Hijack in Abstract (A Cherry Tucker Mystery) Read online

  “How you doing, ma’am?” I asked, making my way to the kitchen.

  “Not so good, sugar,” she said. “Thank you for coming.”

  I left the casserole in the fridge. Jerell bumped me to the side and began stacking the groceries inside the freezer.

  “Jerell, you don’t put cereal in the freezer.”

  “I got to hide it from the tweaker meth-heads. They can smell sugar and they’ll go through our cupboards looking for it. This is some good stuff you brought. I like the ones with marshmallows.”

  I eyed his gun and swallowed hard. “Me, too.”

  Leaving Jerell to hide the groceries, I walked back to the living area and sat on the couch next to Miss Gladys. “We’re working on the funeral arrangements.”

  “Thank you, baby.” She patted my hand. “I don’t know what we’re gonna do.”

  “I’m going to find you a new place to live. I’d move you into my house, but it’s full up right now.”

  “That’s all right, honey.” She shut her delicately veined lids.

  I watched the clouding in her oxygen tube for a moment, then rose from the couch. I walked down the hall and knocked on Jerell’s door. “I’m going to talk to your neighbors to see if they know anything about Tyrone’s murder.”

  Jerell yanked open his door. “You’re not too smart, are you.”

  “I’m no brain surgeon, I’ll give you that, but I’ve been to college.”

  Jerell gave the weary sigh of an eight-year-old who’d seen it all. “I guess I’ll go with you. I don’t like leaving my gam.”

  “I’ll be fine,” I said. “She’s sleeping.”

  “You got a gun?”

  “I thought if I came armed, it may do me more harm than good.”

  “Take my knife.” He disappeared behind his door and returned with a switchblade. “You know how to use it?”

  Careful not to grimace, I shoved the knife in my back pocket. “Which neighbors do you think will be the most helpful? I’ve got this picture I want to show them.”

  “Come on,” he threw his air rifle over his shoulder and marched out the door. On the stoop, he pulled out his string and locked the door. Taking a right, he hiked toward a trailer the color of a cinderblock. A feeble line of smoke rose from the roof.

  Jerell followed my line of sight to the roof. “They put in their own stove.”

  “They cut a hole in their roof?”

  “It gets cold in the winter,” Jerell shrugged. “They don’t cook or tweak. Look at their windows.”

  I looked. “They have curtains?”

  Jerell pointed to another trailer down the street. “You see them, smoking in front of that house? Look at the windows.”

  “They’re covered in foil.”

  “Yes, ma’am. That’s a meth house. You pass by and it smells like a cat peed all over it. Also got more trash than the others. Tweakers got lots of trash. Alcohol bottles and such. And not the kind you drink. Kitty litter, but no cats. You stay away from there.”

  “Got it, Jerell.” I knocked on the safe house door. The door cracked and a pair of brown eyes peered out. I held up the composite drawing of my hijacker. “Hey, I’m friends with Jerell and Miss Gladys. Have you seen this guy before?”

  The man said something I couldn’t understand and shut the door. I heard the rattle of a chain and turn of a deadbolt. I looked back at Jerell.

  “They don’t speak English there, but they’re nice.” Jerell pointed to the trailer across the road. “Try that one.”

  I stalked across the lane, trying not to feel so white and female. This trailer also had curtains, giving me hope. I knocked.

  An older woman cracked the door. “What do you want?”

  “She’s cool, Miss April,” yelled Jerell.

  “Who’s that?” Miss April wedged part of her immense body through the crack to see Jerell.

  “That there is Cherry Tucker,” Jerell hollered from the road. “She wants to know who killed Tyrone. She’s going to show you a picture.”

  I glanced down the road. The crowd in front of the meth house had grown and they watched with interest. I didn’t want to seem impolite, so I gave a small wave. A girl tossed her cigarette into the dirt and waved back.

  “I guess you can come in,” said Miss April. “Excuse the mess.” She widened the door’s opening. The fetid smell of garbage and unknown substances assailed my nostrils. Various items stacked to the ceiling lined the doorway. Newspapers, magazines, books, garbage bags, clothing, and old games. More than I could itemize in my head. Miss April backed down the path leading to the door.

  I held up the composite and tried to hold my breath. “Have you seen this man, ma’am?”

  April took the picture and studied it. “No, never seen him before. Who is he?”

  “I don’t know, but he held up a truck and Tyrone saw the robbery. He might have killed Tyrone.”

  “Everyone here thinks Regis killed Tyrone.” April shook her head. “Bad news for poor Miss Gladys.”

  “Who’s Regis?”

  “Regis Sharp. The Sharps run the show around here. Sell their redneck heroin in Line Creek and farther out. Wouldn’t be surprised if they’re running that stuff into Atlanta.”

  “Dealers?”

  “More than that, honey. They also pimp and loan. They are dangerous men. Tyrone owed them money.” April crossed her heavy arms. “Lucky they leave me alone. Nobody wants to bother me, and I don’t want to bother nobody.”

  “Glad to hear that,” I said. “This trailer park doesn’t seem too safe.”

  “If you don’t have a dog willing to tear a leg off, you better be armed to live here.” April laughed, “Or have a booby-trapped house like me.”

  “Thanks, Miss April.” My skin crawled to be out of her trailer, but I didn’t want to seem impolite. “I’m going to show this sketch to more people.”

  “Nobody in Sweetgum Estates knows this man. I can tell you that. I watch who comes and goes.”

  I folded the drawing and shoved it in my pocket. “Thanks for your help.”

  “You watch your back,” she hooked a thumb in the direction of the trailer down the street. “Folks have been watching you. They know you’re checking on Miss Gladys and Jerell.”

  I mumbled my thanks and backed out the door. Ducking my head, I hurried to where Jerell waited in the middle of the road and we hiked back to Miss Gladys’s trailer.

  “I’ll be by tomorrow, Jerell. I hate leaving you here,” I handed him back his knife and squeezed his plump shoulder.

  “I got to stay here. I can’t leave my Gammy alone.” He cast me a sharp look. “I ain’t going to school just yet. Someone’s got to keep an eye on things.”

  “I know, baby, and it’s okay.” I threw my arms around his pudgy body and hugged. I didn’t know whether to mention the Sharps for fear of scaring the boy. I hugged him tighter instead.

  He shoved me off with an eye roll. “Calm yourself, girl. Gammy and I were here before you ever showed up.”

  “See you tomorrow, Jerell.”

  “Bring pizza.”

  Fifteen

  Dressing for a trucker bar can be tricky. Elegance is not required, but a bit of pizzazz is appreciated. So is a decent showing of skin, particularly if you want to drink for free. Too much skin and you’re asking for trouble, especially from women like Dona. Such was the dilemma I faced when Luke arrived to take me to the Gearjammer. I stood in my bedroom staring at my closet unable to imagine the appropriate outfit to wear.

  Casey strolled through my bedroom door, eager to announce Luke’s arrival with an older sister’s air of showmanship. “What are you doing with Luke? Hasn’t he caused you enough heartache?”

  “Not a date,” I said. “I’m his beard.”

  “Beard? I don’t think your breakup hit him that hard.”

  “He’s investigating the hijack and needs a cover. Besides, my truck is still in Atlanta. I do need a ride.” I yanked a denim skirt fringed in black leather from
the back of my closet. “This will do. Do you have my camouflage tank? Gray and perylene black?”

  “I wish I hadn’t made plans tonight,” said Casey. “This sounds fun.”

  “I’m looking forward to meeting up with my new buddy from the Waffle House, Dona. She looks like she knows how to party.”

  “I meant fun watching sparks fly off you and Luke. There’s ten-to-one odds you get thrown out of the Gearjammer for making a scene.”

  “What? Who’s betting?”

  “Me and Cody so far, but I’m taking the wager to Red’s and running it there.”

  “Sister, you need a hobby.” I shimmied on the skirt and sat on the bed to pull on my boots.

  “It would be helpful if you didn’t come home tonight. Then nobody would have to share a room with Todd.”

  I cast her a look of disgust. “I may be cheap, but I’m not that easy. Did Todd get the job at the SipNZip?”

  “He starts tomorrow, but got the graveyard shift. Poor guy. We can rotate beds after he starts.”

  “This arrangement is not working,” I added bangles and dangly earrings before pulling the curlers from my hair. The earring tangled in a lock while I unwrapped a curler. “Grandpa’s the one who’s going to have people talking if he’s shacking up with Pearl.”

  “I don’t think they’re shacking up. Yet. By the way, Shawna printed poster-size photos of your naked Todd paintings. I caught her tacking one on the Tru-Buy bulletin board. Ripped it down for you.” Casey strolled to where I stood by my dresser to help free my hair. I caught her raised eyebrow expression in my mirror. “The one where Todd’s ready to throw the Frisbee.”

  “The Discobolus,” I said. “He’s fixing to throw a discus. That’s an Olympic event. Not Frisbee golf.”

  “Either way, he’s standing and hanging free for all the world to see.” Casey shook her head. “I think it will do you good to get out of town for a while. Stay up in Buckhead with your rich lawyer.”

  “That’s what Pearl said, too. And exactly what Shawna wants. Me out of town.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “Stay in town.” I applied some coral lip gloss and turned for Casey’s admiration. “How do I look?” I spun around in my boots, making my fringe sway.

  She rolled her lip. “Sometimes I wonder if we’re even related. It’s like we have completely different fashion DNA.”

  I ignored that comment and sashayed out of my bedroom. Ten steps later I stood in the arched entry to what used to be my studio. Luke, Todd, and Cody sat spaced apart on the dead pheasant couch, staring at the TV screen across the room. The Braves were pitching and the boys weren’t speaking. Their expressions matched their aggressive, wide-legged sprawls on the couch. Except for Todd, who had trained his face to look like a happy Golden Retriever.

  Luke glanced up at my entrance and stood. He wore a black t-shirt and jeans that melded to his long legs. He put no thought into dressing and still looked as good as smoked meat on a stick. Hot and tasty.

  Not that I cared.

  “Don’t you want to put more on?” His eyes traveled over my outfit as I grabbed my phone off the desk charger and tossed it in my bag.

  “Nope. It’s still warm and I imagine I’ll get warmer with all the dancing I’m fixing to do.” I offered him my customer service smile.

  “Dancing?” His frown mirrored my smile.

  “You didn’t think I was going to follow you around interrogating folks, did you?” I said, crossing my fingers behind my back. “I’m in a celebratory mood and if I hadn’t agreed to meet Dona, I would be kicking it up at Red’s. I got my signed contract today.”

  His eyes narrowed. “You don’t kick it up at Red’s. You sit at the bar and gossip with Red.”

  I shrugged. “New venue, new attitude.”

  “I think you look great,” said Todd. “I would have taken you to the Gearjammer if you’d asked.”

  “I didn’t ask anybody except Casey and she can’t go. This was meant to be a girl’s night out. Luke forgot his dress, but I’m ditching him at the door anyway.”

  Luke eyed me again, but I had no time for his suspicious looks. I strode past him to the front door, making my intentions clear. “Let’s get going. I have truckers to meet.”

  Little did Luke know, besides interrogating truckers, I planned to ply him with adult beverages and question him about his step-cousin, Shawna Branson. I needed to take this woman down and wasn’t past milking ex-boyfriends for information to do it.

  If you could rate a tavern by the initials carved into the wooden bar, the number of stains marking the cement floor, and the heavy haze of smoke filling the air, the Gearjammer would have passed with flying colors. Or failed, depending on your leaning toward what makes or breaks a bar. The liquor bottles had no fruit or chocolate flavors. The beer was American and provided the decor as neon lighting. Merle Haggard sang from a real jukebox and the trucker hats worn were not meant to be ironic nor hip.

  Luke paused in the doorway to do a cursory eyeball cruise of the dive, while I scanned for Dona and her friends. They stood at the bar, flirting with men of various ages, hats, and tattoos.

  I took an excited leap forward and jerked to a stop. Swinging my gaze over my shoulder, I spoke to the hand that had grasped my waistband. “We’re here. You do your cop thing and I’ll do my G.N.O. thing.”

  Luke yanked me back with his finger and hooked an arm around my shoulder. “They’ll talk more if you’re with me.”

  I opened and closed my mouth. I had planned on interrogating Luke and the truckers separately. I had also planned on having some fun first. “What’s with you? Every time I’ve wanted to question folks, you won’t let me. And now you want my help?”

  “Think of it as your chance to play detective,” he said.

  I could do tit for tat. “You’re buying. And sharing information. And later you’re dancing.”

  We strolled to the bar and squeezed between groups of regulars. Luke held up two fingers and pointed toward the tap. I smiled at my neighbors and waved to Dona.

  The man next to me lit a cigarette. Blowing the smoke toward his neighbor, he leaned on the bar and gave me a friendly wink. “Don’t think I’ve seen you or your guy in here before. You local?”

  “I’m from Halo,” I said. “This here is Luke, and I’m Cherry. Luke doesn’t feel comfortable taking me to public places where they know him. Thought we’d give the Gearjammer a try.”

  Luke jerked his head in my direction and scowled. Before he could speak, the bartender asked for payment.

  While he fumbled with his wallet, I turned back to talk to my new friend. “What’s your name?”

  “Marshall Dobson. So you’re the kind of girl a fellow’s got to hide from his mother.” He winked again.

  I winked back. “That’s me. I’m an artist. Do you drive the big rigs?”

  “Used to,” he blew smoke toward the ceiling, “I live in Line Creek. Work as a dispatcher now.”

  “I bet you hear all kinds of interesting stories,” I grasped the beer Luke pushed toward me. “Did you hear about the hijacking yesterday?”

  Luke sputtered foam mid-swallow.

  Marshall tapped his ashes in the tray before him and hollered down the bar. “Y’all hear about a hijacking yesterday?”

  “Smooth,” Luke whispered to me.

  “Expedient,” I said. “Now drink your beer. Then order yourself a shot of Jack.”

  “Why?”

  “You’re celebrating my commission. I will soon be spending my days in Buckhead, eating caviar and drinking vodka in between painting sessions.”

  Luke’s brows dropped, but he waved at the bartender to set up a round of shots.

  A potbellied, older man in a Gators cap left his stool to approach our group. “What’s this about a hijackin’?”

  I nodded. “What’d you hear? I figure it must be the hot topic of conversation tonight.”

  Luke clamped his hand on my arm. “Sugar.”

&nbs
p; “Yes, honey-pie?” I batted my Maybelline coated lashes at him.

  “This one’s yours.” He scooted a shot glass toward me and muttered, “Slow down.”

  The woman next to Marshall leaned around his arm. “Are you sure about that, honey? You must be mistaken.”

  “I think you know I’m not mistaken.” I smiled but steadied my eyes on hers. “It’s juicy, ain’t it? I can tell.”

  The woman glanced sideways at Marshall and back to me. “Juicy for some, I suppose.”

  Marshall showed me his yellowing teeth. “Well now, Miss Cherry. Sounds like you’ve heard more than us.”

  “That depends on what you’ve heard,” I said. “Did y’all see that composite sketch of the hijacker the Sheriff’s Office has been showing around?”

  “Can’t say that I have,” said Marshall with a hard look at Luke.

  “Baby, let’s dance,” said Luke, yanking me off my stool. He pulled me to the space before the jukebox. A couple swayed in a boozy, locked embrace that held them upright. We carefully maneuvered around them. One bump and they’d fall over like dominos.

  Luke snuggled me against his chest and placed his mouth near my ear. His breath tickled my hair and his aftershave smelled woodsy and clean.

  “Maybe I should’ve explained something before you started. First, don’t piss them off. These aren’t your typical rednecks. Second, don’t talk about Tyrone’s murder.”

  “I know all that. Is there a third?” I asked, following his drowsy steps to Your Cheatin’ Heart.

  “Yes,” he continued. “What do you mean you’re going to be spending your days in Buckhead eating caviar and drinking vodka?”

  “My subject enjoys the finer things in life, what can I say? Now spin me back to the bar. Dona’s going to think I’m rude.”

  “I made a mistake letting you take the reins on questioning truckers,” said Luke, bumping his thighs against mine to shuffle us away from the bar. “Let’s keep dancing.”

  “Nice try.” I dropped my hands from his shoulders and stepped out of his arms. “I got the conversation flowing at that end of the bar. You go back and chat to Marshall and his crew. I’m going to hang with Dona and see if she’s heard anything. If I learn something, I’ll let you know.”