Checkered Crime: A Laurel London Mystery (2 page)

“I don’t care.” I smiled from ear to ear. I held the money out in front of me.

“Nope. I’m not taking the only money you have.” He shoved my hand back toward me. “Consider it an early Christmas gift.”

“You do love me.” I jumped up and down before throwing my arms around his neck.

“No. I love that Quantum Rod and Reel still.” He gave me a slight hug back.

Chapter Two

“Now what are we going to do?” I held the refrigerator door wide open hoping to find something, anything deep within the depths of the beat-up, dented box after Derek dropped me off. Now I wished I had taken the leftovers from Lunch Date Dot Com guy.

Meow
. Henrietta, my cat, sat at my feet looking into the refrigerator.

Meow.
She looked up at me and licked her lips.

“I promise I will find us something.” I sighed. “Have I ever let you down?”

One night Derek and I were hanging out at the river down at the docks doing what teenagers did (drinking) and we found Henrietta under a bush on the banks. Of course I took her home and didn’t tell Trixie.

Henrietta wasn’t a very quiet kitten and that night she cried and cried. I was too drunk to even hear her, but Trixie’s super-sonic ears heard. Henrietta got me and her into trouble that night. Luckily Trixie let me keep her.

Henrietta pounced into the air, bringing me back to the present situation. She batted something between her front paws. A six-legged creature scurried out from under her.

Jealous, I watched Henrietta pounce again because I knew the outcome of the play fight Henrietta thought she was doing with the insect. The insect knew it too. Dinner.

“Enjoy,” I said and turned my attention back to the refrigerator.

My stomach growled. The dried-up slice of lemon wasn’t going to cut it.

Henrietta licked her paws before running them across her ears. Satisfied with her snack, she looked back up at me.

The laptop dinged.

“Oh, live one.” I rushed over to the futon and grabbed my laptop off the side table. “Let’s see who is going to take me to lunch tomorrow.”

Right or wrong, I never turned my laptop off. The dating website tab was open and I had a new message from Bob.

“Hi Bob.” I scrolled down the screen to get a look at him. “Not bad.”

I usually didn’t go for the muscle types, especially the ones that wore wife-beater tees. Though I did have to admit, his handsomely good looks along with the pearly white smile did overcome the bulging pecs.

Meow.
Henrietta had an opinion.

“Yeah. I think we might get a good juicy piece of salmon out of this one.” I quickly typed a note back to Bob.

Bing.

“And Bob answered.” I hit the open button of the message. He was unable to make a lunch date because of work, but he was more than happy to have dinner.

Hmm…dinner was a big commitment that I wasn’t sure I was willing to do only because I would feel like I needed to keep the night going. Lunch was way better because we had to get back to work. At least I used to have to get back to work.  I decided cocktails would be better and then it could extend to dinner if it went well.  I dashed off a reply to Bob and looked at Henrietta.

“Let’s go.” I grabbed her hot pink, crystal-studded leash and clipped it on her collar.

She had gotten used to being on a leash when we lived at the children’s home. The orphanage was in the country. I didn’t want her to run off. We didn’t have the extra money to buy a leash and Trixie made it clear that Henrietta was my responsibility. Derek and I had gone to Kmart to check out the cost of leashes and one stuck to my sticky fingers and fit Henrietta perfect.

Trixie never asked where I had gotten it, nor did I tell her.

The efficiency I rented was on Second Street, a street over from The Cracked Egg. Henrietta and I definitely would score some food there. My best friend Gia Picerilli’s family owned the greasy spoon, plus she worked there and knew my food situation.

I reached down and put my hand out. Henrietta brushed her back on my palm, stopping briefly to let me attached the leash. She loved going for walks.

At least it was sunny and warm, not raining like most spring days. Henrietta happily walked in front of me with her head high in the air. Sure we got strange looks from people who didn’t know us. Henrietta thought she was human. People who did know me, knew I was rarely without her.

We headed south on Second Street and left on Main. The street was already lined with parked cars. The Cracked Egg was known for its delicious food. Some people traveled forty-five minutes just to get one of Mr. Chiconi’s bacon, lettuce, and tomato sandwiches.

Just like always, all the café tables were taken, but not my stool at the left side of the bar.

Gia poured hot steaming coffee from the glass coffeepot and talked as fast as the liquid poured out.

“What are you doing here?” Gia asked over the crowd as she made her way down the counter. She looked back at the clock on the wall behind the counter. “Why aren’t you at work?”

There was a puzzled look on her face. She pushed the pen behind her ear that was buried under her massive curly black hair that she had pulled into a low ponytail. Envy pinched me. I tucked a piece of my honey-colored, shoulder-length hair behind my ear and wished I had her full head of hair.

Gia always had that va-voom that girls loved. My va-voom was more like a torn off muffler. A little rough around the edges. I’m not saying I’m a dog, but Gia knew how to wear clothes, bright red lipstick and get a man. Me. . .not so much.

When anyone crossed me growing up, I’d take them down in a minute, never once thinking I was going to grow up one day and live among them. I was hell bent on getting out of Walnut Grove when I turned eighteen. That didn’t seem to happen.

“Well?” Gia kicked a small cage around the corner of the counter.

Henrietta knew the drill. The cage was for her and she knew when she got in, Gia gave her some left over salmon or ham. Henrietta’s favorite. 

Gia leaned on her elbows and chomped on her gum only inches away from my face. The lines between her brows creased waiting for my answer.

“Morty Shelton fired me this morning.” I flipped my cup over. I did air quotes. “Let me go.”

My cheeks colored red. I wondered how many people got fired from selling port-a-lets.

“Fired? Did you say fired? That can’t be right. What is Morty thinking?” She shook her head like she was trying to see if it was working. I nodded. She poured the coffee in my cup and pushed the small bowl filled with creamer cups toward me. “He must not be thinking.”

“Obviously he wasn’t thinking.” Anger boiled in me. “I was the best salesperson he had. Not to mention the only salesperson he had.”

Getting people to buy things to me came naturally. In fact, I had been selling things since I was eight years old. I would “collect” items from the foster families’ houses.

All the other kids in the slammer, which was what we orphans called the orphanage, knew it too and would save the little bit of chore money we got and barter with me on the items I had “collected.” A bar of Dove always went for a lot of money. Even the five-year-old orphans didn’t want to use the cheap yellow bar with “soap” stamped on it. The smell alone made our bellies hurt.

“Carmine told me they got the big gig you have been working on. Without you that would have never happened.” Gia walked back down the counter and filled empty mugs.

Carmine Picerilli, Gia’s husband, was the only accountant in Walnut Grove. He rented out a little office in the top of the warehouse. Carmine did Porty Morty’s accounting for free in exchange for free rent. Granted, you could almost lose your life climbing the tiny metal stairs to get to Carmine’s office, but it had a great view once you were up there. His windows overlooked the entire river.

“Morty got the Underworld Music Festival account?” I asked a little louder than I probably should have. But I wanted to make sure she heard me over the crowd and clanking dishes.

Meow.
Henrietta looked up at me from the little open door on the cage. Her pupils dilated.

The regular stool warmers, which were all older men from Walnut Grove that came in every single morning to catch up with each other, swiveled their bodies toward me.

I grabbed my cup and took a sip to shut me up. I couldn’t believe it. I had been working on the Underworld Music Festival account for a year.

Over a year ago I was at Food Town grocery shopping and picked up the
Vogue Magazine
at the checkout. That was the only time I got to read
Vogue
. Sometimes when I grabbed a cup of coffee at the Gas-N-Go, I’d linger at the counter and read the headlines of my favorite magazines
—
they were too darn expensive and so not in my budget
—
but the day I was in line at Food Town, I put back my milk and bought
Vogue
because there was an advertisement for the Underworld Music Festival.

They were having a contest where you could enter your city or town and the winner was where they would host the next festival. Walnut Grove, Kentucky was perfect. We had plenty of farm land near the river. I knew it would be great for Walnut Grove’s economy and a good client for Morty.

Visions of rows and rows of port-a-lets had danced in my head along with the dollar signs and a big bonus for me. Here we were today; the visions of dollar signs fallen and crumbled at my feet.

“Yes. Carmine said he was going to be busy the next few days trying to get all the permits needed for Morty.” The bell over the diner door dinged. “Have a seat anywhere!” Gia hollered out to the people coming into the diner. She grabbed a couple of menus and followed them to their table.

My blood was boiling. Morty hadn’t wanted to even consider the festival. When I told him about my idea for the festival, he said the family functions, the boat dock parties, funerals, and the Friendship Baptist Church revival was plenty. I knew better. The economy wasn’t growing. There was chatter that eventually Walnut Grove would just merge with Louisville and become a suburb.

Ugh
.

I didn’t want that to happen. So I took matters into my own hands. In fact, I had to save up my own money to hop on the Greyhound Bus to New York and meet with the big publicity firm in charge of the festival. Little did I know that you had to have an appointment to be seen. The big doorman wasn’t about to let me in.

I scribbled my name, number, and why I was there on a used gum wrapper I had found balled up in the bottom of my purse and left it with the doorman. I hadn’t heard back so I guessed the doorman hadn’t given my “note” to the publicity firm.

Gia came back and grabbed a fresh pot of coffee off the pot stand.

“Carmine said that all the plans will be completed in a couple of weeks. I told him that you told me you were turned away at the door.” Gia talked fast.

The diner was getting busier by the minute.

“Some fancy woman with her black hair coiled into a bun on top of her head with chopsticks in it came to see Morty,” Gia snorted. “Can you imagine putting chopsticks in your hair? Did you see anything like that when you went to New York?”

“There were a lot of things I had seen in New York that I wished I hadn’t,” I murmured trying to take in everything Gia was telling me
—
getting more and more pissed with each passing breath. “There is no way they will be able to set up a festival as big as Underworld in three weeks.”

“The festival isn’t in three weeks. The planning stage should be over in three weeks. Gee, Laurel, I’m so sorry. I know how much you worked on that account.” Her perfectly lined red lips frowned.

“A year,” my voice cracked. I bit my lip trying to hold back the tears. “Over a year.”

In my spare time I had already put together a business plan that consisted of all the bands, their contact information and a preliminary schedule of events. I had even gone as far as contacting some of the big headliners and their agents in case I did hear back from the Underworld peeps.

All that work for nothing.

This whole idea of trying to get on the up and up was starting to have a stink to it.

“Damn Morty. He wants all the money and glory for himself. I landed that account.” The more I thought about it, the more pissed off I got.

“Do you know what you are going to do?” There was concern in her voice. Her eyes deepened.

“I was going to look through the help wanted ads in the
Louisville Courier
and see if there was a sales job.” I made myself a mental note to go by the Walnut Grove Journal and see if there were any posted jobs.

“Sales?” Gia laughed.

“What?” I asked. “I did sales for Porty Morty’s. Okay,” I admitted. “Calling my job at Porty Morty’s a sales position might be stretching it a bit but I did have to talk people into using port-a-lets at their functions.”

“Do I need to remind you about your past sales history?” Gia asked bringing up my ever-so-stained past.

Once I was sent to a young couple that had just adopted a baby from overseas and felt guilty when all their family said there were plenty of orphans in the United States. Lucky me…they decided they would try their hand at fostering. Unfortunately the husband was an undercover cop. I didn’t know about those Nanny cams, so when the good old cop and his wife played back the tapes and saw me having a vested interest in multiple items in their home, he had me arrested. Luckily, Trixie got me off…yet again.

“You can always work here.”

I lowered my eyes and curled my nose.

“Yes. I remember, but you have grown up.” She smiled one of those sympathy smiles.

Let’s just say that I was not very good at hearing complaints about Mr. Chiconi’s food when I did fill in for Gia when she had her molars removed. Needless to say…I was never asked to fill in again.

“I’m sorry, Laurel. I know you had been working so hard on that account.” Gia took in a deep breath before she let out a long sigh. Another group of people came into the diner and took the big six-top table in the front.