Pineapple Gingerbread Men

by Amy Vansant

  Charlotte heard her own thoughts and laughed.

  Charity.

  The last town on his list to rob was Charity, Florida.

  Was there a more perfect city for a charity con man to rob as his swan song?

  If the Pineapple knob had already been made—if he picked his victims based on the knob designs, he must have thought he died and gone to heaven when he found a town called Charity containing a huge community called Pineapple Port.

  Her phone buzzed. The front yard camera had been tripped.

  Shoot. She’d been getting so much good thinking done in her forced surveillance boredom she’d forgotten about the actual surveillance.

  She looked up and spotted Jason walking down the path from his front door to his car. He wore shorts and a polo now. His hair was wet as if he’d just stepped out of the shower. He hopped in his car and pulled out of his driveway.

  Thrilled to start her car and get the air conditioning rolling, Charlotte waited and then followed at a safe distance.

  The true identities of Kris and the Gingerbreads would have to wait.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Jason drove out of town toward Tampa. The traffic gave Charlotte plenty of cover as she crept along behind him, dodging behind different cars on and off to keep from always hovering in the same spot of his rear view mirror.

  He headed towards Ybor City.

  This could be it. Don’t turn, don’t turn, don’t—

  Jason veered to the right to take an exit and she followed.

  Shoot.

  As traffic thinned she fell back and followed him into Ybor City.

  Jason pulled to a stop and Charlotte eased into a spot on the corner and put her car into park. She pointed the dash-cam she’d set up to point in Jason’s direction and found her phone to check the address of the woman Stephanie didn’t want him messing with.

  12th Street, Ybor City.

  She glanced at the street sign.

  12th Street.

  It wasn’t illegal for Jason to talk to Stephanie’s witness. In fact, it was his job. Taking pictures of him talking to her or knocking on her door wouldn’t prove a thing. Somehow, Charlotte had to prove he was paying witnesses to lie.

  She dug into the backpack she’d brought containing every piece of spy equipment she’d acquired in the last month, feeling a little like a low-rent Batwoman. Finding her binoculars, she pulled them out and trained her attention on the D.A.

  Jason knocked on the witness’s door. A woman matching the photo Stephanie had sent Charlotte answered. He appeared to introduce himself and she let him in.

  Charlotte hopped out of her car and scurried down the road. She walked past the house and then ducked between it and the one next door. Peering through a bush and into the window, she spotted Jason and the woman sitting on her sofa, talking. The window was cracked open and she could hear the murmur of their conversation. She pulled out her phone and held it up to video tape and hopefully capture their transaction.

  No sooner did she have the camera in place than a dog barked behind her and she flung herself through the bush, rolling back and away from the sound. The phone skittered across the dirt.

  A Rottweiler with a head as large as a pumpkin stared at her from behind the metal fence surrounding the neighbor’s yard. Charlotte’s heart felt like it was going to pound out of her chest.

  The dog stared at her.

  She wanted to tell it everything was okay, but with the window cracked she didn’t dare speak. It would be hard to explain what she was doing in the woman’s bushes.

  She reached for her phone and the dog barked again.

  She froze and he stopped, panting and staring.

  She reached out a few more inches and he barked.

  She stopped and he stopped.

  Charlotte sighed. Oh we’ve got a real funny dog here.

  In one quick movement, she snatched her phone and jumped to her feet to sprint back out to the sidewalk. The dog accompanied her with a soundtrack of low woofs.

  Once on the sidewalk, she slowed herself to a stroll, walking as casually as she could with her heart pounding against her ribcage. She tried to look bored, coming just short of whistling. The dog owner peered through her front window to watch her ease by.

  Charlotte reached the end of the block and leaned against a street pole there, breathless. She’d been so busy looking innocent she’d forgotten to breathe. It felt as though the dog had taken a year off her life.

  So much for recording Jason.

  Even if she’d had the guts to hold her ground, the phone wouldn’t have picked up any sound but the dog’s barks.

  She remained against the pole trying to decide her next move. Down the block she spotted Jason leaving the house. He stopped to shake hands and hug the woman before strolling back to his car.

  Did he hug everyone he interviewed? The woman obviously trusted him and his easy stroll said mission accomplished.

  Jason got in his car and drove past her, making a right to head back home. She turned away to keep him from seeing her face, just in case.

  She didn’t need to follow him anymore.

  Charlotte walked back down the block. She turned on her phone’s video and slipped it in the chest pocket of her linen shirt, careful that the camera lens hovered above the edge.

  She knocked on the woman’s door.

  The witness answered, scowling.

  “Yes?”

  “Rosita?”

  “Yes?”

  “I think you were just talking to my boss, Jason Walsh?”

  The woman’s expression softened. “Yes. Very nice man.”

  “Isn’t he? In fact, he’s so nice, he told me to run back here and offer you a little more money.”

  The woman’s eyes lit up. “No. Seriously?”

  Charlotte tried not to appear excited.

  I think this might just work.

  She cleared her throat “Yep. That’s the kind of man he is. He felt like he shortchanged you a little because he didn’t have enough cash on him, but I wanted to let you know there’s more coming.”

  The woman pounded her own chest with her fist twice before resting her flattened palm across it. “That’s wonderful.”

  Charlotte grimaced. “Shoot. I forget how much he said he already gave you.”

  “Five hundred dollars.”

  “Right. Okay, that makes sense. Because he told me to make it an even thousand.”

  The woman made a little whooping noise.

  “I don’t have it with me but he asked me to go get it and bring it back. I just wanted to make sure you’re still going to be here.”

  “Oh si, si. I’ll be here.”

  “Okay. And...wait. Let me make sure I have the right case.”

  “It’s the Edwardo Castillo case. I saw Edwardo the night he was accused. I know he didn’t do it.”

  “But you’re not going to say that on the stand.”

  “No. I’m not going to say that.” Rosita looked left and right and leaned forward, her volume dropping low. “He is a terrible boy anyway. He deserves what he gets.”

  “We agree. Great. That’s the right case. Okay. Well, I’ll be back.”

  “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. See you in a bit.”

  Charlotte walked back to her car. Inside, she played back the video on her phone.

  She’d captured the entire conversation on tape.

  “Whoo hoo!”

  Gotcha!

  She called Declan.

  “I just totally nailed this job,” she said when he answered.

  “Stephanie’s job?”

  “Yep. Done and done.”

  “That’s great.”

  “Yep. I just wanted to double check with you before I sent her the evidence she needs. You have the whole fingerprint book, right? All the back pages aren’t blank or some such nonsense?”

  “No, it seems like a complete book. But I do have some bad news for you. I had some time to
kill here and ran through it, comparing the fingerprint you gave me. None matched.”

  Charlotte nodded. “I’m not surprised. I have a new theory on what happened and I don’t think it had anything to do with Jamie turning Charity into Witness Disney World.”

  “With a rat instead of a mouse,” added Declan.

  Charlotte laughed. “Ha! Good one. I wish I’d thought of that.”

  Declan chuckled. “I think we’re back to you owing me.”

  “Fair enough. I’ll get dinner tonight for real.”

  “I won’t hold my breath.”

  Charlotte hung up and texted Stephanie to see if she was available. She confirmed she was.

  She sent the compressed video file and waited.

  Three minutes later her phone pinged.

  “That’ll do,” was all Stephanie’s text said.

  “That’ll do?” Charlotte said aloud to no one. “How about thanks? How about that’s perfect?”

  She knew someone who would appreciate her efforts a little better.

  Grumbling to herself, she dialed Frank.

  “Frank here.”

  “Where are you? Are you at home?”

  “No, I’m at the office.”

  “Okay. I’m going to swing by. I have a theory on who killed Kristopher Rudolph I want to bounce off you and we need to do a license plate check.”

  “On a black truck?”

  Charlotte’s brow knit. “Yes. How did you know? Did you talk to Darla about their possum trouble?”

  “Possum trouble?”

  Charlotte grimaced. Maybe I wasn’t supposed to share that part of the story.

  “The black truck with the Nebraska plate,” she answered, hoping Frank wouldn’t notice she’d left out any mention of possums.

  Frank rattled off the license plate number Tilly had given her. Charlotte was dumbfounded.

  “That’s the truck’s plate number. Darla remembered the plate? Did you talk to Tilly?”

  Frank ignored her questions and continued. “Is the guy you think did it named Randy Dobbins?”

  “Huh? No. I mean, maybe. I don’t know. Is that who owns the truck?”

  Frank chuckled. “No. That’s who just walked in and confessed.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  One Week Earlier

  The four gingerbread men pushed their way into Kris Rudolph’s house, tripping over their foam-wrapped feet, doing their best to appear aggressive. That had been the game plan. Gingerbread Three came up with it from her days cheerleading.

  Be aggressive. Be-Ee aggressive!

  Scare him. Confuse him. Keep him off guard. Don’t let him talk unless he was telling them what they wanted to know.

  Kristopher Rudolph’s mouth formed into a ruby oh, a dash of cherry against his white beard. His pupils ringed with white and he threw up his hands.

  Gingerbread One gave Kris a hard shove that sent him stumbling back until his lounge chair caught the back of his legs and he collapsed into it.

  Kris moved to rise, only to be pushed back into his seat by brown, foamy hands.

  “Who are you?”

  Gingerbread Two slapped his chest. “We’re your worst nightmare.”

  “The Four Gingerbread Men of the Apocalypse,” added Four.

  The other three cookies turned to look at Four and he shrugged.

  “What? I just thought of it.”

  Gingerbread One returned to business. “Tell us where our stuff is. All of it. Since the beginning. Every town. Every item.”

  Kris scowled. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Yes you do. You’ve scammed your last little town, scumbag,” said Three.

  “We want it all back. Especially the money,” said Two.

  Kris pointed toward the door. “Get out of my house before I call the police.”

  Four laughed. “You? Call the police? Somehow I doubt that.”

  “Let’s take him like we planned,” suggested Two. “I don’t like doing this here. Too many neighbors.”

  One held up a mitted hand. “Give him a second to answer.”

  “Randy’s got a point,” said Three, the only female voice in the group.

  “No names!” shrieked Two.

  One glanced at him and put a hand on his shoulder. “Easy.”

  Three lowered her voice and leaned towards One. “Sorry. But he does have a point. This garbageface isn’t going to tell us where everything is now. We need bank accounts...he could have multiple storage lockers all over the country—”

  Four turned to her. “Garbageface?”

  She huffed. “I have kids, dog butt.”

  “Speaking of dogs, that dog won’t stop barking,” interjected Two, motioning towards the back of the house.

  “No, you’re right. We should maybe take him.” One pulled off the head of his costume and wriggled out of it to the waist to free his hands.

  “He can see your face,” hissed Two.

  One shrugged. “It don’t matter. What’s he going to do? Call the cops on us and blow his whole operation?” He took a bag from Four’s mitt and pulled a fifth gingerbread man suit from it.

  “Hold out his legs,” he said.

  The others pounced on Kris to hold out his limbs.

  He grunted, struggling to resist. “What are you doing?”

  The others forced him into the costume, pushing and jerking his body up and down, left and right until he’d donned it.

  “He looks heavier than I remember,” said Three.

  Kris pulled one hand free and slapped at his captors. “You people are insane if you think I’m going to let you carry me out of here.”

  Four wrestled to regain control of the slapping hand.

  “Oh, you’re going to let us,” said One, pulling up his own costume.

  Four grabbed Kris’s arm and the old man lurched forward. “Help!”

  “Dangit.” Four slapped his padded hand over Kris’s mouth to muffle the screams. Kris lifted his hips, his arms still pinned.

  “I got it,” said Two, grabbing a cloth elf from where it sat perched on the edge of the television table. He brushed Four’s mitt from Kris’s face and shoved the elf into Kris’s mouth and held it there. The screams stopped, but Kris began to buck as if he was being electrocuted.

  “See? Quiet as a mouse,” said Two. “Hold still, you fat bastard.”

  Four pressed on Kris’s shoulders, holding him as still as he could. Kris shook his head back and forth as Two struggled to hold the elf in place.

  “Put the head on him,” suggested Three.

  With Two still holding the elf against his mouth, One picked up the spare head and set it over Kris’s skull. Kris fell still.

  Three put her mitts on her hips. “Wow. That worked even better than I thought. It works with horses. Put on the blinders and they calm right down.”

  “See, isn’t it better when you don’t fight us?” asked One, rapping Kris on the top of his foam head with his mitt.

  Four chuckled. “He’s like a little kid. You just have to tire him out.”

  Two released the elf and pulled his hand out from under the head, holding out his fingers as if Kris were a Jenga about to topple.

  Kris remained still. No neighbors’ lights switched on. It seemed the worst had ended. The group released a collective sigh.

  “We need to look for that chest of drawers,” suggested Three, wandering towards the back. “I know he had you build it for a reason.”

  One nodded his giant foam head, following her. “Old man Farkus and I spent three months working on that thing. It’s his masterpiece.”

  “Found it!” called Three from the back of the house. “It’s really heavy though.”

  Two looked at Four. “How do you think we should do this?”

  “The dog’s back here locked in the bathroom. A little thing,” called Three.

  “With a big mouth,” said Two.

  “I’m sure he stole it.” One slid past Three as she peeked i
n on the dog and reentered the living room. “Kris is calm now. Let’s take him to the car and away from here and we’ll come back for the bureau.”

  Two huffed. “Can’t we just take it all now? Won’t people get suspicious if we come back? Maybe they’ll let us slide the first time, thinking we’re part of Kris’s festivities, but twice—”

  Three returned to the living room and cut Two short. “We’ll need all four of us to lift that bureau into the truck. And we can’t leave him unattended anywhere.”

  One waved a mitt in the air. “We don’t need to take it, we just need to open it and see what he has inside and take back that. There’s no point taking the whole thing.”

  From the back of the house, the dog continued his steady yap.

  “Doesn’t Farkus want his furniture back?” asked Four.

  “Farkus died last year.”

  “Hey guys,” interjected Two.

  “But you know how to get into it?” asked Four, ignoring Two and continuing his conversation.

  “Yeah. I helped him build it, remember?”

  “Guys?” repeated Two.

  One turned. “What?”

  Two pointed at Kris’s still body with a mitted hand. “It doesn’t look like he’s breathing.”

  “What?”

  All four gingerbread faces turned to Kris. Two removed his head and one mitt and pulled the foam head off Kris.

  The tinge of blue circling Kristopher Rudolph’s lips didn’t look right. His eyes were wide and still.

  And open.

  Three gasped. “He’s dead?”

  Two covered his mouth with his free hand and the four of them gawped at the toy elf staring back at them from beneath Kris’s mustache.

  “He must have had a heart attack,” said Two.

  One turned. “A heart attack? Is it just me or is there an elf sticking out of his mouth?”

  Four leaned in for a better look at the little face staring back at him. “It looks like he suffocated. Where’s the rest of the elf?”

  “What do you mean?” asked Two, his voice dropping to a whisper.

  “Did you stuff an elf down his throat?” asked Three.

  Two dropped the hand from his mouth and gaped. “No, I just pressed it against his mouth.”

  One leaned close. A single white gloved hand poked from the corner of Kris’s lips, as if the elf was trying to climb out.