Hijack in Abstract (A Cherry Tucker Mystery)

by Reinhart, Larissa

  “About that,” Luke’s tension ran out, and he unfolded his arms to slip one across the back of the seat. He took my hand. “I have some news. Family and Child Services visited the Coderres this afternoon. Did Miss Gladys tell you?”

  “No.” I blinked, feeling a sting behind my eyes. “I just saw them a few hours ago. Nik and I dropped off a pizza.”

  “Nik?”

  I began to explain my chauffeur when Luke interrupted me.

  “Never mind that for now.” Luke stroked his thumb across the back of my hand. “Miss Gladys and Jerell already had the visit by that time. They probably didn’t want to upset you.”

  “Why would I be upset?” I sniffed and swiped at my nose with my shoulder. “I’m sure if they had some news they would have told me. The little man was doing a good job of protecting his great gam. Used his BB gun to force Nik to stay in the car while I brought in the pizza. Their house was a disaster. I said I’d come over tomorrow to clean it up.”

  “Sugar, that’s real sweet of you.”

  I yanked my hand from his, scrubbed a weepy eye, and raised my chin. “What are you trying to tell me? Just say it.”

  “Jerell’s been taken to a foster home.”

  “What?” Hot tears bubbled and clouded my vision. I swept them away and pounded the seat with a fist. “That’s not right. He’s got his great-grandma. I’m checking on them every day. Did they tell you that? I’m working on finding them another place to live.”

  “You take everything to heart. I love that about you, but you can’t help everyone.”

  “I thought you cared, Luke. I saw you with Jerell. You were so sweet with him. You can’t let this happen.” I banged on his arm, and he captured my hand to bring it to his lips, but I yanked it away.

  “Honey, it’s for the best. Sweetgum isn’t safe. Think about Jerell’s future if he stays there.”

  “He wasn’t going to stay there. I was going to find them another home. Now he’ll be in the system. He’s eight, Luke. He’ll get passed from family to family.”

  “He might be adopted. The families will make sure he sees Miss Gladys. There are some very charitable parents willing to share their home with a child like Jerell.”

  “It’s too soon.” My lip trembled.

  Luke slipped his hand off the seat and on to my shoulder.

  I pushed it off. “I don’t trust the system. People fall through the cracks all the time. And what about Tyrone’s funeral? Will they let Jerell attend? What about Miss Gladys? She’s all alone now. Jerell was protecting her.”

  “An eight-year-old boy shouldn’t have to protect an old woman.”

  Luke was right, of course. I hugged my chest and took deep breaths to stop the tears.

  “Baby, I’m sorry,” He scooted toward me but was blocked by the center console. “Don’t cry, sugar. I didn’t want to make you cry.”

  “I’m not crying. I’m fine. I’ll just see Miss Gladys in the morning and talk to her about this. We’ll figure out what to do.”

  I fumbled in my pocket for a tissue, then flipped the passenger visor down to check my makeup in the mirror. I blinked at the bright light and swiped the mascara off my cheeks. Not my best look. I pulled up my tube top and patted the flyaways in my hair.

  “I have some business to attend,” I said. “I’ll just see you around. You can mark Todd’s car in your little notebook as a visitor to the Avtaikin household.”

  Luke laid his hand on my forearm. “Don’t. You’re still worked up. Why don’t you just sit here for a little while? Maybe we’ll see something interesting.”

  “No, thank you. Have a good evening.”

  “Cherry, I don’t want you visiting Avtaikin,” Luke stroked my arm. “Please.”

  “Will I be arrested for visiting Mr. Max?”

  “Of course not,” Luke’s brows fell. “You should stay clear of Avtaikin right now, that’s all.”

  “How else am I going to stop your cousin’s campaign of hatred against me?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. There’s no campaign of hatred.”

  “Talk to your momma about the posters I’m doing for her. A Concerned Citizens group has formed to run me out of town. The meeting is Monday night. You can join them with your own tar and feathers.”

  His hand slipped off my arm as I turned to open the door and slide out of the truck. When my feet hit the ground, I yanked on the tube top and looked over my shoulder.

  “By the way, if you happen to see that silver BMW hatchback that tried to run me over the other night, you should check its plates. It’s been following me around town. Might be a stalker. Or might be one of Shawna’s minions. Or both. Have a good night.”

  And kiss my ass, you child abandoner, I thought as I strode back to the Civic.

  Twenty-Seven

  Back at Max’s gate, I climbed from the Civic to buzz his intercom. Instead of the sound of gate locks tumbling, Max’s disembodied voice told me to go away.

  “I’m in no mood for this,” I said. “Open the friggin’ gate or I’m climbing over it.”

  I felt his long sigh but had already climbed into the car to wait for the gates to open. They slowly swung back. I gunned the motor, glancing in my rear view to see if I could spot Luke watching. I lurched through the gate, burned rubber up Max’s drive, and squealed to a quick stop before Max’s house. The Bear stood in his doorway, waiting.

  He wore clothes. No more robe with pec cleavage for me.

  “You are going to talk to me,” I said, marching past him and down the hall to the sitting room. “No subterfuge tonight.”

  He followed me but halted in the sitting room doorway and shoved his hands in his pockets. “It’s a bad time, Artist.”

  “You got a dinner party or something? Poker game in your basement?” At the brief shake of his head, I continued. “That’s what I thought. I figured it was a bad time, considering the local po-po are watching your door.”

  “You noticed.” He scrubbed his thick, brown hair, then strode into the room and collapsed on the couch.

  I remained standing, but gave my tube top a small hike before pulling a sheet of paper out of my satchel. “Who is this?”

  Max took the copy of the composite sketch and studied it. He tossed the paper onto the couch and pursed his lips. “Your hijacker?”

  “He’s not my hijacker. You are tied to this crime somehow. Why else would the deputy in charge of the hijacking investigation stake out your house?”

  “Are you sure Deputy Harper’s still in charge of this investigation? Perhaps he has a personal vendetta?”

  I opened my mouth to dispute his accusation and then closed it. If the crime was bigger than a hijacking, would a lowly deputy be in charge? Would he even remain on the investigation team? How big was big?

  “Dammit,” I stomped my foot. “I’m tired of all this secrecy. What is going on? I need to help the Coderres. The state took away Jerell. I’ve got to do something. What do you know?”

  Max snagged my hand and pulled me to the couch. Clasping my hand in his, he studied my face. “You have been crying.”

  “So what? Sometimes it happens.” I struggled to pull my hand free, but he held tight.

  “Listen to me. The Coderres have the bad luck. No effort to catch the killer will help that family.”

  “I don’t believe you,” I said. “Justice should serve everyone.”

  “You are too idealistic. Justice doesn’t serve everyone. That is life. You know this personally. I do, too.”

  “What are you talking about?” I scrubbed my eyes with my free hand and tried not to sniffle.

  “Go home. Stay away from me. As you say, I’m watched by the local po-po.”

  “That’s just Luke. I don’t care what he thinks.”

  “You should. You were very worried about the town’s opinion of you a few days ago.”

  “Too late for that.” I jerked my hand away. “You turned on me, too. Shawna said you’re doing a show for her now. Thanks a lot.”<
br />
  “I hired her gallery.” He stood. “Now go. No more drop-in visits.”

  I sucked on my bottom lip, then took a deep breath. “You can count on that. I knew I shouldn’t have trusted you. Rupert was right, you’re impossible to read.”

  “Rupert? You have been talking to Rupert?” Max grabbed the strap of my bag and jerked me to my feet. “Get out of my house.”

  Amid my curses and threats, Max drug me from his sitting room, through the foyer, and out the door. Breathing hard, his icy stare caused ripples of goosebumps to prickle my skin.

  “Stay away from me,” he growled.

  The door slammed shut.

  I kicked the door. “Tell your maneuvers they can go to hell.”

  Spinning around, I flew down the porch toward the red hatchback. The hijack was bigger than two murders? That meant finding Tyrone’s killer had been bumped down the Sheriff’s Office to-do list. Looked like I had been left alone to continue my quest to bring the murderer to justice.

  I was going to the SipNZip tonight. To hell with Max Avtaikin and the rest. I knew that store had to be involved. The coffee was too good to be that cheap.

  Even at night the SipNZip had the bustle of early morning accompanied with the smell of coffee, cleaning formula, and simmering nacho cheese. I pulled in an appreciative deep breath at the door, then strode to the counter.

  “I’m Cherrilyn Ballard,” I said, sticking my hand at a guy with a short, brown mohawk working the cash register. He wore a bright yellow tracksuit with a red stripe and several chains around his neck. I admired his choice in color.

  “I am Anatoly,” he shook my hand. “You call me Little Anatoly.”

  “Nice to meet you, Little Anatoly,” I said. “You’re not from around here are you?”

  He winked. “You are good judge. How can you guess? You haven’t even heard my rhymes yet.”

  “What rhymes?”

  “I’m dope rapper, yo.” He dropped back to swing his arms and move to an internal beat. “Freestylin’ rhymes to score more dimes. I’ve got lyrics so good you’ll think you’re in da hood. Beeyatch.”

  I stood on my toes and leaned over the counter. “You listen to me, Little Anatoly. I don’t want to hear any of that ugly talk. You call me a bitch again, and I’ll teach you some American whoopass you won’t forget.”

  “Chill, woman.”

  “And don’t call me woman. I hate that.” I looked around. “Now who else is working here?”

  “Just me and Sam.” Anatoly hopped back on his seat. “Why you so crazy?”

  “Let me talk to Sam,” I said. “I’m not getting much from you.”

  “Sam’s busy right now.” Little Anatoly glanced toward the back of the store. “He’s unloading.”

  “Sounds like a good place for me to start. I can stock while he unloads.”

  “What you mean 'start’?”

  Little Anatoly leaned over the counter to gawk at my tube top ensemble. He mouthed the name written on my top. “Who are you? What is Che y? Spanish?”

  I glanced down at my top and gave it a tug. “I lost some beads earlier. I’m here to work the graveyard. I filled out an application the other day.”

  “Elena did not mention a new worker,” said Little Anatoly, still trying to work out the lettering on my top.

  I crossed my arms over my chest. “That scrawny girl is the manager? Is she here?”

  “No.” He sank back on his stool and studied my face. “I think she will not hire you. You must be mistaken.”

  “I just came from Max Avtaikin’s house.” I watched for his reaction. “He owns the SipNZip.”

  “Don’t know him.” He leaned back against the cigarette case and put his hands behind his head. “I only hear from Elena.”

  Just my luck the woman who didn’t seem to take to me was in charge of hiring. Elena reminded me of a sloppier version of Miss David.

  A small light bulb winked on in my brain. “Do you know Rupert Agadzinoff?”

  “Sure,” said Little Anatoly, “he is my lawyer, yo. ‘Cause when you’re def like me, you can’t keep no peace. Keepin’ lawyers on retainers, no repercussions later.”

  He grinned. “How do you like that?”

  “Your English vocabulary is suspiciously large when you freestyle,” I said.

  “I watch MTV all the time in my country. Also MTV Live, VH1 Europe, MTV Dance, MTV Hits, MTV Rocks, and Nickelodeon. I like the SpongeBob SquarePants.”

  “Now that you live here, I hope you realize Americans are not portrayed at our best on those shows.”

  “Living here has been disappointment,” he sighed. “But I can drive to Atlanta to go to clubs someday. Maybe I will become DJ before I make it big as rapper.”

  “Sounds like a good goal. You should meet my friend, Todd. He’s a drummer.”

  “I want to meet this Todd drummer. But I work all the time. Can’t get no rest--”

  I interrupted before he started another freestyle block. “It seems like you need more employees at this store. How many work here?”

  “Me, Sam, Dina, Gleb, Elena. Twelve hour shift. Every six day.”

  “That’s ridiculous. Why would you agree to those hours? Why couldn’t Todd or I get hired?”

  Little Anatoly’s gaze drew to the back again. I followed his look. A tall man with a bad crew cut and determined stare stood in the doorway of the stock room. He also wore a track suit, kelly green with a white stripe. I wondered if they exercised in the stock room when the store was empty.

  “Sam,” whispered Little Anatoly.

  Sam honed in on us, but planted his feet before the door. He nodded to Little Anatoly and gave me a curt, once-over.

  “I’m going to introduce myself to Sam,” I said. Sam had some of the same features as Tyrone’s hijacker. Long face and nose. Rounded jaw. High cheekbones. Pretty mouth. “Did he cut his hair recently?”

  “No.” said Little Anatoly. “You do not want talk to Sam. He is psychopath. Look at his eyes. I cannot sleep for fear that Sam may cut my throat. He does not like freestyle rap.”

  “Seriously? You think he’ll murder you?”

  “He has told me this himself. ‘Anatoly, cut the shit or I cut your throat.’”

  “You live together?”

  Little Anatoly nodded. “We all live together in the Line Creek Apartments. We have the two bedroom. Not so bad with our shifts, but Elena always complaining about my clothes on floor.”

  I knew the Line Creek apartments. A step up in pay scale from Sweetgum Estates, swapping the meth-heads for rock bottom alcoholics, unwed mothers, and twenty-somethings who spent their rent money in bars. “I am experiencing that problem myself. Is Elena your sister?”

  He shook his head, keeping his eyes on Sam.

  “You sure you don’t know Max Avtaikin? Does Elena or Sam?”

  “Sam doesn’t know anyone. He is at home or in this store. Sometimes he goes to movie. That is all.”

  Creepy Sam. “Well, nice talking to you, Little Anatoly.” I wandered to the coffee station and began to prepare a cup while I covertly watched Sam’s sentinel position. He seemed rather territorial about the stock room.

  I needed to see the stock room.

  The door jangled and a man and woman came in. They began to browse the aisles. I glanced at Little Anatoly, but he had turned his attention to a magazine. Sam disappeared into the stock room. I stirred a packet of sugar into my cafe au lait and strolled toward the back of the store. I tried the store room door. Locked. I knocked.

  The door swung partially open, blocked by Sam’s lanky form.

  “Hey Sam,” I said, trying to peer around his body. “Max Avtaikin told me to help you in the back.”

  “Who is Max Avtaikin?”

  “The owner?” Why didn’t these people know the Bear? “Maksim Avtaikin? Signs your paycheck?”

  Sam snorted. “What do you want?”

  “To help you.”

  “Are you with the church women who visit the ap
artment?”

  “No,” I glanced at my tube top. I wasn’t usually mistaken for a church lady. “So you don’t know Max Avtaikin? Or heard about him?”

  “No. Go away.” He slammed the door shut.

  Sam’s shorn locks had grown out from a buzz that looked more than a week old. He had a scar on his chin, but Tyrone might have been too far away to see it. Sam was also taller than the hijacker Tyrone reported. One call to Uncle Will and I could report Sam as someone matching the hijacker description.

  Couldn’t hurt to bring the fuzz down on the SipNZip. Maybe Max would take notice.

  And maybe I needed to learn more about the Bear. There was too much mystery surrounding that animal.

  Twenty-Eight

  The next morning, I shot awake, partially because Casey’s foot was embedded in my armpit, but mainly from an overwhelming sense of dread I’d forgotten something important. I climbed over Casey, stepped over Todd’s snoring form on the floor, and tripped over a gym bag left in the hall by Cody. As I brushed my teeth, I examined the anxiety squeezing my nerves and realized it stemmed from the unresolved mess left by the hijacking.

  According to Luke and Max’s hints, the Sheriff’s Office had apparently moved on from their investigation into something grander than the death of a truck driver and a two-bit junkie copper thief.

  Jerell had been swept from his family. Miss Gladys now lived alone and unprotected in something akin to a cardboard box. I had failed them. I had spent the greater part of my week trying to clear my own name when something more significant was at stake than local petty prejudice.

  I spat toothpaste in my Pepto-pink sink, stared at the blond frizz flying around my head, and thought hard. Which didn’t work. At the kitchen table, I pushed aside Miss Wanda’s poster art and tossed down a small pad of newsprint and a Berol number three. I doodled a Dixie Cake truck, a handgun, and a driver who was not the real driver. Next, I drew a circle of copper wire, the small pipe of a meth user, and a cracker box trailer. Why had Tyrone decided to steal wire in a spot where truckers slept and minivans stopped for tee-tee breaks? Why had the robbery happened at a spot unusual for hijacks? Was Tyrone supposed to meet his dealer at the rest stop?