Jackrabbit Junction Jitters

by Ann Charles

  He tried to nudge Chester aside with the cane he still used after his quarrel with the flooded toilet last weekend. Unfortunately, his plight had had no effect on Miss Rebecca, who’d motored out of the park yesterday without an adios or backward glance.

  “Hit me again with that cane, you old geezer, and I’m going to wrap it around your testicles.”

  Gramps opened the box’s hinged top. A blonde ballerina circled on a pink satin ledge while mechanical-sounding music twanged and dinged. Claire leaned closer, mesmerized by the glitter on the dancer’s tutu. The steely scent of Gramps’s Aqua Velva merged with the smell of beer from Chester’s warm breath as his chin brushed her shoulder.

  Henry barked twice, breaking the spell, making Claire jump back—right onto Chester’s toes.

  “Yowch!” Chester limped out of the stall.

  Crunching on more rinds, Manny laughed. “That’s what you get for wearing argyle socks with open toed sandals.”

  “Sorry, Chester.” Claire turned back to the music box as Gramps pulled a chiseled arrowhead out of it.

  “Looks like a piece of flint.” He held it up under the sixty-watt light bulb overhead. “Why would Jess put a flint arrowhead in the wall?”

  Flint arrowhead. Claire stared at the chipped stone, something sparking in her bruised brain.

  Arrowhead.

  “Gramps, what did Kate call arrowheads when we were kids?”

  His brows wrinkled as he glanced at her. “Pointers, why?”

  “That’s it!” She snatched the arrowhead from his hand and cupped it in her palm. “This is Flint’s pointer! And all along I kept thinking Joe was talking about that dead guy in the mine.”

  Gears spun in her head as she stared at the vent pipe running up the wall.

  “And that explains what he meant with the ‘pipe up and let me hear it’ quote.”

  She pushed past Gramps and gripped the pipe, wiggling it.

  “Of course!” she continued. “‘Shiver my timbers’—this pipe always rattles against the wall when the toilet is flushed. But what about ‘pieces of eight’? Where did that fit into this?”

  She turned around and looked to the guys for help.

  All three men stared at her like she’d morphed into the one-eyed, one-horned, flying purple people eater.

  “Have you been smoking doobies again, girl?” Gramps asked.

  Chester grunted. “Maybe she has leftover water on her brain.”

  “I bet that tire knocked some wires loose upstairs,” Manny added. “Have you noticed her one eye keeps ticcing, especially when her mom is around?”

  “Gramps, remember what I told you yesterday about Porter flipping through Joe’s first edition of Treasure Island?”

  “Yeah. So?”

  Claire waved all of them off, shoved the arrowhead in her pocket, and focused on the vent pipe again.

  “Would one of you smartasses hand me that saw?” She knocked on the pipe next to where the music box had sat. It sounded hollow just like the rest of the pipe.

  “Move aside.” Gramps squeezed in next to her. “And show me where you want me to cut.”

  “Just give me the saw.”

  “No way. If Mac finds out I let you do any work today, he’ll have my hide. You’re supposed to be sitting on that sink and taking it easy, remember?”

  “Oh, yeah.” She’d forgotten about Mac’s threat to have Deborah play nursemaid instead of him if Claire didn’t cooperate. “Mom’s definitely flying out tomorrow, right?”

  “Yep. Ruby and I need some time to settle in without your mother’s big nose around. The two of them are barely speaking as is. A couple of more days together and blood will spill. Now where am I cutting, Sherlock?”

  Pointing out two places a couple feet apart on the pipe, she backed out of the stall and joined Manny on the sink counter. Her fingers drummed on her thighs as she watched Gramps saw through the black PVC pipe. Sewer gas seeped from the open pipe and filled the small room, making her eyes water.

  “Woo wee!” Chester moved to the open doorway as Gramps pulled the chunk of pipe free. “That smells like Carrera’s breath in the morning.”

  Gramps chuckled as he stuffed a grease-smeared rag from his back pocket into the bottom part of the open vent pipe.

  “All the better to kiss you with, lover.” Manny puckered his lips and wiggled his index finger at Chester. “Come over here, big boy.”

  “I have something you can plant those lips on, Carrera.” Chester reached for his belt buckle.

  “Never mind. I wouldn’t want to put Tilly or Milly out of a job. Which one are you seeing tonight, anyway?”

  “Tilly. Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturdays are her nights. Milly gets me on Wednesday, Friday, and Sunday.”

  “What about Monday?” Claire asked, amazed that the twins were so desperate for a man they’d be willing to share Chester.

  “That’s Chester Jr.’s day of rest. A man can’t live on Viagra alone, you know.”

  “Well, lookie here.” Gramps peered into the piece of pipe. “No wonder this toilet kept backing up over the last few years.” He banged one end of the pipe in his palm, peeked again, and then shook the pipe until a roll of paper in a plastic bag stuck out the end. “The air vent was partially clogged.”

  “What is it?” Claire hopped down off the counter, unable to sit still any longer.

  Handing her the empty pipe, Gramps pulled the roll of papers out of the bag and smoothed them out. He whistled and offered one of them to her.

  “What’s the Copper Snake’s stock worth these days, you think?” he asked.

  Claire stared down at the paper—a Copper Snake Mining Company stock certificate for one hundred shares made out to Joe Martino.

  Ah, ha! Here it was, Joe’s “pieces of eight,” otherwise known as “treasure” by Long John Silver and his greedy men.

  An image of Richard Rensberg waving a gun at Mac and her flashed in her head. Were these the shares his father had sold? The reason Joe blackmailed Bianca with those X-rated pictures?

  “Who’s Will Banks?” Gramps asked.

  She leaned over to see what had Gramps frowning. “Banks was Porter’s last name.”

  Claire stared down at what she guessed was Porter’s father’s name printed on the certificate Gramps held. “This must be the ‘treasure’ Porter’s dad told him about.”

  Why had Joe taken Porter’s dad’s share of the stocks? What exactly had Joe’s relationship been with Porter’s dad? Had they had some kind of falling out or did crooks always turn on each other over time?

  She glanced back at the stock certificates in her hands and put two and two together, whispering, “I’ll bet you Porter’s dad is the one who took those pictures of Bianca.”

  “What pictures?” Manny asked.

  Chester followed with, “Who’s Bianca?”

  Biting her lip, Claire struggled to figure out a way to cover her faux pas. She’d forgotten they didn’t know about the blackmail photos. If she had her way, they wouldn’t find out about them anytime soon, either. The last thing she needed was Ruby catching wind of those pictures.

  The chunk of Nazi gold that she’d stashed in the wall safe next to that mysterious antique pocket watch of Joe’s was another story she probably should share. But that would hold for another day or two, until she came up with a good lie as to why she and Jess were digging around in Ruby’s closet floor.

  “Uh, it’s not important.” She ignored the squinty-eyed glare coming from Gramps. “How many of these are there?”

  Gramps fanned the pile. “If they’re legitimate, enough to make Ruby a good-sized chunk of money.”

  Claire would bet her mom’s Elvis-autographed poodle skirt the stocks were legit. Porter’s dad had been right. There was enough here to set someone up for a long time, especially if Porter had managed to get his hands on Joe’s portion, too.

  Poor Porter, robbed of his father’s legacy by a dead, blackmailing scoundrel.

  “Claire?” Ma
c stepped into the men’s room, then coughed and covered his nose and mouth. “Christ, it reeks in—hey, what are you guys looking at?”

  Manny stepped aside so Mac could squeeze into the stall. He took the certificate Claire held out to him, his eyes scanning down the paper.

  “Holy shit!” Lowering his hand from his face, he looked at the stack Gramps still held in his hands. “Holy goddamned shit.”

  “It looks like your aunt is a rich woman.” Gramps didn’t sound very happy about it either. He seemed to be allergic to any wealth Ruby accumulated through her dead husband.

  “Cheer up, Ford.” Chester finished off his beer and let out another belch. “Maybe she’ll buy you a new R.V., since yours still stinks even after that thousand dollar detail job.”

  Claire looked up at Mac. “Did you need me for something?”

  “Oh, yeah.” He still stared at the stocks. “It’s about your family.”

  “Jeez, what’s Mom doing now?” The woman seemed bent on making life hell for all during her last twenty-four hours on site.

  “Not your mom. Your sister,” he said distractedly. “She called.”

  “Isn’t she back from Butch’s yet?”

  Chester snickered. “She didn’t crash again, did she?”

  “Not Kate,” Mac said. “Veronica.”

  That grabbed Gramps’s attention. “What did Ronnie want?”

  Mac looked up with a slight frown. “She said she’s leaving her husband because he’s in jail for some kind of money fraud.”

  Claire gaped at him. “You’re kidding.”

  “And she’s coming down to Tucson to stay with us.”

  “What?!” She leaned against the stall wall, dread filling her. “For how long?”

  Anything more than a few weeks and she’d have to start smoking again just to keep her hands busy, or they’d end up circling Ronnie’s neck … again.

  “She didn’t say.”

  “Shit!” Gramps and Claire said at the same time.

  Mac’s eyes narrowed. “I thought we liked Veronica.”

  “Uh, yeah, we do, but …” Claire licked her lips, not sure how to explain to Mac what he’d just done by giving Ronnie the OK to cross his threshold with a suitcase in her hand.

  “What haven’t you told me about your older sister, Claire?”

  Claire grabbed his arm and led him toward the door. “Mac, honey, remember how you said you love me, and I told you that I love you, too?”

  He yanked her to a stop. “Claire.” His tone rang with warning. “What’s wrong with your sister?”

  Gulping, she shrugged and tried to smile. It felt more like a grimace.

  “Nothing her shrink can’t fix … I hope.”

  The End … for now

  Copyright

  JACKRABBIT JUNCTION JITTERS

  Copyright @ 2012 by Ann Charles

  All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means now known or hereafter invented, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher, Corvallis Press.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is coincidental.

  Ebook ISBN: 978-0-9850663-3-8

  Cover Art by Chuck Kunkle (www.charlesskunkle.com)

  Cover Design by Sharon Benton (www.q42designs.com)

  Edited by Mimi the “Grammar Chick” (www.grammarchick.com)

  Corvallis Press, Publisher

  630 NW Hickory Str., Ste. 120

  Albany, OR 97321

  www.corvallispress.com

  Bio

  Ann Charles is an award-winning author who writes romantic mysteries that are splashed with humor and whatever else she feels like throwing into the mix. When she is not dabbling in fiction, arm-wrestling with her children, attempting to seduce her husband, or arguing with her sassy cat, she is daydreaming of lounging poolside at a fancy resort with a blended margarita in one hand and a great book in the other.

  Connect with Me Online

  Facebook (Personal Page): www.facebook.com/ann.charles.author

  Facebook (Official Author Page): www.facebook.com/Ann-Charles

  Twitter (as Ann W. Charles): twitter.com/AnnWCharles

  My Main Ann Charles Website: www.anncharles.com

  My Jackrabbit Junction Website: www.anncharles.com/jackrabbit

  Acknowledgments

  I could fill a short novella with pages thanking all of the people who have helped me in myriad ways throughout a book’s creation and long after it is pushed out into the world, but my publisher informs me that books full of personal thank you messages don’t sell very well. So, I’ll keep this short and sweet.

  I want to thank the following kind and generous folks:

  My husband for far too much to write down. You help me from the first story idea through “The End” and long after.

  My family for putting up with my characters hanging out with us at the dinner table, in front of the TV, during teeth brushing, on trips to the store, and more. The characters won’t leave us alone anymore.

  Corvallis Press for allowing me so much freedom in my storytelling.

  My agent, Mary Louise Schwartz, for all of your support.

  My brother, Charles Kunkle, for your awesome cover art and illustrations, and for overlooking the fact that I never paid up on that Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of NIMH bet.

  My good friend and graphic artist, Sharon Benton, for jumping onboard without hesitation and working hard to make my covers for this series look amazing. Peaches is happy.

  My publicist in the Black Hills (and mom), Margo Taylor, for pushing as hard as you have over the last year and a half to make my books fly high and to my brother, Dave, for making sure Margo stays fed and rested and raring to go again. Thanks also to my aunt, Judy Routt, and her family in Ohio for all of your publicist work around my home ground.

  My advance readers, editors, and critique helpers—Wendy Delaney, Beth Harris, Jacquie Rogers, Marcia Britton, Mary Ida Kunkle, Paul Franklin, Jody Sherin, Renelle Wilson, Sue Stone-Douglas, Marguerite Phipps, Denise Garlington, Stephanie Kunkle, Sharon Benton, Carol Cabrian, and Cammie Hall.

  My Beta Readers for your help finding those final errors—Cheryl Foutz, Kathy Hunter, Betsy Helgesen, Brad Taylor, Carrie Zito, Denise Keef, Marnia Davis, and Toni Mortensen.

  My smart and talented editor, Mimi “The Grammar Chick,” for always having my back. You keep the world from seeing my screw-ups and then some.

  My wonderful reviewers and the amazing authors who gave their valuable time to read my books and send me quotes to help introduce more fans to the series.

  My goal buddies Gerri Russell and Joleen James who crack the whip weekly to keep me on task.

  My career coach and incredibly positive friend Amber Scott for sharing that delightful laugh with me on several occasions. I can’t wait to hear it again!

  My coworkers who never look twice when I walk in to work all red-eyed and crazy-haired wearing socks that don’t match. Your support over the years has been extraordinary.

  My family for putting up with my sorry ass for so many years and helping every time I come for a visit.

  My fans for all of the cheers and support. Some of you have been there from the start, and I can’t thank you enough times. Some are new, and I’m grateful that you gave my books a chance and joined the party.

  My brother, Clint Taylor, for letting me convince you into taking that entertaining plunge down the rocks into the Devil’s Bathtub. You always were such a good sport about having to ride home in the back of the pickup because you were too wet to ride inside.

  Five Fun Facts about Ann Charles

  I’m a big fan of the movie, Tremors, with Kevin Bacon and Fred Ward. Ever s
ince I first “met” Kevin’s character in the movie, I’ve wanted to write a story with a guy named Valentine in it. That is how Valentine “Butch” Carter came to be in this book. This movie also inspired my character, Ruby, who has been Heather Gummer (played by Reba McEntire in the film) since I first dreamed up the cast.

  * * *

  I have been a fan of country music since childhood thanks to my dad and stepfather. I grew up listening to Tammy Wynette, Hank Williams Sr. and Jr., Patsy Cline, Johnny Horton, Waylon Jennings, Dolly Parton, and many more. While I write the scenes in the Jackrabbit Junction Mystery series, I often pick a song from one of these classic country artists and play it over and over in the background, which drives my family nuts.

  * * *

  The mummy image on the “Mummy Dearest” T-shirt Claire is wearing on the cover of this book is a picture of me dressed as a “pregnant mummy” for Halloween years ago when I was six months preggo with my son. My husband helped me to fashion a mummy costume complete with wraps of linen, creepy makeup, and rotting teeth. Ah, true love.

  * * *

  When my mother first read this book, she called me, told me she really enjoyed it, and then asked if I had some issues with her that we needed to discuss with a therapist in the room.

  * * *

  I’m a huge fan of westerns and spend many late nights after my family goes to bed watching my favorite westerns over and over—Big Country, Two Mules for Sister Sara, The Outlaw Josey Wales, McClintock, North to Alaska, Open Range, and Lonesome Dove to name a few. My husband once made the mistake of cutting out the Western channel from our satellite TV package in order to save money. He still puts up with me grumbling about that.

  Also by Ann Charles

  Jackrabbit Junction Mystery Series

  Dance of the Winnebagos

  (Jackrabbit Junction Mystery Series: Book 1)

  Coming Next in the Jackrabbit Junction Mystery Series:

  The Great Jackalope Stampede

  (Jackrabbit Junction Mystery Series: Book 3)