by Linda Ellen
Those words melted the fear and apprehension away, as he knew they would. It was their private code for stealing a little romantic time alone together. They’d had dessert after lunch many times in the early days of their marriage, but once the kids had come along and Lilly had moved in, those interludes had dwindled down to few and far between. In all of the years since the moment she had met Vic, it had only taken one touch or one whisper in her ear in that special way of his, for her to melt right into his arms. The potency of his allure had never waned.
She turned her head and snuggled against him for a moment, meeting his lips for a quick, but promising kiss. Pulling back, she met his eyes, and he was thrilled to see the sparkle in those beautiful hazel depths as she teasingly whispered, “Well, if you’re wantin’ dessert with this meal, I better get crackin’.”
He chuckled and gave her a squeeze. “I’ll help get the show on the road.”
With that, he leaned in again and nuzzled her neck, giving her ear a soft nip before turning to the sink to wash his hands.
Leftovers were warmed up and placed on the table in record time.
*
The next day, Vic looked over from adding oil to a customer’s engine to find John Womack leaning against the doorpost of the office, grinning at him like the proverbial Cheshire cat.
Vic maneuvered out from under the hood of the ’52 Ford Coupe he was working on for one of his regulars and reached for the ever-present shop rag in his back pocket. Eyeing his friend with a raised eyebrow as he wiped his hands, he observed, “From that grin on your face, I take it you come bearin’ good news?”
The grin only got bigger as John milked the suspense a bit longer. His sense of humor at times reminded Vic of Alec’s.
“Come on, man. You catch the guy already or what?”
Oscar looked over from his task of stocking oilcans on a shelf as Floyd moseyed in from serving a gas customer. The detective acknowledged the other two and then glanced back to Vic. “You could say that.”
Vic’s eyes narrowed as he studied his friend. “It was him, wasn’t it?”
Womack gave a nod. “You pegged it. Ran his plates, got a search warrant, and bang, busted.”
“It was who, Chief?” Floyd asked, looking from one man to the other.
Vic glanced at Floyd with a wry smile. “Remember that Hilliard fella last week – the ’48 Rambler with the loud knock?”
Floyd nodded. “De one that sounded like it couldn’t get outta its own way?”
“Yep,” Vic acknowledged. “Hilliard picked it up yesterday, sayin’ he didn’t have the money for the repairs and he’d have to come back later. But he asked me all kind ’a questions, like what’s the station’s hours and when I made the deposit, and how much help I had. He said he was dreaming of trying to borrow the capital to open his own station – although at the moment, he couldn’t even afford repairs to his own vehicle.”
The detective took up the story, “So he pulls away in the car, but circles around a few minutes later and parks in Frisch’s lot next door. He changes into an old jacket, walks over, ducks around the side of the building on the field side, slips on a ski mask, and proceeds to stick up what he figures is an easy mark.”
Vic scowled at that, remembering that he had been deep in thought about his wife at the time. “I sure was. He caught me with my head in the clouds.”
“But boss, I don’t get how you knew it was him,” Oscar asked, clearly confused.
Womack leaned into the doorjamb and gave his friend a nod of respect. “Vic had heard the guy’s car pull away after he was barricaded in the storage room – and it was making a God-awful knocking noise. Coupled with that, he realized that the robber’s voice was similar – and a few things he said, like that Vic here was living his dream. When I got to his house with the search warrant, I could hear a whale of an argument going on inside.”
“A what?” Vic asked, moving on into the office. The others followed, hanging on to every word the detective said.
Womack laughed. “Seems your illustrious burglar was receiving a royal chewing-out by his wife. When I knocked on the door and I showed her my badge, she took me right into the kitchen and handed me the deposit bag, her husband standing there with his mouth open in shock. Don’t that beat all?” he added, shaking his head at the craziness of how things had played out. “In eighteen years on the force, I’ve never run across anything like it.”
“Wit’ de money still in de bag?” Floyd asked as he shoved his U-Haul cap back and scratched his head with a laugh.
“Yep. Speaking of which…” John grinned again and reached inside his jacket. He pulled out said bag, with the First National Bank logo stamped on the front, and tossed it to Vic. “Count it, should be all there.”
“I got a question,” Floyd asked as he drew near Vic. “How’d you prove dis partic’ler bag belongs to Vic?”
John wiggled his eyebrows. “The magic of detective work.” At Floyd and Oscar’s blank looks, he laughed and admitted, “Along with the cash, there was a check inside, made out to Matthews Service Station. Seems like Vic overlooked that one…accidentally on purpose?”
Vic laughed and shook his head as he manipulated the drawstring on the canvas bank deposit bag and took out the bills. Taking a quick count, he nodded. “Yep, it’s all there.” Looking back up at his friend and shaking his head in amazement again, he asked, “Don’t you need to keep this…for evidence or something?”
Womack shrugged. “Usually. But under extenuating circumstances, I have the authority to release an item if I feel like it. Extenuating as in – Christmastime.”
Vic nodded, tossing the bag and money onto his desk. “So…now what happens?”
John turned to sit down in a chair in front of the desk and crossed one leg over the other as Floyd and Oscar gathered near. “He’ll get at least six months. It was his first offense but…” he paused as he drew a smooth wooden pipe out of his inside pocket and readied it to light, before glancing at Vic. “But he didn’t really have a gun, so it wasn’t ‘armed robbery’, which is a felony.”
“Yes he did, I saw it. He stuck it in my back when he was shovin’ me in that closet,” Vic insisted, but the detective grinned around the stem of the pipe and met his friend’s eyes.
“It was a toy. Quite a realistic one, granted – pearl handle and all – but a toy, nonetheless. He never intended to shoot or harm you.”
“Well I’ll be…” Vic murmured. That gun had fooled him completely, and all the time, it was a toy cap gun. “Well, now I feel like a dang fool for allowing the jerk to make off with my money, when I could have just decked him and been done with it.”
Womack lit the pipe and pulled in a deep draw, eyeing his friend. “Seems the guy’s a veteran, but when he came back from the war, he couldn’t get his old job back, and has had trouble finding work ever since. His wife had threatened to leave him and take their little girl. Matter of fact, she’d been right next door at Frisch’s just minutes before he pulled his stunt, applying for a waitress job.”
Vic’s eyes widened, realizing he had stood and watched them, having no idea that her husband was about to stick him up.
“Mrs. Hilliard was really giving him the business about what a stupid stunt he had pulled when I knocked on the door. She’d been trying to get him to get in the car and take the money back to you – I just made it easier. She uh…” Vic’s friend paused, “she said to tell you she was very sorry for what her husband did, and that she feels partly responsible, as her threat to leave him is what sent him over the edge of desperation. She said he’s never done a dishonest thing like this before, and she’s known him practically all their lives. She’s hoping…”
Vic’s eyes narrowed as he surveyed the smooth talking detective. “Hoping what?”
The man drew on the pipe again. “Well, she’s kind of hoping that you’ll see your way clear to dropping the charges.”
“Drop the charges!” “Can Vic do that?” “After what h
e did?” the three men listening reacted simultaneously.
Womack nodded as he blew out a puff of smoke. “If he brought ’em, he can drop ’em.”
Vic circled his desk and plopped into the chair at this totally unexpected development. Drop the charges…after he had been so all-fired angry at the man the day before, he would almost have wished him strung up to the nearest tree. Now, he sat looking into Womack’s knowing eyes, and he couldn’t help but relate. How many years had he, himself, gone jobless, no matter how hard he had tried. He knew just what the man had been feeling…well…almost. His own desperation had resulted in him taking a job that was less than legal, but it wasn’t outright thievery. Although, he and Louise hadn’t been married already, with a small child. What would he have done if Louise had given him such an ultimatum? He shuddered to imagine.
All three men were staring at him in wide-eyed concentration, waiting for what he would say. After a minute, he made his decision. How could he do anything less? It was Christmastime…he had his money back…the guy was a family man… Vic already knew what Doc would say. He’d be quoting something Jesus said about forgiving seventy times seven.
“All right. I’ll drop ’em,” he nodded at John. “But first…do you happen to know what he did while in the service? Where he served? And…” he paused, looking directly into his friend’s eyes. “What’s his attitude like? Would you trust him?”
This time, the detective removed the pipe from his mouth and flashed his full grin, as he answered, “He said he’d worked in the motor pool. I believe he realizes what a stupid idea it was and I don’t think he’ll ever try something like that again, plus his wife said if he ever did, she’d leave him for sure. And yes, I’d trust him. I’d stake my reputation on it.” Placing the pipe back in his mouth, he clamped it to the side and added with a wink, “Kind of like I did a few years back with another young fella who needed a break.”
Vic nodded. “All right. That’s good enough for me. Hang on, let me make a quick phone call.” Floyd and Oscar glanced at one another, answering each other’s silent queries with matching shrugs.
Vic picked up the phone and dialed a number. Waiting a few rings, he sat back in the chair as it emitted a soft squeak, smiling as a familiar voice answered.
“Hap?” he addressed his former boss, Horatio Alvin Pait, but no one called him that on threat of bodily harm. He went by his initials in everything but his marriage license and his business license. The man had been a good friend as well as employer, and had even helped Vic to start his own business – in spite of the fact that it meant losing his best employee. Now, they were contemporaries, as both owned and managed service stations. Hap’s was a Gulf station, downtown near Fourth and Chestnut, although his biggest moneymaker was the large parking lot one block over, which Vic had managed for his intrepid boss.
The three interested males watching his face as he held the phone to his ear only heard one side of the conversation. “How’s it goin’? Aw, I’m doin’ just fine. Family’s fine. Yep, the boys are growin’ like weeds. Station’s fine. Business is good. Yep. Hey listen…I wonder if you would do me a favor. See, it’s like this…” he began, and spent the next few minutes filling his friend in on everything that had happened – and the opinion of their mutual friend, John “Law” Womack.
He listened as Hap responded pretty much as he had done – on the strength of Vic’s word he would go out on a limb and give this guy a break.
“But,” Hap stated emphatically. “You tell Womack, if Hilliard crosses me just one time, I’ll string him up from the rafters…” adding just what body part he would use.
Vic laughed at that, and the relaxed detective let out a loud guffaw when he passed on the message.
By the time he got off the phone twenty minutes later, Vic was all smiles, and happy that all was right with the world again. He had his money back, he could proceed with his plans to infuse a little romance back into his marriage, and he had been instrumental in seeing that another family had a happy Christmas.
Hap had agreed to take on the repentant robber as an employee at his newest venture – a Gulf Station farther up Shelbyville Road. It was even on the bus line, so Hilliard could get to work and back while saving up the money to have his car repaired.
Sometimes things just worked out…with a little bit of nudging from above and little bit of obeying here below.
‡
CHAPTER 9
Christmas in Buechel
Vic had been blessed with an extra heavy string of customers at the station, and as soon as school let out, Tommy was back to work, helping Chief any way he could.
It was Friday, a week prior to Christmas, before Vic had an opportunity to take an evening off. He spent it with the family, picking out a Christmas tree at a nearby seller stand.
Louise had been cleaning, sprucing, and decorating to beat the band. On Saturday morning, she and the youngest boys tackled the job of putting up and decorating the tree.
“Put a little more right up there, on the left…see that shy spot?” Louise coached eight-and-a-half-year-old Buddy, who was helping put the final touches on their masterpiece.
Using a kitchen chair to reach the upper parts of the tree, Buddy moved it over a bit and climbed back up to try his best to follow her orders. “Here, Mama?” he asked as he tossed a handful of shiny tinsel at what he thought was the spot.
“No, not there, up a little more, and to the left. Don’t you see that empty space?” Louise demanded, a bit abrasively. Buddy clamped his teeth on his bottom lip as he concentrated. Leaning toward the tree to grasp some of the last placed handful, he took careful aim and flung a good amount at the offending open area, filling it perfectly. “How’s that?” he asked, turning his head eagerly to look down at his mother several feet back.
Louise squinted at the finished product, with her hands on her hips, and finally gave a nod. “It’ll have to do, I guess. Climb on down.”
The boy obeyed, feeling a bit let down when he couldn’t seem to please his mom.
Lilly walked into the room from the kitchen, glancing around at the decorations while wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. Having heard the conversation, she examined the tree and nodded approval, her eyes sliding over to her daughter as she assessed Louise’s mood.
Watching her daughter fussing with the garland strung on the tree, Lilly offered, “Everything looks fine, Louise. It’s a beautiful tree.” Pausing, she added, “Is something wrong?”
Louise briefly looked over at her mother, trying to tamp down her feelings of anxiety. For the life of her, she couldn’t figure out why she felt so on edge. Every little thing seemed to agitate her, but she was ashamed of those emotions, as they made her feel selfish and ungrateful. “No, nothing’s wrong,” she denied, answering over her shoulder as she continued to fiddle with the tree. “I just want everything to be perfect for our first Christmas in our new house.”
Lilly nodded, pursing her lips thoughtfully, her eyes narrowing as she continued to watch. Finally, she decided against trying to initiate a pep talk and with a shrug of one shoulder, she turned and went back into the kitchen to continue with her baking.
“Can I put the pointer on, Mama, can I?” Jimmy begged, as he eagerly removed the delicate Mercury Glass tree topper from its protective tissue paper-lined cardboard box. The turquoise and silver topper, with its round glittering base tapering up to a long cylindrical point, had become extremely fragile over the years. Purchased along with other beautiful ornaments the first Christmas that Vic and Louise were married in 1941, the topper was one of Louise’s cherished possessions.
“Oh, be careful, honey!” she gasped as she hurried to his side and gently removed the breakable item from his hands.
“I am. I won’t break it, Mama,” he insisted. “Can I put it on?” he begged again, gazing up at her anxiously as he bounced with little-boy energy.
Holding it gingerly, Louise was momentarily taken back to the wonderful night she and Vic had b
rought it home to their apartment. Vic made her feel like a princess and he her knight on a white horse as he had bought nearly everything she asked for on their trip to purchase Christmas decorations. Now, every year as she removed the treasured ornaments from their box, sweet nostalgia hit her like a tidal wave. In her mind’s eye, she relived the evening…Tommy so little Vic was holding him in his arms…both she and Vic so young and eager to make a good life for themselves and her little boy…Vic being such a sweet daddy to little Tommy…Vic being such a wonderful husband and provider to Louise…
“Please?” a sweet voice asked. She glanced down and her heart melted. Jimmy was such a lovable child, adorably cute with his big dark-hazel eyes and dimples like his father. As her youngest, he was nearly impossible to deny when he made a request in such an endearing manner.
She reached out a hand and lovingly smoothed the coal black hair back from his forehead as an impish smile lit his countenance. “All right, but we’ll have to find the ladder. Mama can’t pick you up that high, and we want to have the Christmas tree all decorated before Daddy and Tommy get home from work tonight.”
“I’ll get it!” Buddy yelled over his shoulder as he turned to run through the living room and kitchen, opening the back door to step out into the carport and retrieve said ladder. The wooden, paint-speckled ladder was quite heavy, but he managed to half carry, half drag it into the living room, with Lilly following along behind and fussing.
With much vigilant coaching, and instructions to Buddy to help hold the ladder still, Louise guided Jimmy to climb up and secure the treasured item at the top of the tree.
As she and Buddy stepped back, she wrapped an arm across his shoulders and they smiled up at the precocious youngster and the finished product.
“How’s that, Mama?” he asked with a huge grin.
“Just perfect, honey. Just perfect,” she answered as both of her boys gazed at her lovingly.
