Page 9 of Until Joy

The youngest boy still had that wide-eyed expression of horror on his face.

“I said give everything back, boys. Now.” Their father was almost yelling.

One by one, they emptied their pockets into my hand. It took a minute, but eventually, I had a handful of stolen goods.

“There, Mr. Wallace. You have everything. My boys have learned their lesson. Can we go now?”

One of the middle kids kept sneaking glances at his older brother, who looked smug.

Yeah, this wasn’t over.

I stood up and looked at Fred. “That’s not everything. Your oldest still has something.”

“Do not,” the kid snarled.

I crossed my arms. “I’m sorry, Fred. I’m going to call the police.”

Fred groaned. “I need to get them to my ex-wife. It’s past time for the hand-off. If my son said he gave you everything, he gave you everything.”

Was this guy for real? His son just tried to walk out of our store with stolen goods, and he thinks he won’t lie? My guess was that he’d been shoplifting for a while now. I got out my phone and dialed Cobi Mayson’s number, then put it on speaker. Cobi was a detective with the Murfreesboro Police Department and a good guy. If he picked up, I knew he would play along.

“Mayson here,” he answered.

“Cobi? This is Graham Wallace. You’re on speaker. I’m over here at the auto parts store. I have four shoplifters here, ages three to six.”

“I’m seven,” the ringleader said loudly.

“Pardon me, Detective. The oldest boy, who’s the ringleader, is seven. Can you explain what happens to shoplifters?”

“I can send a patrol car with two police officers over there in about ten minutes. We can have them arrested and booked.”

“This has gone far enough,” Fred snapped. Now, he was royally pissed.

I agreed with him. He needed to get his oldest boy under control before he had a real problem on his hands.

“Who was that?” Cobi asked.

“That was their father, Fred Lockley,” I answered.

“Mr. Lockley. This is serious.” Cobi’s voice was all cop. “You need to get your son to cooperate. Graham is within his rights to have police officers come to his store. Is that what you want?”

Fred turned to his son and leaned in close. “Court, you give Mr. Wallace whatever you still have, or I’m going to tell your mother about this. Is that what you want?”

The kid paled, then pulled out a lighter and a tire gauge from the back pocket of his jeans. “That’s all, Dad, I promise. Don’t tell Mom, okay?”

I rolled my eyes.

Really?

Fred shoved the items at me. “Now can we go?”

I looked each of the boys in the eye. The two youngest looked properly scared. The oldest was just pissed. The middle one, though—he looked genuinely sorry.

Fred was going to have his hands full, but maybe their mother had more sense. I hoped so.

“Yeah, Fred. You can go,” I sighed. I watched them leave the store.

“Is that it?” Cobi asked.