Where's Hansel and Gretel's Gingerbread House?: A Gabby Grimm Fairy Tale Mystery #2 (4 page)

“And cross-bracing. The gingerbread house is
even based on the model of the carriage houses in Phase Two.”

Chapter Four --

“You copied one of the buildings for your
development project?”

“I did. My boss was thrilled,” she confided
as I pulled out the hose and returned it to the pump. I grabbed a
printed receipt.

“Impressive. Want me to drive from here?” I
asked. I wondered how my sore derriere would fare in the driver’s
seat for the next two and a half hours. I’d have to risk it. There
was no way Annette was going to last through even a dusting of
snow. Nothing for me to do but take some Advil and suck it up.
Thank God we hadn’t drowned our sorrows in that bottle of wine. I
needed to be alert. Holding out my hand, I waited for the hand-off.
“Keys.”

“Are you sure? You’re still in a lot of pain.
I don’t want you to....”

“Nettie, I’m happy to drive the rest of the
way. You’re unfamiliar with the route, you hate driving in the
snow, and I’m a much better driver. Besides,” I teased. “I want to
get there before Christmas.”

In the darkness, I could feel her relief. It
was in her tiny groan and the way she quickly thrust the keychain
into my waiting hand. I got into the driver’s seat and turned on
the engine as she got in beside me. Less than thirty seconds later,
I had pulled into a parking space in front of the Mobil station’s
all-night convenience store. I grabbed the Frist documents in one
hand as I climbed out of the passenger side, threw my purse over my
shoulder, and after shutting the door, I pushed the lock button on
the remote. Popping the trunk of the Corolla, I handed my purse to
Nettie and carefully examined the Christmas scene in front of
me.

“Does this roof come off?” I wondered. “Can I
lift up the house?”

“No, Gabby. Everything is cemented to the
board with royal icing.”

“Shoot,” I moaned. And then I saw it, that
small window of opportunity. “What’s with the snow?”

“What do you mean?” Annette hovered over my
shoulder. She pointed to the batting that covered the top of the
miniature winter landscape. “This stuff?”

“Can I get into it without ruining
everything?”

“Why?”

“I want to hide the papers in there. Can I do
it?”

“Maybe, if you roll up the documents.” She
got busy poking a small hole in the soft, cottony snow. I grabbed
an elastic hair band from my makeup case and rolled the documents
as tightly as I could. Carefully slipping the tube of papers
through the tiny hole in the batting, I maneuvered them into
position and they suddenly bolstered a nice little ledge of snow
behind the gingerbread house.

“Gee, that looks good, Gabby. You’d never
even know they’re there.”

“Except for the hole in the batting,” I
pointed out.

“Not for long,” she grinned. She reached
around me and grabbed a plastic case. “My stash. Ah, here we go.
Thumbtacks.”

In a matter of a few seconds, not only had
she fastened the tube of papers to the board, she had concealed the
opening under the batting. For all intents and purposes, this
gingerbread house was merely the quintessential holiday decoration,
to be enjoyed and admired. When she stood up again, I gave it my
approval. Glancing over my left shoulder, I could see that dark
sedan parked a good fifty yards away, sheltered by shadows. Where
was the driver?

“Now, how about a quick trip to the ladies
room and a cup of coffee?” I suggested.

There was a lone clerk behind the counter in
the small convenience store attached to the gas station. We nodded
to the young Asian woman on our way to the ladies room.

“At least the place is clean,” said my cousin
as she disappeared in one of the two stalls. I took the other. “If
there’s one thing I can’t stand, it’s a dirty bathroom.”

“Tell me about it,” I agreed.

Moments later, I came out of the stall and
washed my hands. The glare of the fluorescent lights at that time
of night was scary. As I looked at my face in the mirror, I could
see bags under my eyes. It had been a tough couple of days.

“Not the most flattering light,” I noted as
my cousin ran a brush through her hair at the sink beside me.

“I told you you look like crap, Gabby.”

“Gee, you’re too kind,” I laughed. She had a
point. That tumble off the roof of the Kinsey Building had left me
feeling ancient. The first thing I was going to do when we got to
Black Forest Farm was to drop her off at Gerhard and Ervina’s. The
second thing would be to take a long, hot bath. I could already
imagine how good it would feel to soak away the aches and pains in
all that lovely water. And then I would climb into my nice, comfy
bed and pull my down comforter over my exhausted body, shutting my
eyes for a hundred years. At least I was still on disability leave
from that fall, so I wasn’t expected back at the sheriff’s office
until Monday at the earliest. I followed my cousin out the door of
the restroom, down the short hall, and into the store, where we
gazed at the coffee carafes lined up on the counter.

“Snickerdoodle.” Nettie grabbed a paper cup
and helped herself.

“That sounds Christmas-y,” I decided,
following suit. As I was putting the lid on my cup, I noticed the
outside door open and two men stumble in. I let my eyes take in the
details. Caucasian teenagers, wearing knit caps, dark jackets,
acting twitchy. The cop in me reached instinctively for my Glock as
they leaned over the counter, where the clerk was suddenly
cowering. That’s when I remembered I locked it in the glove
compartment of Annette’s Toyota. “Crap.”

I left the cup on the counter and grabbed my
cousin’s elbow to move her out of the way, even as I dialed
911.

“What’s your emergency?” the operator
asked.

“Robbery in progress. The Mobil station on
Central Avenue, just off I-87. Two suspects. They’ve just
threatened the clerk,” I announced quietly. Even as I gave my name,
I pulled Nettie down behind the store shelf, out of sight. A lot of
good it did me. They must have spotted us in the circular security
mirror at the front of the store.

“Hey, there’s two customers!” an excited male
voice shouted as he came around the corner. I cringed, knowing what
that meant. “Give me your purses!”

“No!” said Nettie firmly.

“Hurry up, lady! I’m not kidding around!”

“Tell them, Gabby! Tell them you’re a
deputy!”

“Annette, that’s not really a good idea...,”
I started to say.

“She’ll bust your butt!” said the defiant
crime-buster. Even as I pulled her up to her feet, I raised my
hands in the air reluctantly. The rule of survival is that when
you’re staring down the barrel of a loaded gun and you’re unarmed,
consider cooperating until you run out of options, your back is
against the wall, and there’s no other way to avoid an untimely
death. There are few purses in this world that I would surrender my
life to save. After all, a handbag is only a few pieces of leather
stitched together. Better not to aggravate the hopped-up thief with
a drug problem, because impulse control is one of the first things
to go on an addict.

“They don’t care if I’m a deputy sheriff,” I
said in an even tone, hoping to figure out how I was going to
prevent these two idiots from stealing my purse, and the evidence
with it.

“This one’s a cop!” the young man in the dark
jacket hollered over his shoulder.

“Damn!” grunted the second man holding the
frightened store clerk. “Shoot her!”

“What?” the three of us asked at the same
time. I could feel Nettie’s fear as the realization fell upon her
like two feet of packed powder on the ski trail. She was suddenly a
mass of quivering jelly and I had all I could do to hold her
upright.

“Kill them!” came the command again.

“Hold on there, son,” I told the young man in
front of me. “That’s not really a good idea.”

Even as I spoke, I was moving away from my
cousin, hoping to divert the young gunman’s attention. If I was
going to get shot, I wanted to see the face of the other guy giving
the order. Backing up towards the front counter, I led the teenage
boy in the black knit cap along with me. Nettie had the good sense
to drop to her knees and hug the floor as we disappeared out of
sight. A moment later, we were out in the open, moving towards the
cashier’s counter.

“Whoa! Jason, what the hell are you doing? I
told you to pop them.”

“I’m not going to shoot her! Geez, Marky.
We’re robbing a convenience store. Get the money and let’s go!”

“She can identify us!” Marky insisted, his
gun pointed at the clerk’s head. I could see the poor woman tearing
up as she shivered in the tight grasp of a very shaky gunman. I
wondered if he was on something. Meth, maybe. Or crack. Was he past
the point I could reason with him?

“So?” Jason was baffled. “That doesn’t mean
we have to kill her!”

“Hey,” I piped in.”I’m from Vermont. I’m not
even allowed to arrest you guys. I was just driving home to
Burlington with my cousin.”

“Get her gun!” Marky told Jason, waving his
weapon in our direction.

“I don’t actually have it here, guys. I left
it locked in the glove compartment out in the car. In the parking
lot. In the Toyota Corolla,” I added helpfully. “It’s not going to
do me much good at the moment, is it?”

Even as I turned on the feminine charm,
trying desperately to convince them I was pretty harmless, I could
hear the sirens wailing down the avenue. Talk about bad timing. Or
was it good? Hard to tell at the moment.

“Aw, damn!” Marky heard it, too. “The
cops!”

“Maybe they’re not coming here,” Jason
offered, ever the optimist.

“Oh, they’re coming here! They’re definitely
coming here!” Marky panicked. He knew fate was finally catching up
to him. “I’m on parole! I can’t afford to get caught!”

“Ouch!” cried the clerk as Marky shoved her
in my direction and aimed his handgun. I caught her as she came
skidding at me.

“Drop it!” From out of nowhere came a male
voice, and when Marky hesitated, trying to track the sound, I heard
a ping, followed by a loud crash as a bottle of Gatorade exploded
right by Marky’s black-capped head. “Now!”

Jason quickly complied, Marky not so much. A
second shot came closer.

“Now! Drop the weapon!”

This time, the young gunman lowered his
handgun, shaky fingers quivering, and laid it on the floor, but
even as he did, I could see him trying to figure out if he could
still save himself. We couldn’t see the sniper and that left Marky
with few options.

“Don’t even think about it! Hands on your
heads!” commanded that determined male voice again. I know the
sound of law enforcement when I hear it.

Even as Marky and Jason complied, uniformed
officers were approaching cautiously. I could see them at the door,
weapons drawn. They looked a little confused when they saw the two
suspects with their hands on top of their heads, and they weren’t
the only ones. I was a little confused myself. But I knew an
opportunity when I saw one. Gingerly stepping past Jason and Marky,
I collected the weapons on my way to the door to invite the cops
in. Even as they brushed past me, I could see another patrol car
arriving on the scene. When it rolled to a stop in front of the
store, I handed over the two weapons to the cop emerging from the
driver’s seat.

“Suspects disarmed. Deputy Sheriff Gabriella
Grimm, Latimer Falls, Vermont.”

“Sergeant Paul Rushmore,” he replied. “Any
injuries?”

I gave him a rundown, explaining that I had
no real role in disarming the suspects. “We couldn’t see the cop.
He came in through the back.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” said the
officer as he held the door open for me. “All my guys are right
here.”

We both went towards the back of the store.
Where was Annette? “My cousin stayed hidden. She’s got to be around
here somewhere.”

“I don’t see her,” said the cop, checking the
aisles. “Maybe she snuck out the back door.

Sure enough, the latch was undone. I poked my
head out, looking for Annette. No luck. Maybe she went and hid by
the car.

“Annette?” I called out. “It’s okay now. The
cops are here!”

“Gabby!” She stood up from the shadows of her
Toyota Corolla and promptly burst into tears. “Oh, that was
terrible!”

“Did you see the cop who came through the
back door?” I asked. We needed to find the guy. After all, there
would be an incident report to write, and the local force needed
the information.

“What cop?”

“The one who came through the back door.”

“I didn’t see any cop. There was a guy in
jeans, but he left as soon as the police cars arrived.”

Chapter Five --

“Ma’am,” said Sergeant Rushmore, “is there
any chance you saw him? Can you give us a description?”

“I don’t know. Average, maybe. He had a dark
baseball cap on and his collar up. I didn’t really see him. Once I
got out of there, I just ran like crazy and hid. Gabby, I’m so
sorry I told those guys you were a deputy.”

“Don’t worry about it, Nettie. Now, did you
see him get into his car?”

“Yes, but I couldn’t see much. He parked way
down there.” She pointed to the spot where I had seen the dark
sedan. “I think it was a big car.”

There it was, the little piece of information
I needed. We were being followed by a cop, not a thug. He saved our
lives and then took off. This thing with Annette and Joe Fortuna
must be a very big deal indeed, if we merited this kind of a
professional tail.

Another half hour passed as we gave the cops
all the information, wrote up statements, signed them, and bid them
farewell. Even as I slid behind the wheel and got comfortable in my
cousin’s car, I felt better about the rest of the journey. If that
cop had protected us from a couple of punks, it wasn’t likely that
he would just leave us now. Somewhere along the route, he would
rejoin us. That meant three things. Folks knew we were heading to
Vermont, those documents were important, and Annette might really
be in serious danger, legal or otherwise. I was glad I tucked the
roll of Frist concrete bids into the gingerbread house, safely
ensconced in the trunk as we got back onto I-87.