Furry Godmother’s advice on aging: Never mention it.
I motored over to the Grandpa Smacker estate on Sixth Street, keeping a close watch on my rearview mirror as I rolled through stop signs with reckless abandon. Someone had used the jewelry burnisher, currently riding shotgun, to carve into my floorboards. There could be prints, besides mine, that would lead us to whoever was threatening me. Maybe even Miguel’s killer.
I swallowed and pushed the images of the deep scratches from my mind. If the burnisher could do that much damage to finished wood, what could it have done to me?
I slid my car against the curb outside the Smacker place and checked my surroundings. No one was on the street in either direction. An eerie calm blanketed the neighborhood. Ancient sprawling oaks formed a canopy overhead, dripping moss in tiny veils and filtering the morning sunlight into dancing patterns on the road and walkways.
I rubbed sweat-slicked palms over my thighs and steadied my breath. Mom’s voice echoed in my head. Never arrive unannounced. I’d called and Jack hadn’t answered. This had to qualify as a “desperate times” situation. Never visit for the first time without a gift. I grabbed the baggie off my passenger seat. A clue in Jack’s open investigation seemed like a solid gift. I dialed his cell phone again on my way to the door.
He answered on the first ring. “Oliver.”
“Good morning. This is Lacy.” Hands full, I shoved my hip against the intricate, wrought iron gate protecting his property. It swung open with a groan. I checked the street once more before dashing up the walk to his front door.
“What’s wrong?”
“How do you know something’s wrong?”
I stopped short of knocking. Holy Chihuahua! His estate was enormous, far bigger than it looked from the street. I tipped my head to examine the massive columns supporting galleries overhead. My entire house could fit on his porch.
The door sucked open. Jack squinted at me. His hair was wet and pointing in every direction. His basketball shorts and bare feet made him look ten years younger. The sight of his bare chest made me feel ten years younger.
A gray-muzzled cat wound around his ankles, purring loudly.
I disconnected our call. “Good morning.”
“Why are you here?” Jack stepped aside.
I crouched to rub the cat behind her ears. She was a beautiful Snowshoe Siamese, and the natural markings of her fur made her a dead ringer for the grouchy cat everyone loved online. Jezebel was actually kind of a hilarious name. “Mom told me she was a sweet cat. She was right.” I loved Jezebel. She flopped onto one side and lifted her head. Her paw reached to me, pleading for more. “So you are a cat person,” I mused.
I hurried inside, unimpressed by his lack of enthusiasm. “They say people start to look like their pets.”
Jack leaned against the open door. “Why are you here?”
“I called before I came, but there was no answer.”
“I was in the shower.”
In the shower? Now there was an image. “I assumed you were at the range shooting something and couldn’t hear your phone or you were ignoring me.” I handed him the bag. “I couldn’t wait, so I brought you something.”
I waited for a thank-you.
He shut the door. “What is it?”
“It’s a jewelry burnisher. It fits into the letters on my studio floor perfectly. I found it among the boxes in my stockroom.”
Jack searched me with his gaze. “You want coffee?” He didn’t wait for an answer.
He padded through his house, and I followed, gawking and ogling his magnificent home. No signs of Tabitha, the banana bread maker, or any woman for that matter. Jezebel passed us on silent feet. She stopped in the kitchen and shoved her face into a water bowl with a fountain feature and paw prints painted on the side.
I slowed a few feet shy of the grand center island to take it in.
The high-polished wood we’d traveled on abruptly gave way to miles of mosaic tile flooring. “This is your kitchen?” I raised my arms in reverence. “Are you kidding me?” I fought the urge to twirl like Julie Andrews in The Sound of Music. “Do you know how many pawlines I could crank out in this place?” I pressed a palm to my heart. “You’re a cat person who has a gourmet kitchen.”
“Impressed?” His frown deepened.
“Your hospitality could use a little help, but I do like the cat and kitchen.”
A delicate scrolling letter S was embossed in the endless copper backsplash. S for Smacker. “I keep forgetting Grandpa Smacker was your actual grandpa. No wonder he had an amazing kitchen like this.”
Jack poured two cups of coffee. One chipped, ceramic NOLA PD mug and one go cup. “He loved to bake. I didn’t realize you knew.”
“Hard to keep secrets around here. Probably makes your job easier.”
“You’d think.”
I climbed into a luxurious, high-backed barstool at the massive island and sighed. “I’m sorry about your loss.”
He gave one stiff nod. “He was a good man.”
“How long have you been here? Is it lonely?”
“I’ve been home almost three years. Grandpa passed last fall, and I moved in here. Jezebel keeps me company.”
Yeah, her and the horde of casserole ladies with their ovaries.
I pulled his open laptop toward me. “Do you mind?”
“I’m still trying to decide why I let you in.” He lumbered around the island and leaned over my shoulder.
“You’re a riot in the mornings. Ever try stand-up?” I feigned bravery as I searched the web for jewelry burnishers. “I brought you another clue for your case. See, this is a jeweler’s tool. I bet it’s evidence from one of the local heists.”
Jack straightened. “You know how to leave messages, right?”
I spun the big stool in his direction, and he jumped clear. “What?”
“You didn’t have to drive over and ring the bell. You could’ve left a message or gone to the station. I’m going to work in an hour.”
I dropped my jaw. “You’re not going in until ten. I talked to someone over there. Plus, it’s not like you go there and stay for any amount of time.”
He grinned. “Anything you don’t know about me?”
“Yes.” I dragged the word out several syllables. “I have more questions by the minute, like why aren’t you more upset about this burnisher?”
Jack rubbed one eyebrow with his fingertips. “I have a level head.”
“Also, no one threatened you with it. Can you get prints and arrest someone?”
He tipped his coffee mug toward the front of the house. “I’ll see what I can do. Thank you for the evidence. I’m glad you’re okay.” He took a step in the direction from which we’d come. “Consider staying with your parents a few days while I wrap things up. Let me walk you to the door.”
I scoffed. Humility burned my cheeks. “Wait! I know something else.”
He lifted and dropped an arm at his side. “Go on.”
“Miguel made a lot of overnight trips to cities within a day’s drive.”
Jack crossed his arms and managed to look irritated at me.
“You know, I keep delivering more intel and you keep looking like that.”
“Where did he go?”
“I don’t know.”
He widened his stance. “What was he doing?”
“I don’t know.” I tapped my fingers on the keyboard. The proverbial light bulb flickered on in my cluttered head. “Is there a law enforcement database you can search for jewelry store heists within a day’s drive of here? Maybe I can cross-reference with Sunshine and see if she remembers any specific dates or the cities where Miguel visited, and you can see if there were any break-ins there while he was in town.”
“Move over.” Jack squeezed between the next stool and me. He typed onto the keyboard, and a printer buzzed to life somewhere in the cavernous home.
“That was fast,” I muttered. “Did you already have a list?”
He ignored me and headed down a wide arching hall beyond the kitchen.
Jezebel sniffed my legs and dripped water from her mouth onto my shoes, the floor, and herself.
“What’d you do? Stick your head in the fountain?”
I texted Scarlet.
“Who are you texting?” Jack’s voice nearly sent me onto the ceiling. Sadly, he pulled a T-shirt over his head as he walked.
“Scarlet. She’s the one who learned about Miguel’s travels. I’m asking her to ask Sunshine if she can remember any specific dates or cities Miguel visited.”
He groaned long and loud. “When did my murder investigation become a girlfriends’ game of telephone? You know how that game ends, right? With a big load of mashed-up details that sound nothing like the original message.”
I hopped off the stool. “You’re right. I should go straight to the source.”
“Stop.” Before I could see myself out, his strong fingers snared my forearm. “I will talk to Sunshine. You will find a vault somewhere and lock yourself inside until I finish this.”
“Can’t I come with you?”
“No.”
“Why?” I loathed the hint of whine and desperation in my voice. Sure, he was the cop, but wasn’t I the one with all the information? “You wouldn’t be talking to her again if I hadn’t told you about Miguel traveling.”
“Listen, kitten, you’re finished here. Hit the road. Take a vacation. I don’t care how you do it, but stay out of my way, or I’ll make that phone call to your mother. I was joking before, but now I’m wondering if she can shake some sense into you.”
I glared. “Do not call my mother.”
“Hey, I don’t want to be a drag on your good time playing cop, but someone has made multiple threats on your life. Go home and knock it off or I’m turning you over to your mama.”
“Keep it up with that attitude and I won’t share any new information with you.”
A vein pulsed near his temple.
I scooped my go cup of coffee off the island and took the hint. “Tell Sunshine I said hello. I’m thinking of having lunch at the Barrel Room later, so I’ll probably see her.” I backtracked to the front door with Jezebel at my feet and Jack bringing up the rear. “Have a nice day at work.”
“Go to your parents’ house.” He shut the door before I made it off his porch.
Men.
* * *
I spent the afternoon locked in my storeroom sewing tutus and leg warmers. Every time someone tugged on the front door (which was clearly marked “Closed”), it gave me enough adrenaline to run a marathon.
My nerves were strung tighter than ever, and there wasn’t enough comfort food even in New Orleans to help me. When I’d gone into the front looking for a measuring tape, the mailman had dropped letters through the mail slot, and I nearly had a coronary. One of the letters was from Mr. Tater. Inside was the bill for my lease payment and paperwork to reroute the bill permanently to my store. I had nine days left to get answers or make the payment myself. Both options seemed fairly unrealistic.
I shook the daylights out of the mail before throwing it onto my desk in the stockroom and diving headlong into my work. I’d considered working from home after the mailman scare, but the scene of the crime felt safer. If lightning wouldn’t strike twice, maybe criminals wouldn’t either. It didn’t hurt that my crime scene was newly equipped with an alarm system, and every restaurant on the street delivered.
I poured my raging emotions into the work. Every stitch was carefully made and tested for quality. Every custom-ordered dose of show-stopping shazam was performed with a smile and prayers for the animal who would wear it. All I thought about for hours was the work. Until I ran out.
A closed shop and a boatload of energy had wiped my overflowing to-do list clean. No new orders had come in since the original wave of Mable Feller’s magic wand. All I had left to occupy my mind was a set of undecorated chicken pianos, delivered by my dad. Even the kitten capelets were down to minor touch-ups and a few errant rhinestone reattachments.
I folded leg warmers into sleeves of tissue paper and fought the return of endless questions I had no answers to. I packed the leg warmers carefully into a box for Mrs. Hams and hung Mrs. Neidermeyer’s tutus from hangers on my pint-sized rolling rack.
I didn’t want to call Mom about the pianos yet. What else could I do before dinner?
I extracted a pile of thank-you cards from my drawer and addressed them to each member of the Clean Team. There weren’t strong enough words to express the appreciation I had for each of them and their unconscionable efforts. Emotion crept into my throat as the stress of the past few days rushed over me.
The desk phone rang, and I crossed my fingers for a megamoney work order that would cover my lease payment. “Furry Godmother, where every pet is royalty. Lacy speaking.”
“Lacy Crocker? This is Damon Foster from Central Business Bank.”
I perked and engaged my most entrepreneurial voice. “Yes. Thank you so much for returning my call, Mr. Foster. How are you?”
“I’m good. Thank you for asking.”
I smashed my eyes closed and crossed my fingers. “Do you need any additional information about my small business loan? I have copies of everything here. Financials. Testimonials. References. I can e-mail them to you.”
“No. Your business plan was thoughtful, well-researched, and professionally documented, Miss Crocker. We rarely see work of this caliber from our applicants. Unfortunately, we can’t approve you at this time. Perhaps there’s someone you could ask to cosign?”
I opened my eyes and pasted an inauthentic smile on my lips, even though he couldn’t see it. “I’m sorry, but no. I don’t have a cosigner, but thank you for the call.”
I returned the receiver to its cradle and rested my forehead on the desk. There’s always another way.
I sat up tall. Yes, there was another way, and I knew where to find it.
* * *
I arrived at the Barrel Room in time for the dinner rush and took a seat at the bar. Sunshine zipped around the bar, mixing drinks and wiping spills with agility and precision. If she’d tossed bottles in the air like Tom Cruise, I wouldn’t have been surprised. She was lithe, cheerful, and impressive. No one would suspect the amount of weight on her poor grieving shoulders.
When she spotted me, her smile fell. “Hey.”
“Hi. Can I order the grilled chicken salad, a bowl of fruit, and a glass of ice water for here?”
“Sure. Anything else?” She wrote the order on a little green-striped notepad. “I get bonuses for selling house wine.” She tipped her mouth into an ornery smile. “I’m teasing.”
“Lucky for you, my book club loves wine. I’ll take a bottle of the Pinot Grigio to go.”
She lowered her pen, looking a little bewildered. “I wasn’t serious.”
“And I don’t have a book club, but I’ll still take the wine if it helps you. I’m sure I can find someone to help me drink it.” Chase and his promise came to mind.
She nodded silently and disappeared into the kitchen. She returned with a bottle of wine and a slip from her notepad. “Your dinner will be right out. This is for you.”
I examined the paper. Names of cities and random numbers. “Dates and locations.”
She piled dirty glasses onto trays. “Yep. Scarlet called.”
The smile sliding across my lips stretched my face until it hurt. “I came to ask you about these. I forgot to text Scarlet back and tell her not to contact you. I wasn’t sure you’d remember anything specific. This is amazing. You have no idea how much this helps or how much I needed it right now.”
“Funny,” she said. “That’s exactly what I told Scarlet the first time she called me. Thank you. Both of you.”
“You’re welcome.” I logged into the free Barrel Room Wi-Fi and searched for recent jewelry heists, then reduced the hits by adding a timeframe starting six months back.
Sunshine settled a plate and bowl beside my list. “Enjoy.”
The salad looked like heaven. I speared a fresh slice of cucumber, then scrolled through the articles. I worked methodically through my salad and search results until the bottom of my bowl came into view.
“Lacy?” Mr. Tater smiled from a few feet away. “I thought that was you. I didn’t want to interrupt.” He gave my phone a meaningful glance.
“You’re not interrupting. Why don’t you join me?” I turned my phone over and wiped my mouth with a soft linen napkin.
“I can’t. I only have a minute, but I wanted to say hello.”
“Well, it’s nice to see you. I’m swamped at the shop.” I drew out the word swamped, hoping he’d hear money and come back to me.
“Did you get the letter about your lease? I sent it a few days ago. I’ve been meaning to call and ask.”
“Yep.”
“Good. How are things?”
“Everything’s great. I’m very busy. The alarm was installed right on time. Nothing was taken during the break-in.” Not that he’d bothered to ask. “I’m making strong progress on our agreement from earlier. You remember?”
“Of course.” Distraction changed his features and he looked away. “It looks like Mr. Fraser from Harrah’s has arrived. Time to seal the deal and bring the Barrel Room label into the casino. Take care of yourself, Lacy.” He patted my shoulder and left to schmooze Mr. Fraser.
Way to make a girl feel second class. I turned back to my phone. Why had I ever worked with him? Oh, yeah. I was broke.
According to Sunshine’s list, Miguel had been to five cities in the last three months: Gulf Port, Mississippi; Fairhope, Alabama; Pensacola Island, Florida; Galveston, Texas; and Memphis, Tennessee. I sipped my ice water as I checked the local papers in each town for references to a jewelry store break-in. Gulfport papers made no mention of a jewel heist. I went back another six months just in case I’d made the parameters too small. Nothing. Fairhope results came back the same way. No jewel heists. Maybe he had to case the places first? Maybe some stores were too fortified to take the risk?
I thumbed through the next round of search results and clicked on one that looked promising. The Pensacola Island search came back with two jewelry store hits in one weekend. I sent the links to my e-mail and tried Galveston. Another heist on the day Sunshine reported Miguel as being in town. I searched through the Memphis papers. Bingo again! Maybe it was sheer coincidence, but it looked a lot like a pattern.
Miguel took a road trip, and the destination town lost some diamonds.
I grabbed my new bottle of wine and ordered chocolate cheesecake to go. This girl was on a roll.