Midnight Mysteries: Nine Cozy Tales by Nine Bestselling Authors

by Ritter Ames

  “Obviously not. This is a criminal matter, but not one to involve the authorities. I told you it’s sensitive. Sensitive and personal.”

  “Sensitive and personal in an illegal sort of matter?” I shot out of my chair and inched toward the door. “Because I don’t do illegal. Some people in this town—namely the Bransons and most namely Shawna Branson—have spread rumors that may border on the truth, but I do not go in for any illicit stuff, no matter what you’ve heard. And if there’s any mention of pornography, I paint nudes and that’s entirely different. It’s a classical art subject.”

  “It’s nothing illicit nor illegal. But I don’t want to involve the authorities. Please sit down.” His voice lowered. “If word gets out, it’ll get back to Mother and I could not live with the humiliation. You can’t tell anyone.”

  Despite my qualms, the scent of gossip was too strong to resist. “I promise.”

  “You might have heard I received my injury at Line Creek Country Club.”

  “Word’s gotten around you slipped on the sixteenth green.”

  “Better than the unfortunate reality.” He rolled his eyes. “The club hosted their annual Halloween party two weeks early this year, as someone rented the clubhouse for a party on the actual weekend. I met a young lady at the party. At least I thought she was a lady.”

  “No wonder this is sensitive. I’ve met several female impersonators in my time, having lived in Savannah and stayed at a particular motel in Memphis. Some are quite skilled at presentation. It’s nothing to be ashamed—”

  “That’s not what I mean. She was definitely female and young. Most definitely. She wore a Catwoman costume.”

  “Okay, still, I’m not here to judge—”

  He held up a hand. “My last memory of her, we decided to become further acquainted behind the trophy case in the lobby.”

  “A glass trophy case?”

  “They used black light that night. For a Halloween effect.” His cheeks flared to Rose Madder. “The moment was, shall we say, heated. But we were not detected. Although I don’t remember much else until a janitor found me later. After the party had ended.”

  “And your cat lady date?”

  “Absconded with something very valuable to me. Something very valuable to our family. As well as money from my wallet. And my lightsaber. Which was also valuable. I ordered it from a Japanese maker of actual lightsabers.”

  “An actual lightsaber?”

  “Exactly as it sounds.” He must have detected the doubt in my tone. “I attended the party as the Sith Lord, Darth Maul. Black and red. Caped. Which further protected me and my acquaintance from detection during our trophy case rendezvous. But my costume is not of any importance. The question remains, can you get my valuables back?”

  “I don’t know. This is a first for me. But why don’t you go to the police? I don’t see the sensitive issue unless this lady is not actually—”

  “The police may be skilled in apprehending felons, but recovery of stolen materials is not in their interest unless the felons have it on hand. I believe my valuables will be fenced fairly quickly. And as I am incapacitated, I’d like you to find them.”

  “Now, I’m getting you. You want me to check local pawn shops and such, to see if an actual lightsaber has turned up.”

  “Not just the lightsaber. Although if the perpetrator has any intelligence, they’ll try to sell that online. I can do an online search.” He shifted on the couch, his voice dropping to a whisper again. “It’s the family heirloom that concerns me. It requires the utmost secrecy.”

  I made the zip-the-lips sign.

  He hesitated, studying me. “I need you to find it. Quickly. And then return it to Mother’s before she realizes it’s missing.”

  “Which means, you also want me to B and E your momma’s house? To return an heirloom you stole from your momma?”

  “I didn’t steal it. It belongs to the family. Mother felt the item inappropriate and kept it in the family safe. Although contemptuous, she did realize its value.” His speech rose and revved, the words almost tripping over his thick tongue. “She will open that safe on November first and find it missing. It’s her habit to examine the contents of the safe the first of every month. That’s Tuesday. Only a week to get it back.”

  I wanted to ask why, but if the mother was half as odd as her son, I could chalk it up to crazy and get on with my life. “What is this contemptuous heirloom? I’m not that familiar with the Star Wars franchise, but I can’t think of any sort of heirloom a Sith lord would wear.”

  “It was not meant for the costume. I just like to wear it. On special occasions. I didn’t steal it.” His face reddened.

  With his gaze fixed on his toes and his voice dropped again to hush, I had to lean forward to hear him.

  “I showed it to that contemptible woman. I should have heeded Mother’s warnings of Eve,” he muttered. He cleared his throat. “The item is an antique, brought to Georgia from England in seventeen-forty-three. Father’s mother was a DAR, like Mother.”

  “Just what is this fancy heirloom you wore under a Star Wars costume?” My voice betrayed my impatience.

  “You must swear never to tell anyone.”

  I crossed my heart and waved him on.

  “A codpiece.” Fire consumed his neck and cheeks. “A sixteenth-century jeweled codpiece.”

  Having done backstage Shakespeare work at SCAD, I had an idea what that was. And that idea gave me pause. There are some places you don’t want your mind to go.

  “I don’t know about this. I like helping folks, but if word got out about what I’m looking for...” I almost choked on the idea, let alone the words. “You have to understand, my standing in the community is worse than awful. There’s already a lot of tongue-wagging about my brother being in jail. And the man I’m purportedly dating who put him there. And my so-called ‘obsession with nekkid paintings.’”

  “Can you imagine if Mother finds out that I’ve been wearing it in public?”

  I didn’t want to imagine any part of this. This seemed to be a Josiah Sweeton problem, not a Cherry Tucker problem.

  “I’m sure your momma will have a hissy. That’s what they do, but she’ll get over it, because they do that, too.”

  “A hissy at her age could kill her. She’s suffered personal humiliation this heirloom has been in Daddy’s family all these centuries. She’s not allowed to sell or get rid of it. Not even give it to a museum. There’s a trust attached. I’m ashamed to admit my obsession began as a young lad, partly because it was prohibited. Or so said my recent therapist.” He sighed. “I’d hoped because you have not been found favorable in the eyes of Halo, you’d understand my plight.”

  I chewed my lip. The very idea gave me the heebies, but Josiah knew how to push the right buttons.

  “I’m willing to pay you.”

  Another button. Big one at that.

  “And as a city councilman and member of a long-standing Halo family of good repute”—a certain reminder that although mine was also long-standing the repute situation was not so good—“I can speak to our neighbors and the city on your behalf.”

  “On behalf of what?”

  “You haven’t heard there’s a petition to put you in front of the zoning board? A studio in your house is a business. Besides zoning, there are ordinances. Mercantile and vendor. OSHA and ADA. Traffic. The fire inspector will have a field day on your decrepit house.”

  “Traffic? What kind of traffic is there in a town of five thousand people?” My stomach lunged up my throat. “A petition before the zoning board? This sounds like a Branson scheme. How much will this cost?”

  “You could apply for a variance but they’re usually turned down, even after all the work for compliance. We’re talking thousands of dollars of work.”

  “Thousands?” I squeaked.

  “Also there’s a goat in your backyard. Animal control could be contacted.” He steepled his fingers beneath his chin. “I can help you if you h
elp me.”

  Dagnabbit, I knew that goat would be my undoing.

  * * *

  THE GOAT IN question, Tater, was recovering from buck bullying. The current herd queen, Snickerdoodle, had taken a shine to him, which had not won Tater any favors among the other bucks. On my last trip home from Grandpa Ed’s farm, Tater had snuck into my truck bed and laid low until I pulled into my drive. Nearly had a heart attack when he jumped out of the truck bed and danced around my carport.

  Having had a rocky relationship with Tater, particularly when it came to ramming my truck in his attempt to play chicken, I was surprised to find him agreeable to living in my backyard. I thought he’d surely escape. Almost hoped he would.

  Turns out, I couldn’t force him to leave.

  Okay, I felt sorry for him. He had a mess of injuries. Even a partially chewed-off beard.

  Grandpa Ed had visited, a rare occurrence despite the fifteen-minute commute. After giving up on wrangling Tater into his truck, Grandpa Ed hung over the back fence and watched Tater work at putting a sizable dent in my garden shed. “He’s building up his strength in peace.”

  “I can’t have a goat in town.”

  “That’s the problem with town.” He left me to healing Tater.

  I had a goat in my backyard. A goat who didn’t want to go back to the farm. Have you ever tried to force a goat to do anything? There are proverbs written about that kind of thing.

  Tater didn’t make a lot of noise or stink or bother anyone. However, Josiah Sweeton was so desperate for the return of his family heirloom, he would hold Tater’s fate and city fines over my head to get me to do it.

  Like a stubborn old goat.

  TWO

  “LUKE,” I SAID, with my mouth mostly cleared of barbecue. Deputy Luke Harper and I often communed over barbecue. A check in the pro column of our star-crossed relationship. “I am in a kind of predicament.”

  “Sugar.” He gathered my hands in his and kissed my knuckles. His eyes—a gorgeous silvery indigo although the hue is hard to capture—darkened to a Payne’s Gray.

  “Not that sort of predicament.” I stowed the look on his face for a later analysis. “I’ve been asked to help someone who is in a situation where they don’t want to involve the police.”

  His expression changed considerably.

  “Not because it’s illegal,” I added quickly. “Because it’s sensitive and has to do with a family heirloom taken during a date. I don’t think he wants to punish the gal. Just recover the heirloom. And his lightsaber.”

  “You lost me.” He ran a hand through his short curls—warm sepia with oxide-red lake highlights—and eased back against the seat of our booth. “Somebody’s date stole their lightsaber?”

  “And a family heirloom. At a Halloween party. I’ve been calling pawn shops, but no one’s seen the items in question. I want to see their security video from the party, but thought I might have a better chance of accessing the video if you came with me. In an unofficial-official sort of capacity.”

  “You want me to flash my deputy badge so you can watch security video?”

  “I think my best chance of finding the item in question is to find the man’s date. She was a cat and that’s all he knows. His memory of the night is vague at best. Except they got friendly behind a trophy case.”

  “A cat. How much did he have to drink?”

  “That’s the thing. He can’t remember.”

  Luke rolled his eyes. “Who is this lush with the lightsaber?”

  “I’d rather not say at the moment. But his family’s been in the county longer than mine or your stepfamily’s, and that’s saying something.”

  “Trophy case? Where did you say this Halloween party happened?”

  “Line Creek Country Club.”

  Luke took a bite of pulled pork, taking his time chewing. “I think you should tell this guy to talk to me.”

  I shook my head. “He won’t do it.”

  “Alright. Let’s see that video feed.” A dimple winked as he chewed. “Only for you.”

  * * *

  THE CAMERAS AT the country club didn’t tell us much. They were focused on the parking lot, driveway, and pro shop. Also, a few on the links to catch sneak-on golfers. Earlier in the night, Darth Maul had marched up the stairway. Later, his exit was less dignified.

  “He must have had quite a few at the party to pass out,” said Luke. “Steady on his feet in the beginning. Hope he wasn’t planning on driving home.”

  “Either way, he had an EMT escort from the club. Stop looking for ways to question my guy. There’s a ton of Catwoman costumes. Party Barn must have had a sale on ears and tights. How do I know which cat is his?” I turned to the manager. “Why don’t you have any cameras pointed on the party?”

  Mr. Line Creek Country Club all but rolled his eyes. He thought I sought a member’s lost date, so I forgave him his irritation. “We’re trying to catch thieves, vandals, and illegal golfers, not our members partying.”

  And yet, a light-fingered cat had escaped his detection.

  “Let’s try the parking lot feed,” I said. “Maybe we’ll see a cat prowling around the cars.”

  “Good idea.” Luke leaned forward, eyes steady on the computer screen.

  “You sure are interested in this cat, Deputy Harper,” I said. “But you can’t go after her without evidence of a crime, right? What I told you is hearsay.”

  “What crime?” said Mr. Country Club.

  “Crime of passion.” I waved him off and pointed at the screen. “Stop and rewind. What’s going on with that Porsche?”

  “We had to wake him up, too.” Country Club glanced at Luke. “But he didn’t drive home. We have procedures for cutting people off.”

  “You need to try harder,” said Luke. “Because that’s two men who passed out at your party.”

  I fiddled with the arrows, magnifying the view. “Can’t you make this bigger? Like they do on those TV shows?”

  “They must have brought a flask or something.” Sweat gleamed on Country Club’s forehead. “We can’t be liable for that.”

  “Tell it to the jury when one of your patrons kills someone.” Luke glared at Country Club. “Who is that guy?”

  Country Club hesitated.

  Luke’s glower intensified.

  “Sterling Childs,” he said. “We called him a cab.”

  “I wonder if Sterling Childs knows a cat,” I said. “Or if he just collects lightsabers. There’s one under his car.”

  THREE

  LUKE TOOK OFF without a goodbye kiss, making me consider his interest in my missing heirloom. He’d been putting in long hours on an investigation that had him on late night surveillance and mid-afternoon stakeouts but hadn’t revealed the case. In the midst of his own work, why he’d bother with a Halloween mugging where the guy had no interest in reporting the crime made me suspicious. Suspicious and regretful I’d sought his unofficial-official help.

  Those competitive feelings are pitiful, I know. Particularly when you’re talking about the man you love despite everyone’s wishes.

  But if word got out to Josiah the police were interested in his Halloween mugging, he’d probably kill our deal and push Halo’s town zoning commission one step closer to me. And sic animal control on poor Tater.

  Going forward, I’d have to stop talking to Luke about this treasure hunt.

  Before hopping into my Datsun to do due diligence on Sterling Childs, I ambled to the area where said Sterling had taken a nap in his Porsche on the fateful eve. Probably because of the car’s make and model, he had parked a short hike from the building, two spots from the golf cart path entrance. The car’s position had been concealed from the front doors by a half-wall hiding the service entrance. The wall itself had been camouflaged by stacked hay bales, scarecrows, and an array of pumpkins.

  A good spot for a post-party sleep-off-the-booze before driving home. Or for using Josiah’s stolen lightsaber to play Star Wars with a cat. Hopefully, Sterling h
ad the lightsaber and could clear up some of this nuttiness.

  I spied a trashcan secured to the fence next to the cart path. I noted the beer and Coke after-golf flotsam accumulated there and poked around in the yuck. No broken lightsabers or jeweled codpieces. However, an envelope containing an invite to the club’s Halloween party had been ripped in half and tossed.

  I snagged the torn envelope and headed home to look up Sterling Childs. And Christopher Bozen, who had been invited to the party and torn up his invitation near Sterling’s car.

  * * *

  AT THE LIBRARY—God bless libraries for those of us who can’t afford a fancy cable and internet package because our work is seasonal, artistic, and/or suppressed by small town patriarchs—I wandered past the horror book display to the computer carrels. Sterling Childs, easily found. Christopher Bozen, not so much.

  However, a Christopher Dozen of Line Creek owned the city’s sports bar, Honkers. I had never visited this particular establishment but knew it as a popular destination for those who smirk at the site of a cartoon goose in a well-filled bikini getting her tail feathers nipped by a gander.

  Probably why I’d never been to Honkers.

  Unfortunately, Sterling couldn’t meet me until the next morning. Christopher Dozen’s personal number was unlisted, and Honkers put me on hold long enough to not deem the hostess trustworthy for message taking. I would get my dinner at Honkers.

  The whole thing seemed like a wild goose chase, in any case.

  * * *

  TWO SIX-FOOT GEESE—both appearing as if they stuffed socks in particular areas on their male and female persons—had been seasonally dressed as vampires. Inside Honkers, the Halloween theme continued with ads for an upcoming Love Potion party and hanging black cat and bat dye-cuts. Owls were noticeably absent. Waitresses in regulation Daisy Dukes and tank tops wore Groucho Marx glasses. Most patrons’ gazes were glued to the six zillion flat screens covering every spare inch of wall and ceiling space. The place was scented with my favorite kind of grease but too loud to hear yourself think.