All That Glitters (Raine Stockton Dog Mysteries) (4 page)

Buck Lawson had the kind of lazy good looks that women found hard to
resist—rumpled
curly
hair, kind hazel eyes, an easy smile and a genuine interest in
folks.  Unfortunately, Buck found the admiration of  women equally difficult to resist, which was where all his problems began, at least as far as I was concerned. 
We each came to a dead stop i
n
the hallway about ten feet apart and stared at each other like
a couple of
deer in the headlights until I, determined to be the bigger person, cleared my throat a little and said, almost casually, “Hi Buck. What are you doing here?”

He hesitated a moment, as though he wasn’t quite sure of the answer to that, gave a little half- glance over his shoulder toward the office to orient himself, and answered, “Oh, we got a call.  The love offering from the
Christmas
c
antata
was robbed
, can you believe that? 
Four hundred and eighty five
dollars.
  The damnedest thing is, there was only five hundred and two dollars in the plate.
”  He gave a small shake of his head.  “I don’t know what the world is coming to.” 
 

“Well, times are hard, I guess,” I offered awkwardly.

“Syms Sporting Goods has been hit twice this month alone,” he said.  “It’s got to where they don’t even leave any cash in the register anymore.  Of course Lou Syms is such an old skinflint it’s hard to feel sorry for him.  But stealing from a church is something else.”

We stood there for another uncomfortable moment, out of small talk, and then I blurted, “I just came up for corn.” 

And he said at the same time, “Raine, I need to talk to you about something.”

We both broke off expectantly, and
he looked embarrassed.  “Look,” he said, “your uncle invited me to Christmas dinner, just like always.  I’m sure he wasn’t thinking but I told him no, of course.  I just wanted you to know it wasn’t because—well, because I was with someone else.  I just didn’t think it was right, that’s all.”

I swallowed hard.   I had not yet been able to imagine what it w
ould
be like at the holiday table this year.  None of my dad’s corny jokes.  No golden retriever hiding under the table waiting to filch pieces of turkey and homemade biscuits.  No quiet shared smiles between me and the person who was supposed to have loved me for the rest of my life.  I said, “Yeah.  Okay.”

“I volunteered to work on Christmas.  You know, give the family guys a day off.”

“That’s good.”  My tone was stiff.

He looked bleak.  “Raine, I don’t think I can stand for you to hate me.”

I thrust my hands into my pockets and  managed to mutter, “I don’t hate you.”  I wasn’t entirely sure whether that was true.

He took a step toward me, his eyes softening in a way that made me wish I had not just told him I didn’t hate him.  “Raine I am so sorry,” he said.  “I don’t expect you to forgive me, but I just want you to know I understand what I’ve done to you, and if I could take it back I would.  You deserve so much better.  I’m just… so damn sorry.”

The thing is, I knew he meant it.  Every word.  And listening to him just made me tired. 

I said, “I’m glad you’re sorry.  I know you think that’s supposed to make everything better.  I trusted you, and you lied to me.  You promised to be there for the rest of my life and now I’m all alone in that big house at Christmas.  We said we’d take care of each other, and now I’m  taking care of myself.  But I’m glad you’re sorry.”

He dropped his gaze.
“I don’t suppose… do you ever see a time when we might be friends again?”

I said simply, “No.”  And I turned and walked back toward the basement.
Let somebody else worry about the corn.

And that was when I heard a scream.

B
uck had been a high
school football hero—naturally—and he hadn’t lost any speed over the years. 
He outran me to the vestibule, but not by much.  That had been my aunt’s voice I’d heard.

“Stop, thief!  Stop!”
she cried.

I arrived just as Buck was tackling a denim-jacketed man who was halfway out the door.  “Tackle” might have been too strong a word: Buck’s modus operandi has always been on the mild side, so it was more like he caught the guy
casually
by the elbow and the collar, turned him back into the room and said, “Whoa, dude, what’s your hurry?”

Meanwhile I rushed to
Aunt Mart
, who had grabbed an umbrella from the stand in the vestibule and held it like a baseball bat, her chest heaving with indignation and her eyes flashing
at
the perpetrator.  My aunt was every bit the southern lady, but she had been around law enforcement too long
not
to
rise to the occasion when it counted.

“
Aunt Mart
, are you all right?” 
I put
my
hands around the umbrella and tried to gently take it from her, but she was having none of it.

“I’m fine,” she returned shortly
, tightening her grip on the umbrella.
  “But it’s a good thing Buck got here
when he did
or that young man would not have been, I can assure you of that!”  With a final warning look at the suspect in custody, she turned to me.  “ I  came up to tell you we found the other
cartons
of corn, and I heard somebody creeping around up front, and I thought it might be one of the volunteers who was lost so I peeked around the corner and what should I see but this—this
miscreant
  trying to break into the tithe box!”

“I wasn’t breaking in!” returned the miscreant in question angrily.
The scattered bills all over the marble floor and the broken hinge on the tithe box would seem to belie his story, not to mention the wad of cash that was still clearly clutched in one hand. 

Aunt Mart
turned on him with eyes blazing and her chest heaving with righteous indignation, raising the umbrella another couple of threatening inches,  “How dare you steal from the Lord in His own house!  All that glitters is not gold, you know!  Vengeance is mine sayeth the Lord! 
And woe to that
man
who betrays the Son of
Man
! It would be
better for him
if he
had not been born
!”

By this time the pastor had arrived with his secretary, and between the three of us we were able to persuade
Aunt Mart
to relinquish the umbrella
.  She did so with a dusting of her hands and a single tug at the hem of her jacket, and if Buck’s grip had failed to hold the villain, her glare certainly would have. 

He was a t
h
in man in his
late
thirties with a prominent Adam’s apple and lank brown hair falling over his eyes.  He wore muddy work boots and faded jeans that were just this side of being threadbare. His jacket wasn’t nearly warm enough to keep out the kind of cold we were expecting over the next few days.
  He was clearly such an amateur thief, and so clearly caught dead-to-rights, that I couldn’t help feeling a little sorry for him.

“I wasn’t breaking in,” the man repeated, starting to sweat.  “I know this looks bad but I can explain.”

“Maybe you can start by explaining this,” Buck, invited, nodd
ing
at the money on the floor.  “And where did you get that cash in your hand there?”

“Well, it wasn’t from the tithe box,” said the secretary, looking both alarmed and slightly pleased with herself.  “
At least I don’t see how it could be.
I emptied it at one o’clock, just like I do every Wednesday, and
unless we’ve had more drop-ins in the last half hour than we’ve had all week, this money didn’t come from the box.”

The pastor
confirmed her
claim
, and the suspect practically sagged with relief. “I’m trying to tell you, I wasn’t taking money out.  I was trying…” His voice fell, and he looked embarrassed.  I would have
been embarrassed
too, if I’d had such a lame story.  “I was trying to put it back in.”

My aunt and I exchanged a look.  Even she, who always saw the best in everyone, wasn’t buying this one.
 
I felt so bad for the guy I couldn’t even look at him, so I knelt down and started picking up the scattered bills.  They were mostly ones, with a few fives here and there, exactly the kind of denominations you’d find in a donation box.

Buck said politely, “You want to explain all the money on the floor, Mr. …?”

“It’s Jacobs.  Jim Jacobs,” he said miserably. 
“Look, I don’t expect you to believe me, but there’s a hundred and ten dollars altogether, with what I dropped and what I still have.”  He opened his hand and Buck took the money he offered.  I added my pile to it
, and Buck passed the money to the pastor
.

  “I found it last night in my mailbox bound up in a rubber band with a note that said ‘From your
S
ecret Santa’
,” Jacobs went on
. 
“
And when I heard on the radio this morning that the church had been robbed…”

Buck said, “You heard it on the radio?”

Now the pastor looked embarrassed.  “Lenny Fox is the church treasurer,” he explained.  “Of course we called him first thing.”  Lenny Fox was also the morning
announcer
for
our
local AM station.

Jim Jacobs nodded, his Adam’s apple bobbing.  “The thing is, times have been a little rough for us since the plant closed, and we got the final notice on the electric bill, and my oldest boy, now I’m not saying he’s no angel, but he’s never been in any serious trouble with the law, but he must have heard us arguing about it, my wife and me—you know how folks do when times are bad—because he banged out of the house the other night saying something about how he was going to fix things, and the next I know there’s this money in the mailbox, which is exactly what it would take to keep the lights on, so what am I supposed to think?
  He never would admit it, but I’m telling you , Deputy, we’re an honest God-loving family and no son of mine is going to stand before his Maker with this on his conscience.  So I came here to give the money back, only…”  A dull flush crept up his collar.  “The slot was too small and I was afraid if I stood here long enough to put it all in one bill at a time somebody would come by and see me,
and wonder where I got that kind of money to give to the church
so I tried to pull up the lid just enough to push the money through, but the hinge broke, and then…”  His voice trailed off pitifully. We all knew what had happened next.

I felt compelled to speak up.
“Listen, Buck, it probably doesn’t mean anything, but he might be telling the truth about the Secret Santa thing.”  I told him about my experience with the propane truck driver, and a look of speculative interest lit the faces of everyone in the room—except Jim Jacobs, of course, who just looked miserable.

The pastor
said, “Well, I for one am pleased to think there’s a philanthropist in our midst, whether it’s technically true or not.”
He
offered the
cash to Buck, neatly stacked and counted. “A hundred and ten dollars, just like he said.  And I don’t know of any law that prosecutes a man for trying to give money to the church.”

Buck glanced down at the money.  “I’m guessing you don’t want to press charges for the broken box.”

“You guess correctly.”

Somewhat reluctantly, Buck released Jacobs’ arm.  “I’m going to want to talk to your son.  Meantime…”  He
inclined his head toward the cash the pastor still held.
  “Looks
to me
like th
at
belongs to the church.”