by Amy Vansant
“Do they? Why would she make stollens if she’s allergic?”
“She might be allergic to one kind of nut but not another. Maybe they don’t have nuts...” A tingly feeling of dread settled over Charlotte’s shoulders like a shawl. “Uh oh.”
“What?”
“If all the stollens have nuts in them, and she’s allergic and doesn’t usually use them...remember, she didn’t make the bread.”
Frank’s eyes grew a little wider. “Mariska.”
Charlotte nodded.
Frank stuffed the notepad back into his pocket. “Mariska can get pretty creative with her recipes, can’t she? Not out of the realm she might have doctored the original recipe?”
“Not crazy to think she might have decided a handful of some off-script nuts might improve the batch.”
Frank grimaced. “Of course she wouldn’t know about Alice’s allergy, but that won’t make her feel any better if she finds out she killed the woman.”
Charlotte hugged the puppy tighter.
“She’ll never forgive herself.”
Chapter Four
Charlotte glanced through the window of Alice’s home to watch a sheriff’s cruiser pull to the curb. It parked, and a moment later a heavy-set girl in her late teens or early twenties dressed in a black t-shirt and cut-off jean shorts stepped from the passenger side and lumbered towards the front door. Her arms flopped at her sides beneath slumped shoulders, as if the effort to cross the yard was more than she could muster. Dyed black hair cut at the shoulder bounced in unison with her arms, as if it too, was simply too tired to hang there.
Behind her, Deputy Daniel stepped from the vehicle and followed, catching up to the girl with hurried strides.
“Ma’am, I don’t know if you should go back in there quite yet—” Charlotte heard him say.
Frank pushed open the screen door to allow the girl access. “It’s alright. She’s fine.”
Crystal entered without looking at Frank and dropped a small backpack to the ground.
“Where’d they take her?”
Daniel held open the door and Frank repositioned himself back into the house.
“She’s not here. The medics took her to the coroner.”
“For an autopsy?”
Frank nodded. “They’re going to have to find the cause.”
Crystal flipped her wrist back as if she was swatting a fly away from her ear. “She had lupus and a bunch of stuff going on.”
“We know. We have to know for sure, though.”
For the first time, Crystal seemed to notice Charlotte standing there.
“Who are you?”
“I’m Charlotte.” Charlotte made an attempt to shake Crystal’s hand, but found she couldn’t contain the squirming puppy with only one. “Sorry, I should probably give you back your dog.”
“My dog?” Crystal’s eyebrows and mouth arched to let Charlotte know she had to be the dumbest woman on the planet. “That ain’t my dog.”
“Alice’s dog then?”
“It ain’t hers either. Why do you think it’s ours?”
Charlotte nodded to the box in the corner. “He was in there.”
Frank’s gaze shot to the box and then back to Crystal. “So this puppy wasn’t here when you went to work this morning?”
Crystal huffed and walked to a floral chair, leaving her backpack on the floor in front of the door where everyone who entered would have to step over it. She flopped onto the chair, apparently to get the rest she so desperately needed. “No. And you ain’t leaving it here either.”
Charlotte glanced at Frank. She could tell they shared a common thought.
Crystal was unlikable.
Charlotte reminded herself the girl had just found her grandmother dead. While no tears glistened in her black-traced, over-lined eyes, people dealt with grief in many different ways. They had to give the girl a pass for rude demeanor today.
“Do you want me to take the dog?” asked Charlotte.
Frank sucked his tooth with his tongue for a moment and then nodded. “Yeah. Would you do that? Leave the box here.”
Charlotte nodded and glanced in Crystal’s direction. The girl already had her phone out, her fingers tapping a message to someone.
“Sorry to hear about your grandmother.”
Crystal didn’t look up, but Charlotte thought she caught a bit of a head nod.
Deputy Daniel held open the door and Charlotte carried the puppy into the sun, wondering if she still possessed any of her own dog’s old puppy paraphernalia. Abby, her soft-coated Wheaten, weighed close to forty-five pounds now. Her collars would hang like hula hoops on the wriggling baby in her arms.
Charlotte was still trying to picture where she might have stored some of Abby’s old puppy collars when she noticed Althea Moore walking towards her with a box in her arms. Althea scowled.
“Where’d you get that dog?”
Charlotte wasn’t sure what to say. “It was at Alice’s house.”
As she finished her sentence, Althea grew close enough that Charlotte could peer into her box, where another puppy lolled, nearly identical to the one in her arms. The two dogs spotted each other and the one in the box jumped up to nip its doppelganger’s toes.
“Is this one yours?” asked Charlotte.
Althea’s eyes grew wide. “Mine? No. I was hoping this one was yours.”
Althea bent down to put the box on the ground and Charlotte lowered her pup into the container to join the other. Althea huffed.
“That thing is too heavy for its size.”
“Where did you find it?”
“Found it on my doorstep this morning. Darnedest thing.”
“And you have no idea who put it there?”
Althea rolled her eyes. “No. And I don’t want it and I’m not taking it. I’m too old to break in a puppy. I saw the sheriff’s car and I was bringing it to him.”
“Hey!”
Charlotte turned to spot another neighbor, Katherine O’Malley, headed her way. The woman had a box under one arm, the other waving in the air above her head.
As she approached, Katherine lowered her box so Charlotte could see yet another identical puppy inside, the paws on the edge of the box as it tried to climb out of its cardboard prison. Katherine scooped it up with one hand and lowered it into the box with the others. The two pounced on their new friend, who rolled onto its back and paddled them with its paws.
“Did you find yours on your doorstep too?” asked Charlotte.
Katherine nodded. “You too?”
“Mine I got from Alice’s. Althea found hers on her doorstep, though.”
“Darndest thing,” repeated Althea.
“I was coming over to give the sheriff the dog,” said Katherine.
“Me too,” chimed Althea. “Great minds think alike.”
Katherine grinned and the two of them stood nodding their heads in unison.
Charlotte stared at the rolling mass of puppies in the box. Who would leave puppies on people’s doorsteps? And did the other puppies make it more or less likely the puppies were connected to Alice’s death?
She glanced from Katherine to Althea and back again.
They both look fine...
“Y’all feel okay?” she asked.
Both women’s expressions scrunched.
“What? Why?” asked Althea. “Are those puppies sick?”
Charlotte shook her head. “No…” She glanced down at the box, which was slowing working its way to the right as the puppies wrestled inside. She hadn’t thought about the puppies being carriers of disease.
They don’t look like sick puppies...
She waved away their concern. “That’s not what I meant. Nothing. Stupid thought.”
Althea slapped the air with a limp wrist. “Can you give this one to the sheriff for me? I gotta get back to my stories.”
“Sure.”
Althea was already on her way back home before Charlotte could finish her single-word answer.
“Ooh, me too,” said Katherine as Althea shuffled away in her slippers. “I mean, the thing is adorable but I already have Coco.”
Charlotte nodded. “Sure, I’ll take it.”
Pineapple Port had a one-dog-at-a-time policy. Except for Jill over on Heron Lane who had six Yorkshire terriers, not dissimilar from the ones in the box. Her brood had been grandfathered in, and was probably the reason they’d made the new dog rule in the first place. Each time one of her Yorkies died, she replaced it with another, gave it the same name and carried on as if nothing had happened. Everyone knew they weren’t the same six dogs she had twenty years ago, but everyone played along.
Charlotte put her hands on her hips. She didn’t know what she was going to do with three puppies, but she hadn’t known what she was going to do with the first one, either.
Katherine touched her upper arm. “Thanks so much. Do you want the box?”
“Yes. I’d better take it. It might be evidence.”
“Even better.” Katherine thrust the box at her and plucked out the dish towel lying at the bottom. “I was using this for a pee pad.”
“You can keep that then.”
Katherine laughed and turned to go, waving one last time above her head as she headed back home.
Charlotte looked down at the three rolling puppies.
“What am I going to do with you?”
Chapter Five
Charlotte did her best to stuff Althea’s box into Katherine’s, combining the puppies into one ping-ponging box of puppies. A car drove up as she attempted to balance the two crates, slowing beside her as the window lowered.
“I’m going to talk to Mariska. Want a ride?” asked Frank.
“You have no idea. My load has gotten a little heavier since I started.” She lowered the boxes so Frank could see inside.
He scowled. “It multiplied?”
“Our mysterious puppy delivery service left one with Althea Moore and one with Katherine O’Malley.”
“You’re kidding.”
Charlotte walked to the passenger side and tucked the puppy-filled box on the floor.
“Do you want the boxes for evidence?”
Frank grimaced as he rolled forward. “If puppies are showing up all over the neighborhood, I doubt the person who dropped them off also had time to kill Alice...but I’d better keep them.”
When they reached Mariska’s, Charlotte prepared herself to wrestle the combined puppy boxes out of the car.
“I’ll have to get the boxes back to you when I find a new puppy prison.”
She glanced at Mariska’s house with dread, knowing Frank was about to tell the woman she was a suspect in Alice’s death.
Mariska was going to freak out.
Maybe I should invite myself in for that interview.
“I think Mariska has a crate she used to train Izzy. I’ll head in there with you.”
Without responding one way or the other, Frank walked to Mariska’s door and knocked while she jerked the puppy box out of the cruiser. One of the puppies had curled up for a nap. The other two stared up at her with sleepy eyes. It had been a lot of wrestling and a busy day for three babies.
Charlotte carried the box to Mariska’s door. She’d fallen too far behind, and by the time she’d found a way to open the door and cart the box inside unassisted, Frank had already delivered his news. She entered the kitchen in time to see Mariska slap her counter, her face flush with emotion.
“Absolutely not!”
“Thanks for the help with the door,” muttered Charlotte.
Frank turned to look at her. “Huh?”
“Nothing.”
Frank turned back to Mariska and held out both hands, palms up, in mea culpa. “You cook a lot. People who cook a lot like to put their own spin on things, don’t they?”
Charlotte set down the box. Mariska’s chubby white mutt, Miss Izzy, who’d joyfully jogged towards her, propelled by her wagging tail, peeked into the box. Her expression soured. She sniffed the pups and looked up with the eyes of a jilted lover, seemingly disgusted someone would bring puppies into her house. Walking past Mariska into the living room, Izzy threw herself down and looked away from the puppy box, only her bouncing eyebrows betraying the occasional glance each time one of the puppies made a noise.
Charlotte suffered a pang of guilt before turning her attention to Mariska. “We know it isn’t your fault if you added nuts—”
“But I didn’t. I’d tell you if I did.” Mariska’s gaze dropped to the box. “Are those puppies?”
“No. They’re aliens. They’ve chosen to take the forms of puppies.”
Mariska’s eyes narrowed. “Okay smartie-pants. I know they’re puppies. I mean where did they come from?”
“We don’t know. Someone left them on the doorsteps of three people in the neighborhood, including Alice.”
“Then that’s who killed her,” Mariska snapped, her index finger poking into the sky.
Frank shook his head. “We’ll look into that. But I don’t think so.”
“So you still think I did it?”
“We don’t think you did it,” said Charlotte. She glanced at Frank. “Did you forget to mention that?”
Frank shrugged.
Charlotte turned back to Mariska. “Is there any way you might have added some nuts and then forgotten?”
Mariska jerked back her head as if she’d been slapped. “I’d remember if I changed her recipe. I’m not senile. And why would I anyway? She’d been perfecting it for decades.”
“Maybe someone else added them at the end? Were they sprinkled on top? Did you see any nuts?”
“No. Did you?” Mariska asked Frank.
The sheriff slipped his fingers under a plastic-wrapped crumb cake and stole a chunk. “Nah. Though when we bagged things I wasn’t exactly looking for nuts either.” He dropped the cake into his mouth and chewed, nodding his head in approval.
Mariska squinted at him. “Do you really want to eat my crumb cake? You’re not worried it’s poisoned?”
Trapped in the middle of swallowing, Frank suffered a little cough and cleared his throat.
“No.”
Looking exasperated, Mariska stooped to pick up the box of puppies and carted them to her sofa. She gently tilted the box to let them slide onto the cushions and then flopped beside them as if exhausted. Izzy, who had lifted her head to watch, dropped her chin to the ground, banging it on the tile floor.
“You’re breaking Izzy’s heart,” mumbled Charlotte.
“I just wanted to hold them for a minute,” said Mariska. “They won’t let me have puppies in prison.”
Frank huffed. “You’re not going to prison. It’s my duty to come ask you these things. We have to investigate every possibility.”
Mariska dropped her head into her hands, until a puppy slammed itself into the elbow she’d been using as support and it slipped from her thigh. “This is terrible. Do you really think someone killed Alice? Who would do that?”
Frank shrugged. “We still have Crystal to look into.”
Mariska grabbed a puppy about to leap from the edge of the cushion. “I forgot about that horrible granddaughter of hers. Do you think—”
Frank held up a hand. “We’ll be talking to her.”
Mariska frowned. “I’d certainly be talking to her before you start accusing me—”
“I didn’t accuse you. I asked you a question about a possible honest mistake.” Frank ran his hands over his balding pate. “I swear, I don’t know how many more years I can deal with all you crazy people.”
Charlotte chuckled as she retrieved the puppy box and handed it to him. “You’d die without something to do.”
“And retirement would mean twenty-four-seven with Darla.” Frank affected a shudder before glancing at the combined boxes. “You don’t need these?”
“I can get them across the street without it.”
He nodded and moved for the door.
“I’m going. D
on’t leave the country, Mariska.”
Mariska blanched. “That isn’t funny, Frank.”
He left, chuckling to himself.
The moment he was gone, Mariska’s gaze shot to Charlotte, her expression a map of worry. “I didn’t do it. I swear I didn’t add any nuts to the recipe.”
“I believe you. Everyone believes you. We just have to eliminate all the possibilities.”
One of the puppies had burrowed its head under a throw pillow and apparently fallen asleep. Mariska picked up another and kissed it on the nose. “Do you think Crystal could have done it? She’s a horrid girl but I can’t imagine anyone killing their own grandmother.”
“I don’t really know her. Not much of a charmer, but it’s been a rough day.”
Mariska clucked her tongue. “If you’d tried to run in her crowd, I would have locked you in a closet until you were thirty.”
Charlotte opened a cabinet to get a bowl. She needed to make sure the puppies drank and ate some food. There was no way of telling the last time they’d been fed. “She’s, like, seven years younger than me. If I’d been running in her crowd it would have been weird.”
“You know what I mean.”
Mariska stood and began lowering puppies to the floor. Together they herded them towards the bowl. Izzy stood and moved farther away to flop down anew with an indignant grunt. When one of the puppies bounded towards her, she growled, but did nothing as the peewee bumped into her and then bounced in the other direction.
Mariska shook her head. “She’s never going to forgive you for bringing them here.”
Chapter Six
Charlotte’s boyfriend, Declan, rapped on her front door and entered without waiting for a response beyond the sound of Abby’s toenails galloping across the tiles. The soft-coated Wheaton seemed more desperate than usual for attention, throwing herself against his legs and figure-eighting through them until Charlotte worried his leg hair might catch fire.
Abby hadn’t taken the arrival of the puppies any better than Miss Izzy had.
Jealousy, thy name is dog.
Sometimes Declan swung by on his way to open his pawn shop, the Hock o’Bell, and he’d called to say this was one of those mornings. Charlotte had joked she considered his visits good practice should they ever end up married, so he was prepped on what she looked like without makeup and her hair pulled into a sloppy clip at the back of her head. There would be no surprises.
