Hijack in Abstract (A Cherry Tucker Mystery)

by Reinhart, Larissa

  “I know.” He pulled his hand off the wheel to rub his eyes.

  “Are you crying?”

  “No,” he said roughly. “Of course not. And I don’t think it’s your fault. If anything, it’s my fault.”

  “How is this your fault?” I pulled my knees onto the seat. “What’s going on with you?”

  “I can’t talk about the investigation.” His glance flashed a hint of dull silver. “It’s beyond our department. Don’t ask me anything about the hijacking.”

  He looked away, but not before I caught a wet gleam.

  “I screwed up,” he said. “First with not putting a tail on Tyrone Coderre. Then for not putting somebody in Sweetgum to watch that trailer. I got Tyrone killed and put Jerell, Miss Gladys, and now you in jeopardy.”

  I kept my thoughts to myself while I watched him hammer the steering wheel and curse greater obscenities than those used by the sailors who caroused the riverfront of Savannah. When he had finished, I laid a hand on his thigh. After a long minute, he slipped his hand in mine, crushing my fingers in his grip.

  We continued toward the farm in silence, our hands speaking for what could not be said. As we neared the lane, Luke slowed his truck, and I squinted at the object parked further down the road.

  “Wait,” I said, pulling my hand from his to point. “There’s that hatchback parked down the road. That idiot. Parked on the side of a county road.”

  Luke flipped me his phone. “Dial 9-1-1 and repeat what I say to the dispatcher.”

  “I can’t believe this,” I said, punching the buttons on his phone. “Spying on my Grandpa’s farm in broad daylight? How did he think nobody would see him? So stupid.”

  “Quit complaining about their surveillance techniques and tell the dispatcher 10-80, pursuit in progress. Requesting assistance now.”

  Thirty-Four

  As Luke backed out of the farm lane, the BMW pulled into the road and accelerated.

  “Hang on,” said Luke. “I want to get those plates. Keep the dispatcher on the line and report as soon as we read them.”

  “Got it,” I said, leaning forward in my seat.

  The Raptor’s motor revved with the power of eight cylinders, but the little Beamer flew down the road ahead of us. Fields flew by. Cows lifted their heads to watch us pass.

  “I’m not getting beat by a hatchback,” said Luke. “Keep your eyes on that license plate. The Sheriff’s Office knows our location. We’ll keep with them until the first responder arrives.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  The BMW approached the junction for the local highway, careened into the right turn lane, and disappeared behind the stand of trees lining the highway.

  “Shit,” Luke muttered and gunned toward the stop sign.

  I grabbed the door handle with my free hand and grasped the phone to my ear. “Just a minute, Mindy,” I told the dispatcher. “We’re fixing to take a tight turn on to the highway. Stay on the line, but I’ve got to hold on.”

  Cars flashed by on the highway. Luke slowed to ready for the turn. He glanced left and began to take the corner. I screamed. A goliath combine, the head lifted and man-sized tires rolling, began its left turn toward our county road. Cutting across our lane of traffic, it drove directly into our truck’s path. From his high perch, the farmer shouted words better not repeated. Luke braked and reversed onto the county road. The combine continued its sluggish path, the tire brushing near Luke’s front fender. I placed a hand on my heart to settle the wild thumping.

  “Dammit,” Luke said. “Friggin’ farmers. He was in my lane.”

  “How did you not see a combine? Even in a car chase you need to look both ways.”

  He shot me a look that momentarily shut me up and cranked onto the highway. In the distance we heard the wail of a siren.

  “Finally,” he muttered. “Still wish I had those plates.”

  He sped up, tailing the minivan ahead of us. The minivan flashed their brake lights, causing another string of curses about soccer moms to spill from Luke’s lips. He waited until we rounded a curve, then zipped into the left lane, passed the minivan, and slipped in front of her as a pickup pulling a horse trailer came at us. He surged toward the next vehicle, an old Buick sedan. Her turn signal had been left blinking and the Buick canted toward the middle lines. This time, Luke cut right and passed the grandma on the shoulder with the help of a driveway.

  “I don’t see the BMW anymore,” I said. “You think they got that far ahead or did it turn off somewhere?”

  Behind us the sirens grew louder. We pulled to the side as two county patrol vehicles flew past us.

  Luke full lips pursed into a pout. “Damn, I wish I was on duty.”

  “Let’s follow them,” I said. “If that’s Regis Sharp and they’ve got him, then I can go home.”

  Luke shook his head. “You think I’m taking you to an apprehension? That’s the last thing the officers need.”

  “Might as well take me home, then. Either way, I can’t go to Atlanta now.”

  He swiveled in his seat. “What are you talking about? If they didn’t nab Sharp, you have to go to Atlanta.”

  “If Regis Sharp is driving that BMW, he knows where my family lives. How can I go to Atlanta and leave them in danger?”

  “We make Casey and Cody hole up at the farm. Your Grandpa has a personal armory of hunting weapons. He and Cody can protect Casey. Even Todd McIntosh will be good for something. I’ll stay at the farm and watch over them myself.”

  “Casey can handle herself, that’s not the point. I can’t just run away. Luke, that car watched the farm. I can’t let him do that.”

  “Are you crazy? Sharp is looking for you. He wants to use you to get Mrs. Coderre to tell where Tyrone hid his money.”

  “Tyrone didn’t have any money.” I strummed the seat with my fingers. “How can I convince Regis Sharp of that? Maybe I should go talk to Latisha Coderre again. Spread the word by community grapevine.”

  “Do you hear yourself? This can’t be solved with gossip. Regis Sharp runs a drug trafficking network. He doesn’t give two craps whether Tyrone has money or not. He’ll shake anyone down to get something from them to protect his reputation as a bad ass.”

  “He has a lot in common with Shawna,” I said. “Sounds a lot like what she’s doing to me.”

  Luke ran his fingers through his hair and pulled on the curls. “Lord, you are frustrating. Give me my phone. I want to know if they caught the BMW.”

  I handed him the phone. “Might as well tell them I’m not going to Atlanta while you’re at it.”

  From inside my satchel, my phone buzzed. I reached inside and glanced at the caller ID. “Crap,” I said. “It’s Rupert. I’m going to have to go to Atlanta.”

  “Rupert,” I said. “Today’s not so good for me.”

  “My dear, this is exactly why I wanted you to stay up here. We discussed this as part of your contract. When I’m free, I need you to be free.”

  I swallowed my scream of frustration and tried for politeness. “I have a family emergency.”

  “I suppose I could come to Halo, then.”

  “No,” I checked my shout. “Not a good idea.”

  “How long will your emergency take? I have a guest coming and I want him to see what you’ve done. You took your sketches with you.”

  I knew he’d look at those sketches. “When are you expecting your guest?”

  “For dinner. I will send Nik to pick you up.”

  I thought about my ruined local career and birds in bushes. Rupert was not just a loony control freak. Rupert was a manipulative micromanager.

  “What’s going on?” asked Luke. He had finished his conversation and tucked his phone back into his pocket.

  “I have to work in Atlanta today. I’ll send everyone to Pearl’s house to keep them safe. It’s almost worth it, just to turn the tables on Pearl.”

  “Good idea. And you’ll be safer up in Atlanta. You should spend the night up there.”

&
nbsp; “Rupert would love that.” I pinched my lips in disgust at the thought. At least I could return Max’s stolen folder before anyone checked.

  Luke narrowed his eyes. “Maybe I should go with you. In case Regis Sharp finds where you’re staying. If he gets wind your employer is rich, who knows what will happen.”

  “Give me a break. Nobody around here knows Rupert Agadzinoff except for Max Avtaikin.”

  Luke folded his arms. “If you come back, you’re sleeping at Pearl’s, too. They didn’t find the BMW.”

  “Dammit. We should have stayed on its tail. Forks County Sheriff’s Department is not winning any awards this week,” I shook my head. “I don’t know which place would be worse. Rupert’s or Pearl’s?”

  “Doesn’t McIntosh have anything to say about this?” said Luke. “Why aren’t you calling Todd?”

  “Why in the hell would I ask Todd’s permission?”

  “You’d make a terrible wife,” Luke shook his head.

  “What a thing to say to someone who has a violent drug dealer looking for her.”

  “Sorry,” said Luke. “Look, if I were Todd, I’d want to know what was going on.”

  “He can stay with Pearl, too. I’m not leaving him alone at my house if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  “Fine. I’ll take care of it. Everyone goes to Pearl’s house. You don’t need to worry about them. Happy?”

  I shrugged.

  “Now can you worry about protecting your own butt?”

  “I still think I should go talk to some people in Sweetgum.”

  “I’m driving you to Atlanta myself.” Luke jammed his gearshift into drive. “Lord, woman. You are a huge pain in the ass.”

  Thirty-Five

  Luke’s face rearranged into his cop mask as we approached Rupert’s house. Although Luke grew up with more money than I did, the upper middle class wealth he experienced living in a Branson household couldn’t hold water with Rupert’s net worth. He eyed the Tara knock-off while parking in the circular drive before the house.

  “What kind of law did you say this guy practiced?” asked Luke.

  “Immigration. That’s how he knows Mr. Max. Filed his citizenship papers or what have you. Although I don’t think they like each other too much.”

  I pouted, thinking of Max’s betrayal to my cause.

  Luke grunted, tapping his steering wheel while he continued to stare at the house.

  “Thanks for the ride.” I reached behind his seat to grab my duffel bag of clothes.

  “I’m going in with you,” he said, snatching the duffel bag. “I’ll get your canvases out of the bed.”

  I picked up my satchel of sketching supplies and another tackle box holding my paints. “Do you want me to question Rupert about Max? Any kernels I can pick up for you to aid you in your stakeout of our local gangster?” I already knew his answer and ignored the look Luke gave me. “Just tell me this. Is it a personal vendetta against the Bear or is he really in trouble with the SipNZip? Max wouldn’t tell me.”

  “I’m a cop. We’re not allowed personal vendettas.”

  “Right,” I snorted. “Well, whatever you’re doing, Max saw fit to throw me out and is no longer speaking to me so my already ruined reputation wouldn’t be further dirtied by his police surveillance. He is very touchy about the authorities.”

  “What a guy,” said Luke. “Protecting your rep by tossing you out. A real gentleman.”

  “Stop it. Anyway, he’s not gentlemanly enough to help me do a show anymore. He’s doing one with Shawna.”

  “Like any man, Avtaikin probably offered to help because he thought it was a way into your pants. And got tired of you not noticing his advances because you’ve been too busy competing with Shawna and investigating the SipNZip.”

  “So now he’s trying to get into Shawna’s pants? You men amaze me. What is the big deal with sex that you would go to such lengths?”

  Luke focused on snapping the duffel straps together, pretending the language I spoke wasn’t English.

  But I had noticed Max, I reflected. And had thought about his “maneuvers.”

  Red and Leah were right, I was worse than a guy. I needed to douse my warped brain with Lysol. Or my libido. If either were possible.

  “Never mind,” I said. “How did you know I was investigating the SipNZip?”

  “Heard about your call to Sheriff Thompson regarding the employee who looked like the hijacker composite. He had me check on it.” Luke said the last lines with an annoyed glower. Checking on my crime tips was considered a lower totem sort-of job, I guessed.

  “Sam,” I said. “Although I don’t think he’s the hijacker. He’s much taller than Tyrone described.”

  “I agree,” said Luke. “His real name is Samuil Rybak. The Department of Labor is checking his background.”

  “Department of Labor? Why?”

  “He’s an immigrant.” Luke yanked open his door and scooted off his seat.

  I slithered out of the truck, pulling my bags and boxes after me. “You need the Department of Labor to do background checks on recent immigrants? I didn’t know that.”

  As usual, Luke left my question unanswered and focused on the task of pulling out several stretched and wrapped canvases from the bed of his pickup. I left him to his job, walked up to the house, and rang the bell. Miss David answered. Today’s monochromatic color choice was cream. Maybe she lightened her wardrobe for the weekend.

  “Don’t you ever get a day off?” I said. “It’s Sunday.”

  “You’re here on the weekend,” she replied. “Why would you expect less of me?”

  “Believe me, if I had the choice, I wouldn’t be here. Just point out the room you want to stash me in and I’ll stay out of your hair.”

  She smirked. “I intend to do just that. I was surprised by your sudden change in plans. Rupert is thrilled to keep you here. He’s very selfish that way, but it does make it easier on him to have you at his beck and call.”

  I snorted. “I guess you know all about that.”

  Behind us, the door swung open. Miss David took a step back as Luke plowed into the foyer, carrying the duffel and canvases. He leaned them against the wall and let his eyes wander the foyer until they finally landed on Miss David.

  “That’s Luke,” I said. “He wants to case your joint, but he’s not a criminal. Just a hyperactive cop.”

  Her eyes widened then dropped to their look of world-weary ennui. “You have interesting friends.”

  “Speaking of friends, what happened to Nik? We can’t get a hold of him.”

  “We’ve been wondering the same. Mr. Agadzinoff is not pleased.” Miss David betrayed her own annoyance with an elegant sniff. “Nikolai’s been gone since yesterday.”

  “He’s probably drowning his sorrows in a bottle of vodka somewhere. He thinks he’s in love with my sister. Do you know if he put my truck back together?”

  “I have no idea. Now, I will show you where we will keep you, Miss Tucker.” She turned and strode to the large staircase.

  I glanced at Luke and winked a grimace. “Crazy English,” I whispered. “You think they’re going to have me for dinner, too?”

  Thankfully, Rupert’s guest room tended more toward French Provincial than Rococo. I sat on the four poster king sized bed raised to a height that forced me to walk up a dainty staircase to reach it. We’re talking serious princess and the pea.

  I wanted to revel in the satin sheets and thick goose down duster printed with red and gold paisley, but I had a stolen folder to return before my keeper buzzed me from his infernal intercom and forced me to paint his likeness.

  Not that I didn’t appreciate his patronage. Or the fact that my room had a giant flat screen, a private bathroom with a full body spray shower (which I had already given a whirl), and the kind of soft rug that makes your toes giggle.

  Before he had returned to Halo, Luke had eyed the shower and bed, then tested my lock.

  “Keep your room locked. It’s
a cheap ass lock, so use this, too.” He pulled a rubber wedge from his pocket and tossed it on the bed. “I borrowed it from your Grandpa Ed, so you’ll need to give it back to him. Shove it under the door, as tight as you can.”

  I picked up the stopper and glanced at him. “You worried?”

  “You’re in a strange man’s house. Of course, I’m worried.” He glanced around the bedroom again. “Keep your phone on and in your pocket.”

  “Goodness, Daddy. It’s not my first slumber party, you know.”

  He had left muttering words about background checks. I had focused on the full body shower, which turns out, is not such a great experience if you’re short unless you like getting smacked in the face with a water jet. After drying my body in the fluffiest towel imaginable, I readied to slip downstairs and sneak Max’s folder back in the file cabinet.

  “Miss Tucker?” Miss David knocked. “Mr. Agadzinoff wants you downstairs.”

  As she talked I shoved the file into my satchel and tossed it around my shoulders. I couldn’t lock my room from the outside and didn’t want to take a chance of someone searching through my things and finding the folder.

  “One minute.” I smoothed out my skirt, fluffed my damp hair, and pasted on a smile. Yanking on the rubber doorstop, I slipped it in my bag before opening the door. “What’s for dinner?”

  “I have no idea.” Miss David glanced over my formal dinnerware with a pained expression. I had on a skirt. The fact that it used to be a man’s t-shirt and tie-dyed likely offended her monochromatism. “You can leave your things in this room. You won’t need them for dinner.”

  “That’s all right.” I patted my satchel. “I might see something worth sketching. You never know.”

  “During dinner?”

  “I’ve been known to doodle while I eat.” I shut the door behind me and traipsed down the hall. “Who all is coming to dinner?”

  “Usually Mr. Agadzinoff’s brothers. Sometimes his nephews and their families. Tonight there’s a special guest.”