Hijack in Abstract (A Cherry Tucker Mystery) Read online

  “Who is Luke and Todd? They want to murder you?”

  “Sorry, thinking out loud. I have a poor view of marriage at the moment. My mother’s fault. Just ignore that.”

  She picked up her tray. “You are very odd.”

  “Just chalk it up to artistic temperament. Makes it easier on you to think of me that way.” I adjusted my satchel and eyed the front door. “Is my truck nearby?”

  “You will have to ask Nik. I will call him after I deliver this tea. Wait in the foyer.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I pulled my phone from my bag and walked down the hall. No calls from Luke.

  However, I didn’t think much of it. Luke wasn’t a phone guy. He would rather confront me about my irrational behavior in person. I knew I had become a burr in his saddle, but I couldn’t think of how to change that fact. We had broken up. I was trying to move on. Our last relationship was in college, and he broke up with me by joining the Army. If we were going to live in the same county, he would have to learn to ignore me. Not take me to trucker bars and trailer parks.

  Although I liked it when he took me to trucker bars and trailer parks. I rubbed my chest and wished my heart would stop hurting.

  I searched for a roll of Rolaids in my satchel, found an old toothpick, and my thoughts drifted to Zach and the hijacking. I realized I should check in on the Coderres again. Thinking about Jerell and his great-grandma revved up my heartburn. I couldn’t think what else to do with them other than solve Tyrone’s murder so they could take the killer to civil court and sue for damages. Even then they’d have to wait for the criminal trial and I didn’t know if Miss Gladys would live that long.

  I hoped I didn’t have to work at the SipNZip tonight. I was a busy girl. Find the elusive Shawna pictures and save my reputation. Help the Coderres. I also needed to bring Max the sketch and question him on his background in organized crime.

  I should make a list. And find an antacid. The people in my life had my heart in a vise clamp.

  In the foyer, I hauled open the front door and stepped on to the porch. The town car waited in the donut drive, but I didn’t see Nik or my truck. I glanced behind me. The hall was empty and quiet. To my left, the French doors of the red room stood open. To my right, a closed door. A bathroom possibly stocked with over-the-counter medications?

  The closed door beckoned. Seeing another example of Rupert’s god-awful decorating style had become akin to poking a sore tooth.

  With a quick glance outside and down the hall, I approached the unexplored room and grasped the lever, waiting for an alarm. Pushing the door open, I sucked in my breath, surprised by the simplicity of the room. Royal blue and gold pervaded, but the extra molding and accessories had been left out. Not a bathroom. A desk with the usual filing and office apparatus had been tucked in one corner. A sofa and chairs lined the walls and a coffee table laid with magazines sat before them.

  I strode to the table, hoping for a peruse through a People or Us while I waited on Nik. A foreign language with extra punctuation and funny letters adorned the magazine covers. I abandoned the illegible magazines for the desk. Neat, tidy, and impersonal. Obviously Miss David’s hang out. Apparently butlering wasn’t her only duty. She was also a secretary. Or maybe only a secretary. I had assumed Rupert’s office was somewhere in the city, but doubling your home and office had nice tax benefits. I knew that from personal experience. Although, if audited tomorrow, the IRS might have issues with the dead pheasant couch and mega-television in my studio.

  Photos in tasteful gold frames covered the two long walls. I strolled the room studying the pictures of immigrants holding their citizenship papers. In each snapshot, Rupert grasped the new citizen around their shoulder, flashing his toothy grin. It warmed my heart to see Rupert helping so many people. I didn’t care for his snobbery, but I figured when you were a successful attorney, that went with the territory.

  I moved to leave the office when a picture hung in the middle of a grouping caught my eye. I doubled back to study the photo of Rupert and the Bear. Rupert had the same plastered smile. Max didn’t look as pleased. He clutched his papers at his side, unlike the other immigrants who held theirs for the camera. He looked impatient to be done with whatever scene had just finished.

  Maybe the pissing contest started in this photograph. Max didn’t give Rupert the due that Rupert thought he deserved. The other immigrants had the cheap clothing and hungry expressions typical of the Statue of Liberty’s “give me your tired and poor.” Max wore a fine suit. Hand tailored, not bought off the rack at the Big & Tall store.

  I heard Nik call my name, and I left the Bear’s citizenship photo with additional questions floating in my mind.

  Rupert had been correct. Max Avtaikin was a difficult man to read.

  I hastily exited Miss David’s office, closing the door behind me, and went in search of Nik. He stood on the porch, smoking. The Datsun was nowhere in sight.

  “Hey Nik,” I said, slowing my words. “Is my truck ready?”

  He stubbed his cigarette out in a portable ashtray and slipped it into his pocket. “No. Your truck is not working.”

  “What do you mean she’s not working? She was running like a top. The wind-up kind, but running anyway.”

  Nik shrugged. “I take you home. Mr. Agadzinoff said I drive you.”

  “I want to see my pickup.”

  Nik jerked his head toward the drive and stalked off the porch.

  I hurried after him. “You didn’t try to wash her, did you? I told you soap is no good for that truck. The grime holds her together. She gets rained on occasionally.”

  “You need new car,” said Nik.

  “I need a ton of new things. The Datsun and I’ve been through a lot together. I’m not putting her to pasture in Atlanta, I can tell you that. She needs to make it home so Cody can look at her.”

  Nik strode off the donut and began following another drive around the side of the house. We slowed before the garage, a three door. The far side had my little, yellow pickup. Her entrails were spilled all over the garage floor.

  “What have you done?” I cried, rushing to the truck. “Why are you taking her apart?”

  Nik followed me into the garage and leaned against a Jaguar in the opposite bay. “She no run. I am mechanic. Checking her parts.”

  “Baby, I am so sorry,” I said to my truck. “I’ll bring Cody up to take care of you.”

  I turned on Nik. “How could you dismantle her engine without talking to me first?”

  “I take care of cars. It’s what I do.” His eyes fixed on my truck and refused to glance in my direction.

  “That’s bullshit. You aren’t my mechanic. You don’t work for me.”

  Nik shrugged. “Your truck is here. She no run. I take care of her.”

  “I can’t believe it,” I said. “What am I going to do this weekend for a vehicle?”

  My look stopped his shrug.

  “Sorry,” said Nik, his eyes falling to the floor where my carburetor lay.

  “Is there a problem, darling?” said Rupert.

  Nik and I turned to peer into the interior of the neat garage. In the far corner, Rupert stood in a doorway. Leaving the door open, he stepped onto the garage stair landing and leaned on the railing.

  “Your chauffeur has taken it upon himself to dismantle my truck,” I said.

  “Oh yes,” said Rupert. “He told me it was having some difficulty with starting.”

  “I find that very odd considering it has a brand new starter.”

  “Maybe you need a new battery? I know nothing about cars. Don’t fret, dear. Nik is an excellent mechanic.”

  “So is my brother. And if it’s all the same to you, I’d rather Cody fix my truck. At home.”

  “Nik will take you home.”

  “And what do I do for a vehicle this weekend?”

  “I’m busy tomorrow, but I’m available on Sunday. We’ll set a time, and I’ll send Nik to pick you up. You can always just stay here.”
r />   “Don’t you get a day off?” I asked Nik. I had a feeling Rupert had ordered the disabling of my vehicle. The control freak wanted me under his thumb just like Nik and Miss David.

  “Don’t worry about Nikolai,” interrupted Rupert. “I will see you Sunday, Miss Tucker.” He turned and disappeared into the house, shutting the door behind him.

  I wasn’t sure if I liked painting rich people. Actually, I was pretty confident I didn’t.

  “Come on.” Nik pushed himself off the Jaguar and left the garage.

  “I can’t believe I’m at the mercy of a chauffeur. This is just crazy.” I huffed after Nik, pumping my arms to help my legs move faster. “You listen to me, Nik. First of all, I call shotgun. I’ve had enough with playing princess riding in the back. It doesn’t suit me and anyway, nobody notices.”

  Nik shoved his hands in his pockets, searching for his smokes. He jammed a cigarette in his mouth, lit it, and began smoking furiously.

  “Second, we’re stopping for lunch on the way back,” I continued. “You can just buzz into the Varsity, because I’m mad enough to eat two dogs. And a peach pie. And maybe some chili fries. Third, once we get to Halo, I’ve got errands to run and you’re running them with me.”

  I felt no sympathy for Nik. My poor Datsun had been disemboweled and left for dead. Someone had to be punished.

  Before Nik could open a car door for me, I yanked on the passenger handle and set off the alarm. With a smirk curling around his cigarette, Nik pulled his keys out of his pocket and cut the alarm. While he stubbed his smoke in his ashtray, I scrambled into the front seat, belted myself, and folded my arms over my chest.

  “I don’t like being controlled like this, Nik.”

  “I can tell,” Nik smiled and floored the car, racing down the steep drive.

  My hands flew to grasp the door handle. “I’m not talking to you until we get to the Varsity.”

  “Good,” said Nik.

  Which was not what I wanted to hear. “Have you eaten at the Varsity?”

  “No.”

  “It’s an Atlanta tradition. You need to eat at the Varsity. Every time my family comes to Atlanta, we eat at the Varsity.”

  Nik sighed and cut his eyes to me. “Why is Varsity so special? What is food?”

  “Chili dogs, burgers, fried pies, frosted orange. It’s delicious and cheap. And the building is huge. Filled to the brim during Georgia Tech games. You’ll be impressed.”

  “I can get burger anywhere.”

  “You’ll like it. Trust me.”

  Nik shrugged.

  I swear I would smack him the next time he shrugged. I stared out the window and glared at the Buckhead mansions we passed. Luxury cars surrounded us at the intersections. I felt itchy and out of sorts. The way I used to feel when I first visited the Bear’s house.

  “Nik, do you know Maksim Avtaikin?” I asked. “And don’t shrug or you’ll be sorry.”

  “No.”

  “How do you feel about Mr. Agadzinoff? What kind of man is he?”

  “He is my boss. He is rich and powerful.”

  “Do you like him?”

  Nik glanced at me. “No.”

  “Why?”

  “He cheats.” Nik rattled off a rant in a language I didn’t recognize. However, curse words are evident in any tongue.

  “He cheats at what? Cards? Is he one of Max’s deep pocket poker patrons?”

  “Sure, cards. Anything. I don’t know Max pocket poker.” His English had broken down and he rubbed his forehead.

  “It’s okay, honey.” I patted his shoulder. “It must be hard to think in two languages.” I should have known Rupert’s issues with Max might stem from the Bear’s underground high stakes poker games. I felt disappointed. Everything with Max seemed to boil down to padding his pockets with poker chips.

  I sighed and cupped my hand around my chin to lean against the door and watch the downtown traffic snarl around us.

  “What is wrong?” said Nik. “This sigh is not your style.”

  A BMW pulled around us to pass, and I straightened in my seat. “Nik, have you noticed a BMW hatchback following us?”

  “BMW hatchback? Why would One Series follow us?”

  “I don’t know.” I turned in my seat to look out the back window. “You didn’t see a BMW this morning when we drove into the city?”

  “This is Atlanta. Of course there are BMW One Series on the road. Also Three Series, Five, Six, Seven, X, Z, and M. Which series you interested?”

  “A silver one. Must be my imagination,” I said. “But if you notice a hatchback, let me know.”

  “Okay, crazy lady.”

  “You are going to love the Varsity,” I told him. “And you’re going to love Red’s even more.”

  “What is Red’s? Communists?”

  “You’re sticking with me for the rest of the day. I’ll buy you wings and beer for dinner before sending you home.”

  Poor Nik, I was taking him to the mother tiger’s den and he would need the reward. After fueling at the Varsity for strength, we would stop in to see Shawna Branson’s mother. Nik was going to need a beer after that visit.

  Twenty-Three

  By the time we reached Forks County, the town car smelled of grease from the crumpled white and red bags tossed in the back seat. Red cups half filled with melted chocolate shakes sat between us. I patted my contented stomach and tried to erase the sleepy stupor of chili dogs with a yawning stretch.

  “Now Nik,” I said, pointing him down a Line Creek subdivision street. “I’m going to warn you. The woman you’re about to meet has spent her days living vicariously through her daughter’s failed cheerleading and art careers. Her husband took off some years ago, although some would say she’s better off. Billy Branson’s disappearance allowed Delia to leech off her husband’s family in style. Some thought Billy might have made it as a golf pro, but he enjoyed shagging his female students more than he did golf balls. Don’t bring that up.”

  “Why would I bring this up? I don’t know this woman.”

  “This is Shawna Branson’s mother. Shawna is the enemy. Remember this.”

  “I do not understand why we are here.”

  “Reconnaissance mission, Nik. Miss Delia might know about these pictures her daughter thinks I hold.”

  “I still do not understand.”

  “Nik, just stand still and look pretty. You’ll do fine.”

  We pulled into the driveway of the two story brick and stucco house. The yard was small, but the landscaping lush and serviced regularly. A ruby red Taurus SHO sat in the driveway. Another gift from JB’s dealership.

  I rang the bell. Nik stood behind me. After a long two minutes, the front door opened and a blowzy strawberry blond swung into the opening wearing a tiger print silk robe and matching silk pajamas.

  My tiger’s den comment hadn’t been far off the mark.

  This was not roll out of bed ware. Her hair and makeup had been done up and her copper lipstick looked fresh. Her blue-green eyes tripped over me and landed on Nik. She stroked a diamond pendant that hung between the lapels of her pajamas. At the sight of Nik, the gleam of her eye matched the stripe of her robe.

  The Shawna apple didn’t fall far from the mother tree.

  “Mrs. Branson,” I said. “I’m Cherry Tucker.”

  Her eyes dropped off of Nik and she stopped salivating to flinch. “What do you want?”

  “Well, ma’am, could we come in?”

  Delia pulled the door open and waved us through. “Don’t think you’ve ever called on me before, Cherry.” Her voice dripped honey and antagonism.

  Nik followed me into the living room tastefully decorated in a style that would make any genteel Southern woman proud. I breathed a sigh of relief.

  The decor wasn’t original and tended toward a golf theme, but at least I didn’t have to shade my eyes. Delia waved me to a side chair and pointed Nik toward the couch. She sank beside him, angling her crossed legs toward Nik.

&n
bsp; “Who’s this?” she asked.

  “Nik,” I said. “He’s my driver. He’s kind of quiet.”

  Her penciled eyebrows rose fractionally, but she kept a better poker face than her daughter. She pointed at a tray with crystal glasses and a pitcher sitting on the coffee table. “Y’all want some tea?”

  “Thank you,” I said, not wanting to start the visit on a rude note.

  She smiled prettily and leaned forward to pour the tea. “I always keep glasses out for company. You just never know who will drop by.”

  I wondered if the droppers-by liked to find Delia Branson in her PJ’s, but didn’t think it appropriate to comment. “Thank you, ma’am. I suppose you know who I am?”

  “I should think so,” she rose from the couch to hand me my glass, careful to stick her hind end near Nik.

  His poker face was better than Delia’s.

  “Your family is quite notorious in the county,” she said. “Bless your heart.” Which translated as “everyone knows your skank mother abandoned her kids and your grandparents were too old to take a belt to you and your wild siblings.”

  I was used to such comments, but took a hefty sip of tea to calm my nerves. And came up coughing.

  Delia smiled without her teeth. “I picked up this recipe in Charleston. They make delicious sweet tea.”

  “A sweet tea martini,” I said. “Your guests must enjoy this beverage after a round on the links.”

  “Vodka not gin,” she said.

  “All the better. Gin has a stronger odor. You can drink this all day and no one would be the wiser.”

  She frowned. “Why are you here?”

  I set my tea glass on the side table next to my chair, careful to use a coaster. “Actually, it’s about Shawna. She is looking for some pictures and thought I might have them. I would like to help her, but I don’t know what pictures she means. I thought you might have an idea.”

  “You’d like to help Shawna? She hasn’t mentioned any pictures to me.” Delia curled her legs on the couch, draping an arm over the back. “She’s very busy, though. I’ve been hosting Pictograph parties for her all over town.”