Рита Браун - Catch As Cat Can

“Lighten up.” Don stifled a giggle. “Otherwise I'll have to give you a stuffed shirt.”

At this they all laughed except for Lottie.

Miranda and Tracy joined the group just as Gretchen, the majordomo, butler, servant, you name it, strolled through playing the glockenspiel. She repeated the same three notes, which meant time to go to the dining room.

Mim and Jim Sanburne enjoyed the resources to host a sit-down dinner for sixty guests, seven courses, each with a different wine, champagne, sherbets, and cakes at the end. Mim had grown up with wealth, never knowing anything but abundance although she'd suffered bouts of emotional famine. She married Jim Sanburne on the rebound. He was big, strong, handsome, poor. Over the years he'd proved hot as a forty-balled tomcat. His licentiousness had as much to do with his sex drive as the fact that having a rich wife isn't all it's cracked up to be. In time they worked it out. He stopped running after women, she stopped giving him orders.

After dinner the orchestra played in the ballroom, which was decorated with dogwoods, pink and white, and viburnum, providing fragrance as well as beauty. Lottie sat next to Don, who didn't ask her to dance. Finally she pulled him onto the dance floor, hissing, “Getting cold feet?”

“No, I'm just not much of a dancer,” Don replied.

Miranda had left her purse in the Falcon. Needing her lipstick, she rose from one of the small tables arranged on the sides of the dance floor. “Honey, do you have the car ticket?”

Tracy reached inside his cutaway, the inside pocket. “I do. But you sit right here. I'll get your bag, sweetie.”

“Why don't we get it together?” She winked.

The older couple strolled through the rooms to the front of the house, where they gave the attendant the ticket. He picked up a cell phone and called in the number. In the distance they heard the old engine fire up.

When the car was delivered, the parking lot driver emerged, a young, slender man with sandy hair and a thin mustache.

“Wait, don't get out. I just need to grab the lady's purse. You can take the car right back.”

“All right, sir.”

As Tracy reached in for her small, beaded purse Miranda fixed her gaze on the young man driving her precious vehicle. She noticed that his left eye sagged and there was a red scar over his eyebrow running through to below the eye. It took a moment for this to register, then she blurted out, “You, you stole my hubcaps!”

He blanched, shot out of the car, running flat out into the darkness.

Tracy tore out after him. He hadn't been a star halfback for nothing and he was still in great shape. Although the kid had a head start he was no match for the older man. When he turned to see Tracy gaining on him he misstepped and rolled, got up, tried to pick up speed, but Tracy knew how to throw a block. He leaned down and pushed off his right foot, sailing into the back of the young man. Tracy hit him so hard that the kid's body flew up in the air like a rag doll, then fell to earth with a sickening thud. Tracy was on him fast, squeezing his head in a hammerlock. A heavy object on a chain around the young man's neck popped out of his shirt when he was blocked by Tracy. It was a Mercedes star hood ornament.

“I didn't steal nothin'.”

“We'll see about that.”

13

As Tracy forced the young man back toward the house, he took no chances. Holding the kid's left arm up behind him with his other hand on the young man's collar, his grip was tight. Each time the kid tried to shake free, Tracy jerked the bent left arm upward, which evoked a howl. In the cool night air thunder over the mountains presaged an approaching spring storm.

The main attendant had the presence of mind to find Big Mim, who in turn corralled Cynthia Cooper. The two women were waiting with Miranda Hogendobber as Tracy delivered his quarry.

“It's the man Sean described,” Miranda said. What upset her as much as anything was the fact that a young person would steal.

Cynthia stepped forward. “I'm Deputy Cynthia Cooper. Cooperate and maybe we can make this less unpleasant.”

“I didn't steal nothin',” he sullenly defended himself.

“Why don't we start with your name?” Cynthia then turned to Tracy. “You can release him. And thanks.”

The scared youth grumbled, “Fast for an old man.”

Miranda couldn't help but smile. “Son, you've been brought down by one of the best halfbacks this state ever produced.”

The youth warily studied Tracy, who beamed thanks to Miranda's praise.

“What's your name?” Big Mim betrayed irritation.

“Wesley Partlow.”

“Mr. Partlow, your address,” Cooper methodically asked.

“Got none.”

“You must sleep somewhere,” she pressed.

He shrugged. “When I get tired I—”

“Come on. Where do you live? You're clean. You're wearing a white shirt and black pants,” Big Mim said.

“They gave me the shirt.” He nodded to the head attendant. “Company policy. All valet attendants wear a white shirt and black pants. The logo is over the pocket.”

“So it is.” Mim crossed her arms over her chest.

“Let's try this again. Where do you live?” Cooper patiently repeated her question knowing she'd hear more lies. She'd seen this type many times before: young, sullen, rebellious.

“Noplace.”

“You're homeless?”

“Yeah,” he smirked.

“Where's the 1987 GMC truck you drove to O'Bannon's Salvage yard? The one with the Dallas Cowboys jacket in it.”

His eyes opened wider.

“Where is it?” Cooper wished she could slap the smirk right off his white face.

His eyes dropped to the ground.

“Are you hungry?” Miranda, kind even under these circumstances, thought food might help him.

“No, ma'am.”

“I know you didn't mean to upset me but my Falcon means the world to me. If you'd cooperate with us we can settle this . . .” Miranda's voice trailed off.

Tracy put his arm around Miranda's waist. “Honey, don't fret over it.”

“There's a quick way to settle this before I take Mr. Partlow into custody. I'll run him over to Sean O'Bannon's.”

Wesley's eyes darkened, his jaw clamped shut.

Big Mim, not realizing that Cooper was laying a trap, said, “Cynthia, you can't do that. Not tonight. Not now. After all, Roger's not even cold yet. I don't think Sean is in any condition to identify a thief.”

Wesley's head jerked up, senses alert, a flicker of fear in his eyes now. “Who's dead?”

“Roger O'Bannon. Did you know him?” Cooper inquired.

“No,” he unconvincingly answered. He became even more wary.

Cooper sighed. No more dancing for her. “I have the strangest feeling, Mr. Partlow, that you and trouble are well acquainted. Tracy, will you stay with him while I call in for a squad car? I can't trust him to stay in the Jeep. He'd be out at the first stoplight.”

14

The Dogwood Festival, celebrating the state tree and springtime, provided ample opportunity for revelers to overindulge each mid-April. Automobile accidents, property destruction, and fights kept the sheriff's department busy.

Sheriff Rick Shaw had the whole force out working tonight. When Cooper called him concerning Partlow he drove out in a squad car himself. It would never do for Big Mim to be unhappy. His presence as the highest elected law-enforcement official in the county usually mollified the grand lady. He'd also learned when he'd been elected twenty years ago to call Mim first when something broke. It made his life easier but also with her wide net she often could help him.

As a man ages his judgment usually improves. If it doesn't he's either dead or a drunk. Rick Shaw had learned to trust his judgment. He followed procedure to the letter of the law but he also trusted his instinct. In the past, when Mary Minor Haristeen would blunder onto a crime scene accompanied by her animals, he used to fume. Over time he had learned that help comes from unusual quarters. Once the corgi found a human hand, which eventually led him to a murderer. Harry and her furry cohorts had a funny way of blundering onto things.