by Amy Vansant
She’d wanted Jodie Foster to play her in the movie adaptation, but she’d come to realize the actress would be too old by then. One day she’d really have to consider the casting more seriously.
Leaving the storage facility, she noticed a car parked down the street and realized she’d seen it earlier. Was that Alex? Was he following her?
She toyed with the idea of confronting him, but decided it wasn’t time. She didn’t know enough about him yet.
Pretending not to see, she got into her car and headed downtown where it would be easier to lose the tail. When she felt safe, she headed for home.
Parking in her driveway, she pushed her hair from her eyes. I have to be more careful. I have—
Jamie’s hand brushed across her ear and she realized she was missing an earring.
Oh no.
Chapter Seventeen
“Hey,” said Declan, setting down his bowling ball. Mariska’s husband, Bob, had a bowling team and Charlotte had talked him into filling in for one of the missing members.
That was weeks ago.
Now he was a bowler.
Luckily, when a man owned a pawnshop, it wasn’t hard to find a used bowling ball. He unzipped his bag and pulled out the black orb he’d nicknamed Chuck. First, because he chucked it down the lanes. Second, because it had Charles Womak engraved on the side. Declan liked to imagine the real Charles Womak bowled a three hundred, had a heart attack from the shock and died with a smile on his lips.
There were worse ways to go.
Declan stared at his rented bowling shoes, wondering what critters were dying with smiles on their faces in them, when he overheard Bob talking to Lester, another new member of the team. Lester had been shuffled into the lineup after Phil threw out his back leaning over to retrieve a cheese fry he’d dropped. No one could say if he’d been planning to eat it off the carpet, but it was the source of much speculation.
“You have to keep pressing,” said Bob. He sounded very serious.
Lester shook his head. “I dunno. I really get the impression she doesn’t like me. And she’s married.”
“Oh, you don’t know Carolina,” said Bob, waving at him dismissively. “She’s lying about being married.”
“She did have a ring.”
“She got it from a Cracker Jack box. You’ve got her right where you want her.”
Lester sighed. “If you say so.”
“You’ll see. You stick in there. I’ll put in a good word.” Bob patted him on the shoulder and stood to head toward the concession stand.
Declan strode after him, his feet shifting in the ill-fitting shoes as he went. Much bigger feet had stretched the twelves into thirteens. Lots of feet.
A whole bunch of other people’s feet.
He shivered.
“Bob,” he called, reaching forward to tap Bob on the shoulder. Mariska’s husband was a little hard of hearing, which, he said, was why he and Mariska had been married for so long.
Bob glanced over his shoulder.
“Declan! You want me to get you a beer?”
“Sure. Hey, what were you talking about with Lester? Something about Auntie Carolina?”
Bob started chuckling. “What you heard, my boy, is pure genius.”
Declan flanked him to the beer window and Bob ordered brews by holding up two fingers.
“Tell me,” urged Declan while they waited.
Bob began chuckling again, making it difficult for him to speak. “I told him to pursue Carolina.”
“Pursue? You mean flirt? Try and date her?”
Bob nodded, holding his stomach. “She’s going to hate it.”
“Carolina is married, right?”
“Yep. She hates people flirting, too, but I’ve got Lester in a froth. He’s going to hunt her like a coon hound. She’s his little squirrel.”
Bob hooted and wiped away a tear of laughter. Declan couldn’t help but grin.
“So you’re trying to torture her?”
Bob nodded and snorted. The noise took him by surprise and made him laugh harder. “It’s no more than she puts me through every time she shows up. The woman can’t stand me. I don’t know why. But two can play that game.”
“Charlotte told me she’s a teetotaler. Maybe she just doesn’t like the fact you enjoy a fine bourbon once in a while.”
“Oh she hates drinkers.” The server put two mugs of beer on the counter and Bob lifted his into the air.
“Cheers!”
Declan bowled a one hundred sixty-six. It was the best official game he’d had in a while and he was feeling pretty good about the evening. He sat back in his chair to finish the last drop of beer and noticed red and blue lights dancing on the cement wall of the bowling center. While colorful, the lights paled compared to the bowling alley’s disco night lights, so he turned to look for the source. He spotted a police cruiser parked outside; sirens off, lights on. Two policemen entered the building, clearly looking for someone.
“Wonder what that’s about,” he said to no one in particular. Lester was sitting one chair away from him. He was slumped down low, his expression frozen and unreadable. “You feeling okay, Lester?”
“My car. Car trouble. Could you give me a ride back?”
Declan nodded. “Sure. Let me just return these shoes—”
“Bob will do it,” said Lester, grabbing Declan’s shoes and placing them on top of Bob’s. Bob had wandered outside to have a cigar with some of the other men in the league.
“Okay...”
Lester stood and scurried out of the bowling center, giving the cops a wide berth. He exited through the side door, which no one ever used, even though Declan had left through the front.
Confused, Declan continued to his car and Lester appeared shortly afterward, opened the back door of the car, slid in and shut the door.
Declan scowled and looked from Lester to the police car and back again. He opened his own door and sat inside.
“Something you want to tell me, Lester?”
“What’s that?”
“Why are you slumped in my back seat?”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I have a little bit of a stomach ache. I knew I shouldn’t have had the fried shrimp. If you could maybe hurry?”
Declan’s eyes narrowed. Now he didn’t know what was worse; having a wanted criminal in his car or having a man about to lose his bowling alley fried shrimp all over the back seat.
He started the engine and pulled out. Pineapple Port was only fifteen minutes away. Chances were pretty good Lester wouldn’t throw up or kill him in that short a distance.
“Is there anything I can do?” he asked.
“No, no. Just get me home. Thanks. I really appreciate this.”
Declan nodded and drove. He was only on the road five minutes before he spotted the flashing lights in his rearview mirror.
The cops had followed him.
“I wasn’t speeding,” he said.
“What?” Lester sat up like a gopher and peered out the back window. “Did you run a stoplight or something?”
“No.”
Declan began to pull over.
“Just keep going,” said Lester.
“What?”
“They don’t want you. Just keep going.”
“Lester, they’re right behind me.”
The police car released a little whoop whoop!
“See? They want me.”
He pulled over and Lester began to groan.
“Your stomach,” said Declan, putting the car in park. “Are you going to be alright?”
“Oh no no no no...”
“There was a tap on the window and Declan rolled it down.
“Hello officer, how can I help you?”
The policeman shined his light on Lester through the back window. “Do you know this man?”
Declan turned and looked at Lester as if he was surprised to find him in the back seat.
Do I know Lester? Who really knows anyone?
He refocused on
the officer. “He’s Lester. He’s in my bowling league. He asked for a ride home.”
In the passenger side mirror, Declan could see the officer’s partner open the back door. He asked Lester to step out. Declan squinted at the image.
Does he have his gun drawn?
Lester slid out of the car, looking very small and worried, his hands held aloft.
“Wait here,” said the first cop.
Declan waited and watched as the officers walked Lester to the curb and began questioning him. He tried to inch down the passenger side window, but with the traffic going by, he couldn’t make out the conversation.
Oh Lester. What did you do?
He gasped, remembering his conversation with Bob. And who was Bob sending after Carolina?
Five minutes later the police officer was back at Declan’s window.
“You can go,” he said.
“What about Lester?”
“He’s coming with us.” The officer lingered to see if Declan had a problem with that.
No problem.
He rolled up the window and drove home.
The rest of the drive he could only think about one thing: Charlotte was going to be so disappointed in him when he couldn’t tell her why the police took Lester.
Chapter Eighteen
During her morning dog walk, Charlotte noted missing plants in many of the front yards around Pineapple Port. Someone was definitely helping themselves to the landscaping. She was a little disappointed she hadn’t noticed before Penny pointed out the thefts. Seamus would have been horrified at her observational skills.
A rectangular piece of paper had lodged itself in the blades of grass of Darla’s front yard and she picked it out, recognizing it as one of the doorknocker advertisements that showed up from time to time. A few doors down she saw another resting against the side of a painted cement alligator, and she grabbed that one as well. It was a door hanger for a power washing service. There had been a bit of a squall the night before; the wind had blown the hangers from their doorknobs. She hadn’t seen one on her own door, so one of the offending pieces of trash was probably hers. She looked on the back. In pen was scrawled Zeke P. She reasoned Zeke P. received a bonus for any leads he generated.
Zeke P. would do better if he checked the weather.
Staring at the advert, Charlotte had a thought. Zeke P. saw every house in the neighborhood and visited each briefly before scurrying away. Some of the residents were easily enraged by things like people spamming their doors, so he probably did it at night or very early in the morning before anyone would see him.
And if no one saw him, couldn’t he help himself to their plants?
No.
It couldn’t be that easy, could it?
Companies hired young people to do these sorts of jobs. Why would a kid want to steal plants? And why would he steal plants and then leave his signature at every crime site?
Still...
Wrapping Abby’s leash around her wrist, Charlotte pulled her phone from her pocket, flipped over the door hanger and called the power washing company.
“Is Zeke there?” she asked.
“Zeke?” The man sounded confused. They probably hired an outside firm to do their door hanging.
This would be a dead end. Serves me right for thinking it could be this easy.
“Zeke doesn’t come in for another half an hour.”
Ha! Door-hanger-Zeke did work for them! They couldn’t have two people named Zeke.
“Oh. Half an hour? He said something about selling his car to me.”
“His truck? Really? He loves that thing.”
“The black Chevy, right?”
“What? No. Zeke’s got an old white Bronco. Lady, I think you have the wrong guy.”
“This is Pete’s garage, right?”
“No this is Pete’s Power Washing.”
“Oh! I’m so sorry.”
“No problem.”
Charlotte hung up. She held her breath a moment, hoping the man wouldn’t find it odd that there was a guy named Zeke at fictional Pete’s Garage, too. She was afraid he’d call her back to explore his suspicions.
She walked another block with no phone call.
Heh.
Zeke would be in in half an hour.
Charlotte returned home, showered and changed while Abby wandered to her bowl for a drink.
Something felt different.
She watched the dog for a minute, and then realized the thing she felt amiss was Abby’s daily bolt around the house after her walk. Today, there was no frantic gallop from room to room. Just as suddenly as the tradition began, it had stopped.
She hoped she wasn’t going to have to take Abby to doggy therapy.
Pete’s Power Washing was only fifteen minutes away. Her hunch was probably nothing, but a lead was a lead, and she intended to follow up on it. If she could solve the case of the plant-nappings, maybe Penny would send all sorts of little jobs her way. The Case of the Clogged Recreation Center Toilet. The Mysterious Appearance of the Ensure Nutrition Shake Bottle in the Pool. The possibilities were endless.
She passed her fridge and ducked, allowing the cat to sail over her head onto the island.
Nice try.
She shut the door and headed for Mariska’s. She was nearly there when she saw Mariska at the window. Charlotte pointed to the car and then herself and Mariska nodded. She could borrow it. The keys, she knew, were on the floor.
Charlotte didn’t even have to slow down to scan the parking lot as she neared Pete’s Power Washing. An old white Bronco matching Zeke’s boss’ description was parked on the street outside the small brick building. She noted the license plate and drove another block before parking.
She had two options. She could sit, watch and hope Zeke went home for lunch, or she could call Frank and beg him to run the license for her. Pineapple Port was his neighborhood, after all, and plants were disappearing at an alarming rate. That meant a lot of irate neighbors. Why wouldn’t he look up the license plate for her?
She called the Sheriff’s office and the new receptionist, Ruby, answered.
“Hey Miss Ruby, it’s Charlotte. Is Frank there?”
“Well, hello to you, you sweet thing! You know, he is not. Out and about. Wanderin’. He’s a wanderer, that one. Hates sittin’ at his desk. Can’t get him to do no paperwork, no how.”
“Oh.” Charlotte sighed. Things had been going too well on this case, it was silly of her to think everything would fall into place.
“Whatcha need, baby?”
“I was hoping he could run a plate for me. I have a lead on a rash of plant thefts.”
Ruby hooted with laughter. “Look at you. Such a little detective. Lot better-lookin’ than the mess we have around here, too, let me tell you.”
“Well, thank you. I guess I’ll—”
“Now hold on, I’ll run that plate for you. Just give me a minute to get to the other room.”
“You?” Charlotte heard the phone hit the desk and then nothing for several minutes. Finally, Ruby’s melodious voice returned.
“Sorry ‘bout that. Got caught up with Deputy Dippity there for a second. Now what’s the plate, sugar?”
“Can you do that? Are you sure? Won’t you get in trouble?”
“Aw, you don’t worry about me. I do this all the time. I looked up the car parked at my neighbor’s house the other day just to confirm she was havin’ an affair. And she is. With her boss, too. Shameful.”
“Okay. I guess I shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”
“Who you callin’ a horse?” Ruby cackled with laughter.
Charlotte rattled off the license plate of the white Bronco and Ruby relayed Zeke’s address.
“Thank you so much, Ruby. This was much easier than sitting here watching this guy all day to find out where he lives,” said Charlotte.
“Well, baby girl, way I see it I owe you one.”
“How do you figure?”
“Frank’s
been tickled pink since you started working with him. And the better mood he’s in, the better off I am.”
Charlotte laughed. “I’ll keep trying to make him happy for you.”
“I appreciate that.”
Charlotte checked her rearview to be sure Zeke’s truck was still parked and then headed for his home. Her brow furrowed as she pulled into the Sturdy Oaks retirement community. She’d pictured Zeke much younger than the fifty-five-year-old requirement age.
Double checking the map app on her phone, she rolled down Bark Street looking for number two hundred twenty-four.
As soon as she saw the address given to her by Ruby, she knew there’d been no reason to creep down the street for fear of missing it. The house looked like a garden center had thrown up on it. Flowers covered every inch of the front yard.
She parked Mariska’s car a few houses away and hopped out to give the property a more thorough inspection on foot. She was nearly to it when she spotted a woman in a lavender turban sitting on the screened front porch. She froze, but the woman looked up and locked eyes with her. Turning and walking back to the car wasn’t an option without appearing suspicious.
“Quite a garden you have,” she said.
Even through the screen, she could see the woman break into a brilliant smile.
“Isn’t it wonderful?” The woman rose from her chair and opened the screen door to poke out her head.
With the number of flowers littering the yard Charlotte knew she had to have the right address, but as long as she was talking to the woman, she figured she might as well poke around about Zeke. The woman definitely wasn’t the plant-napper, she was fragile and moving slowly.
“Did you do this yourself?” she asked.
The woman shook her head. “Oh no, no. I couldn’t do anything like this. It was my grandson, Zeke.”
Bingo. Charlotte smiled, her mystery solved. “He must be quite a green thumb,” she said, planning her retreat.
