Last Shot at Justice (A Thomas Family Novel Book 1)

by Kristi Cramer

  He stopped himself short of that image and hitched his jeans a little, looking around to see if anyone else was out and about.

  Outside in the morning air, he suddenly realized how much attention he had expended on what he was feeling instead of focusing on the dangerous matter at hand, and he felt a little ashamed.

  Mitzi Reardon was not in his camper to be his companion. She was in danger, alone except for him, and depending on him to deliver on his promise to help clear her name and bring the real killer to justice.

  When he heard her call out to him that it was okay to come back inside, he took a deep breath, steeling his resolve to put fantasies aside and instead be the rock she needed him to be. But when he opened the door, he couldn’t do anything other than laugh.

  Mitzi stood there, one hand defiantly on her hip, dressed in the most ridiculous combination of clothes he had ever seen.

  Where did he start to catalog the look she sported?

  Black spike heels once again graced the tiny feet sticking out from the legs of the blue camouflage pajama bottoms that were rolled up above her ankles. Her waistline was shorter than his, and she was narrower around the middle than he was, so she had rolled the pajamas down from the top. The shirt she had borrowed last night—a light blue, reef western-style button-down—was tied in a knot above her waist, the loose ends hanging down over her bare midriff. Atop that she wore her little black leather jacket, and the strap of a black beaded purse lay across her shoulder. To crown it all, her hair was pulled into two short, curly ponytails hanging from either side of her head. She looked at least ten years younger, and mad enough to spit nails.

  “Nice,” he said, covering his laugh with a cough. “No one will mistake you for a hooker or a cop looking like that.” It was the shoes, he realized. Those boots pushed an otherwise merely trashy outfit over the top into two-bit tawdry.

  “Oh, shut up. Do you think your neighbor is up yet?”

  Blue looked up at the clock. “Maybe so.” He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly unsure of himself.

  “What’s wrong?” Mitzi asked, and he glanced at her.

  “Nothin’,” he answered, but scuffed at the little area rug anyway. How could he explain his reluctance to charm a lady out of her car? Even if she rarely used it. He had said he would help Mitzi, and that was what he was going to do. “I’ll be right back, just wait inside, okay?”

  “Blue?”

  “I’ll be right back.”

  He opened the door and stepped outside, then turned to face Miss Regina’s trailer across the driveway from his camper. As he stepped down and walked around the corner of the camper, he saw the curtain across Miss Regina’s window flicker, and he knew she saw him. There was very little that Miss Regina missed. He was suddenly glad the bullet holes in his truck were on the passenger side—the side away from this neighbor.

  “Right,” he murmured. “Let’s just do this.”

  He strode with purpose across the driveway and right up to Miss Regina’s door, pulled open the screen, and knocked. The door swung open instantly, and Blue put on his best smile—the one that always made his mother cluck her tongue at him and call him a heartache waiting to happen.

  “Good morning, Miss Regina,” he said.

  The old black woman peered up at him and smiled kindly from her hunched-over position. Osteoporosis had bent her back cruelly, but her eyes were bright and focused. “Good morning, Blue. You come for coffee?”

  “No, ma’am, I’m afraid not. I gotta run some errands, and as you can see, my windshield got broke last night in the storm.”

  Regina craned her neck to look around him, though he was sure she had already taken note of the broken window. “Goodness. What happened?”

  “You know, I’m not rightly sure. Something shot out of the dark and broke it. Never did see it.” He had prepared for that little white lie. And, he told himself, he really hadn’t seen the bullet.

  Miss Regina’s smile turned sly. “You sure it doesn’t have anything to do with that girl you brought home last night?”

  Blue threw his head back to look at the sky for a moment, then he shook his finger at the old woman. “I can’t get anything past you, can I, ma’am?”

  “If you can, then I am slipping, boy. She seems pretty enough.” Regina was looking over his shoulder, and he glanced back to see his own curtain twitching over the window. “How’d you meet her?”

  It wouldn’t do to try to hurry Miss Regina, he knew. She had spotted Mitzi, and there was no getting around this conversation now. Might as well finish it.

  “In a bar, ma’am. She got caught out in the storm and needed a ride. Couldn’t turn her down, could I? We ended up here, what with the weather being so bad and me not knowing the city very well.”

  His story was full of holes and he knew it, but he hated to lie, especially to an old lady. However, Miss Regina poked him with a crooked finger, drawing her own conclusions. “What a clever turn of events, Blue. I just hope you’re taking care to protect yourself, and her. If you found her in a bar, I doubt she’s someone you’ll want to bring home to mother.”

  “Miss Regina!” Blue protested. He knew he was blushing, but that would only confirm her conclusion about what had happened last night.

  Regina gave a delighted cackle and poked him again. “Don’t worry, boy, your secret is safe with me.”

  He smiled at her. “Thank you, ma’am. But I do need to give my friend a ride, and I can’t take her in the truck with the window broken like that. Is there any chance I can borrow your car?”

  Chapter Six

  Mitzi peeked around the curtain as Blue talked with his neighbor. The morning sunlight shining through the window into her eyes kept her from getting a good look at the woman. Their conversation seemed to be pretty animated, and Mitzi couldn’t help wondering just what kind of bargain they were coming to.

  At last Blue reached out, took something from the neighbor’s hand, and slipped it into his pocket. Then he accepted a hug before turning back to his camper.

  Mitzi hurriedly sat down on the bench, trying to pretend she hadn’t been watching. She composed herself just as the door opened and Blue came back inside.

  “Let’s go,” he said, and she tried to read his face for clues to what had just happened.

  “It wasn’t too distasteful, I hope?” Fishing again.

  “She made me promise to take her to dinner one night soon. Said she wanted to show me off to her girlfriends.” Blue’s smile was inscrutable.

  “Just dinner?” The question was out before Mitzi could stop it, and she cursed herself for letting it matter. What was it about this cowboy that got her so wound up? She had never felt the slightest bit jealous when her ex talked about other women, even though she had dated Eric for eight months. Of course, Eric had been Justin’s idea; a blind date setup for his poor single partner.

  In the process of taking his hat off the hook, Blue stopped to give her another look, and this time he seemed to realize what she was doing.

  “Well, she didn’t promise to have me home before my bedtime,” he said, matter-of-fact. “Now, when we pass her place to get to her car, be sure to keep me between you and the windows. She’s a sharp cookie, and may recognize you from the news if she gets a good look at you.”

  It would also conveniently keep Mitzi from getting a good look at this neighbor, she realized. Then she berated herself for caring. Wasn’t it enough that he was going so far out of his way to help her?

  They stepped outside into air that had been washed clean by last night’s storm, and Mitzi inhaled deeply. Mornings like this were her favorite, when everything was fresh and not yet sullied by another day of commuting and industry and crime.

  She looked down to see Blue holding out his hand to assist her in going down the steep grated metal stairs. She took it gratefully and stepped gingerly down to the ground.

  “Come here,” he said, keeping hold of her hand and drawing her against him in a move that would have
worked well on a dance floor. She ended up tucked under his arm once again, looking up at him. “Stay close to me.”

  “Won’t she get jealous?” Mitzi asked, but once again she wrapped her free arm around his waist and leaned against him as they headed out across the driveway.

  “Oh, probably, but it will just make things more interesting later.”

  Mitzi had to resist pulling away from him—in disgust or disappointment, she wasn’t sure which.

  Instead she did her best to watch the windows of the neighbor’s little run-down trailer, trying to see what she looked like. She wanted to see what kind of woman Blue would so happily put himself in debt to.

  But all Mitzi managed to see was a dark hand holding a curtain back and a shadow in the darkened interior of the trailer.

  When they got around to the other side of the trailer, Mitzi took a look at their ride for the day. It had been sitting under the Douglas fir trees for a long time, if the green crust covering the white paint was any indication. But other than that, the body lines were straight on the decidedly old car. It was long and sleek, low to the ground, with squared off lines and suicide doors to the back seat. The body-width front grille had four round headlights surrounded by weathered, unpolished chrome slats, giving it a vaguely Robby the Robot feel. Wide white-wall tires completed the look.

  “What kind of car is this?” she asked. “I’m not much of a car buff, but this looks familiar somehow.”

  Blue shrugged and fished in his pocket for the keys.

  “What? A man who can’t name any classic car instantly? You astonish me.”

  He made a disinterested sound. “Show me an old pickup and I’ll be able to name it. Even tell you how many horses I can haul with it. And I can tell you the difference between John Deere, Case, and Kubota, but cars?” He shrugged again.

  Mitzi raised her eyebrows, realizing she couldn’t apply typical masculine stereotypes to Blue. She scanned the length of the car again. “Oh, there it is,” she said, spotting the chrome nameplate on the back corner. “Continental. That’s it. JFK was shot in one of these.”

  “Well,” Blue said, all matter-of-fact again. “I sure hope that isn’t a sign of things to come. I’ve already been shot at more than...ever, and I’d really hate to bring Miss Regina’s car back to her looking like I took it for target practice.”

  That put the quiet on her. Mitzi silently slid onto the seat after Blue opened the passenger door for her, and she reached across to unlock his door. As she buckled herself in, she felt the bulk of the Mosquito .22 in the holster sewn into her purse, and recalled how much danger she was visiting upon Blue, and now his neighbor, too. Her jealousy, or whatever it was, seemed petty and selfish in the face of this reality.

  Even though the windows were terribly dirty, she remembered to keep her face turned away from the trailer as Blue rounded the front of the car. He climbed into the driver’s seat, adjusting it back as far as it would go.

  Blue turned the engine over and it coughed into life, emitting a cloud of white smoke before settling into a chugging hum. He revved the engine a couple times before letting it warm up while he tried to clean the windshield off enough to see through. Again she marveled at his economy and precision of motion, and his focus as he familiarized himself with the dash and controls of the car.

  The inside of the car, she noted, was cluttered with newspapers, stacks of them bundled in the back seat. They lent the car the musty scent of old, mildewed paper and dust. The newspapers were not what she expected to see in a car owned by trailer trash. But then again, there were as many variations of trailer trash as there were rednecks, so the stacks of newspapers were not enough to revise her opinion of “Miss Regina.”

  Mitzi caught herself slipping back into judgment of this woman and forced herself to stop.

  Blue coughed a little. “Miss Regina said not to mind the dust, but I wasn’t expecting this much. She wasn’t kidding when she said it had been a long while since she drove.” He ran a finger across the dash, pushing up a considerable mountain of dust to get to the gray vinyl underneath.

  “If she doesn’t drive, how does she get around?”

  “City bus. Says it's safer, and she likes meeting folks too.”

  Grabbing the column’s gearshift, Blue slipped it down into reverse, then put his arm across the seat so he could turn and look behind him. He eased the car backwards, shifted into drive, and was headed toward the highway before she spoke again.

  “I’m truly sorry for getting you into this, Blue.”

  He flashed a surprised look at her. “I reckon it was a bit of fate, ma’am. You needed help and I could give it to you. So I was there when you needed me.”

  “I don’t believe in fate, Blue. I see too many things happen for no reason, every day. No rhyme or sense to it at all. Everything is how you respond to what’s around you. Choices. I chose to run through the 8-Ball, chose to use you to hide me, and then chose to put you further in harm’s way by accepting your offer to help. I’m choosing to allow you to come with me, and therefore choosing to put you in more danger.” She shook her head, thinking of legal charges like accessory to murder. “I should really leave you out of it.”

  Blue pulled up and stopped at the exit to the highway, then turned to look at her. “Not gonna happen, ma’am.”

  “Well, if we’re going to work together, then at least call me by my name.” She held out her hand, realizing she had never really properly introduced herself. “Mitzi Reardon.”

  He clasped her hand and squeezed it, his grip firm and comforting. “Blue Thomas, ma’am.” Then he laughed. “I’ll do my best, Mitzi,” he said. “So, which way?”

  A glance at the fuel gauge showed the car had three quarters of a tank, so she scanned the traffic. “I want to try to call Justin, but they might be tapping his phone. We’ll head over to the airport to look for a payphone. If they manage to trace the call, they may think I’m trying to leave town. Then we’ll go see the hypnotist.”

  “Okay. The airport is...?”

  “Turn right here, and head out to I-70 East.”

  It was just after 7:30 a.m. as Blue eased the Lincoln Continental out onto Highway 287, slipping into the stream of cars heading downtown. They were on the highway for less than a mile before they took the onramp to the interstate. Thankfully, eastbound traffic was heading swiftly out of town, though westbound traffic was already starting to bog down.

  Before long they pulled into a Circle K out on Peña Boulevard, less than a mile from passenger drop-off at the terminal. Mitzi directed Blue to park the car as far as he could from the store.

  “I just hope they still have a pay phone here,” Mitzi said.

  “Why wouldn’t they?” Blue asked.

  She closed her eyes briefly, amazed that anyone could be so behind the times. “Most people have cell phones now. Pay phones just get vandalized. May I borrow your hat again? I know they have surveillance cameras here, and I don’t want to tip them off too soon that I was here.”

  He took off the hat and handed it to her, concern showing in his brown eyes. “Is it worth the risk?”

  “I have to see if I can find out what’s going on, Blue. It’s a long shot, but yes, worth it. Stay here until I come back. I don’t want anyone watching surveillance to put you and me together, or mark Miss Regina’s car.”

  Slipping out of the passenger seat, Mitzi stood and looked around. She spotted several security cameras mounted on light posts and under the fuel island canopy, but she was satisfied that they were parked in a blind spot. The cameras on the perimeter would be aiming in, and the canopy would block the ones pointing out. She walked casually to the front of the car and strolled out to the street, walking behind shrubs a good third of the way around the lot before she stepped over the curb into the lot again. Putting the hat on and keeping her head down, she walked briskly past the car wash toward the store, and held her breath as she looked for a payphone hanging on the building.

  Even though s
he expected it, the disappointment was sharp when she realized there was no pay phone here. Plan B, she thought, and walked up to push through the entrance.

  She found what she was looking for with relative ease. The prepaid phones hung on an end display opposite the door, and she pretended to consider her options while waiting for the perfect amount of customer traffic.

  At a moment when several customers were walking up to check out she grabbed one of the AT&T burners and a car charger, and casually but firmly asserted her way into the line.

  She’d had plenty of time to think through plan B on the drive up, and when her turn came to pay, she swiped her debit card through the device and quickly entered her PIN. With several people behind her the clerk didn’t spare her a second glance, just handed her the receipt and called, “Next!”

  On the way out she spotted the ATM just inside the door and decided to go all the way with her ruse. Keeping the brim of Blue’s hat pulled down, she stepped up and made a quick withdrawal for the maximum amount of cash she could get, then put the two hundred dollars in twenties into her purse. As she stepped away from the machine, she looked across the store and saw a camera pointed at the machine. Quickly bowing her head, she turned and pushed open the door.

  Back outside, she walked toward the car wash, heading back to the car by the same circuitous route she had taken into the store. She made sure to keep her head down, knowing that any one of those cameras might still capture her at any time, especially now that she had electronically tipped her hand as to her whereabouts.

  Her best hope was for a delay between the time the card was swiped and the time the transaction hit the bank. Even a few minutes would make it that much more difficult to match her little stroll with the transaction, possibly giving away the particulars of her ride.