Checkered Past (A Laurel London Mystery Book 2) (3 page)

It really wasn’t hard. I got into the bank computer system and looked up different accounts, Porty Morty’s being one of them. I called in a delivery of pizzas to the orphanage, and used the various accounts to pay for five-hundred dollars worth of the delicious pizza.

 Needless to say, a few days later I did get caught. But it was worth it! The orphans loved it.

“Laurel London, haven’t you learned your lesson?” Sheriff Jimbo Warren asked.

“You might be good at hacking stuff, but you ain’t good at being a criminal. You get caught every time.” Trixie pleaded with me to stop pulling the shenanigans even though every single crime I did commit was for the orphans. “You have a heart of gold. But you have got to stop.”

Ahem.
Derek cleared his throat bringing me out of my stroll down memory lane.

“Most of the citizens of Walnut Grove have forgiven me!” I shouted and flailed about before I bent down and picked up the paper out of the trash. I tucked the paper under my arm. “Why can’t you?”

In a huff, I stormed out the bank building hoping to make a clean getaway. Just as I got my hand on the handle of the Old Girl, Derek yelled my name.

“Not so fast.”

I snapped my fingers, my face contorted. “Damn.” I looked at him. My childhood best friend and fellow orphan had gone and grown up on me. “And to think that I almost got away this one time.”

“And to think you are still acting like a teenager.” He kicked a small pebble with the toe of his cop shoe. We both watched it until it hit the curb. “I’m supposed to arrest you for trespassing.”

The reflection from the sun darted off his glasses, blinding me momentarily. When I looked back up, his jaw tensed making his dimples deepen.

“You aren’t laughing.” I snickered hoping to get some sort of response out of him. “And you aren’t cuffing me.” I put my wrists out in front of me and tapped them together.

“This isn’t funny. You know I have taken over for Sheriff Warren since he retired and I can’t be doing any favors.” Derek was in a predicament and I could see it written all over that cute face of his.

“Well,” I said, and for a brief moment thought I could cut and run. Only the big gun on his hip along with the uniform intimidated me a tad bit. “I guess we can come up with something. I was only in there to. . .”

“To what, Laurel?” He ran his fingers through his short brown hair. His biceps were much larger than I had remembered them being.

As a matter of fact, Derek had grown from a scrawny kid with zits to a hunk with muscles.

“I was . . .” I stalled for more time. “Going to open an account.”

I couldn’t bring myself to tell him the real reason I was there. It wasn’t like it was police business. It was small town gossip and I was ashamed to admit I had nothing better to do. And I would’ve sworn on my life that she mouthed
Willie Ray Bowman
when she was in The Cracked Egg. Her eyes haunted me. Willie Ray Bowman haunted me.

The honking horn and screeching wheels of Clyde Yap’s old Chevy came around the building. Trixie hung out the window like a pet dog. Even her eyes were bugged out. The truck came to an abrupt halt.

“I heard on the police scanner that Laurel was down here robbin’ the bank.” Trixie jumped out like a grasshopper.

Trixie Turner was short in stature but tall on attitude. Her long grey hair was pulled up so tight into a high ponytail she looked as though she’d had a facelift. Her shirt had a big ninety printed on the front and the ends of it looked like a paper shredder had gotten ahold of it. She had on cropped acid-washed jeans and an old pair of red Converse high-tops that looked entirely too big.

“You don’t need the money.” She grabbed my arm. Her nails dug into the flabby part of my arm. I bent down in pain. She whispered, “You have got plenty of money.”

“You don’t need to dress like that.” I jerked away from her and inspected my arm. “You know I’m not spending any of that money. So get it out of your head.”

There were four red lines where her nails dragged and then dug. I rubbed out the pain, but the scratches still remained.

“Don’t worry, Trixie.” Derek gave her a big hug. All because of Trixie, Derek turned out the way he did. “Laurel was only trying to open an account.”

She gave me the stink eye. No one was going to pull a fast one over on Trixie Turner, not even me.

“Is that right, Laurel?” Clyde Yap asked as if he was my daddy.

“Clyde, what business, if any, is this of yours?” I put my hands on my hips and tapped my boot.

“None I suppose. But Trixie called me down at the Gas-N-Go to get her right away.” Clyde dug his hands in his overalls. “I had to leave work and I’m not getting paid.”

Clyde worked on the other end of town, not far from where the orphanage used to be, at the Gas-N-Go. Baxter Thacker was the owner of the only gas station in town and I was sure he was making a racket charging high prices for gas.

Baxter was a bastard. No one crossed him. Not even in my rowdy days did I ever think about knocking off the gas station.

“No. It’s not true. I was trying to open an account just like Derek said.” I gave one good nod of the head. “Now, can we leave?”

“Not until we settle a little matter of trespassing.” Derek just wasn’t going to let it go. “Besides, Pepper Spivy wouldn’t let it drop for nothing.”

Pepper and Sally’s noses were plastered to the glass doors. The one shoving the other to get a better view of what was happening.

I flipped them the bird. And just because I felt like a two-for-one deal, I flipped them the other one.

“That’s not going to help.” Derek rolled his eyes and took out his little notebook. “I’m going to ticket you for trespassing; the fee is five hundred dollars.”

I gasped.

He put up his hand to shush me.

“I know five hundred dollars is steep and it’s going to hurt your pockets, but you have got to learn.” He ripped the piece of paper off the pad and handed it to me. “I also will recommend giving you community service.”

“Community service?” I freaked.

The five hundred dollars wasn’t going to be easy to get with my Drive Me app. There was no way I was going to dip into the blood money to pay the fine. Ben Bassman had talked me into keeping a hundred thousand dollars at hand. I couldn’t stand the thought of it, so I pulled up one of the hardwood planks in Trixie’s old office at the orphanage and stuck it under there. I nailed it down and I couldn’t tell you which plank the cash was under.

“That’s fair.” Trixie put her hands on her hips and tapped her foot.

“No it’s not if you want to remodel the rooms in the orphanage.” I cocked a brow, giving her a glare.

Trixie had taken real good care of me and “retired” on my eighteenth, though she was barely at retirement age. That was the deal she had made with The Gorilla. When I became of legal age and moved out of the orphanage, she was to close it down. Fortunately for us, my grandfather left the orphanage and land to me and in my name. Recently Trixie and I moved back in and were trying to make it our home.  I’d used a little of the blood money for some furniture.

“Yeah, community service is perfect.” He used his pen to jab the bottom of the paper. “There are the instructions. Be there.”

Derek put his hat back on his head and moseyed on back to his police cruiser. It took everything in my power not to flip him the two-for-one special.

Chapter Three

Trixie didn’t bother getting back into Clyde’s truck. She hopped right in the front seat of the Old Girl in her normal lecturing position with her arms crossed, which told me I was about to get a talking to.

I was right. The whole way home Trixie pitched a fit about how I had been fired from Porty Morty’s and it was a good job—not to mention she’d stuck her neck out for me. And if I kept going around actin’ all high-falutin, people would wonder where the money was coming from and my heritage had to be kept a secret. Apparently, my grandfather had pissed off a lot of people, not to mention killed a lot, and if anyone found out who I was .  . .I’d be a goner.

“He was losing money.” I reminded her why Morty had to let me go. “Let’s face it. There aren’t enough funerals, weddings, graduations, and family gatherings that are in dire need for port-a-potties. Besides, I have my Drive Me app now.”

I had taken River Road to avoid Main Street. Not that it was heavy with traffic, it would be heavy with people walking around and Trixie would be hooting and hollering out the window greeting them. I’d have to stop to let her chat and there was no time for that. I wanted to see what The Hub had to say and go see Jax.

“Driving strangers around all day isn’t my idea of a good job.” Trixie huffed so hard her shoulders and arms jerked up. “Little Missy, you aren’t fooling me none with any of that
‘I want to open an account’
bull malarkey.”

“The Gorilla left me a lot of money.” I wasn’t planning on using it, but it kept Trixie happy to think I was. I turned the car right down Fifth Street. “I can’t hide all the cash in the floorboards much longer. What if we had a fire?”

“No. Let Ben Bassman deal with it. I’ll give him a call and he can take the cash to his place. Keep it in some safe or something.” Trixie’s head almost twirled off her shoulders when we passed Shear Illusions. She stuck her hands on the dash in front of her. “Stop!”

Kim Banta was standing in front of her shop holding a big bunch of flowers. Curly Dean was standing next to her. There was an airbus attached to Curly’s husband’s 1972 Ford wood-paneled station wagon. Bo Dean recently passed and his funeral was in a couple days. They lived in the country and had the best land to garden.

Many times I had snuck over to their farm and dug up a few raw vegetables to eat. On Sundays at the Friendship Baptist church service, I’d overhear Bo and Curly telling everyone how their garden was being ravaged by bunnies. Little did they know, it was me. I stopped because Bo was a kind man who always gave me a lollipop when I walked into church.

Curly. She was not so nice. She snarled at the orphans as Trixie marched us right up to the front pew in our dumpster-rescued outfits. I guess Trixie never forgot it and she and Curly hadn’t been friends since.

Curly was the same in my teen years. She was the secretary at Walnut Grove High and she was just as nasty to us then.

Bo had the best spot to sell his vegetables and ferns at the Farmer’s Market that was held every Sunday in the parking lot between Lucky Strikes and Food Town on the far side of town.

I did what Trixie asked. It was either pull over or listen to her gripe about why I had really gone into the bank. She jumped out of the Old Girl quicker than a jackrabbit.

Kim squinted watching Trixie with a close eye. She was a tall woman with frizzy, bleached-blond hair. Every time I saw her she had different colored hair. No wonder it was so fried. I’m not sure why everyone in town still kept her in business. It was closer than heading to Louisville. Even I found myself in her chair with her fingers in my hair.

“What’s all this about?” Trixie stood between Curly and Kim. She pointed to Curly’s big silver airbus,
Dean’s Florist
written across it in green spray paint.

“Advertising.” Curly took the dangling cigarette out of her mouth, threw it next to her foot and snuffed it out. She pushed back her stray brown hair that had lost its way out of the low ponytail she always wore, exposing her tan, wrinkly skin—from years of working on a farm, gardening, and not using a bit of sunscreen.

“Advertising what?” Trixie eyed the flat-butted cigarette.

Inwardly I smiled knowing it was killing Trixie not to pick it up or tell Curly to.

Many times throughout my childhood, Trixie had me and the other orphans pick up trash every time we walked to town. We each carried our own trash bags and she made sure they were filled to the gills before we got home. If they weren’t, she’d send us back out until they were.

She’d say, “Walnut Grove was gracious enough to let us have our home here. We need to do our part in keeping it clean.”

“Curly here has opened up her own florist. Dean’s Florist.” Kim’s painted-on brows lifted. Her smile was lopsided as she held the vase of wildflowers close to her. “She gave me these to put in the shop to help advertise. Isn’t that nice of her, Trixie?”

Trixie harrumphed and glared at Curly with one cocked brow, judgment dripping all over her face. “Bo Dean was the nicest man in this town and his corpse ain’t even cold.”

“Now, Trixie.” Kim stepped in, the flowers smacking Trixie in the face. Trixie stepped back, spitting at the ground. “Curly has to keep making a living.”

“Don’t you go around judging me, Trixie Turner.” Curly planted her fists on her hip and slowly slid her eyes toward me making me feel like I was sitting in the front pew again.

I sat up straighter, elongating my entire five-foot-eight-inch frame. Was she referring to me about something? Gingerly, I tucked the edges of my short-sleeved button-up plaid shirt into my skinny jeans and ran my hands through my hair.

“Ladies.” Kim used her free hand to push up the side of her frizz. “I think it’s wonderful you bought the Phone Store and I wish you nothing but luck. Isn’t that right, Trixie?”

Trixie waved her hand dismissively at Kim and got back in the car.

“Well?” Trixie eyed me like I could read her mind. “What are you waiting for?”

“Bye.” I smiled the polite southern smile and got back in the car.

 I threw the gearshift in drive, turned left on Main Street and headed out to the country toward the old orphanage Trixie and I were fixing up as our home.

Trixie stewed about Curly’s news. I was happy because it took the heat off of me.

“I can’t believe she is out and about acting as though Bo meant nothing to her.” Trixie wasn’t good at hiding her disgust, nor did she try. “And if she don’t watch it, the Good Lord is going to take her from smoking all them cigarettes. Or take her for littering.” She turned to me. “Enough about them. Let’s get back to you and why you were really at the bank?”

“I wanted to talk to Sally Bent about account options.” I kept my eyes forward and held the curve of the road out to our house.