Checkered Thief (A Laurel London Mystery Book 3) (18 page)

Lunchtime.

Many farmers got out early and went home for lunch. Unfortunately for Mr. Pinskey, I didn’t take that into consideration. It was how I rolled.

“What is that?” Gilbert asked. He put the luggage on the ground, his eyes staring at the car.

“My car.” I proudly smiled at the old yellow ’62 Plymouth Belvedere my best friend, Derek Smitherman, had refurbished for me when I was in between jobs and in a little bit of a pickle.

“No.” He raised his hand in the air, contorted his face, snarled and pointed. “
That.”

“Henrietta?” I asked, looking at my fur baby curled up on the dashboard taking in the heat of the mid-afternoon sun. “My cat?”

“What kind of business is this?” he protested. An angry look on his face.

“You used my app, Drive Me, and paid to have me pick you up from the airport. Ta-da.” I flung my arms out to the side and wiggled my fingers. “I’m here. Just like the fine print said.”

A few months ago, a couple people had mistaken the Old Girl, the name I had given the Belvedere, as a taxi. I had been fired from Porty Morty’s, a port-a-let sales job, and figured Walnut Grove needed a taxi driver. I was right!

When word got around I was operating a taxi, I got all sorts of business from Walnut Grove’s senior citizens. Who knew when you got old you had to go to so many doctor appointments? Good for business though. In fact, Sharon Fasa was a regular. I took her somewhere almost every single day.

Not only was I good at driving, I was pretty good at all things electronic, mainly hacking.

Using my skills, I designed my own app. Anyone within a forty-mile radius who needed a safe ride could go on my app and sign up. They also paid online. No hassle with exchanging of money or tips. And I didn’t have to pay all the taxi fees and abide by the taxi laws. Plus I didn’t keep any money on me so there was no chance of me getting robbed. Not that Walnut Grove was a big car-jacking town or crime ridden, it wasn’t. If anyone tried to car-jack me, I’d know him or her. Or I would show them my little friend in the glove box. My little .22 Colt Defender was all I needed to scare the shit right out of anyone who wanted to mess with me.

 “Well?” He tapped the trunk of the car. “Are you going to open the trunk?”

“Oops.” My face reddened. I still hadn’t gotten the hang of waiting on people down. It’s only ever been me, and me alone I had to worry about. And of course, Henrietta.

So being late probably wasn’t a good idea. I did cover the issue of Henrietta in the service contract of Drive Me, albeit in fine print, but it was there just the same. In case anyone was allergic and all, I had to cover my tracks.

“I saw nothing about a cat.” He stomped like a little two-year-old having a hissy fit right there in the airport pick-up line.

“There is a line about Henrietta in the disclaimer. Fine print.” I walked around the car. “You can either get in. Or pay a lot more money to get a cab. Either way, I’m outta here.”

Gilbert huffed and puffed, but eventually got in the car.

“Who reads the fine print? I’ve never seen a cat ride in a taxi.” Gilbert held his briefcase close to his chest with his arms wrapped around it, never taking his eyes off Henrietta, who didn’t pay him any mind. “You keep her up there.”

“Gilbert Pinksey, are you telling me a big guy like you is scared of a cat? A sleeping cat that doesn’t even know you’re in the car?” I asked.

I adjusted the rear-view mirror to get a better look at him. Gilbert Pinksey was fancy. There weren’t a lot of fancy people coming in and out of Walnut Grove, which made me suspicious of him.

There were times I should probably keep my mouth shut and this was probably one of those times since I needed Gilbert to give my app a review. Especially since he was my first client who wasn’t from Walnut Grove.

“I don’t like cats. I never have.” He white-knuckled the leather-bound case.

I wanted to change the subject because there was no way he was going to win with me. Henrietta had been with me since my crazy teenage days. Derek and I had gone down to the river to illegally throw back a few beers and there she was all curled up under a bush. Skinny. There was no way I was going to leave her there. Sneaking her into the orphanage, my home, was easy. Keeping her from meowing all night was not. Trixie Turner, the head mom at the Children’s Home, had a keen sense of hearing. Henrietta must’ve tugged at Trixie’s heartstrings because she let me keep her. She was the first thing with a beating heart who had ever truly loved me.

“I need to see Jax Jackson.” His body melted back into the seat. Clearly a little more relaxed now that we were on the road and he could see his presence didn’t phase Henrietta.

“Jax Jackson?” I asked and pulled out of the airport, veering the Old Girl west toward Walnut Grove. “Does he know you are coming?”

“Jax Jackson’s office
please
.” A loud sigh escaped Gilbert’s lips.

“I heard you the first time, but Jax isn’t at his office right now.” I looked at the Old Girl’s broken clock, hoping for a miracle it would somehow start working. Time was never on my side. Someday, I had great hopes we would become friends. “What time is it?”

Gilbert pulled his wrist up to his face and looked at his fancy gold watch.

“Eleven-thirty.” He huffed. “Where is he?”

“He had a meeting at eleven.”

“If you were on time, I probably would have caught him.” His eyes narrowed with annoyance. “How do you know where Jax is?”

“Everyone knows everyone in Walnut Grove.” I left out how Jax Jackson and I did cross paths. In fact, Jax Jackson was the second person to have mistaken the Belvedere as a cab.

A few months ago, after Jax’s business in Walnut Grove was over, he decided to stay and open up a private investigator’s business. With my history and time on my hands, he hired me to do some investigative work when he needed an extra hand. Gilbert Pinksey definitely had my curiosity up now.

Unfortunately, there wasn’t much going on in Walnut Grove unless you considered stealing an apple pie out of Sharon Fasa’s kitchen window a hardened crime.

Not that I’m a
hardened criminal,
but growing up in a orphanage and finding out I’m the direct descendant of one of the most notorious mob bosses in the United States, explained a lot about my past and my behavior. Not to mention the huge inheritance I had gotten when I did find out whom I was related to.

Of course I could use the money and not worry with my Drive Me app, but there was something about how my grandfather got the money. Blood money. And I refused to use it. Somehow, someway that money was going to bite me in the ass.

For now, I was determined to use the street sense I had to make my living.

“Do you mind turning the radio on?” Gilbert gave me the not-so-subtle hint he no longer wanted to talk.

Bam! Bam!

Gilbert nearly jumped up front in the passenger seat when I smacked the dashboard to get the radio started. Henrietta gave him a look and he settled back in his seat, the two glaring at each other.

Mewl.
Henrietta rolled and curled toward the hot sunspot before she closed her eyes.

“I’m not sure how she stands it in the hot sun.” I’d had all the windows rolled down even before Gilbert got in because the Old Belvedere didn’t have working air. Plus Walnut Grove was having a heat wave. It was so damn dry around here, the trees were begging the dogs to piss on them.

Gilbert didn’t respond. He rolled up his window once we got going. Beads of sweat were popping through his fancy shirt. He was hotter than blue blazes.

Instead of worrying about Gilbert and what his business with Jax was about, I happily drove the curvy road and took in the scenery.

The trees grew tall and out, meeting each other over top the hot pavement, creating a tunnel. The sun darted through the limbs. It was a beautiful day for the drive but a little bit humid.

“Do you know where The Windmill Hotel is?” Gilbert asked.

“Louie Pelfrey’s place. Of course I know where it is.” I kept my hands on the wheel and did a few finger taps to the country song piping through the speakers. I loved a good song where the woman gets even with the cheating man by burning up his clothes. “Are you staying there?”

“Yes,” he said. “I’ll just go there until I get in touch with Jax.”

“No. No you won’t.” I shook my head.

We passed the Walnut Grove city limits signs that boasted our big city population.

“Why not?” he asked. His tone angry.

“He is at his second job. If you would have read
his
fine print, it states that check-in is at 1 p.m.” I shrugged. “I’m going to The Cracked Egg to grab some lunch before my next appointment if you want to go there and wait. The BLT’s are to die for.” My mouthed watered just thinking about it.

“There can’t be many people staying at The Windmill.” His lips puckered in disgust and looked out the window.

The Kentucky River ran along the left side of the road. A few fishermen had their boats pulled up along the banks under some of the overhanging trees to catch tonight’s dinner.

“Is that the Kentucky River?” Gilbert shot up and took interest.

“It sure is. Do you like to fish?” I asked and took a right on I-25.

Gilbert and his loafers didn’t look like he had seen a hard day’s work in his life. Nor did his soft hands seem like he could hook a worm and unhook a fish. I rubbed the little scar on my finger where a fish had gilled me when I was being reckless once when taking it off the hook.

“I’ve been a time or two.” He rubbed his chin. “Maybe I’ll charter a boat and go while I’m here.”

“Charter?” I choked and turned left on Grove Street before taking the first right on Oak Street. “The only way you’re going to
charter
a boat would be to take Charlie Haskel a fifth of whiskey or a quart of moonshine.”

Charlie was the friendly town drinker. He spent his days on the river in his little silver metal boat.

“What do you do in this small town when there’s downtime?” he asked.

“Well,” I pointed out the window to Lucky Strikes Bowling Lanes. “We bowl. But not unless it’s league night. Which happens to be tomorrow night. And Jax Jackson bowls, so maybe he can take you.”

I left out the part about Jax and I being teammates for the team Here For the Beer. Gilbert Pinksey didn’t seem a bit interested in anything I had to say outside of Jax.

“Hmm.” Gilbert leaned back. He put his elbow on the windowsill and drummed his fingers in an annoying way. Thankfully, I was parking the car in the open parking space in front of The Cracked Egg. “It seems like Jax found his niche in this little town.”

“Hot damn!” I hollered and threw the gearshift in park. “Front row spots are rare at lunch. Niche? What niche?” I asked.

Gilbert jumped out, briefcase in a tight grip, ignoring my question. He was inside The Cracked Egg before I could take the keys out of the ignition.

“Come on.” I opened the glove box. My .22 caliber Colt Defender handgun fell out along with the pink crystal-encrusted cat leash. I reached down and quickly grabbed the gun and I looked around to make sure no one was looking in the car. I put it back in the glove box and slammed it shut. “Can’t be flinging that baby around all day.”

I snapped the leash on Henrietta and picked her up. I grabbed my hobo bag and we headed toward the diner.

“Mornin’.” Charlie Haskell stood outside of The Cracked Egg with a toothpick stuck between his lips. His skin was tan from being outside all the time. He wore a little black knit cap, barely covering the top of his head. His nose was wide, his smile was gummy, and his eyes squinted when he laughed. “It’s gonna be hotter than a two-dollar pistol out here today.”

“It sure is,” I said, stopping to let Charlie pet Henrietta.

“Who’s the man who thinks he’s shittin’ in high cotton?” Charlie referred to Gilbert.

“I don’t know.” I shrugged. I wasn’t going to say much about Gilbert because I didn’t know his business and it wasn’t my story to tell. “Dang,” I wiped my brow. “I hope this weather breaks.”

The humidity had gone up since we hit the county line. A little bead of sweat gathered on my lip. I used the back of my hand to wipe it away.

“You doing all right, Charlie?” I asked. He was busy looking between the legs of the painted mural of the dancing egg on The Cracked Egg’s front window.

“Yeah. Mrs. Picerilli gave me some day old hot dogs to use as bait.” He grinned. He leaned in. I held my breath. Charlie smelled like the last rose of summer. “Don’t tell her, but I ate one for myself.” He winked, did a little skip and was on his way.

I let a deep sigh to catch my breath and headed on in the diner. The smell of bacon was welcomed.

“Who’s Mr. Fancypants?” Gia Picerilli asked after I moseyed up to the counter to my spot.

 She stuck a pen in her black curly hair. Her dark features let you know she was Italian through and through.

Gia was my long-time best friend and her family owned the greasy spoon diner which had the best food within one hundred miles. If you asked her, she’d say it was the best damn food in all of America. I hadn’t been around all of America, so I couldn’t say for sure, but it was good food.

Gia shifted, one hand on her hip, the other had a coffee pot dangling from it. She wore the not-so-flattering black, one-piece, waitress skirt jumper that zipped up the back. The Cracked Egg mascot was embroidered on the front—compliments of Walnut Grove’s only seamstress, Norma Allen. It was a big egg with two skinny legs in heels with a small crack on the top along with two big yellow eyes.

 “He’s in town to see Jax.” After I put Henrietta in the cage Gia provided for me at the end of the counter, I sat at the bar on my regular stool. I did a few spins for old time’s sake and looked down at the menu like I didn’t know I was already getting my favorite sandwich.

The answer must’ve satisfied Gia because after she put a cup of coffee in front of me, she made her way down the bar filling the drinks of the old timers, the regulars and Gilbert Pinskey.

I watched Gia flip Gilbert’s coffee cup, lean her hip against the counter, and slowly fill his cup. Her lips were flapping. She slid a piece of pie his way. I smiled when Gilbert smiled. Gia had a way of getting people to talk over food. Free food. Especially a piece of The Cracked Egg’s chess pie.