THE LAW AND DAUGHTER SERIES

Civic Duties: Crimefighter Frances Valentine loves a mystery. But her daughter Lucy, the sheriff, rarely agrees with her ways of solving them . . .

Sheriff Lucy Valentine hated trouble. She also hated surprises.

One source of trouble—her mother, Frances Valentine—had just arrived at Lucy’s office. Fran could always be counted on to make Lucy gulp headache tablets as if they were M & M’s. But Fran seldom brought surprises.

Today she brought both.

“Bertha Hawkins wants to run for mayor?!”

“That’s right,” Fran said, settling into a chair.
   
This was the last thing on earth Lucy had expected to hear. “What makes her think she’s qualified?”
 
“Why shouldn’t she be? The current mayor was a mechanic.”

“He wasn’t a mechanic, Mother, he just owned the auto repair shop.”
   
Fran snorted. “Well, my car sure runs better since he changed careers.”

Lucy’s mind was still on Bertha Hawkins. “Why in the world would someone like Bertha want to be mayor?” she asked. Then she paused, her eyes narrowing. “And why are you telling me about it?”

“You mean, why am I really here?”

“That’s exactly what I mean.”

Fran, obviously pleased, raised her chin and said, “Bertha thinks the city council is embezzling funds, and she can right the wrongs.”

“What?”

“It’s not as crazy as it sounds, Lucy. We both know the town’s almost broke. Right?”
 
“Yes, but—”

“Well, she thinks Gus is stealing it.”

“Gus Grimes?” Lucy said.

“Isn’t he the council treasurer? The one who handles the town’s money?”

“But that’s stupid, Mother. If that was happening, the mayor’d know about it.”

“Get real, kiddo. The mayor’s Gus’s uncle. I agree he’d stop it if he knew, but he’d never believe it.”

Lucy lowered her head and massaged her temples with her fingertips. Why me? she thought. And why today? This kind of thing made her wish for a good old-fashioned murder investigation, or maybe street riots.

“So what am I supposed to do?” she asked. “Check the town’s records?”

Fran had spotted the candy jar on the windowsill beside her chair, and was helping herself to a handful of Hershey’s Kisses. “No need,” she said, chewing. “Bertha’s on the council too, and she’s already looked. Everything’s in order.”
    
“Well then—”

“But there are a thousand ways to cook the books. Remember all the corporate scandals awhile back?”

Sheriff Valentine groaned. “Come on, Mother, that’s way out of Gus’s league—”

“Maybe he had help. Anyhow, we need to find out.” Fran licked her fingers and examined the candy jar again. “Got any Butterfingers? The bite-sized ones, I mean.”

Lucy leaned back and squeezed her eyes shut. “Let me get this straight,” she said. “Bertha Hawkins is running for mayor because she thinks money’s being embezzled. Right?”

“That’s right.”

“And if I can solve it, she won’t run?”

Fran shook her head. “I didn’t say that.”

“But you implied it.”

“Maybe.”

Lucy blew out a sigh. “Okay. I give up. I’ll look into it.”

“Good.” Fran picked up her purse and stood up. “So will I.”

“Mother—”

“It’s my civic duty, Luce.” She opened the door, then turned. “You’ll reimburse me for phone calls, right?”

“I didn’t even hear that,” Lucy said.

Three days later they met again. “Augustus Grimes,” Fran announced, plopping into the chair across from Lucy’s desk, “has driven fifteen hundred miles since Tuesday.”

The sheriff looked up from an accident report and frowned. “Who told you that?”

“Nobody. Gus parks on the street, and I walk past his car every morning on my way to the post office.”

“You checked his odometer?”

“No, I had a vision, Lucy. Of course I checked his odometer. Through the driver’s-side window.”

“And?”

“That’s five hundred miles a day. I figure, the Coast and back. Round trip.” Fran picked up the candy jar, shook it vigorously, and studied the contents. “Still no Butterfingers?”

“Why the Coast?” Lucy asked.

“Because it’s south, that’s why. The roads north have been icy all week, and that distance east or west would cross a state line. I don’t think he’d risk that.”

Lucy put down her pencil and sat up straight. “You saying this involves transporting drugs?”

“It’s a possibility.”

Lucy shook her head. “That’s weak, Mother. For one thing, two hundred and fifty miles one-way would be farther than the Coast.”

“Not if you go through Mayburg. Bertha said she saw three matchbooks on Gus’s desk from a Mayburg cafe, near the college.”

“So?”

“There’s more. Jenny from the jewelers’ said Gus bought a string of pearls last month—December 20th. But Gus’s sister spent the holidays with them, and told Jenny afterward Gus’s wife didn’t get any pearls for Christmas.”

“Great,” Lucy said. “Factor a girlfriend into the plot.”

“It do seem to be thickening, don’t it?”

As Fran rose to leave, she handed Lucy an old picture of Gus Grimes from the local newspaper. “Indulge me. Fax this to the Mayburg police, have them check it out.”

Lucy studied the photo. “Matchbooks, odometers, necklaces—I swear, this is the dumbest reasoning I ever heard.”

Fran turned to grin at her from the door. “They doubted Einstein, too, at first.”

#

That afternoon Sheriff Valentine got a call from the Mayburg police department. Councilman Grimes had in fact been seen in the Snack Shack there several times this week. He had dined with a woman believed to be from the local college, although the source didn’t have her name. Lucy agreed to drive over and check while her mother called the Gulf Coast branches of Gus’s insurance business.

#

The next day brought two setbacks. First, in a visit with Gus’s wife, Fran Valentine noticed a string of pearls on Ms. Grimes’ throat.
     
“New necklace?” Fran asked her.

“Yes—a gift from my Gus.”

“For Christmas?”

“My birthday,” Ms. Grimes said, beaming. “January third.” So much for the expensive girlfriend idea.

In addition, Sheriff Valentine discovered the identity of Gus’s dining companion in Mayburg. She was from the college, all right—Gus’s first cousin. Another blow to the possibility of a love triangle.

Fran was undeterred. She stayed on the phone all day, and when she reported to the sheriff’s office the following morning, she was grinning like—

“The cat that caught the canary,” Lucy said.

“That caught the crook,” Fran corrected. “Come on, get your hat.”

Gus Grimes’s insurance office was two blocks from Lucy’s. By the time they got there, her mother was puffing and red-faced. Lucy couldn’t tell if it was from exertion or excitement. They paused outside Grimes’s office long enough for Fran to finish telling Lucy what she’d found out—and, Lucy thought, to gloat for a minute or two. Then Fran patted her already-stiff hairdo into place, drew a deep breath, and dragged Lucy through the door.

Grimes glanced up at them from a desk that looked more like a square mountain of loose paper. His large eyes seemed even bigger behind the thick lenses of his glasses, and his head was so bald it glowed in the sunlight from the single window.
 
“Mornin’, Sheriff. Fran. What brings you two here?”

“We need to ask you some questions, Gus,” Fran said.

Lucy took off her hat. She was still trying to digest the amazing information her mother had just given her. Finally she said, as Fran had instructed her to do, “Mr. Grimes, we’ve been told you’ve met with a lady named Barbara Colson several times lately, over in Mayburg. Is that correct?”

Grimes frowned. “My aunt Susan’s daughter. What of it?”

“She attends the university there?”

“That’s right. Accounting and finance.”

“Isn’t she a little old for college?” Fran said.

Grimes shrugged. “She started late. She’s been up north a few years.”

“And you meet several times a week now?” Lucy asked.

“She gives me investment advice. You know, stock market and such.”

“Does she advise you to invest in the Gulf Coast casinos?”

Grimes sat up straight. “What do you mean?”

Lucy looked at her mother, who said, “I called the folks in your southern branches, Gus. They said they haven’t seen you there lately. But the manager at the Golden Sands Casino described to you to a T.”

“What? Now wait a minute, here—”

“We thought at first it was drugs,” Fran said. “Instead, it was gambling. Wasn’t it.”

Gus Grimes had gone pale as wet sand. He sagged back in his chair and took off his glasses.

“How much are you down, Mr. Grimes?” Lucy asked him.

He hesitated, then murmured, “A hundred thousand. Give or take.”

“So you stole from the city.”

“I had to do something,” he said. He looked as if he might burst into tears at any moment.

“And that’s what your cousin told you to do?” Lucy asked.

“She’s a finance major,” Gus said again.

“So what? She’s just a student.”

“And an ex-con,” Fran said.

Grimes didn’t look up, but Lucy turned to stare at her mother. Fran had neglected to mention this part. She’d just hinted that the cousin was involved.

“Fraud and embezzlement,” Fran added. “That’s why she was away so long. ‘Up north’ was the Kentucky state prison. Isn’t that right, Gus?”

Lucy said nothing, since her mouth was hanging open. Finally she closed it, and looked again at the man behind the desk. “I believe you better come with me, Mr. Grimes,” she said.

When City Councilman Gus Grimes had been deposited in one of the county jail’s three empty cells, Sheriff Valentine found her mother sitting in a chair in the outer office. Fran looked tired but satisfied. In one hand she held her oversized purse; in the other was a wrapper for a bite-sized Butterfinger. “A definite improvement,” Fran said, chewing.

“And you say I never think about you.”

Fran chuckled and hoisted herself from the chair. “You should have enough on Gus and his cousin now to get the state cops involved,” she said. “And I need to go bake a cake for the church jamboree.”

“Not so fast, Mother. You never told me how you knew to check with the casinos.”

“Contacts, darlin’. Kate Perry’s husband’s with the Gaming Commission. I figured it was worth a try—I called her and she called him. Sure enough, he told her Gus’s name was on their watch list.”

“And Barbara Colson’s prison record?”

“More phone calls,” Fran said, walking to the door. “By the way, you’re getting my long-distance bill, when it comes. I’m guessing at least ninety dollars.”

“No wonder the town’s broke,” Lucy murmured. Then, as a pleasant thought occurred to her: “Does this mean Bertha Hawkins won’t be a candidate for mayor?”

“Probably. In fact,” Fran said, smiling, “I’m thinking of running myself.”

Sheriff Valentine didn’t reply. For one thing, her mother had already left; for another, Lucy was fumbling in her desk drawer for her Tylenol.

She could feel a headache coming on.

Bio:

John M. Floyd's short stories, articles, and humor pieces have appeared in more than 200 publications, including The Strand Magazine , Murderous Intent , Grit , Woman's World , Alfred Hitchcock's Mystery Magazine , and Ellery Queen's Mystery Magazine . A 2007 Derringer Award winner, he has been nominated three times for the Pushcart Prize and writes a weekly column at Criminalbrief.com. John is also the author of three collections of short fiction: Rainbow's End (2006), Midnight (2008), and Clockwork (coming in October 2010).