Hijack in Abstract (A Cherry Tucker Mystery) by Larissa Reinhart Page B

toward Grandpa. “I should get you and your siblings to help me. Y’all are pack rats. Don’t you throw anything away?”
    I gripped the edge of the table. “What have you thrown out? Paintings, photos, pictures? Anything of that nature?”
    “Lord knows. I needed a shovel and rake to go through everything.”
    “I’ll go check on the pictures in a minute.” Because I’m a quick assessor, I realized the futility of the argument. I would have to look myself. “Did y’all hear about the hijacking, Grandpa? I thought I’d bring you some news.”
    With a healthy glare at Pearl, I settled into a chair next to Grandpa and patted his gnarled and bony knuckle. He gave me a strange look and withdrew his hand. We weren’t a touchy-feely family, and I was freaking him out with my territorial behavior.
    “Well, now. Hijacking?” he said and leaned back in his chair. “Just a minute. Pearl, you got some food for us?”
    “Sure, Ed.” She left her coffee and moved to the fridge. “Good thing my Amy knows how to cook. Don’t see her dropping by expecting a meal.”
    “Considering this isn’t her home, I’m glad to hear it,” I said, but hopped up to pour Grandpa a refill on his coffee and grab a cup of my own.
    Grandpa pulled on his chin. “Now, how do you know about the hijacking?”
    “Uncle Will called me in to do a composite sketch of one of the hijackers.”
    “Will Thompson did drop in for a cup of coffee yesterday,” Grandpa smiled, loving that it drove me crazy when he strung a story out. “Heard about that hijacking.”
    I wandered back to the table as Pearl set down our brunch. A single plate of pimento sandwiches sat on the table. They looked awfully lonely without any sides to join them. I had expected something prepared using the stove. Maybe with eggs, biscuits, breakfast meat, or perhaps even a hot bowl of butter grits. I’d even accept a lunch menu. Leftover chicken pot pie. Reheated corn casserole. Maybe I had gotten accustomed to Casey’s spread. Or maybe this was my punishment for sassing Pearl.
    Grandpa eyed the plate and took a sandwich without comment. Pearl had outflanked me and I had sacrificed my Grandpa in the process.
    She was good.
    “So what did Sheriff Thompson say?” asked Pearl, settling into a chair across from Grandpa.
    “Dixie Cake truck was hit,” said Grandpa between bites of pimento cheese.
    “What?” I snatched a sandwich. “What do you mean Dixie Cake truck?”
    “I suppose it had more than Dixie Cakes in it. Was a big truck, according to Will. Can’t imagine a rig full of Dixie Cakes.”
    “Who holds up a Dixie Cake truck? The Tooth Fairy?” I licked pimento cheese off my fingers and imagined the wondrous ecstasy that would be a truck full of pastries made by my favorite Southern baking company. My stomach responded in kind.
    “Four of ’em,” continued Grandpa. “Masked and armed.”
    “Masked?” said Pearl. “What, like Halloween?”
    “Halloween masks?” I scoffed. “Ski masks. Now this is classified information, but one guy pulled his off and was spotted by Tyrone Coderre. They think he later came back and shot Tyrone. Unfortunately Coderre returned to the scene of the crime and the shooter was waiting for him.” I skipped the part where I had forgotten to mention Tyrone’s plans to the police. “They hear anything from the State Patrol yet?”
    “Evidently it’s not uncommon for food trucks to be stolen. However, the robberies are generally closer to Atlanta. Will said the State Patrol was glad to get your sketch, though.”
    “Well that’s good to hear. I was glad to be of service, particularly since local jobs have been hard to come by.”
    “Speaking of local jobs, I recently heard about some paintings,” said Pearl. “Haven’t seen the photos floating around yet, but the ladies say they are mighty interesting. Did you hear about them, Ed?”
    Grandpa’s eyes slanted to the empty plate. It appeared I had eaten the remaining