Checkered Thief (A Laurel London Mystery Book 3) (17 page)

“I need your help.” I stuck my hands out to the side like I was on a balance beam, trying to keep my five-foot-eight frame upright on my high-heels because the loose pieces of the beat-up concrete walkway made me a little wobbly. I grabbed the lanyard from around my neck with my Porty Morty’s ID stuck in the clear pouch and threw it in my bag. “I’m not going to need that any time soon. What about that help?”

I hopped onto a piece of concrete slab that was mostly intact, once again having to readjust the wrap dress.

“I learned my lesson a long time ago that before I agree to help you with anything that I better have all the details of what it is you want.” His brows frowned, his eyes narrowed. “Every single detail.”

“Simple. I need a car.” I took the toe of my heel and batted around a piece of loose concrete to avoid all of the questions that were going to follow.

“No way, no how am I going to help you out.” Derek looked over my shoulder at the beat-up van. His five o’clock shadow was a little thicker than normal.

The gears grinded before the driver of the VW gave us the peace sign and took off.

I took a couple steps forward and rubbed the back of my hand down his chin.

“No wonder you can’t get any ladies. Clean yourself up.” I messed up his hair.

He jerked his head back. He quirked his eyebrow questioningly.

“Who was that?” He asked in a “good ole boy” voice and jerked his head to the right, getting a better view of the VW.

“Gary. . .um. . .Barry I think.” I shrugged off his interrogation. “Lunch Date Dot Com.”

“Good grief.” Derek shook his head. “I’d rather stay single.”

Lunch Date Dot Com was a dating website where you met for lunch on your lunch breaks. I didn’t even bother to read the guy’s profile before I accepted his lunch offer because I was starving and I needed a ride to come out here and see Derek.

“So what about that car?” I wiggled my brows that were in desperate need of a wax.

Given my current money status, I was going to have to settle for Trixie’s hot pink jeweled tweezers she picked up on her weekly run to the Dollar Store.

“I don’t think so.” Derek resumed his position under the hood of the elevated car. “Besides, where is your company car from Porty Morty’s?”

“I got fired,” I murmured. I adjusted the tight black Diane Von Furstenberg dress I had picked up from the local Salvation Army. Wrapping a piece of my shoulder-length honey-colored hair behind my ear, I batted my grey eyes and used fifteen hundred dollars cash to fan my face. “I’ve got fifteen hundred dollars. You can use it to fix that little concrete problem you have.” I pointed to the chipped-up material.

“Laurel London, did you say fired?” Derek swiftly turned back around and waved a wrench in the air until he saw the cash. There was a little twinkle in his eye. I knew Derek like the back of my hand. He loved cash just as much as I did.

I waved the dough under his nose. “That is why I need a new car.”

When I heard a faint sniff as the cash passed his left nostril, I knew he was on the line. It was time for me to hook him and reel him in.

“Trixie will skin my hide if I take that stolen cash.”

“Stolen?” Okay. I was officially offended. “You think I stole this money? I want you to know,” I jerked my shoulders back and cocked my chin in the air. His eyes were on the cash. “This is guilt money from Morty. That no good sonofa…,” I muttered a few curse words under my breath.

“See, why do you have to go around talking like that?” Derek asked. His face contorted. “That along with your…um…sticky fingers don’t make me want to do any sort of favors for you anymore.”

“Sticky fingers? Geesh.” I threw my hands in the air. “When is this town ever going to get over that?”

“Over it?” He laughed. “Over it?”

“Yeah, heard you the first time.” I spoke softly and narrowed my eyes.

“You have pick-pocketed every single person in the town, not to mention how you hacked into the Wilsons’ accounts after they took you in.”

“Oh that.
Phish!”
I
gestured. “That was seven years ago. I was fifteen years old. Besides, it wasn’t like you weren’t right there with me.” I tapped my temple and then brushed a strand of my hair behind my ear and again fanned myself with the money. Clearly the sticky, humid weather wasn’t doing me any favors. “I clearly remember you threading the fishing line on the Quantum Rod and Reel you had on your Christmas list. I played Santa, that’s all.” I shrugged, recalling all the crappy Christmas presents the orphanage gave all of us year after year and when I had decided to use the Wilsons’ credit card to buy all the orphans
real
Christmas presents.

“It was your chance to get out of the big house and you blew it.” Derek shook his head. He put the wrench in his back pocket and crossed his arms in front of him. “Anyone would have given their arm to get out of there and have a real Christmas for once.”

True, true. I didn’t have a leg to stand on with his argument.

I admired Derek. He got out of the orphanage with a great job and was working on his dream to become a police officer. He was almost finished with night classes at the University of Louisville.

“You didn’t tell me the truth about those Christmas presents or I would’ve never shown up to meet you.” Derek’s lip turned up in an Elvis kind of way exposing a small portion of his pearly white teeth and deepening the dimple on his cheek. A distant twinkle flickered in his blue eyes. “You sure were believable when you told me they bought all the presents for the orphanage. Genius in fact.” He pointed his finger at me. “I credit you for me wanting to be a cop. Since I know how you work, I’m going to be able to figure out how criminal minds work.”

“Ha, ha.” I slowly clapped my hands. “Very funny,” I sneered.

“That was then.” I waved the money again. “Before I made myself an honest girl and got a big girl job.”

“Getting fired from Porty Morty’s is a big girl job?” Derek chuckled. “How did you get fired from selling port-a-lets?”

I wasn’t sure, but I detected a little hint of sarcasm in his tone.

“Morty let me go. Something about overhead and people aren’t using port-a-potties anymore.” My mouth dipped down.

“Where are the people pooping?” Derek’s nose curled up.

“Got me.” I shrugged. “Anyway, I need a set of wheels. That old 1977 beat-up Caddy was Morty’s. He let me borrow it because my job was to get all of those outdoor venues to use Porty Morty’s at their events. He made me give it back. I need a new set of wheels to find a job before Trixie finds out. She is going to kill me when I tell her Morty let me go.”

Kill might be a strong word to use, but she wasn’t going to be happy. Trixie had been in charge of the orphanage for years. It just so happened that when I turned eighteen, the state shut down the orphanage forcing Trixie to retire.

She said I needed guidance and in no formal sort of way she became my guardian. The only mother figure I’d known. In truth, I think she was really worried about me and wanted to make sure I did well. She was the first person to ever see potential in me. Then and there I’d decided I was going to make something of myself. She got me the job with Morty and I’d been working there ever since, bringing home a steady paycheck. Not much. But it was reliable. I was able to get a studio apartment, though my rent was always a tad bit late.

“I love you like a sis’ and all, but how am I going to do that?”

“You got all those cars out there.” I pointed to the field filled with abandoned cars that Derek used for parts. The grass had grown up around the tires which were probably dry-rotted, and they all had a little rust. Nothing a set of new tires and paint job couldn’t fix.

“Those old clunkers? Nah, I don’t have anything that’s reliable and good enough to drive.” He bit the side of his lip.

I waved the money again. “Morty called it compensation.” Compensation my ass. It was guilt money. “It’s all I have to get me a car. Come on. I’ve been on the straight and narrow for five years. You know it, and I know it. All I need is a car to get around so I can get another job.”

Jobs were slim pickings in our little town of twelve hundred. Louisville was only thirty minutes away and surely I could score some sort of job there.

“I don’t know.” Derek shook his head. “There really isn’t anything out there that fifteen hundred will fix.”

I put my hand up to my brows to cover the sun beaming down and scanned the field. There had to be something.

“What about that one?” I pointed to the black-and-white-colored one to the far right. Sort of off by itself.

“That old ’62 Plymouth Belvedere?” Derek laughed so hard, he was hyperventilating.

“Yeah. What’s wrong with it?” There was no humor in my voice. “Other than the faded sign on the side.”

“Come on.” He tugged his head to the side. “The engine may need a good clean up.”

“Okay.” Like I knew what that meant. I followed him to the edge of the grass and stopped to take my shoes off. The heels would’ve gotten stuck in the ground and I had to keep them clean. It was going to be a long time before I bought any new shoes. “Oh.” My face contorted. Up close I could tell the old Belvedere had seen better days.

I swiped my hand across the dusty old door.

“Taxi?” I laughed, never recalling a taxi service in Walnut Grove.

“I got that when the police academy tore down the old building on the edge of town.” He pointed to me. Derek was also training to be a deputy with the sheriff’s department. On Monday and Wednesday he drove to the University of Louisville for the police academy. “Remember? I told you about how they had us running around the old building and things popped out at us and we had to assess the situation before we pulled the trigger.”

Vaguely I remember him saying something about it.

“Still. I’m serious, Derek. I need a ride.” I tapped the car. “Even if it does say taxi.”

“Can you imagine if you drove that thing down Main Street.” He slapped his knee. “Everyone would know you were crazy, not just wonder.”

“We could repaint it,” I suggested.

“We? We?” He gestured between the two of us. “You mean me.”

“Come on,” I begged. “You are my only hope of not letting Trixie down. You don’t want to do that, do you? After she has done for us. This place.” I pointed to his garage.

Trixie owned the property and when Derek graduated from mechanic school, she gave him the run-down building that he had turned into his business.

“Oh.” He shook his finger at me. “You are good at playing the guilt card. I worked hard for this place. I went to work every morning before school and every day after school.”

“Yeah, but Trixie gave you the car to do it.” I reminded him of her other good deed.

His chest heaved up and down as he let out a heavy sigh. He knew I had him.

 “The only real problem with it is the rust.” He rubbed his hands along the side of the car and walked back to the bumper. “It was garage kept and it has low mileage. I probably should have covered it with a tarp or something, but I thought I’d be using it for parts.  I suppose it would look fine if you painted it.”

“You can do that for me right?” I squinted to keep the sun out of my eyes. The skies were blue and the sun was bright.

“No. I don’t do paint,” he protested.

“I bet you could.” I tilted my head around the edge of the car to see the other side.

“Laurel, you exhaust me.” He bit the side of his lip.

I could tell he was thinking about it so I put the unexplained shadow behind me and batted my lashes. I put my hands together in a little praying way and mouthed
please.

“Fine.” He jammed his hands in the pockets of his overalls. “It’s not going to be perfect,” he warned.

“I don’t care.” I smiled from ear to ear. I held the money out in front of me.

“Nope. I’m not taking the only money you have.” He shoved my hand back toward me. “Consider it an early Christmas gift.”

“You do love me.” I jumped up and down before throwing my arms around his neck.

“No. I love that Quantum Rod and Reel still.” He gave me a slight hug back.

Enjoy the first chapter of CHECKERED PAST
, the second novel in the Laurel London Mystery Series.

Chapter One

When you have spent most of your life being a petty criminal, you know a bull-shitter when you see one. And I could tell Gilbert Pinskey was a bull-shitter before he opened his fancy mouth.

“Walnut Grove?” he asked as he looked at the sign I held up.  Gilbert Pinskey had contacted Drive Me, my driving app, to arrange his ride from the airport to my little town of Walnut Grove, Kentucky.

He wore a neatly pressed pair of khakis and pink cotton polo shirt that screamed of arrogance. I swore I could smell the finest leather from his tasseled loafers when he stepped closer. His brown hair was not too long and not too short. The ends of it slightly curled around his ears. His eyes were the exact same color of his hair and matched his olive skin perfectly. He was a normal, average, blend-in kind of guy and I wondered what business he had in my little town of twelve thousand people.

“Gilbert Pinskey?” I asked.

“The one and only.” He smiled and looked down at his luggage. Multiple bags of luggage. “Unless Walnut Grove, Kentucky is a happening place and others are dying to get there.”

“Right this way.” I turned, flipping my honey-blond hair behind my shoulder and headed out the sliding door of the Louisville airport. I looked back to make sure he was following me. He wasn’t. “Don’t those fancy shoes work?” I asked, tapping the toe of my cowboy boot.

“Aren’t you going to help me?” His feet stayed firmly on the ground. “You were late after all.”

“Fine.” I hurried back over and grabbed the small briefcase, leaving the heavier items to him. I had just gotten my nails done at Shear Illusions and I wasn’t about to mess them up. Especially the glittery nail on the ring finger. Kim Banta, owner of Shear Illusions and my stylist, said it was called a Diva nail. “Sorry about the time thing.”

Being on time had never been one of my strong suits. I probably should have left in plenty of time to make the half-hour drive—taking into consideration tractors or other farm equipment that might have taken the back roads, plus the time of day.