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

“Bowling night?” He jerked away. “You never said it was bowling night.”

“It is.” I peeled back the edges of my jacket and showed him my Here For The Beer (our team name) bowling shirt.

Walnut Grove was a small town nestled next to the Kentucky River, making it a perfect location for the Glitz and Glam Casino. Our little town made the perfect backdrop for the big old boat and the economic boost was welcome, just not the hassle that went along with it. The traffic was heavier, there were lines at all the stores, and people were always milling about. The good old days of smiling, waving, and knowing everyone seemed to be gone.

The orphanage was on the outskirts of town off of Main Street and that was where the community liked to keep us orphaned kids, or the bad kids, as they liked to refer to us. The orphanage was no longer up and running, but we’ve been fixing it up for Trixie and me. It made a beautiful home and we still loved it there.

After Trixie played a couple more rounds of the five-dollar slots, I gathered her and Norma Allen in the car and dropped Trixie off.

“I don’t understand why you are charging me to take me to Lucky Strikes,” Norma harrumphed from the back seat.

“Because you got on my app and hired me.” I drove down Main Street past the Gas-N-Go filling station and the Windmill Hotel, our only hotel in Walnut Grove. With the casino, the place was full every night, causing Jax to lose his rented room. Not that I minded him shacking up with me.

Trixie minded. She said my shacking up was all the talk of the Friendship Baptist Sunday school class.

“But our team is playing your team tonight,” she referred to the Holy Rollers, the name of her bowling team and the same protesting blue-hairs from the Baptist church. “Which means you’d be going there anyway.”

“Business is business.” I glanced in the rearview mirror and lowered my lashes.

“I’m on a fixed income,” she protested.

“Then you shouldn’t have hired me,” I howled back.

“I was willing to give you a second chance. But I see that was a mistake.” She tapped the large face watch on her wrist. The numbers were so big, I was sure the space station used her watch to keep the time.

Just a few weeks ago, Norma Allen had boycotted my business because she said I was never on time. And she was right, but the boycott didn’t last longer than her time between weekly appointments.

“I told Trixie you needed a good clock for this car,” she rallied in the back. “She agreed that you needed to get better with managing your time.”

Norma Allen rambled on from the back seat.

Honk, honk.
The horn of the old Belvedere was pitiful. It was to be expected for an old car.
Honk, honk
!

“If you are going to visit our town, use the crosswalk!” I screamed out the window. “That is what it’s for!”

Norma Allen slid her body down the seat, out of view of the man giving me the bird and mouthing some sort of expletive. “You are still nuts, Laurel London.”

“I’m going to have to talk to Derek about this,” I grumbled, gripping the wheel with my fingers so they would stay put and not give the bird back to the man. “I’m so sick and tired of these people coming to our town and taking over.”

“It’s been good for the community.” Norma struggled to pull herself back up in the seat.

“All of your friends are there now, spending every dime of their inheritance hoping and dreaming they win big.” I sighed deeply. “You better be careful because you might sprain your wrist.” I joked knowing she was the cranker for the Holy Roller’s bowling team. The cranker was the power bowler on the team and neither age nor time has affected Norma’s ability to get the job done. I was the cranker on Here For The Beer, meaning Norma and I had big shoes to fill.

My mouth watered when we passed the Cow’s Lick ice cream shop. The line was out the door. “It looks like Curly Dean’s cows are in high demand.”

Curly Dean was a local farmer. She made homemade ice cream and sold it on consignment to the Cow’s Lick. She had recently opened Dean’s Florist where the old Phone Store used to be. Every day the florist’s front window was filled with fresh cut floral designs that were just as pretty as a big fancy city florist. Curly was a whiz around her farm and her late husband Bo would be so proud of her.

Lucky Strikes Bowling Lanes was located on the corner of Oak and Grove Streets.

“”Well, what do ya know?” I pointed down Main Street to the big bowling pin that could be seen from all over town. It lit up the nighttime sky in all its glory. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen it with all its bulbs working.”

Bud and Sheila McKay owned Lucky Strikes and they had never replaced all the bulbs at once.

“I’ll be.” Norma’s mouth fell open. “Bud must’ve come into some money because he’s as tight as pages in a book.” She was right.

Sheila was always complaining about different updates they needed but Bud refused. He had us exactly where he wanted us because he was the only bowling alley in the town.

We took bowling league around here very seriously. Hell, there was nothing else to do in our town but drink beer and now go gamble all our money away. Neither of those went well together. . .trust me.

“And it’s packed.” I pulled the car into the parking lot, driving around for a couple of minutes. “Shit!” I screamed slamming on the brakes trying to avoid hitting a person. Norma slid forward in the leather seat. I rolled down the window. “What the hell? Are you trying to get hit?” I snarled at the falling-down-drunk girl. She swayed side to side with her hand in the air.

“I need a ride,” her words slurred. “You take me.”

She, like many others, mistook me for a taxi.

“Not tonight.” I pressed down on the gas and seized the opportunity to snag a spot up front. “See, I told you these visitors aren’t good for us.”

“I’m beginning to think you are right.” Norma grabbed her walker that was folded next to her.

“Let me help.” I jumped out and tried to grab Norma’s walker before she could, but she was a spry woman.

“I’m not that old.” She elbowed me, flinging her walker in one motion before it clicked open and locked into place. “We can’t let everyone know we kinda like each other. After all, we are on opposite teams.” Her hands gripped the sides of the walker and she pulled herself to stand. When I went to grab her arm to only assist in helping her out of the car, she glared at me.

“Fine.” I shook my head and backed away.

“Now, you give me a minute to get in there so no one sees us.” Norma didn’t wait for my answer. She just scooted along toward the front of the bowling alley.

I did what she asked and took my time getting my trunk open to get my bowling bag. I shuddered hearing more drunks stumble out of the bowling alley.

“And don’t come back!” Sheila screamed from the front doors of the bowling alley.

I jerked my head over top of the trunk of the car and got a good look at Sheila swinging her baseball bat in the air, her red hair flung around like flames of an unruly fire. The scowl on her face was not her normal happy to be having everyone here for bowling league.

I grabbed my bag and slammed the trunk shut.

“Hey,” I called out for her to wait for me. “What’s going on?”

“These damn casino people shouldn’t be able to gamble, drink and walk around freely. I wish they’d lock them people on that damn boat while they are there.” She cocked her leg to the side and pounded the tip of the bat on the ground. She had on her normal work outfit, the skintight v-neck shirt with bowling balls, black leggings, and sky-high heels to compliment the look. Tonight she wore her long red hair down and it matched the color on her face and chest.

Sheila didn’t take shit from anyone.

“I can’t believe Bud is using all our savings to save this damn dump. I don’t need their damn business.” She spat toward the group stumbling their way down Grove Street and trying to carry a tune.

“I’m sorry. I had no idea you were using your savings.” I put my hand on her forearm. This was the first I’d heard of it, which was unusual with how fast gossip spread around town.

“I never thought Bud and I would have to dip into our nest egg to save this place. But he was so willing to rely on people coming in for the casino to go bowling. We didn’t count on them to just be drunks and come in here not caring and demolish the place,” she said in a discontented voice and shook her head.

“Is there anything I can do?” I asked.

“I’m just mad.” She turned and stomped her way back into the bowling alley.

The sound of balls rolling down the hardwood alleys and smacking the pins replaced the sounds of the giggling and singing drunks from outside.

The lanes were taken up by the usual league teams and the bar was filled with people I didn’t recognize, which was also unusual. On a normal night, the bar was filled with regulars and I didn’t see any tonight. The people at the bar were loud and laughing. They seemed to be having a good time and this was what Sheila was probably referring to. She was used to the quiet bar with only the sounds from the pins knocking against each other and maybe a “yowl” or two coming from a strike from her regulars.

Bud might be on to something. They had to be bringing in money if the bar was going to be filled up like this every night of the week due to the casino, I thought as Bud rushed around the back of the bar filling every cup that was attached to a hand. I couldn’t see his real expression from underneath his grizzly beard, but I could tell by the way the toothpick stuck between his teeth was bouncing up and down that he wasn’t in good spirits. Like we southerners loved to say, be careful what you wish for.

I decided to give him a little time before I got my bowling shoes from behind the counter. The shoes were the only thing I didn’t buy for myself only because Lucky Strikes always had enough on hand and the little extra cash was my way of contributing to the alley.

Lucky Strikes was dark and the neon lane lights gave the ambiance of the bowling alley. The lime green lights lit the side of the lanes and the bright red neon strips outlined the pin cage. Bud had big LED TV screens installed over all the lanes with all sorts of abstract images scrolling through. TV monitors hung down from the ceiling over top of each lane with the names of players. At the far end of the left side, I could see my name on the monitor along with my Here For The Beer teammates.  It looked like some were already gearing up to play the Holy Rollers.

My best friend, Gia Picerilli was somewhere under her massive brown curly hair and va-voom chest of hers.

“’Bout time you got here,” she chomped under those bright red lips of hers. She was going down the shelf of bowling balls at the end of each lane, picking each one up, pulling it up to eye level and giving it the eyeball test before she decided on one.

“You know,” I lifted my bag in the air. “You could always get Carmine to buy a ball for you and you wouldn’t have to go through this hassle.”

“True, but it’s good for the girls.” Gia wiggled her chest. “Lifting all these balls is the only workout we get outside of the diner.”

Gia worked in her family diner, The Cracked Egg, as a waitress among other duties. The Cracked Egg was on Main Street next to the Cow’s Lick.

“She’s been getting a big workout over the past few days.” Carmine held his beer bottle up and took a long swig. He ran his sleeve across his mouth to get the drop that missed his mouth. “This casino is keeping the diner open at all hours of the night because Daddy won’t close. He claims it’s a gold mine and it might run out.”

Gia rolled her eyes and pushed her hair out of her face. “Yeah,” Gia’s eyes popped open. “I told Pop that he was going to have to stick with the closing schedule or I was going to join Carmine down at Porty Morty’s.”

“Wait.” Her words made me stop in my tracks. “Morty is hiring?” My mouth dropped. “That scum! He told me he would hire me back if he decided to get a new sales rep.”

“No, I meant help Carmine.” Gia shook her head and strutted over to the seats. She plunked down into one of the plastic seats and took her shoes off. “He could use some help with his filing. The place is a mess.”

“No way do I need you down there in my stuff.” Carmine’s brows lifted. “I like my mess and I know where everything is located.”

Carmine was the only accountant in Walnut Grove and his office was located on the top level of Porty Morty’s warehouse down on River Road. It was low rent and perfect for what he needed.

“What’s up?” The Fiddle twins asked when they walked up with a bucket full of beer. Alex and Adam worked at Fiddle and Son’s Meats, the local meat and deli market that was next to Porty Morty’s.

“Have a beer, Laurel.” Alex Fiddle put the bucket on the small counter behind the bowling lane and pushed his glasses up on his nose.

“Thanks, Alex.” I was all too happy to take a bottle from the ice cold bucket and twist the cap off. “What’s going on with the looks?” I asked about the difference in their appearances.

They had always taken pride in their twinning and had never strayed from their look-a-like images. Lately they had been wearing it short on the sides and a little longer on top.

“I decided to grow my hair.” Adam shrugged and headed on over to the seat next to Gia to get his shoes on.

“He’s on this independent kick.” Alex rolled his eyes. “He even moved into your old apartment above the Savings and Loan,” his voice broke miserably. 

“Really?” I questioned Adam’s odd behavior. “Wasn’t it his idea for you guys to buy the house on Third Street?”

“He forgot that apparently.” Alex shook his head, his deep brown eyes clouded as though he was thinking before he put the beer bottle up to his lips and downed the rest of it. He tossed the empty bottle into the trash and reached for another one. “Of course my parents are on his side. He’s finding his
independence
.” He put air quotes around independence.

“Oh.” I lifted my head like I knew what that meant. When someone said they were trying to find their independence, it completely confused me. I had been independent since the day I was born so I didn’t know any other way. “Hey!” I leaned into Derek Smitherman when he walked up, giving him a slight elbow to his muscled stomach.