Three Times Lucky (19 page)

“I think we should get some plates and forks.”

I headed for the cupboard. “I mean about Miss Lana.”

He studied me, his blue eyes serious. “I think we should do everything we can. If searching will help, I’ll search. If talking about the suitcase or the Colonel’s crash will help, I’ll talk. I’m surprised nobody’s already told him, anyway.”

Have I mentioned I will marry Lavender one day? We’ll adopt six children, some of them twins. He poured the eggs into the pan. “Dale!” he bellowed. “Get a move on!”

The toaster popped up two pieces of burnt toast. “We need to tell it careful,” I said. “Starr might not take the Colonel serious once he finds out he can’t remember anything.”

“Oh, Mo, everybody takes the Colonel seriously,” Miss Rose said. “He only missed being mayor by one vote last year, and he wasn’t even running.”

“Miss Lana voted against him,” I said. “Twice.”

Lavender shoveled eggs onto three plates. “Dale!” he called. “We’re eating.”

Miss Rose smiled at him as he sat down beside her. “Macon started that rumor the same day I met Lana. You were such a cute baby,” she told me.

“Yeah, except for that diaper thing,” Lavender said, wrinkling his nose.

I flipped a fork of eggs at him.

“Don’t throw your food,” Miss Rose said automatically. “Macon and I went over expecting to find the Colonel with you. But there was Lana sitting on the porch, rocking you and singing a lullaby. I can see her clear as day, wearing that light blue dress, the one with the little flowers and the pearl buttons down the back.

“We introduced ourselves, and suddenly Lana and I were best friends. After a while we went inside, and there was that old, striped suitcase lying open, full of baby things. And beside the suitcase was a stack of cash. The Colonel scooped the cash into the suitcase and closed it, and then he and Macon laughed about the Colonel’s suitcase full of cash.”

She glanced at Lavender, her eyes dancing. “You know how your daddy used to be, before … Well, before. Soon it was all over town—how Lana and the Colonel were living out of a suitcase of cash, buying whatever they needed to get the café up and running.” She shrugged. “I don’t see much reason to tell Starr about it, Mo, but I don’t see any harm in it either, if you want to.”

“Tell me what?” a voice said from the hallway, and we jumped. I whipped around, my mouth full of eggs. Starr stood in the door, hat in hand. His clothes were wrinkled and tired, and his chin wore a dark sheen.

“Did you find Miss Lana?” I asked.

“Not yet.”

Suddenly my eggs didn’t look fit to eat.

“Come in,” Miss Rose said. “I’ll pour you some coffee.”

He tossed his hat on the counter and sank into a chair. “Thanks.” His eyes found mine. “Well, I’m reporting, as promised. We’ve searched all the deserted buildings in the area. We didn’t find her, but we also didn’t find any sign of foul play. Second, we suspect Slate’s driving a black Malibu—the last unaccounted-for car that belonged to Dolph Andrews. It helps to know that. And third, my people are searching Slate’s old hangouts in Winston-Salem. Also good.”

“Winston-Salem? But that’s so far away!”

“But it’s my territory—which gives me the advantage,” he said. “Now we wait. Waiting’s tough, but every detective knows that’s part of the job, right?”

I nodded, blinking back tears.

“That’s my report. Now, what did you want to tell me?”

I pushed my plate away as Dale slipped into the room. “I wanted to tell you about a suitcase,” I said, still trying not to cry.

“Actually,” Miss Rose said, “it’s an old
rumor
about the Colonel and a suitcase of cash.”

Starr frowned. “Cash?”

Dale inched around Starr and plucked a piece of toast from my plate. You could tell Dale the world had ended and he wouldn’t lose his appetite.

“It was a lie,” I said, finding my voice again. “Dale’s daddy told it after the car crash that brought the Colonel to town and made him forget his life.” Somehow, it didn’t sound so good out loud. “The point is, Slate might think that rumor about the money is true. I’m thinking that’s why he kidnapped Miss Lana.”

Starr nodded. “I’ve heard the Colonel has memory problems,” he said. “How about filling me in?”

I opened the scrapbook and slipped the Colonel’s story out. “Here’s the story in his own words,” I said. “You can skip the first part. It’s about me. The second part’s about him.” To my surprise, he read the whole thing out loud:

I slid my plate to Starr. “Try the blackened toast. I made it special. I hope you ain’t taking any of this about the Colonel the wrong way,” I added.

“I’m trying not to. How much money is in this rumor?”

“Oh,” Miss Rose said, brushing imaginary crumbs from the table. “Thirty thousand dollars or so.” The phone rang. “Dale, do you mind getting that?” Dale trotted off down the hall, toward the living room.

“Thirty thousand dollars?” Starr sputtered, going red at the collar.

“It’s just a rumor,” I said.

“Really? That’s a good trick, building a real café with rumored money,” he said.

I hadn’t thought of that. I looked at Miss Rose. “The Colonel had
some
cash when he came to town,” she said. “Lana brought some. … Macon liked the Colonel. He might have loaned him money, for all I know. Things were better for us then.”

Starr ran his finger along his eyebrow. “Is any of that money left?”

I pictured the dollar bill over the café’s kitchen door, and the Emergency Five in my suitcase.

“I doubt it,” Miss Rose said. “As far as I know, their money was gone before Mo could walk. Except … there is the dollar bill over the kitchen door.” She laughed like a wind chime on a shady porch. “Lana bought the first lunch special at the Colonel’s café, and if memory serves, she paid for it with
his
money. He hung it up the same day.”

“Great. I’ll run the serial number,” Starr said. “See if it’s connected to Slate.”

“What? The Colonel ain’t no robber,” I said, my voice rising. “I didn’t tell you this so you could run the blooming serial number.”

“Calm down, Mo,” Lavender said. “Detective Starr’s trying to help.”

“Mo, everything I learn gets me closer to finding Lana,” Starr said. He leaned forward, putting his elbows on the table—something Miss Rose don’t allow. “I’m working every angle I can find. Right?” He glanced at my plate. “Anybody gonna eat that last piece of toast?”

“Help yourself,” Miss Rose said as Dale trudged back into the kitchen. “Who was on the phone, baby?” she asked.

“Slate.”

Lavender and Starr leaped to their feet.

“Don’t bother getting up,” Dale added. “He said he’ll call back later.”

Around eleven o’clock, Grandmother Miss Lacy Thornton rapped on the door. “Rose?” she called. “Is Mo here? I’m nibblish, and with the café draped in crime scene tape, I thought I might dine here today—if she’s available.”

Starr looked up from his phone-tracing gizmo. “She dropped by for lunch?” he whispered to Deputy Marla. “During an investigation? Is she insane?”

I handed the screwdriver to Deputy Marla. “I’ll act like I didn’t hear that, as that’s practically my grandmother you’re talking about,” I said. “It wouldn’t hurt you to show some respect.” I turned to the door. “I’m in here, Grandma Miss Lacy,” I called. “Miss Rose is in the garden and Lavender’s in town, working on his car. Come in and I’ll make you a sandwich. Miss Rose has Wonder Bread.”

The screen door squeaked open. “Please don’t call me Grandma, dear,” she said. “You know I prefer Grandmother.” She smiled at Starr and extended her hand,
which is as fragile and blue-veined as a baby bird. “Detective Starr,” she said.

“Ma’am,” he said, giving her hand a gentle pump.

“Would you like a PB and J?” I asked her.

“Don’t trouble yourself, dear,” she replied. “I have a basket of fried chicken in the Buick. Let’s spread a tablecloth on the porch. Detective? Deputy?” She fastened her smile on Deputy Marla. “You are a full deputy, aren’t you, dear?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Deputy Marla said, standing up straight.

Grandmother Miss Lacy Thornton beamed at her. “That’s wonderful,” she said. “Won’t you two join us for a picnic dinner?”

“I will,” Dale said, trotting down the hall. “I’ll get us some iced tea.”

“Thank you, Dale. That would be wonderful.”

I followed Grandmother Miss Lacy Thornton to the porch and helped spread her yellow gingham tablecloth. She’d brought a feast: fried chicken, deviled eggs, coleslaw, potato salad, and rolls. As she passed out the plates, Mayor Little drove up in his dinged Jeep. “Mind if I join you?” he asked, pulling a paper sack from his front seat.

“Make yourself at home,” I said. He tiptoed across the porch, shrugged off his blue seersucker jacket, and folded it over the back of the swing.

“Sorry to hear of the recent unpleasantness, Mo,” he
said. “I’d have dropped by sooner, but I’m monitoring the hurricane. I doubt she’ll turn this way, but if she does, your civil servants stand ready. I may open the school to refugees.”

“They can have my desk,” Dale offered.

Mayor Little settled in the swing and smoothed his napkin over his tie as Lavender and Sam roared up in Lavender’s GMC. Sam took the steps two at a time and handed me a fistful of orange daylilies.

“I do admire daylilies,” Grandmother Miss Lacy Thornton murmured. “They’re as pretty as they are tough.”

Sam smiled. “Yes ma’am,” he said. “Just like Mo.”

“Gag me,” Dale muttered as I headed to the kitchen for a jar of water.

By noon, half the town draped themselves over Miss Rose’s yard, chatting and eating lunches they’d brought over themselves. Thes and Reverend Thompson nudged in among the Azalea Women, who’d claimed the garden table. Attila Celeste and her mother sat by their Cadillac, eating grapes and carrot sticks. Skeeter’s folks spread a blanket on the lawn.

When Skeeter headed for her family’s van, I followed. “Skeeter, I need you to check a couple of serial numbers for me. One off a hundred-dollar bill from Mr. Jesse’s.” I swallowed hard. “And one off a five. Here, I wrote them
down for you,” I said, handing her a page from my notebook.

“I don’t know, Mo,” she said, looking doubtful. “My cousin works drive-thru at the bank in Kinston but I don’t think … Well … Let me see what we can do.”

The first time Miss Rose’s phone rang, everybody froze. “Starr’s in there,” I called out. “They got a trace on the line. Go ahead with your lunches.”

They nodded. I moved to the door and pretended not to eavesdrop as Miss Rose took the call: “Oh, hello … No, no, it’s dreadful, my tomatoes have it too. …”

Dale cupped his hands around his mouth. “Wilt!” he bellowed.

“Pity,” Mayor Little sighed.

Lavender balanced his Pepsi on the porch rail. “They have a trace on the phone line? What kind of trace?”

Dale shrugged. “Beats me. Involves wires is all I know.”

“It’s the latest equipment from Winston-Salem,” I said, grabbing a deviled egg. “I held the screwdrivers, so I got a good look. Headphones, dials, everything. Deputy Marla set it up. She’s a genius. Wouldn’t surprise me if she went FBI someday.”

Sam slit open a honey bun with his pocketknife. “Mo, if I could I’d go over there and snatch a knot in whoever’s taken Miss Lana. If you ask me—”

“Have a Nab,” Lavender interrupted, holding out a pack of orange crackers. “Starr’s got this under control, Sam. All we got to do is keep cool. Right, Mo?”

I nodded, wishing I felt as sure as he sounded.

The phone jangled a second time a half hour later, as the lunch crowd packed up. Again, everyone froze. It looked like Miss Rose’s yard was full of picnicking mannequins. My heart pounded as Dale leaned against the door frame, listening. “Telemarketer trying to sell Mama a free vacation somewhere she wouldn’t go if they paid her!” he shouted, and folks headed for their vehicles.