”
Tyrone pulled at his chin. “‘Course he might of, but maybe he didn’t have time to do nothing about it. The hijackers had to get out of there in a hurry.”
“You sure gave a good description. I’ve never drawn from someone else’s memory. I feel like I know the guy’s face as well as you now.”
“Sure enough.” Tyrone tapped his head. “I’ve got a mind for faces. Never remember any names, but I always remember a face.”
“That means you’re a visual learner.”
“Well, I’ll be. Too bad the teachers didn’t know that in school.” He saluted me with his pork rinds. “Well, I’ve got some work to attend to. Better purchase my victuals and get going.”
“Where do you work?”
“By work, I mean I’m back to the rest stop,” he winked. “I left some valuables behind.”
“Tyrone, you should not be telling me this. Besides, the police would have been all over that place. Whatever you left is evidence now.”
Hijack in Abstract (A Cherry Tucker Mystery) Page 2
