Hijack in Abstract (A Cherry Tucker Mystery) (2 page)

HIJACK IN ABSTRACT

A Cherry Tucker Mystery

Part of the Henery Press Mystery Collection

First Edition

Kindle edition | November 2013

Henery Press

www.henerypress.com

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever, including Internet usage, without written permission from Henery Press, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Copyright
©
2013 by Larissa Hoffman

Cover illustration by Jessie Porter

Author photograph by Scott Asano

This is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

ISBN-13: 978-1-938383-75-5

Printed in the United States of America

To Mom.

Thanks for instilling a love of books within me.

And for letting me borrow yours.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Thank you to Rick and Ann Walker. Rick, thanks for your service as a Special Agent and for sharing all your great stories!

Thank you to Matt and Palmarin Merges. Matt, your gun knowledge astounds me, and Palmy, your creativity inspires me.

Thank you to my special readers, Gina, Diana, Julie, and Linda. You guys rock! And Bill and Erich, you’re pretty cool, too.

Thanks to Anise Rae for being such a supportive critique partner and friend.

A big thank you to my partner in crime, Terri L. Austin, and her accomplices, LynDee Walker and Gretchen Archer, for their help, support, and silliness. Gigi Pandian, so glad I can stalk you at the same press now.

A huge thank you to my awesome editor, Kendel Flaum, for pushing me to make my stories better and for making Henery Press flourish.

Thanks to all my supporters in Peachtree City, Newnan, Senoia, Grantville, Savannah, and other parts of Georgia, as well as the folks in Illinois, Texas, and North Carolina. Your love and patronage really motivate me.

Thank you to librarians and Friends of the Library everywhere for your dedication to books, authors, and readers, particularly Peachtree City Library, Geneseo Public Library, Watauga County Public Library, and Newnan Carnegie Library.

And finally, a triple-decker, super gigantic thank you to Trey, Soph, & Lu for everything. Especially for letting me wonder aloud about really strange things that would annoy most normal people. And for understanding my lack of interest in vacuuming.

One

Ther
e are many places you don’t want to be at zero dark thirty, but I’ve got a personal top three. One is the ER. Second is a police station. The third is your ex-boyfriend’s bedroom.

Thank God Almighty I was not in number three. Stupid does catch me occasionally, but not this night. I was nowhere near an ex-boyfriend’s bedroom.

At two forty-five in the morning, I found myself in number two. The Forks County Sheriff’s Office to be accurate. My cornflower blues were a bit bloodshot and blurry, but my grin matched Shep Peterson’s, who also found himself in a similar location. However, Shep had a drunk tank grin. Mine was more of a self-congratulatory grin, born from knowing that finally someone in Forks County had recognized my accomplishments in the art world. Never mind the phone call that woke me from a dead sleep and near gave me a heart attack. Or that I had to drive my sister’s Firebird because her vehicle was blocking my driveway. Or that I now sat in the junior officers’ room with a cold cup of coffee and had just realized I had forgotten to comb my bed-head designed blond cowlicks in my bleary-eyed haste.

And to put on a bra.

The Forks County Sheriff, Uncle Will, needed my expertise. That’s all that mattered. And I was going to get paid.

Needed me for what was still a bit vague. I hoped nothing needing brushed hair and a bra.

“Wha’cho in fer?” called Shep from two desks over. “You a D and D, too?” He pitched forward in his seat, but righted himself before his arresting officer could shove him back in his chair.

“No drunk and disorderly tonight,” I said. “I’m here in an official capacity. As an artist.”

“Artist? You wanna draw my picture? Wha’s your name, darlin’?”

“Cherry Tucker,” I grinned. “Mr. Shep, you know me. I’m Ed Ballard’s granddaughter. He buys bait from you. I’ve been to your tackle shop.”

“Is very hard to meet new people in Halo,” he said, attempting to bow. “My apologies, darlin’. Think I’d remember a pretty, young thing like yourself. Look like my first wife. Even with that crazy hairdo.”

I surreptitiously finger-combed my hair. Not that I was trying to impress Shep.

Deputy Wellington slapped him back in his seat. “Shep, stop hitting on Cherry. You’re about fifty years too old for her anyway.”

“Can’t blame a guy for trying,” he said and hiccupped.

Deputy Wellington fanned the space between Shep and his desk. “Just sit there and be still while I finish this paperwork.”

“That Shep again?” drawled a deep bass. “Wellington, throw him in the drunk tank and let him sleep. This room smells bad enough.”

I turned in my seat and saw Sheriff Will Thompson’s massive form filling the doorway. Before I was born, Uncle Will had made an easy transition from University of Georgia linebacker to Forks County crime buster with his quick wits, easy smile, and powerful handshake. Some would think having a close family friend as a sheriff would keep you out of trouble growing up. However, the Tucker kids were boundary testers. For Uncle Will, raising my family was as much of an act of community service as his dedication to the law.

As a twenty-six-year-old woman, I felt it my duty to make up for any of the gray hairs my teenage self might have added to Uncle Will’s head. Which is why I had no problem tumbling out of bed and driving across the county to sit in a chair and allow seventy-year-old bait shop owners to flirt with me.

That and I hoped to make a few bucks.

“Hey Uncle Will,” I called. “Are you ready for me yet?”

“Bring your paper and pencils,” he said.

With my messenger bag bumping my back, I hugged my chest, figuring it best not to give an extra show to Shep and the boys. I followed Uncle Will down the hallway, waiting while he unlocked a door. The door opened and two faces turned to look at us. One I didn’t recognize, but judging by his despondent expression, I figured he was probably in a mess of trouble. The other person, another deputy, I identified immediately. Hard not to recognize those brown ochre curls with the highlights I had decided were transparent oxide-red lake. Or the lean, muscled body, much like Michelangelo’s
David
. Or by the strong jaw buttressing two adorable dimples that made a rare showing.

Unfortunately, I knew Deputy Luke Harper a little too well.

He gave me a scant nod and turned back to the perp.

My hand snuck back to my hair and yanked on a particularly tall cowlick in back. I gritted my teeth and gave myself a quick lecture not to make a scene. We had aired our irreconcilable differences behind the local roadhouse, Red’s County Line Tap, a few months ago and I had not quite recovered.

“That’s Tyrone Coderre,” said Uncle Will. “He’s going to give you a description to draw. We need a composite sketch.”

Uncle Will stopped me before I entered the room and pulled me to the side. “Can I leave Deputy Harper in there with you or do I need to call in another officer? Harper’s the one who picked up Coderre, so this is his investigation.”

“I’m quite capable of separating my personal and professional life,” I said, tilting my chin so I could eyeball Uncle Will. “You might want to ask the same of him.”

“I trust Luke not to screw up his job. You are another story.”

I gave him a “why, I never” gasp.

“I’m going to be watching through the two-way.” He tapped my messenger bag. “Lucky for you, I don’t know other artists to call during the middle of the night. Wouldn’t want to be accused of nepotism. But I want a sketch while the memory is still fresh in Coderre’s mind. Don’t disappoint me, Cherry.”

“So, this is an important investigation?” Excitement zipped through my veins and made my fingers tingle. “I won’t let you down. You can even deputize me if you want.”

Uncle Will chuckled. “Just draw us a good picture. That’s plenty helpful.”

“Yes, sir,” I said and snuck by him to enter the room. I nodded to the man in the black sweat suit behind the table and held out my hand. “Hello, Mr. Coderre. I’m Cherry Tucker, a local artist.”

“Don’t shake his hand,” barked Luke. “Are you crazy?”

Tyrone Coderre’s cuffed hands retreated below the table, and I blew out a hard breath.

Looked like it was going to be a long night. At least the criminal had manners.

Couldn’t say the same for the cop.

“How’s t
his?” I held up a page from my sketch pad. After a few false starts, Tyrone Coderre settled on a long, oblong face with a rounded jaw line. The composite had shoulder-length hair, blond and on the thinnish side, and a soft mouth. “Are you sure he’s not a girl?”

“Pretty ugly girl,” said Tyrone. “His eyes were closer together.”

I gummed out the eyes and reapplied my pencil, a sanguine oil, perfect for warm, heavy tones which erased easily on my seventy-pound, smooth sketch paper. Erasing was necessary when drawing a face from Tyrone’s memory. His first description began with “a skinny, blond dude.”

Tyrone yawned, and as they were catching, I followed with one of my own.

“Maybe you could get us a cup of coffee, Deputy?” I asked in my prettiest drawl.

“And leave you alone with a junkie copper thief? I wouldn’t do that to Tyrone.”

“You’re a copper thief, Tyrone?” I said as I crosshatched shadow lines to emphasize the composite’s cheekbones. “Now why would you want to spend your nights stripping air conditioner units when you could be doing something more productive?”

“I don’t strip A/C units.” Tyrone tapped on the sketch pad. “His nose needs to be longer.”

I grabbed my gum eraser and scrubbed at the end of the composite’s nose.

“Air conditioners are not enough of a challenge for Tyrone here,” said Luke. “He likes to shimmy poles for his wire.”

Tyrone smiled. “They call me the Flying Coderre.”

“Were you up on a pole when you saw this guy?”

Tyrone cut his eyes to Luke. “Allegedly. At the rest stop on the interstate near the Line Creek exit.”

“What was the guy doing?”

“Helping himself to a truck.”

“You don’t need to know that information,” said Luke. “Just draw.”

“I’m just curious. It’s not like I’m going to look for the guy.”

Luke snorted, which was his way of saying “I don’t believe you.”

We’ve had some past misunderstandings on the difference between “being helpful” and “interfering with the law.” Luke refused to acknowledge I can gain information as good as any cop just through my local gossip network. I call myself inquisitive and creative. He calls me nosy and harebrained. He forgets my interest for crime had been honed from growing up around a county sheriff. I never wanted to be a cop, though. Not unless I could bedazzle my uniform and stonewash the polyester out of the cotton/poly blend. And those cop shoes? Forget about it.

“I don’t think the deputy trusts you.” Tyrone eyed my drawing. “The dude was wearing a track suit. Shiny blue or black. It was hard to tell the color in the dark.”

I began sketching in a track suit collar. “I’ve given the deputy no reason not to trust me.”

Luke snorted again.

“Are you catching a cold or something?” I said. “Do you need a tissue?”

“I need you to finish up and stop talking to the perp.”

“Tyrone, let me ask you this,” I said. “If you had a girlfriend who was an artist, and you knew she had a painting deadline that involved a life study, and then found her innocently drawing this model, would you accuse her of cheating?”

“Do not talk to her, Tyrone,” said Luke.

“What’s a life study?” said Tyrone.

“Drawing the human figure using a live model.”

“Drawing somebody naked,” said Luke. “And not just anybody. Her ex-husband.”

A knock sounded on the door and we glanced at the narrow inset window to see Uncle Will glaring at us. He twirled his finger in the wrap-it up sign and nodded at Luke.

“Dammit,” said Luke. “How did you pull me into that?”

“Todd’s not really my ex-husband,” I said quickly to Tyrone, needing to defend myself despite Uncle Will’s strange ban on gossip in the interrogation rooms. “Our Vegas wedding was annulled before it even began. Todd’s just a friend.”

“Why don’t you draw naked chicks?” said Tyrone. “Then everybody’d be happy.”

I glared at Tyrone for a millisecond. “The subject had to be male. And the boyfriend refused to participate even though he had the perfect physique for this specific painting.”

“Finish your picture,” said Luke.

“I don’t know about painting, but I do know something about cheating,” said Tyrone. “By the way, I’m pretty sure he had a necklace. Something shiny around his neck anyway. Unzip his jacket some.”

“So what do you know about cheating?” I kept my eyes on the paper. “How far down his chest did the necklace go?”

“My girl cheated on me. Not with her ex-husband though. She cheated on him, too,” said Tyrone. “The eyes still don’t look right.”

“No more cheating talk,” said Luke with a glance at the two-way mirror. “You sure you didn’t get a look at the other guys?”

“Luke might know something about cheating, too,” I said. “The subject makes him a tad uncomfortable. The grapevine says he has many admirers. They are called badge bunnies and they call him Luquified—”

“That’s enough,” snapped Luke. “What about the other guys?”

“Naw, they kept their ski masks on,” said Tyrone. “This guy was the only one who pulled his off.”

“Ski masks,” I said. “A hold up? In Forks County?”

“I tell you what,” said Tyrone. “I’d never been so scared in my life. Thought I’d fall off my pole. I didn’t move until long after they’d gone.”

“Poor Tyrone,” said Luke. “So scared he didn’t even get to collect his wire.”

“I thought the driver was dead,” said Tyrone. “These guys were pretty bad-ass.”