Opal Fire (6 page)

CHAPTER 7

The last time I was in a holding cell I was visiting Birdie. She got arrested for doing a Lady Godiva impersonation down the middle of Main Street during the 4th of July parade.

Even that day was better than this one.

“Gus!” I called.

Gus moseyed around the corner, drinking a Yoo-hoo.

“Hey, Stacy, what did ya need?”

A clean record? A normal family? An ass doughnut?

“Where is Leo? You said he’d be here by now.”

“He was on his way but he got called out to the Shelby farm because someone smeared Nair on all their goats. Poor things are freezing their walnuts off.”

Geez, where did I live?

Thor trotted to Gus and accepted a pat on the head through the iron. I got up and stepped over to the gate.

“Gus, can you please let him out? I think he might have to go.”

“Sorry, no can do. He’s a prisoner for the time being.”

“That’s ridiculous. He did nothing wrong. He was looking out for me, that’s all.”

“Take it up with the judge.” Gus grinned and slurped his drink. My idiot limit had reached maximum capacity so I stuck an arm through the bars, grabbed him by the belt, found his tighty-whiteys and said, “Let. Him. Out.” Someone was getting a wedgie today, so help me.

Gus was taken off guard and spit his chocolate drink all over me. “Cripes, Stacy I was just kidding. “Course I’ll take him.” He backed up and adjusted his uniform, not to mention his unmentionables. He tossed me a hurt look, like a puppy dropped at the pound.

“Sorry, Gus. Can I have a napkin, please, and my phone call?”

“Oh, I made that call for you,” Gus said, unlocking the gate. Thor darted through. “Your ride should be along any minute.”

“What? Wait a second, who did you call? Gus!”

But he was already gone.

Please, let it be Cinnamon.

My cousin knew the ropes in this department. And by this department I mean every jail cell in a 300-mile radius. She rebelled against her cop father for years by landing herself in the slammer, which was ironic, since he often slapped the cuffs on himself. Hmm. I never thought of that before. Maybe the violent outbursts, dangerous pranks, and artistic vandalism were her way of seeing Uncle Deck more often.

I, in contrast, never even had a speeding ticket.

The drink was beginning to harden on my face and since I didn’t expect that napkin anytime soon, I untucked my turtleneck and wiped it away.

She came at me while my shirt was stretched over my head. “Can you not keep yourself out of harm’s way for five minutes?”

Definitely not Cinnamon.

I pulled my turtleneck down and faced Birdie.

“It wasn’t my fault.”

“It never is, dear.”

“Birdie, I’m serious. That asshole should be in here. Not me.”

“Then why didn’t you press charges?”

That was a good question. For which my only answer was, “I didn’t want to make things worse.”

Birdie pointedly eyed every inch of the cell I was standing in. The message, clearly, was ‘and yet, here you are’.

“Please, can we talk about this later?” I said.

Birdie paid the fine as I gathered my things and clipped a leash on Thor. I told her I would wait outside and stepped onto the sidewalk, searching the street for her white Cadillac. I spotted it in the narrow parking lot. That’s when I felt a twinge in my chest. Not nausea, not the chills. Just... a tug.

“We go,” Birdie said, behind me.

I shifted to face her and spotted the mustache man, lingering near the courthouse.

“One minute,” I said to Birdie. I put my things in the car.

When I looked back, he was gone.

As we pulled up to the house, Gramps was waiting in his Buick, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, probably crooning with Sinatra.

“Are you still going?” I asked, Birdie.

“Remember that wonderful talking gadget you gave me for Christmas?”

“You mean a cell phone?”

“Yes, well we aren’t allowed one of those.” She rolled her eyes and made a grand gesture with her hand. “Bonding, you know. Getting in touch with our feelings. As if I have any new feelings left to experience in this mature body.”

“Birdie, the talking gadget?”

“Right. You see, mine has a little typewriter built in. So we can communicate if the need arises.”

I smiled. “Good enough.”

We all exited the car and Birdie got into the front seat of the Buick. She flipped the mirror down and dabbed on some lipstick.

Gramps said something to her and got out of the car.

“There’s my star,” he said.

I smiled.

“Listen, sweetie, I forgot to tell you that I called Stan Plough and told him that if you girls needed anything, he could tack it onto my bill. I have him on retainer, for my investment properties and such.”

By ‘such’, I assumed he meant the crazy women in his life. He handed me a card.

“Thanks, Gramps. Why haven’t you left yet?”

He angled around the front of the car, opened the driver’s side door and shook his head. “Wouldn’t you know it? Your grandmother was sorting through the luggage and noticed one of the bags wasn’t ours.” Gramps shrugged. “See you Monday, dear.”

He slammed the door and put the car in reverse. I stood there, for a split second, processing that little tidbit of information.

I narrowed my eyes at Birdie through the windshield. She smiled at me in return.

Smalls' bag. It had to be. Why she would pull a prank like that, I had no clue.

By the time I changed and fed Thor it was late afternoon. I would have to submit something by the end of the day to make tomorrow’s paper. In a small town, papers don’t always publish daily. Some run weekly. The Amethyst Globe has four editions. Tuesday, Friday, Saturday and Sunday. The Tuesday and Friday editions are news, local culture, gossip, sports, want ads, job listings, and anything else you’d find in most city papers. The weekend editions are designed to appeal to tourists, so in addition to the regular features, there are listings for events and entertainment, plus local lore and history. Not exactly cutting edge.

I didn’t have enough to go on from my point of view of the fire, nor did I want to highlight anything regarding arson, since that had not been confirmed. In fact, the way the wheels rolled around here, it could take weeks to confirm.

In the meantime, I needed a story today. So I thought I’d interview some of the people who were first on the scene.

I reached for my cell phone and dialed Leo.

“Please tell me you haven’t broken another law,” he said.

“Funny. It wasn’t my fault.”

“It never is.”

“The moon is in Scorpio or something.”

“No it isn’t.”

“How would you know?”

“Your grandmother bought me an astrology calendar for Christmas. I check it every day.”

“You do?”

“I have to. She quizzes me.”

“I’ll talk to her about that.”

“I wish you would.”

“Listen, who were those guys trying to help at the fire last night?”

“You mean the firemen?”

“Ha, ha, smarty pants. No, the three musketeers who headed up the citizen’s academy crowd.”

“Oh, the Citizens on Patrol. That’s Jed, Jeb, and Ned.”

“You’re screwing with me, right?”

“No, but since you mentioned it, will I ever see you outside of my station again?”

“That depends. Are those really their names?”

“Yes. Two are related. I’m not sure which.”

“Where can I find them?”

Leo paused. “Three O’clock on a Friday? Gotta be the Elk’s Lodge.”

“Okay. Pick me up from the paper at six. Aunt Angelica is making dinner for us.”

I decided to walk to the Elk’s Lodge. It was freezing out, but I bundled up and the fresh air felt good against my skin.

The door to the lodge was locked. To the left, a note taped above the bell read: “Ring Bell for entrance. Members Only.”

I was not a member, but I buzzed it anyway. Maybe I could get a free day pass like they hand out at the gym.

A scratchy voice came through the speaker. “Yeah?”

“Hi, I’m looking for Jeb, Jed, and Ned?”

“So?”

“So are they in there?”

“Maybe.”

I really was itching to slap someone today and I wondered if this might be my victim.

“Well, suppose they were in there. Do you think they have time for a chat?”

“‘Bout what?”

Okay, new tactic.

“About the fact that it is freezing cold and I’m wearing my tightest sweater without a coat or a bra.”

Magically, the door yawned opened.

The room was dark and musty with a curved bar in the center, cushioned with a leather pad around the edge. A few men sprinkled the bar. One was playing video poker and three more bent over a shuffleboard.

I walked up to the wrap-around bar and caught disappointment on the bartender’s face. I almost apologized for my less than generous rack before Mr. Huckleberry slid a shot over to me.

“Everyone opens with a whiskey,” he said.

The bartender was balancing a glass on his stomach, sliding a towel in and out of it. He drank me in before he said, “Members only, girly.”

“Hey, show some respect,” Mr. Huckleberry said, puffing on his cigar. Smoking was still permitted in private clubs in Illinois. “That’s Oscar’s granddaughter.”

The bartender looked surprised. “Scuse, me. I didn’t know.” He waddled away.

“Well?” Mr. Huckleberry glanced at the shot. “It’s Jameson.”

I toasted him and sunk the liquid into my belly.

“Looking for three morons?” he asked.

I smiled. “Heard they might be here.”

Mr. Huckleberry pointed to the shuffleboard.

“Thanks, Mr. Huckleberry.”

“Call me Huck, sweetheart.”

I strolled over to the CoPs, as they will forever be known.

“Hi, guys. I’m Stacy Justice. I work for the Globe and I was hoping I could ask you a few questions about the fire last night.”

“Hey, Stacy. Sure we know who you are. Heck, everyone knows you, Mrs. Chief,” said the shortest of the three.

“Not quite.”

“I’m Ned, and them two are Jed and Jeb.” Identical twins. Not sure which two were brothers? Funny, Leo.

“Hey, we got a fourth, now,” said Jed. Or maybe it was Jeb.

“No time, sorry. I just need you to answer a few questions.”

Ned crossed his arms. “Maybe we don’t have time for questions, then.”

What was it with the men today?

“If you don’t help me, this will go on your permanent record,” I said.

Jeb or Jed looked a little scared but Ned called my bluff. “Shoot, there ain’t no such law.”

I could have argued further but I figured the interview would go faster if I just played the stupid game. Apparently Jeb and Jed are always partners, so I teamed up with Ned, who was a terrible player thanks to a lazy eye.

Two hours and two beers later, I decided I had wasted enough time trying to get the three blind mice to focus on the subject at hand. Every damn question was met with a story about their high school days, all of which were mind-numbingly boring, I might add. I switched off the recorder and put my notepad away.

“Thanks, guys, you’ve been no help at all,” I said.

“Don’t mention it,” said a drunken Ned.

Huck was still there and Kirk and Eddie McAllister had joined him. All of them were hunched over a glass of something, a few stools apart.

I patted Huck on the arm and said, “Thanks for the Jameson.”

Huck swung around and said. “Stacy, you’re wasting your time. I’m telling you, shoddy work, old wiring. It was an accident.”

“Accident,” slurred Eddie.

I looked over to the brothers.

Kirk smacked Eddie on the back. “Stop it, Eddie. You’ve had too much to drink.”

“I do good work!” Eddie said.

Kirk put his hand on the back of Eddie’s head and pulled his brother close to whisper something in his ear.

I leaned over to Huck, “What’s that about?”

“Eddie’s a little slow. He gets upset if people criticize him.”

“But he never even started the work. And no one criticized him. Why would he take it personally?”

Huck shrugged and stubbed out his cigar. “Well, he worked on the place a few times over the years. Hired him myself. But like I said, he’s slow.”

The older brother guided his sibling off the stool and pointed him towards the door. When they walked by he said to me, “He just gets upset sometimes. I shouldn’t let him drink at all.”