Checkered Past (A Laurel London Mystery Book 2) (2 page)

“Come on.” I opened the glove box. My .22 caliber Colt Defender handgun fell out along with the pink crystal-encrusted cat leash. I reached down and quickly grabbed the gun and I looked around to make sure no one was looking in the car. I put it back in the glove box and slammed it shut. “Can’t be flinging that baby around all day.”

I snapped the leash on Henrietta and picked her up. I grabbed my hobo bag and we headed toward the diner.

“Mornin’.” Charlie Haskell stood outside of The Cracked Egg with a toothpick stuck between his lips. His skin was tan from being outside all the time. He wore a little black knit cap, barely covering the top of his head. His nose was wide, his smile was gummy, and his eyes squinted when he laughed. “It’s gonna be hotter than a two-dollar pistol out here today.”

“It sure is,” I said, stopping to let Charlie pet Henrietta.

“Who’s the man who thinks he’s shittin’ in high cotton?” Charlie referred to Gilbert.

“I don’t know.” I shrugged. I wasn’t going to say much about Gilbert because I didn’t know his business and it wasn’t my story to tell. “Dang,” I wiped my brow. “I hope this weather breaks.”

The humidity had gone up since we hit the county line. A little bead of sweat gathered on my lip. I used the back of my hand to wipe it away.

“You doing all right, Charlie?” I asked. He was busy looking between the legs of the painted mural of the dancing egg on The Cracked Egg’s front window.

“Yeah. Mrs. Picerilli gave me some day old hot dogs to use as bait.” He grinned. He leaned in. I held my breath. Charlie smelled like the last rose of summer. “Don’t tell her, but I ate one for myself.” He winked, did a little skip and was on his way.

I let a deep sigh to catch my breath and headed on in the diner. The smell of bacon was welcomed.

“Who’s Mr. Fancypants?” Gia Picerilli asked after I moseyed up to the counter to my spot.

 She stuck a pen in her black curly hair. Her dark features let you know she was Italian through and through.

Gia was my long-time best friend and her family owned the greasy spoon diner which had the best food within one hundred miles. If you asked her, she’d say it was the best damn food in all of America. I hadn’t been around all of America, so I couldn’t say for sure, but it was good food.

Gia shifted, one hand on her hip, the other had a coffee pot dangling from it. She wore the not-so-flattering black, one-piece, waitress skirt jumper that zipped up the back. The Cracked Egg mascot was embroidered on the front—compliments of Walnut Grove’s only seamstress, Norma Allen. It was a big egg with two skinny legs in heels with a small crack on the top along with two big yellow eyes.

 “He’s in town to see Jax.” After I put Henrietta in the cage Gia provided for me at the end of the counter, I sat at the bar on my regular stool. I did a few spins for old time’s sake and looked down at the menu like I didn’t know I was already getting my favorite sandwich.

The answer must’ve satisfied Gia because after she put a cup of coffee in front of me, she made her way down the bar filling the drinks of the old timers, the regulars and Gilbert Pinskey.

I watched Gia flip Gilbert’s coffee cup, lean her hip against the counter, and slowly fill his cup. Her lips were flapping. She slid a piece of pie his way. I smiled when Gilbert smiled. Gia had a way of getting people to talk over food. Free food. Especially a piece of The Cracked Egg’s chess pie.

They talked for a few minutes. Gia nodded toward Louie Pelfrey who was delivering The Cracked Egg’s Krispy Kreme order and the reason why Louie wasn’t at The Windmill Hotel. Most people in Walnut Grove had to have two jobs to make ends meet.

The Great Recession had hit these parts hard. The Chamber of Commerce was meeting tonight about how the economy wasn’t in the best shape around here and how the new casino boat being built on the river by Porty Morty’s was our only hope of survival.

Since I was now a legitimate business owner with Drive Me, I was able to attend and give my two cents. Not that I had two cents to give, but I was good at listening and figuring out how to get out of sticky situations. Granted most of those situations had been illegal, but I have proven my past was in the past. I was good at keeping the past buried. Especially my own.

I pulled a notepad and pen out of my hobo bag. There were better things to do other than be nosy about Gilbert, like find out who my family really was.

As a baby, I was dropped off at the orphanage in Walnut Grove and raised by Trixie Turner. While I can say it really messed me up in the love department and my trust issues had played a part in my sunny disposition, overall I turned out all right. A little rough around the edges, but that gave me my
I don’t give a shit
attitude. Especially when it came to men.

Regardless, The Gorilla, the affectionate name the mob had given my grandfather, had put me in the orphanage to keep me safe. He believed I would be safe tucked away in the small town in Kentucky.

Anyway, I was on a mission to find out all I could about my family history. In between clients, I spent a lot of time at the library or on the Internet looking for any clues I could. I even had Donna Marple, the town librarian, doing some research.

“Works for the FBI. Catching up on old times,” Gia whispered after she made her way back over to me. She tapped her pen on the pad of paper like she was taking my order even though she knew darn well I was ordering the BLT. She spun my notebook around and took a look at it.

“I don’t buy it.” She slid her eyes down to Gilbert. He was devouring the pie. “He has shifty eyes. He might be with the FBI, but something is going down.” Her brows lifted. She pointed to my notebook. “What is all this about?”

“Nothing.” I shook my head and dragged it closer to me before slipping it back in my bag.

No one knew I was the granddaughter of The Gorilla. Well, two someones did. Trixie and Ben Bassman, the attorney for The Gorilla. I was advised to keep it a secret until Ben figured out if there were any mob families or relatives of mob families who might be seeking revenge for all my grandfather’s wrong doings. Again. . . blood money and I wasn’t touching it.

“I am not going to do it!” someone screamed from behind me.

I looked over my shoulder at the lunch crowd to see who was yelling. My attention focused on the bank duo, Pepper Spivy and Sally Bent.

“I’m not.” Pepper shook her dirty dishwater brown bob back and forth protesting whatever it was Sally asked her to do. Pepper brushed down the arms of her pantsuit jacket (her normal attire) and sat up a little straighter.

Ever since Sally got her job as a teller at Walnut Grove Savings Bank, she prettied herself up. She kept her long black hair slicked back into a bun that was perfectly secured on the back of her head and kept a weekly nail appointment at Shear Illusions.

“Is everything all right?” Louie Pelfrey asked. He made a quick stop at his sister’s table on his way out of the diner.

“Everything is fine.” Sally’s words were to the point. She gripped a copy of the
Walnut Grove Journal
in her fist. “I’m fine.” Her words softened.

Her eyes lowered and glided my way. Our eyes locked, sending chills up my freshly shaved legs.

“Willie Ray Bowman escaped,” she mouthed to me, stopping my heart.

I gripped the counter and sucked in some much needed air. I looked back over to Sally. Her brother Louie moseyed over to assess the situation. Her eyes darted over her shoulder. Her lips pursed. 

“I wonder what’s going on over there.” Gia’s head craned over the lunch crowd who had taken interest in what was going on with the bank tellers.

I took notice of the journal Sally had put back on their table and watched her use her hand to flatten it out. The Hub was written in bold black ink at the top.

“Hey, Gia.” I grabbed her before she made her way back down the counter with a full pitcher of tea in one hand and a fresh pot of coffee in the other.

“Yep?”

“Do you have a copy of today’s
Journal
?” I asked.

She flung her head back, gesturing to Sally and Pepper, only their table had been abandoned and the
Journal
was gone with them.

Chapter Two

I’ve had a hard-on for Sally Bent every since she got adopted by the Pelfrey’s. Not that I cared she was adopted—maybe a little envious—but someone had to pick up her chores of cleaning the bathrooms and that someone was me.

“Just some advice.” Gilbert slid his butt to the edge of the back seat after we had finished eating. He folded his elbows across the front seat, something dangling from his finger. He dropped it on my seat. “Clean your taxi.”

I pulled into The Windmill Hotel before I looked down to see what he was talking about.

Gilbert jumped out and tapped the trunk; only I didn’t hear it the first time. The trash he’d dropped wasn’t trash. It was a message sent in the form of a leather tobacco pouch belonging to one Willie Ray Bowman.

“Bags!” Gilbert pounded his fist on the trunk, getting my attention.

“Oh.” I waved my hand in the air. I grabbed my keys out of the ignition and got out. “Sorry.” I unlocked the trunk. “Say, why are you here to see Jax?”

“I don’t think that’s your business.” He heaved the heavy bag out of the back and rolled it up to the window where Big Louie had taken his spot for the day.

“You don’t have to tell me,” I muttered and watched him slip his credit card through the hole in the glass for Louie to take as payment. I slammed the trunk shut. “I have the evidence Willie Ray Bowman is back in town and I bet you are here to get him.”

I glanced both ways down the street before I hopped back into the car. Sally Bent knew something. And I was going to try to figure out what she knew or what she saw in the
Journal
.

I turned the cab down Main Street and turned right on Second Street where the Walnut Grove Savings Bank was located. I drove around the lot and saw Sally and Pepper in the drive through teller window working with customers.

I pulled the Old Girl into a spot, put the leather pouch under the seat and got out. Willie Ray was around here somewhere, but where? I scanned the parking lot and the surrounding areas to see if I could get a glimpse of him. Even if I did, I doubt he looked the same. Or maybe he’d be in the big orange jumpsuit the state penitentiary provided for him because I knew he wasn’t set to get out of the Castle on the Cumberland, the beloved nickname for Eddyville, Kentucky’s state penitentiary, ever.

“Here goes nothing.” I prepared myself before I stepped through the threshold of the bank lobby.

“Stay right there.” Pepper put her hand out and grabbed the phone. “You aren’t allowed to come in here. I’m calling the cops.”

“Derek? I have him on speed dial. I can call him for you.” I grabbed my phone out of my pocket and held it up. Pepper ducked behind the counter and a loud bell dinged all over the bank.

“Damn it!” I spat. “You sounded the alarm?” I stood with my hands in the air. “Where is Sally? I need to talk to Sally.”

“Shut up and wait for Derek,” Pepper warned.

Derek Smitherman would be here anytime. Yes. I was trespassing. Walnut Grove Savings Bank was one block from the police station.

No sooner did I think Derek could run over faster than jump in his police cruiser to get here did he run in the door with his elbows locked and gun pointed straight at me.

“Shit!” He surveyed the situation before he snapped his gun back in his holster. His steel-blue eyes looked annoyed behind his large black-rimmed glasses. His dark hair had that freshly shaved look. Even his face didn’t have the five o’clock shadow. “When I saw that car, I knew you were the one in here creating some sort of issue.”

“She is trespassing and I want her arrested!” Pepper Spivy screamed from behind the counter.

“I’m not.” I shook my head and put my hands down.

“You are!” she yelled back.

I turned toward Derek. “I’m not.” I continued to shake my head. I pointed to the threshold of the bank’s front doors. “Really, not by much. Maybe an inch.” I held my finger and thumb about an inch apart.

“Arrest her!”

“Shut up!” I screamed back and started toward the door.

“Hold it right there, London.” Derek was trying to pull some big Billy Bad Ass act on me.

“Oh
come
on.” My voice escalated. I slowly turned back around to face the bank lobby. The
Walnut Grove Journal
was sticking up out of the garbage can underneath the island in the middle of the bank where the extra deposit tickets and withdrawal slips were placed. I would put money on it that the tellers came back from their lunch and threw it away. I eased myself up to the island and stuck my elbows on top. Gently I rested my hands in my head. “I have to open an account somewhere now that I have my new company.”

Total lie. My money wasn’t going anywhere. It was my money. No way was I going to let nosy Pepper Spivy look into my business like she did every other person in Walnut Grove.

True fact.

Pepper Spivy hired me when I was in high school, on a favor from Trixie, to clean the bank. I hated cleaning, but I was good at it. Mind you I wasn’t as good as Sally Bent, but I could dust with the best of them. Anyway, Walnut Grove Savings Bank was such a small bank, when you came in to open an account; they had the machine to give you an automatic teller machine (ATM) card right there on the spot.

The orphans complained day in and day out about the old stale bread Trixie got from the Wonder Bread Outlet on the outskirts of Louisville and I got tired of hearing about it. One night, while I was cleaning, I got a hankering for pizza. Not the kind of pizza Trixie made by slapping some generic pasta sauce on a piece of bread and a slice of commodity cheese before she broiled it in the toaster oven. I mean a real slice of pizza from Pizza Hut.

The more I scrubbed the toilets in the bank bathrooms, the more my mouth watered thinking about the hot slice of dripping cheese. I even imagined the string clinging on to my chin.

I tried and tried to put the pizza in the back of my head, and then the ATM encoder was staring me in the face. I ran the duster over it a couple of times. I hoped by knocking the dust off, it would knock the idea right out of my mind. It didn’t.