Chapter Ten
April 28th. 2009© 2009 Kimberly J. Fish
Chapter Ten
Lacy stared at the sheriff until the blob between his eyebrows morphed into the teeniest of faces, one not unlike Cruella De Ville’s.
He had asked her what she really knew of Henry Robinson.
Lacy could probably sum up her knowledge with less words than she used for the recent magazine ad for the store. Henry’s business card suggested he was an arts and antiques dealer from Dallas. His clothing testified to flair with designer brands. And his conversation was charming, often, filled with double entendre. He grilled like a master chef. And he had incredible skills for inventorying a small warehouse.
Did this mean he was a Texas version of the Renaissance man? Or was he, as the sheriff suggested, a better than average criminal?
Lacy had dated shallow men. She’d also dated a few narcissistic jocks, and a handful of religious types that begged her to be God’s answer for their prayers for a wife. And, without fail, she’d seen their flaws within hours, a day at the most. Her intuitive judgment had always been one of her favorite gifts from God.
But Henry. . . he was a curiosity. From the moment she’d met him she’d questioned herself more than she’d questioned him.
And now he was on the chopping block, accused of a theft, and she was the one who had to validate him or send him to the proverbial gallows.
The sheriff leaned his elbows on his desk. “You’d better speak up, miss. The longer you sit there the more guilty you look, by association of course.”
“I’ve nothing to be ashamed. My business practices are above board. And though I just met Henry Robinson and, have nothing but my instinct to go on, I have to say he’s innocent too. I know that he had nothing to do with moving Inga’s furniture because he’s been with me the last two days.”
“Every hour of the last two days? You’ve monitored his phone calls and emails? You know beyond a shadow of a doubt that he didn’t leave Inga’s key somewhere so one of his associates could go over to the storage unit and clear out her belongings?”
“I, uh, couldn’t say if I’ve even seen his phone. But I know-” she tapped her heart-”That he’s not a criminal. He’s a good man.”
“Yeah, if I’ve had a dollar for every time I’ve heard some sappy woman say those words I could retire early.” The sheriff pushed his chair back and hobbled to stand. “Don’t feel bad. More women are taken in by his kind than any other.”
For the sake of women every where, Lacy stood up. “I know we get a bad rep for having a soft spot for men, but you wouldn’t be here if some woman, some where, didn’t think there was a redeemable quality in your father. So, cut me some slack for having the wisdom to tell the difference between a good man and a bad one.”
The sheriff stared at her. “You have five minutes to decide if you’re going to corroborate his alibi or turn him over to the justice system. Now you have four.”
“I don’t need another second.” Lacy straightened her shoulders. “Henry Robinson has been staying at my sister’s house for the last two days-as a guest-and he’s been helping out at my store with the end of the year inventory. If he’d had time to organize a heist then he did it after midnight, and being the kind of woman I am, I can’t validate what he did after he closed the bedroom door.”
The sheriff flattened his palms on his desk. “So, you’re not cooperating with this investigation?”
“I’m saying that it wasn’t Henry who stole the Steinmeyer’s furniture. If you’re convinced Inga’s nephew organized his girlfriend’s disappearance, taped a ransom letter to an empty store room then why would you not suspect that the very same nephew stole the family heirlooms? What better way to pay off a credit card debt than with the proceeds from the sale?”
The sheriff stared at Lacy for a long second. Without breaking his gaze, he punched a button on his phone system. “Deputy! Bring me the Robinson man.”
Lacy’s stomach crawled up her throat. The sheriff must have removed the nephew’s name from his list hours ago. It really was down to her and Henry as primary suspects. She closed her eyes praying that God would give her the wisdom to not say anything stupid.
How did things get so far out of whack?
Wasn’t it just a few hours ago she was worried that silly Theresa O’Banshee was going to scoop Henry into some romantic tryst before she’d ever had a chance to tell him. . .tell him what?
Lacy stared at the 12 point buck’s dead eyes and saw every rainbow-colored emotion that she’d felt since Henry called out to her on that breezy afternoon at Provence Farms. His smile lit his face making her long to be the one to make him smile a second time. The very same name she’d been teased about since that first boy in kindergarten, sounded like pure silk rolling off Henry’s tongue. His touch caused her skin to tingle-no that’s not right, she thought. When Henry brushed against her it was like electricity scalded her body, to the point she’d deliberately instigated reasons for him to touch her hand, her elbow, and her shoulder– just to enjoy the reaction.
Her heart both raced and flipped in alternating beats.
Not since that quarterback in high school could Lacy say she felt ill just thinking about a man.
The door swooshed open. Lacy turned around and saw Henry standing on the threshold. His complexion had faded to paste. The lips that had historically fallen into the easiest of smiles were now stiff as a pair of two-by-fours. The hands stuffed into his pockets looked clinched, as if he might sock someone in the nose.
Deputy Michael stood behind him, and shoved Henry into the sheriff’s office.
The sheriff eased back into his seat. “Mr. Robinson, welcome to my neighborhood.”
Henry walked over to stand next to Lacy, but he didn’t offer a reassuring pat on her shoulder. Or spout any of his good-humored anecdotes about God bringing them through this funny little twist. Or even brush one of those skin scalding touches across her arm.
He just stood there like a boy caught fighting on the playground and sent to the principal’s office.
Lacy stared at his profile willing him to look at her and wink. To say something pithy or, at the very least, whisper that this was not at all what it seemed.
The sheriff reached across the desk to the teetering pile of documents and withdrew a faxed sheet. He exaggerated his gestures of straightening out the edges so he could watch Henry’s reaction.
A bold emblem, proclaiming the Tarrant County judicial system, glowed in black and white clarity.
Lacy couldn’t read upside down, but she knew whatever information was written on that form wasn’t going to bode well for Henry. Her gut never lied about these sorts of things. She glanced again to Henry’s profile and saw a small muscle pinging against his jaw.
Closing her eyes for the briefest of seconds, she prayed again.
“I’m guessing you know what I have here,” the sheriff said to Henry.
“My perfect attendance record?”
The sheriff didn’t smile. “A report from a certain probation officer.”
Lacy’s stomach sank to her toes. Henry was a criminal. Her instincts had failed and she’d been conned by a master. Her ex-boyfriend, the deputy, had been right. How could she have been duped? Five minutes ago she was bragging about her unflappable judgment.
“I do hope you’ve read the fine print,” Henry said. “And found the background files describing the whole situation. You’ll see the circumstances aren’t what they seem.”
“Why would I care about a pretty boy caught in an art sting? All I need to know is that you have a probation officer checking out your whereabouts. That pretty much validates my interest in throwing you in the slammer.” The sheriff rolled his chair back, so he could prop his swollen ankle on an opened file drawer. “You had motive, opportunity and now, a convenient history, to make you the prime suspect in a theft ring. I really don’t need anything more to seal this up. Deputy, let’s get this man comfortable for the night. Our best room.”
Lacy couldn’t process the situation without the facts, but she could guess like anyone else. “You’re going to incarcerate Henry on circumstantial evidence? I think a lawyer would have something to say about that.”
“Are you a lawyer?”
Lacy stared at the sheriff. “No.”
“Then we don’t have a problem.”
Lacy spun around toward Henry. “Tell them the truth. Tell them you didn’t have anything to do with Inga’s missing furniture. You weren’t even interested in her furniture anymore. . .remember?”
“I could talk till I’m blue in the face, but they’re going to do what they want to do anyway.”
“Henry, you have to stand up for yourself.”
“The last time I stood up for myself I ended up with a rap sheet.”
“So you really are a thief?”
“No, but I knew a thief and, much to my dismay, unwittingly provided him a hiding place for his stolen pieces in my studio. Thankfully the judge recognized the circumstances for what they were. But that also meant I walked away with a few suspicious government officials on my tail for the last three years. I’ve had to work very hard to remain scrupulously clean. And, until today, I’ve been textbook perfect.”
Lacy saw Deputy Michael untangle a pair of handcuffs. He approached Henry.
“Really, is that necessary?” Lacy asked Michael.
“Gotta follow procedures.” Michael stood behind Henry, nudging him to offer his wrists.
Henry cooperated. “Don’t worry, Lacy. I’ll call my attorney and we’ll get this straightened out.”
The sheriff grinned. “You have your big city lawyer call me. But don’t bother rushing. I’ve got a day off coming and a fishing pond calling my name.”
Lacy followed Henry and the deputy down the hall. Her teeth chattered. Her joints felt tied with barbed wire. She’d never felt so inadequate to do something. . . anything. A singsong tune trilled from the bottom of her purse. She dug past the sunglasses and wallet to find her cell phone. Her sister’s name was flashed on the screen.
“Oh, thank God, you’ve called me. I have the most outrageous news.” Lacy filled Kali in on the details from the last few hours as she watched Michael fingerprint Henry and Henry turn over his personal effects. Her jaw was shaking with tension when she finally said, “I don’t know what we can do now, but I can’t let him go to jail.”
“Lacy,” Kali’s voice was tentative. “How do you know he didn’t do it?”
“There’s no logical reason for him to steal what he could have bought, resold and made a legitimate fortune. Henry genuinely likes Inga, practically offered to buy her house, and left his business card taped to her refrigerator. That does not look like the steps of a man intent on criminal activity.”
“You’re right. Besides, you have some valuable pieces in the warehouse that are as expensive as what Inga would have stored. If he was a thief, he would have taken those for a whole lot less trouble,” Kali said. “So what can we do to help?”
Lacy’s imagination went in to overdrive. She mentally organized a posse of women friends who would activate the Comfort grape vine and turn up Inga’s nephew. Not knowing what the sheriff might have on the nephew, she suspected he was still the logical first choice to investigate for this theft. After him, she’d go on to the storage unit manager and maybe run through the rest of Inga’s relatives. “I’ve got a plan, but first I need to find out what a certain Deputy already knows.”
“Michael isn’t going to tell you anything about an investigation. He’s still mad that you dumped him right before the Memorial Day picnic.”
“But Theresa can probably get him to talk.”
“You are not calling that woman. Don’t you remember what she did to you during that city council meeting?”
“I still have the cat scratches. But Henry is more important than my battered reputation.”
“He is?”
Lacy looked across the distance and saw Henry, his head bowed as he signed some documents. His shoulders were slumped, but oddly enough, he didn’t look defeated. It was as if he trusted that God was going to turn this awful afternoon around for something good.
Lacy held the phone close to her cheek. She lowered her voice. “I don’t exactly know what Henry means to me, but if I don’t do get involved, I’ll always regret not doing what God put in a perfect place to do.”
“And what’s that?”
She wouldn’t deny she felt heroic overtones coloring her judgment. “I’m not sure, so don’t go anywhere, I may need your bulldozer to bust him out.”
To be continued.