Jackrabbit Junction Jitters (9 page)

If Ruby were with him, Mac would be holding her back from
beating Rensberg senseless with the tubes. The asshole had hassled Ruby on a
daily basis in April for being behind on her mortgage payments for the R.V.
park. Ever since, she’d used a picture of him for dart practice in the rec room.

“Hello, Rensberg.”

Rensberg looked up from the paper, his eyes widening as he
stared back. He snapped the file folder closed, his right hand touching one of
the tubes next to him.  “Garner.”

“Harassed any widows lately?”

The bank man’s ruddy cheeks darkened visibly. “Only those
who try to skip out of paying what they legally owe.”

“What brings you to the Copper Snake? Chasing ghosts?”

Rensberg’s great, great grandfather graced several of the
pictures hanging on the reception room’s walls. He’d founded the Copper Snake,
and along with his son and then grandson, built it into a mammoth monster that
had gobbled up most other mining companies in the area.

Then Rensberg’s father had taken over and sold off most of
the family’s shares to support his very young, very beautiful, and very
expensive wife, only to kill himself after she left him and his son years
later. Last Mac had heard, the only role Richard Rensberg played in the Copper
Snake’s day-to-day operation was cashing paychecks for the miners at the teller
window.

“None of your business, Garner. How’s your aunt? Still
scraping the bottom of the barrel as always?”

Red-hot fury fired in Mac’s gut. He hid it behind a cool
smile.

“Mr. Johnson will see you now, Mr. Rensberg.” Edith interrupted.

Rensberg stuffed the file folder back in his briefcase and
stood. “Thank you, Edith.”

“Would you like your coffee sweetened, as usual?”

“Please.” He clutched the two map tubes to his chest. “Garner,
tell your aunt our refinance rates are at a five-year low,” he said, his
expression smug. “Just like her paltry savings account.”

Mac wanted to scrape the look off the banker’s face with his
knuckles. “It’s always unpleasant to see you, Dick.”

Without wasting another breath on the son of a bitch, Mac
pushed through the glass doors and stepped into the afternoon heat. Coming from
the air-conditioned office, he felt like an ant under a magnifying glass.

He climbed into his pickup and fired it up. Next stop, the
library. Time to dig through old claims and trace the lineage of the Lucky Monk
mine.

Inhaling the hot air blasting from the vents, he wasn’t sure
if he should be grinning wide or popping antacids. If the mining company wasn’t
behind Leo Scott’s letter about the claim for the Lucky Monk, then who was? And
how deep were their pockets?

* * *

Jess plopped down on the curb next to Kate. “Mom said she’ll
be here as soon as she can find Claire and get her to watch the store.” The
paper sack in Jess’s hands crackled as she pulled out a tube of tangerine lip
gloss.

The teenager smacked her grape gum and popped another bubble—a
smell and sound Kate would probably always associate with barreling into the
broadside of a brand-stinking-new, red Chevy Silverado SS. The damned pickup
still had the temporary plates stuck in the window for chrissake.

Every time Kate blinked, dollar signs floated behind her
eyes.

She stared across the hardware store’s gravel parking lot at
the blue-eyed cowboy she’d exchanged stares with outside the mini-mart
yesterday, aka Butch the bartender. He stood next to his pickup, giving his
play-by-play of the demolition derby to the sheriff. From the easy-going tilt
of Butch’s white cowboy hat and the quick grins on the sheriff’s face, Kate guessed
the two had a fishing rendezvous every Saturday morning.

Dragging her gaze away from Butch, she tried to block out
the banjo chords from Deliverance that kept repeating in her head. Sweat
trickled down the back of her neck. Even the whitish-pink flowers on the
prickly poppies growing along the highway’s shoulder drooped in submission to
the sun’s rays.

Lifting her hair from her neck, she fanned herself with the
copy of the citation she hadn’t been able to wiggle out from under no matter
how many times she’d batted her eyelashes. Today was one of the few times in
her life that being blonde hadn’t earned her bonus points.

If word of this fiasco made it back to her insurance
company, the scissor sharpening would commence. After her string of speeding
tickets a couple of years back, they’d spare no time cutting her loose, and a
year of using cruise control would be wasted all because Jess had run out of
lip gloss.

Maybe Kate should just suck it up and pay out-of-pocket for
this mess. It would drain a good chunk of her reserves, forcing her to job hunt
sooner than she’d planned, but not being dropped by her insurance company might
be worth it in the long run.

Batting at a pair of flies that buzzed around her head like
it was a control tower, she looked over at Jess, who was busy painting her
lips. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah. My shoulder is a little sore from the seat belt, but
that’s it. Those air bags were super coolio. It sounded like gunshots when they
popped out.”

Her own ears still rang from it.

“I can’t believe what a rotten driver you are, though.” Jess
kicked her coltish legs out in front of her. “Especially after all of the years
of practice you’ve had.”

Kate shot the teenager a dirty look. Maybe Ruby should
consider boarding school for the little shit.

“Claire is a way better driver than you, that’s for sure.”

Claire was better at most things than Kate, but she didn’t
need this pissant reminding her of that fact right now. Kate opened her mouth
to tell Jess to go sit somewhere else, preferably on something pointy, but held
her tongue when she noticed Butch striding toward her.

Uh, oh.

The scowl was back on his rugged face, his blue eyes
practically glowing red. The tendons in his neck strained against the neckline
of his faded T-shirt.

Gulping, Kate stepped onto the curb for extra leverage. She
brushed the stone crumbs from her linen shorts, straightened the hem of her
white, silk tank top, and braced for the storm.

“What in the hell is wrong with you, woman?” Butch’s glare
rivaled the sun.

Kate lifted her chin. “If you’re referring to the possible
variance in our reports, I can assure you—”

“I’m referring to the load of shit you tried to slide under
Grady’s nose.”

“Grady?”

“Sheriff Grady Harrison.”

Kate was surprised the sheriff’s name wasn’t Opie, Jeb, or
Billy Bob. “Well, I was just relaying the facts as I saw them.”

“Really?” Butch’s eyes narrowed. He leaned closer, nearly
nose-to-nose. “Explain to me how I was backing recklessly into oncoming traffic
when I hadn’t even left the parking lot.”

Kate held her ground, unruffled by his proximity. She’d
battled screaming, outraged parents enough times to know a level voice and
polite smile were her best defenses. “You were backing up without checking to
see if anyone was pulling into the lot.”

“And you were the ‘oncoming traffic’?”

“Exactly.” So she’d been reaching on that one, but it had a
grain of sense to it. Unfortunately, the sheriff had only chuckled and kept
writing, unlike Butch, whose fists were now clenched.

“And what about the ‘failure to use a signal’ part?”

That had taken some creativity, but Kate had been spinning
the truth since potty training. “Had you used your turn signal, I might’ve been
able to swerve to avoid your truck.”

“I was backing up.”

“All the more reason to use your signal to indicate the
direction in which you were going to back.”

Butch opened his mouth, then glanced at Jess and snapped it
shut. He shook his head. “Amazing. You crash into me and it’s my fault.”

Kate smiled politely.

“Woman, they should take your license, cut it into pieces,
and spread it over the Sonoran Desert. It’s a good thing Grady could see
through your bullshit. I’m just lucky you have insurance.”

“Umm, about that.” Kate almost swallowed her tongue at the
death-threat look Butch nailed her with. She took a deep breath and continued. “I’d
like to skip turning this into my insurance and just pay for it myself. You can
choose which repair facility you’d like to use, so long as the prices are
reasonable. I’m sure you ‘know a guy,’ being a bartender and all, but I’d
prefer to stick with legitimate shops. A triple-A mechanic in Yuccaville should
do just fine.”

Butch stared at her, a muscle in his jaw twitching. “You’ve
got to be fuckin’ kidding me.”

“Really, Mr. … ah, Butch.” She nudged her head toward Jess,
who watched them with her mouth open wide. Kate could see the wad of purple gum
on her tongue. “We have young ears listening.”

Butch’s chest rose and fell rapidly several times. “Listen,
lady—”

“Excuse me, Ms. Morgan.” Sheriff Harrison approached them
with an unreadable expression on his face.

“Yes, Sheriff?” Kate beamed at him, relieved to have a
referee enter the ring and break up the fight. Maybe good ol’ Grady had changed
his mind about the citation she still clutched in her sweaty palm.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but I’m gonna have to take you in.”

Kate blinked. “Take me into where?”

“The police station.”

The air suddenly seemed pizza oven hot. Kate’s smile
faltered. “The police station?” She tittered, sounding like her mother after a
martini and hating herself for it. “Is being a victim in an accident a crime in
this state?”

“No. But driving a stolen vehicle is.”

* * *

Claire and Ruby sat on the General Store’s front porch and
basked in the warm rays of the setting sun. The early evening storm rumbled its
goodbyes as it traveled on to the next valley, a cool breeze its parting gift.
The air, washed clean and sun dried, still smelled of wet greasewood and damp
dirt.

“So, the sheriff detained Kate for six hours.” Claire said.

Sipping from her Corona, she savored the lemony bite on her
tongue, and enjoyed a quiet lull before Gramps and Deborah arrived home with
Kate and more thunderclouds in tow. The hankering for a cigarette lingered in
the back of her mind.

“Six hours,” Ruby repeated, whistling.

Staring out over the driveway, Claire watched the sparkles
of light reflecting off the quartz mixed with the gravel, looking like a sea of
Tinkerbells.

“You think that’s normal or a little extra punishment for
trying to lie her way out of that ticket?” Claire asked.

“Probably just normal.” Ruby’s soft, drawl sounded almost musical.
“The law takes stolen vehicle reports very seriously ‘round these parts, with
Mexico being so close and all. If I remember right, Joe mentioned something
about the FBI bustin’ up a stolen car ring several years ago. He said the roots
spread out quite a ways on both sides of the border.”

Ruby’s late husband’s past was more than checkered, it was
gingham. Claire wouldn’t be surprised if he’d been the ring leader—the master
of criminal ceremonies.

Since Ruby had brought up Joe, and Gramps was off collecting
Kate, Claire decided to broach the subject she’d obsessed about all afternoon. “Back
before Joe had his memory zapped by that big stroke, did he ever mention
anything about a safe hidden somewhere in the house?”

Ruby remained quiet for several seconds. The breeze toyed
with a red curl that had escaped from her ponytail, while the setting sun lit
her freckled cheeks in a yellowish-orange glow.

“No. Never,” she answered. “And I was too caught up in
runnin’ this place to ask.” With a sigh, Ruby turned to Claire. “When I think
about Jess and me scraping by for the last year with the bank pounding on my
door and fixin’ to take this place out from under me, I want to dig up Joe and
let the coyotes chew on what’s left of him.”

Claire blinked, stunned at Ruby’s fierce tone.

“I used to think Joe was my Lancelot, ridin’ in on his white
horse and whiskin’ Jess and me away from my job waiting tables in Oklahoma
City. But when you found that money back in April, I realized what a selfish bastard
I’d been married to for the last five years. The man refused to buy health
insurance, let alone life insurance, but he had no problem stashin’ wads of
cash in his office.”

Claire shook her head, still amazed the money had been right
under Ruby’s nose all of that time.

“I was a fool to marry him, and an even bigger fool not to
question how a travelin’ salesman could afford to buy such expensive toys and
gadgets, not to mention the antiques.”

“Come on, Ruby, you’re being hard on yourself.” Claire patted
Ruby on the knee. “You were blinded by love.” A perfect example of why Claire
considered that heart-fluttering emotion another four-letter word.

“Love, ha!” Ruby snorted. “I thought I was in love. Turns
out, I was just tired of serving burgers and fries for a livin’. I’ll tell you
what, if Mac, Harley, and you hadn’t stepped forward to help me last spring, I’d
be in Yuccaville right now at the welfare office.” She squeezed Claire’s hand. “Don’t
think for one second I’ve forgotten all you and Mac did for me, including
risking your lives.”

Claire squirmed in her chair, suffering from an attack of
the “ah, shucks.”

When Ruby said that kind of stuff to her, Claire understood
why Mac never hesitated to jump to his aunt’s aid. Ruby’s gratitude made Claire
feel content in a way she hadn’t experienced since her grandmother had died.

She made a vow right then to figure out who had broken into
Ruby’s house and why, come hell, high water, or her own mother’s scorn.

Wanting to help Ruby with something that might make life
easier financially, Claire came clean. “I found a safe hidden behind the
bookcase in your office. It may have more money stashed in it.”

“Why does that not surprise me?” Sarcasm weighed heavy in
Ruby’s drawl. She crossed her arms, scowling. “Joe probably hid gold bars from
Fort Knox in there.”