Death, Taxes, and Cheap Sunglasses (A Tara Holloway Novel Book 8) (23 page)

I lowered my visor, took one look at my hair in the vanity mirror, and tried not to scream. Thanks to the morning moisture, it had grown even bigger and spongier than I’d expected. Whipping my comb from my purse, I did my best to stretch and flatten it back into place, but it stubbornly refused to cooperate.
Ugh.
Oh, well. It wasn’t like I was running for beauty queen here. If anything, my kinky hair made me look more wild and tough. That could be an advantage when we took down the thief later.

I was halfway through my latte when—
rap-rap!
—Josh tapped on my passenger window. I pushed the button to unlock the door. “Howdy, pardner.”

His baby-blue eyes went wide. “What happened to your hair?”

“Humidity.”
Sheesh.
Way to make a girl feel good. No wonder it took him so long to lose his virginity.

He slid into the seat, plopping a small duffel bag onto his lap. “This is too early. The roosters haven’t even crowed yet.”

“Cock-a-doodle-doo,” I sang. “Does that make you feel better?”

He cast me an irritated glance. “No.”

“How about this?” I held up the large hot chocolate I’d ordered for him.

His face brightened. “Oh, goody! You got me a big one!”

Oh, goody?
What a man-child.

Josh took the cup from me and proceeded to drain half its contents in one long gulp.

I gestured to the bag on his lap. “What’s in there?”

“Some gear that might come in handy.” He plunked his drink back into the cup holder and pulled a bunch of spy cameras from the bag. A small teddy bear, standard nanny-cam fare. Another tiny camera made to look like a ballpoint pen. Another hidden inside a wristwatch. A fourth in a decoy smoke alarm. He also had a model built into a key-chain remote and another inside a fully functioning flash drive.

“What’s the plan?” I asked.

“I figured I’d situate one of these on top of the box for the canister vacuum so we can get a better look at the thief. We can take video and pictures, too. For evidence.”

I looked over the selections. “The bear’s too obvious,” I said. “Besides, somebody might pick it up and carry it off. The smoke alarm would look out of place outside. With the pen, the watch, and the flash drive, there’s the risk that somebody will take it, too. They might keep it for themselves, or they might try to turn it in to the bank. Got anything else?”

“No.” Josh scowled.

I could hardly blame him. I’d pooped all over his party. I thought for a moment, then snapped my fingers. “I’ve got an idea.”

I reached into my purse, pulled out a pack of gum, and proceeded to shove five sticks into my mouth. When the wad was soft and pliable, I pulled it out of my mouth, grabbed the pen off Josh’s lap, and laid it on the wad. I squeezed until the gum surrounded the pen. “See? It’ll just look like some jackass vandalized the machine. Nobody will pick the pen up if it’s covered in gum.”

Josh cringed. “That’s disgusting.”

“No. It’s clever.”

“It’s disgusting
and
clever.”

“Conceded.”

Climbing back out of the car, Josh and I trotted over to the last drive-thru lane. I laid the gum-engulfed pen on top of the box, aiming the camera lens so that it would look directly into the driver’s window.

Josh tapped the screen of his tablet. “I need to check the live feed. Go stand where the car would be.”

While Josh looked down at his screen to make sure the live signal was functioning, I took a few steps to the right, positioning myself in the drive-thru lane. “How’s it look?”

He held up his tablet to show me. I could see myself clearly on the screen which, given that I’d downed a twenty-ounce latte and had energy to spare, meant I had to do some dance moves. I started with the classic John Travolta
Saturday Night Fever
finger point, segued into moves from the Michael Jackson
Thriller
music video, and wrapped up with some
Napoleon Dynamite
maneuvers.

Josh merely cast me a look, turned, and walked away.
Now whose party is being pooped on?

I followed him back to the car. “Could you get me one of those antiseptic wipes from the glove compartment?”

Josh opened the glove box, retrieved a wrapped wipe, and tossed it to me. I used my teeth to tear the foil packet open, pulled out the wipe, and cleaned my sticky hand.

We took our seats once again, making small talk as we sat there. In the narrow space between the window shade and the edge of the windshield, I noticed the green lights come on over the drive-thru lanes. My eyes checked the clock on my dash.
Seven-thirty. Right on time.
The bank manager ran an efficient ship.

Though I’d started this stakeout early to ensure we didn’t miss the thief, I didn’t really expect him to show up until the afternoon. The records in the file indicated he’d made all of his previous withdrawals between two and four P.M. Still, criminals weren’t exactly reliable. Better to spend some extra hours in the car than to miss him entirely. Besides, Josh and I could take turns watching the video feed while getting other work done on our computers.

Josh took a potty break at nine-thirty, and I followed suit once he returned, spending the rest of the morning squinting against the sun as I watched the drive-thru lanes. At noon, my stomach began to rumble.

“Hungry?” I asked my partner.

“I could eat,” Josh replied.

I glanced out the car window to see what lunch options were in walking distance. There was a Taco Bell, a Burger King, and a Hooters.

“I’ll buy us some lunch.” I gestured out the window. “What sounds good? Burritos or burgers?”

Josh’s gaze locked on the Hooters sign. “I’m in the mood for wings. I’ll go get them since you bought the coffee this morning.”

Wings didn’t sound appetizing to me at all. The thought of chicken bones reminded me of that filthy, fly-covered grill at Paradise Park.

Before I could argue, Josh had hopped out of the car. I unrolled my window. “Bring me a Cobb salad!” I called after him. “With ranch dressing!”

He didn’t return for nearly an hour. Judging from the smudges of sauce on his cheek, he’d decided to eat at the restaurant rather than bring his wings back to the car. The salad he handed me was warm and soggy, but I chose not to complain. It had taken the guy a decade and a half longer than anyone else to reach puberty. I couldn’t fault him too much for wanting to eat inside and ogle the girls in their tiny orange shorts and tight T-shirts.

My tummy now full, I fought the urge to close my eyes and take a nap in the warm car.
Focus, Tara,
I admonished myself, forcing my eyes to stay open and lock on the feed on the tablet. I watched as a minivan drove through. A Passat. A Scion. A short, skinny guy on a Harley that looked too big for him.

A couple of hours later, the screen provided a partial view of a dark pickup pulling up behind the Prius currently in the farthest of the drive-thru lanes. I watched while the middle-aged woman in the Prius finished her transaction, slid her car into gear, and pulled out of the lane. The truck edged forward, its driver coming into sight.

Bingo.

The person at the wheel wore a gaudy floral shirt, enormous round-lens sunglasses that covered half his face, and what was clearly a mop head on top of his skull. Obviously, he’d made only a half-assed effort at disguising himself. Then again, with all the success the criminal had enjoyed so far, he’d probably grown lax, thinking the withdrawal was in the bag.
Idiot.
The only thing about to be bagged was
him.

I nudged Josh, who had dozed off in his seat, spilling drool tinged with barbecue sauce down his chin. “Wake up, buddy. Our thief is here.”

Josh came to, sitting up and wiping his chin on his sleeve. “The thief? Are you sure?”

I pointed at the screen. “Take a look for yourself.”

Josh pushed some buttons on his tablet and zoomed in on the face in the truck window. “That is one ugly grandma.”

With the huge glasses and mop-wig, it was difficult to tell the man’s age or what he might look like without the getup. About the only thing I could tell for certain was that granny had an Adam’s apple and a five o’clock shadow. Perhaps granny should consider hormone treatments.

We watched as the man stretched an arm out the truck’s open window, removed the plastic canister from the machine, and opened it, sliding the withdrawal slip inside. The buzz of a pending bust began to tingle inside me. If he thought he’d be driving away with several hundred dollars, he’d be sorely disappointed.

The vacuum sucked the canister up through the tube. Sure enough, not ten seconds later, my cell phone rang.

I jabbed the button to accept the call. “Special Agent Holloway.”

“Hi,” came a female voice. “We’ve got a customer in the far lane who just sent a withdrawal slip for the account you referenced.”

“Thanks,” I told the woman. “I’ve got him in my sights. You’ll tell him the account is overdrawn?”

“Right,” she said. “That’s what our manager told us to do.”

We ended the call, and I carefully removed the sunshade from my windshield and started my car, ready to follow the truck as soon as he pulled away. Josh and I continued to watch the zoomed image on the tablet. Though the pen had no audio and we couldn’t hear their interaction, it was easy to follow what was going on. The guy’s mouth turned down in a frown as the teller told him she couldn’t honor his withdrawal request. He said something back that, not being a lip reader, I couldn’t decipher. He then rolled up his window, banged a hand on his steering wheel, and mouthed a word that was unmistakable.

Fuck.

“Think you’re going to rip off Granny Pucketts?” I let loose a laugh. “Not on my watch, buddy.”

Neener-neener.

chapter twenty-four

I
t’s All Greek to Me

The guy punched the gas and pulled out of the drive-thru with a squeal of his tires.
Screee!

I pulled out of my parking spot and began to follow him, holding back half a block so he wouldn’t get suspicious.

A quarter mile down the road, he pulled into the parking lot of a grocery store. He stopped the car in a remote area beyond the scope of the security cameras mounted on the front of the building. Josh and I drove on, pulling into a spot between two cars closer to the store. I reached into my purse and whipped out the old pair of field glasses I’d sponged off my father.

As I watched, the guy yanked the mop off his head. He climbed out of the truck, reached behind the seat, and pulled out two license plates and a screwdriver. He proceeded to screw one plate onto the front bumper, the other on the back.

Josh squinted through the windshield. “Is he putting license plates on the truck?”

“Yep. Write the number down for me.”

As I rattled off the numbers, Josh typed them into his notes app on his tablet. I had him repeat the license number back to me to make sure we got it right.

When the guy climbed back into his truck, I eased out of the space to continue following him. Not an easy task. Once he’d cleared the parking lot, he drove like a rabid bat out of hell, weaving in and out of traffic, nearly clipping a mother in a minivan and tailgating another truck until that driver turned, holding his middle finger up out of the window.

“Hurry up!” Josh said as we approached a light turning yellow. “You’ll lose him!”

I floored the gas and went through the intersection just as the light cycled to red.

Despite my best efforts, the thief continued to move farther and farther away. He turned down Airline Road and made his way past the Daniel Cemetery I’d earlier identified as the center of his criminal realm. When he made a left two blocks later near the Southern Methodist University campus, a gaggle of coeds stepped into the street right in front of my car, forcing me to hit the brakes and make a quick stop. Not only were they lucky I hadn’t run them over, they were also taking their merry time to cross.

“Hurry up!” I shouted, giving a tap on my horn.
Honk.

The girls took my honk as their cue to cast me nasty looks and move even slower. One even looked right at me through the windshield and mouthed the word “bitch.” Exasperated, I yanked the wheel and pulled up onto the sidewalk to get around them. Not exactly exemplary driving behavior but, hey, it’s not like Dallas PD would issue me a ticket.

By the time I could make the turn, the truck was nowhere to be seen.

Now it was my turn to bang on my steering wheel. “Dammit!”

“We’ve got the plate,” Josh reminded me. “I can run it and figure out who the truck belongs to.”

As I cruised down the block, my eyes peeled for the truck, Josh looked up the information on our DMV search link.

When he’d obtained the information, he relayed it to me. “According to the DMV, the truck belongs to a Thomas Peabody who lives in Longview.”

Longview?
The town lay two hours’ drive east of Dallas. Would someone drive all this way to make bogus withdrawals? Maybe I’d been wrong to assume the crook lived here in the city.

“Check Peabody’s driver’s license information,” I suggested. It was possible that Peabody had recently moved to Dallas but failed to update his car registration.

Josh ran that search next. “His driver’s license gives the same address in Longview.”

“What else does it tell us?”

“Peabody was born in nineteen sixty-eight. Brown hair, green eyes. Weighs a hundred and sixty pounds.”

My eyes continued to scan the parking lots and street for the truck. “Check to see if he’s got a criminal record.”

Josh ran a search through the criminal information clearinghouse. “No record.”

Crap. Crap, crap cra—
Wait. Is that the truck parked in front of that frat house?

I hadn’t been in a sorority, though I’d attended a number of open frat parties during my days at UT. Still, I’d been out of college too long to remember the Greek alphabet. What were those letters? Was that a phi? A thi? A chi? A beta? A theta? A zeta? Oh, well. I supposed it didn’t really matter.