Ribollita Robbery: Snips and Snails Cafe, #6

By Elizabeth Rain

The Gloves are off, or is it hats? in Veil Falls

 

As Election Time nears for the next Chief of Police, sides will be taken, forces will gather...

And Juli, resident Soup Witch, and owner of Snips and Snails hopes for a break from the plague of Murders she's been tasked to solve since she moved to the little Magical town in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan almost a year ago.

But someone has an axe to grind with Jerry Watson, who has the popular vote in town, and is favored to win by a landslide come election time.

There's the rash of mean graffiti all over town, smearing Jerry's reputation and making him look like a poor second candidate to the standing police chief, Larry Jokerbridge.

As if that isn't enough...someone has robbed the First and a Half Bank...and left a calling card behind...

Right before the dead body is discovered in the Orchard.

And the clues are pointing at Jerry Watson...

 

If Juli doesn't want to visit her favorite sheriff in prison and have 'The Joker" around for another four years, she'll have to get busy, find the real killer, and clear Jerry's name.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Elizabeth Rain
• Release date: Jan 12, 2022
• ISBN: 9798223375081

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

T hey’ll know, Jinx determined, nodding at his companion as he turned the rifle this way and that in disgust, examining the workmanship. At least the small orange rings on the end of the barrels had been removed, and the hoppers were missing to feed the paint.

I’d rather do time for robbery. Forget the armed part. We’ll do less time if we get caught. Guns bring an entirely different set of charges to the table. Maybe someday I’ll have kids. I’d like to see them before they graduate, Moody ground out, placing his own gun across his lap and pulling his mask down over his face, adjusting the eye holes so his vision wasn’t impaired.

Jinx snorted and shook his head. Father of the year you’d be. And what’s with the wizard outfit? Do you fancy yourself a magical mentor to some snot-nosed, whiny brat?

Behind the slits for eyes in the white mask, Moody glared at his partner. It was on sale. At least it’s a little more original than Wile E. Coyote.

Jinx growled. It’s a werewolf, you fool. It’s to make sure they don’t get any bright ideas to be a hero. In and out. This is the last one and we’re home free.

Moody nodded and reached for the door. He couldn’t wait for it all to be over so he could quit this town and the memories it held for him. He’d sworn he’d never be back, and here he was. Let’s get this over with.

FRIDAYS, SATURDAYS, and Monday mornings were always busy at the First and One Half Bank in Veil Falls, which was why they’d chosen to make their move on the small stone building first thing in the morning on a Tuesday in early June. When they entered, the bells overhead gave a jangle, immediately alerting the three smiling tellers behind the counter that a new customer had entered. The First and One Half Bank was small, and there was no drive-through. The tellers blinked in surprise and then alarm when they made out the costumes and masks that concealed the newcomers’ identities. Maria Sanchez’s plump finger was already edging towards the button concealed beneath the counter when the wizard spoke up. A shiver of terror crawled along her shoulders and she froze.

Don’t touch that button, not if you want to see those grandbabies again, he hissed, his dark eyes narrowing as he discerned her intent.

Elderly Mrs. Mathews, who was making a small withdrawal from her window, gave a theatrical gasp, her hand clasped over her heart and her veined nose quivering as she stared at them with sharp eyes. Oh my, a bank heist! she hissed, sounding more fascinated than alarmed.

Jinx, who had immediately pulled the curtains closed as they entered while replacing the sign in the window with the one he’d made especially for the occasion, spoke up. "I need all the tellers to come out front and join the customers. You have five seconds before I start shooting. He made good on his words when he started to count, and all three tellers scrambled, none of them willing to play hero. They joined Mrs. Mathews and a young woman of about thirty, her young daughter of around seven clinging to her side.

Moody emerged from the small cubicle of an office, leading a portly gentleman of about fifty.

See here, you aren’t going to get away with this. The police are already on their way, he blustered, the jowls in his cheeks giving a jiggle as he huffed.

Moody nodded, I guess you’d better hurry, then. Because if they get here before we’re done, I don’t plan to take any prisoners or negotiate. I’ve always fancied going down in a hail of bullets, myself. You know, die famous?

Mr. Burrows gasped, his face blanching white. What do you want?

Jinx nodded with the end of his gun to the vault against the wall in the back of the room behind the teller’s windows. In—you need to open that vault door. You have thirty seconds to accomplish the feat before I start eliminating hostages. I’m going to start with the lovely Mrs. Sanchez here, since she was so eager to push our buttons.

The teller pursed her lips, her eyes flashing in anger rather than fear at Jinx’s grizzled, hairy face.

But it had the desired effect on the manager, who waddled without another word towards the large steel door, pulling keys from around his neck as he moved. Though his eyes hadn’t left the gun that Jinx brandished, his eyes kept drifting to Moody as if he found something about him particularly terrifying.

A matter of seconds later, the vault door swung open, revealing shelves stacked high with bonds and banded bills.

Moody approached the open door, pulling the large canvas bag he carried over his shoulder free. I’ve got this. You get their hands secured. We’ll move them inside the vault when we’re finished. He glanced at his watch. We have less than three minutes left before we hear sirens.

Got it. Jinx pulled a fistful of black FlexiCuffs from his pocket, watching as his partner disappeared from view. He motioned to the manager with hard eyes to join the other hostages, saying, This is where you help me out. My hands are full. I need you to take these and secure everyone’s wrists. Not too tight, mind. Don’t be mean and cut their circulation off.

His hands shaking like he had the palsy, Jinx watched in satisfaction as Mr. Burrows grabbed the ties and moved towards Miss Houghton, the young blonde teller, without a word.

A small voice and a tug on his jeans had him glancing down in alarm, the barrel of the gun lining up with the direction of his eyes. The young mother gave a whimper of terror. The girl stared up at the barrel of the gun pointing in her direction. That’s a good brand. My oldest brother says they are easy to load and never jam, not like cheaper paint markers. He has one just like it.

Jinx growled at her and made a feinting move in her direction. Her mother squeaked and snatched her young daughter back against her chest, her feet pistoning as she scooted backwards against the counter. Her daughter’s eyes never left his.

He said, You don’t know what you’re talking about. Just sit there and do as you’re told and this will all be over soon. Nobody has to get hurt here.

Jinx glanced towards the vault. Hey, you done in there? We have less than thirty seconds left.

Done in twenty-five. Relax, came the answer.

Grunting, Jinx watched as the manager moved to tie the last customer’s hands. He reached casually into his pocket and snagged out a toffee flavored candy. A small piece of paper came with it, floating to the floor as he unwrapped the treat.

Another voice spoke up, this time from the elderly customer from earlier. Litterbug, she hissed.

Smiling, he toed the crumpled slip of paper in her direction. She made no move to grab it, her hands tied neatly in her lap.

Make sure you get that for me later then, won’t you? Be a doll and dispose of it properly.

Moody emerged from the vault, the bag full, and draped it back over his shoulders to free up his hands. He motioned to the captives, and as a group, they moved into the teller area and inside the vault. Several gasped when they saw his handiwork, making Moody smile in satisfaction.

Both men stared in from the door. Moody spoke up. Better all have a seat and make yourselves comfortable. The wheels of the law can move a mite slow.

The vault door gave a whoosh and a click as it slid closed. Both men moved through the bank and out the front door at a trot. Jinx removed the sign from the window on the way. They could just make out the sounds of sirens in the distance as they rounded the corner next to the alley that ran between the bank and the building next to it. The streets were still mostly deserted, though a couple of pedestrians on the sidewalk opposite them gave their costumes a curious glance. But nobody tried to stop them or pursue them as they disappeared from view off the main street.

A large dumpster was conveniently placed halfway down against the opposite building. In seconds they had whipped off their costumes and masks and stuffed them deep beneath several other bags of refuse. Moving quickly, they jammed the large duffel bag into the bright red rolling case they’d hidden there earlier. Both came out on the other side of the alley seconds later dressed in expensive business suits, the luggage rolling at their sides. Now on the sidewalk along Pelham Street, they crossed to the other side at a leisurely stroll. On the street behind them, sirens blasted as squad vehicles pulled up to the First and One Half Bank.

Taking their time, they hit the door lock button and popped the trunk, storing the suitcase. Jinx nodded to a pretty young woman as she walked past. She returned a shy smile before continuing on. Inside the car, Moody got in the driver’s seat and started the engine. He pulled away from the curb and merged smoothly onto Pelham Street towards Mason Drive.

Jinx relaxed and looked at his partner as he stopped to wait for the light to change before turning towards their motel. Both glanced towards the bright flash of lights down Brew Street as they drove past and smiled. What was that all about? Back there inside the vault?

Moody shrugged, his lips tugging in amusement. Insurance. I gave them something else to think about.

Jinx leaned back in his seat and sighed. I can’t wait to get back. I’m starving.

Moody grunted. You’re always hungry. I don’t know where you put it.

Jinx patted his lean stomach. It’s all the adrenaline. The natural high activates my metabolism and then I need food.

Moody rolled his eyes. Whatever. Just remember. This was the last one. From here on out, if I want a little excitement in my life, it’s going to be on some warm beach, watching the bikinis roll by.

Sure, boss. This was it. We’re done, you and I.

Moody sent his partner a sharp glance, but Jinx had already closed his eyes.

MOODY OPENED DOOR NUMBER twenty-two of the motel they were staying at, pocketing the key card. Jinx was right behind him, rolling Big Tilda—as Jinx had affectionately named the large, hardback suitcase that held the latest installment in their future—behind him. He shook his head in disgust. Who did that? Named their cars and bags, giving importance to inanimate things. But a lot of what Jinx did baffled Moody.

Wanna go through it now, or what? Jinx asked, moving to the dresser to pour himself a couple of fingers of cheap Scotch. He tossed the fiery liquid back, relishing the burn to steady his nerves. Moody’s eyes glittered as he watched the slight shake in the younger man’s hand. As steady as he was in the middle of a heist, the letdown afterwards always left him jumpy, as if he couldn’t quite believe they’d gotten away, and he expected the cops to jump out from behind the curtains and say, boo! 

Later. I need a shower. I have to get this paint off. I tossed the cans with the masks, but the spray cans splatter.

Jinx nodded at the speckles on the backs of Moody’s hands. You missed your calling as a starving artist. It looks like you gutted a pig or something. The bright red flecks against the paleness of his hands really stood out.

Moody gave a dry chuckle, but he didn’t smile. We won’t be starving now. We recover the rest of the money we buried from the other heists and we’re going to quit this town. I can’t wait.

Why do you hate it so much? I mean, you were raised here, weren’t you?

That’s right, I was.

When he wasn’t forthcoming with any more information, Jinx rolled his eyes and started rooting around in his duffel bag, looking for a fresh shirt.

Moody watched him surreptitiously beneath slitted lids as he gathered clean clothes from his own bag. Jinx’s shirt was damp from perspiration. If asked, he knew Jinx would have explained it away by saying it was hot beneath the long black robes he’d worn to the heist. But Moody knew it was the fear that had made him sweat—both from what they’d just done, and what was still yet to come. They were nearly home free. This time tomorrow they’d both be on a plane, and the cops would still be spinning their wheels, looking for two crooks who, over the course of a two-week span, had collected over two and a half million dollars from four separate heists in as many small towns up and down the Lake Superior coastline.

Holding what he needed in his hands, Moody went into the bathroom, catching Jinx’s eyes on him as he held the door. We’ll count it as soon as I’m clean. Wouldn’t do to get any paint on the bills, would it? he mused.

Jinx smiled at him as he pulled a clean shirt down over his flat stomach. No. As you’ve told me, it’s the thoughtful man that lives to reap the rewards of their endeavors.

Moody frowned, I never said that.

Didn’t you? I must have heard it somewhere else.

Moody shook his head. Idiot. He closed the door.

IN THE CENTER OF THE motel room, Jinx stared after him with hard eyes. His gaze shifted to the suitcase. He was already moving.

Less than five minutes later, he knocked on the bathroom door. What? came the muffled reply.

Jinx grinned. Going out to grab fast food. Want any?

Get me something. Don’t care what, Moody responded.

Sure thing, Moody. I got you covered.

The outer door clicked softly behind him as he left.

Fifteen minutes later, Moody emerged from the bathroom, toweling wiry strands of reddish blond hair on the back of his head dry vigorously, a second towel perched around his waist. Jinx was still gone, but that was nothing unusual. The only fast food he knew of was on the other side of town and he didn’t expect his partner for another few minutes at least. Meanwhile, he dressed, scowling at the well-worn jeans and faded T-shirt. Jinx had left well-dressed in clothes he hadn’t purchased at Wal-Mart. Moody poured himself a small tumbler of Jinx’s Scotch, grimacing when he sipped the warm liquor, wishing he had ice. His eyes moved to the suitcase.

Of the two of them, it was Jinx that had come from money, the rich kid of two well-to-do parents who had shamelessly spoiled their only son.

Not Moody. He hadn’t seen his dad in years, his mother in longer. And he was just fine with that. What he had, he’d scrapped for his entire life. He fingered a hole in the hem of his T-shirt as he pulled it over his head, his mind moving fast.

His eyes moved from the suitcase to the door. He was the brains of the operation. The leader. It was his plan they’d followed. It was he that had gotten them to this point—several million dollars richer and not in the custody of some rinky-dink Veil Falls jail cell.

Before he thought better of it, he was moving in the suitcase's direction. They’d be counting it when Jinx returned shortly and splitting it evenly down the middle. But if he shaved a few bills off the top for some new duds, Jinx would never be the wiser. He could consider it a finder’s fee. He’d found the targets and set the plan in action. That deserved a tip, didn’t it?

Moody kept his ears sharp for the sound of a car engine, the slam of car doors, or the pad of feet outside their entrance.

Moving quickly, he found the lock and input the combination they’d both agreed on earlier and pushed the button. He was surprised when it didn’t immediately release. Frowning, he tried twice more. He stood back, a niggling suspicion in the back of his mind. From his back pocket, he pulled the jack knife he always carried. In a matter of seconds, he had jimmied the lock and the zipper tab sprung free and dangled. His hands shaking, he slid it open, the rasp of the zipper in the empty room unnaturally loud. His fingers hesitated on the hard plastic before he threw it wide and sighed in relief.

The plain grey duffel was still there, right where they’d stuffed it in the alley. He’d been wrong. Jinx hadn’t double-crossed him as he’d feared. He glanced once more towards the door before he slid the zipper on the duffel open, reached inside...and pulled out a dirty sock. Blinking in confusion, he grabbed a handful of material, pulled it free, and swore long and loud, words bouncing off the dirty walls. More clothes, shirts, and jeans. His movements became frantic as his heart thundered in his chest and panic took hold of him.

One thing was evident: Jinx wasn’t sitting in some drive-through ordering dinner.

JAVA’S FRESH GOOSEBERRY Scone, still warm, was half-way to Jerry Watson’s mouth when he got the call. He was sitting in a corner seat at his favorite coffee shop, sampling her newest pastry. Java often told him she valued his culinary opinion. He figured that his status as a cop in a donut shop was just good for her business.

When the radio squawked to life at his side, his hand gave a shake, and several crumbs fell off and slithered over his shirt. He gave a sigh of disgust, put the confection down, and grabbed the radio.

What is it, Lou? he asked dispatch, dropping formality as he picked at the crumbs. His hand froze in midair, his fingers pinching a buttery piece of pastry as he listened.

He was already scrambling from his seat, the scone forgotten, as he grabbed a crumpled twenty from his pocket and tossed it next to his plate and the untouched coffee. He yelled a hasty thanks to Java, who looked up at him in alarm from behind the counter.

He didn’t have time to explain to her he had to run, because the First and a Half Bank had just been robbed.

He was on the scene in less than five minutes, the siren blasting in a whirl of light over his head. Even so, he was too late. He took in the scene at a glance. This was no standoff with hostages being held by a desperate gunman, and his deputies crouched behind their vehicles, weapons drawn and ready for anything.

He groaned when he got out as the Chief of Police, Larry Jokerbridge, approached. You’re late. What were you doing? Having donuts somewhere?

Close enough. But Jerry didn’t respond to the insinuation. The less said to the chief was always better in his opinion.

What happened?

What does it look like happened? The bank was robbed. The manager estimates a loss in excess of fifty thousand, barring a final tally. Tellers and customers are scared to death.

Jerry gritted his teeth, walking towards the main entrance and shouldering aside a reporter who was busy snapping pictures and shoving a microphone in anybody’s face that would allow it. He turned when he saw Jerry and started in his direction.

Jerry held up a hand and shook his head before he ducked beneath the crime scene tape. He entered the bank to a lobby in chaos as deputies interviewed tellers and customers alike. He spied his partner, Anna Shilling, by the vault, talking to the manager, Mr. Burrows. Ignoring the chief, who had turned to another deputy and was reading him the riot act about the mud on his boots, he headed in her direction.

What do we have? He wasted no time.

Anna nodded. Two perpetrators, both male, one about average height and slender, the other considerably taller and broad at the shoulders. Both walked in this morning just past 9:30. Tuesdays are slow, and it looks like they timed it to miss the opening rush. There were three tellers on duty and four customers. The perps were masked. A wizard and a werewolf costume.

Jerry grunted.Anyone hurt?

Her expression grew shuttered. No. Threats made, but no shots fired. Interesting information—I had a talk with our youngest victim, Rosalee Mills. She’s seven. It seems our crooks were armed all right.

Jerry nodded. I figured as much. Tellers weren’t just going to hand it to them.

Her lips quirked. They were armed with paintball guns.

What?

Rosalee recognized the brand. Says her brother has one just like it. They look totally realistic these days. Remove the hoppers that feed the paint and the little orange ring on the end of the barrel and they look a lot like the real deal. Apparently, they moved fast and no one else had enough experience with guns to recognize they were fake.

Jerry pursed his lips, looking inside the vault at the empty shelves. A few discarded bills littered the floor and there were several stacks of paper that had been brushed aside and now lay scattered randomly. Lyle Turner, Veil Falls’ resident coroner and medical examiner all rolled into one, was processing the scene with two crime scene technicians. Theirs was a small town and Lyle didn’t just deal with the dead. He was also their best bet in any other crime that might require processing of evidence. What else do we know?

Anna hesitated. Picking up on her expression, Jerry’s hardened with suspicion. What is it?

Something you should see inside the vault on the back wall.

A firm sense of he wasn’t going to like this hit him as she turned and entered the small space. Right behind her and looking over the back shoulder of a photographer who was snapping pictures of said wall, Jerry stood and stared—and then swore profusely.

You have got to be kidding me!

Behind him, the chief entered.

I don’t see anybody laughing. Can you tell me about that?

Jerry jerked in the chief’s direction, his teeth grinding. How should I know? I didn’t do it, that’s for sure. What is it with the people in this town?

The chief’s eyes glittered. Seems somebody really has it in for you. Did you arrest someone that held a grudge?

Lyle spoke up, looking at the wall. The tellers and hostages say it wasn’t there before. So the perps must have done it before they locked the hostages inside the vault. It’s still damp, which confirms their statements.

They were still staring at the vault wall when there was a shout from the front of the bank lobby.

Their newest recruit, Mike Smith, held something in the air as they approached. He was talking with an elderly woman. Jerry knew her as Mrs. Mathews. It was a small town, and he knew most of the residents.

Mike spoke up. I think we may have something here. Mrs. Mathews says that the werewolf dropped it. She says she told him he was littering, but he didn’t listen. Told her she could pick it up for him later and dispose of it properly...

Jerry carefully took the small slip of crumpled paper from his fingers, mostly tuning out his mad ramble. It was probably nothing.

And then it was something as he spread it flat, recognizing the logo from the Bates 9 Motel, down off Cliff Road. He thrust it at the chief and turned to Anna. We may have caught an early break. I can’t believe they were that careless. Maybe we can catch them before they check out.

CHAPTER TWO

Moody swore profusely , his hands diving deep inside the bag, hoping he was wrong and that Jinx hadn’t pulled a fast one. Maybe all the money was just buried at the bottom, hidden from view from anyone who might come snooping that shouldn’t. Finally, he stopped moving, forcing himself to think. This wasn’t all of it. In fact, it was only a small part of what they’d taken in the course of the last month. The rest was buried in the orchard, where