by Lane Stone
The flashing lights of a second Lewes police department car lit up our small parking lot.
Chief Turner looked at Bernice, then at Shelby. “Would you mind, uh, doing something with that?” He obviously wanted to meet with the new police officer on the scene, but the dog’s head, the size of a football, still filled the space between the two interior doors.
“Sure. Sorry, I forgot,” Shelby said and returned her dog to the van. This was the van we had used to chauffeur dogs until one of our employees was found murdered in it last year. We figured the good people of Lewes wouldn’t want to see it around town and besides, it seemed disrespectful of the dead. We had the title to the Honda van transferred to Shelby, and she transferred the title of her Prius to Buckingham’s. The van was our signature golf-course-green, and she had it painted white. We had the Buckingham Pet Palace logo painted on her Prius and we were good to go. Sometimes we had to make more than one trip for morning pickups or afternoon drop-offs, but that was okay. A small-business owner that wasn’t flexible was soon out of business.
Chief Turner carefully worked his way through the doors to get outside, where, except for the patrol car headlights, it was still dark.
As soon as Shelby came back inside she stretched her arms wide for a group hug.
“Shelby, your hair is as big as a person,” Taylor said, holding up a strand of thick, curly, red locks, and towering over her. Shelby was just over five feet tall. “Did you know that?”
“If you’re giving me a hard time, I guess everybody’s okay,” she said.
“It might take Chief Turner a while to get over seeing Bernice,” I said.
“So Lewes Five-O hasn’t gotten over his fear of dogs?” she whispered. That’s only one of the nicknames we have for our town’s oh-so-serious, and dangerously handsome police chief.
“Doesn’t look like it,” I said.
“Guess what?” Laurie asked. “Sue tried to chase the burglar’s car.”
“I would have paid good money to see that,” Shelby said.
“It was so old for a minute I thought I had a shot.”
Chief Turner was back inside. “Can anyone tell me anything else about the vehicle?”
“The paint job was so faded that even if there had been more light, I doubt I could say what color it was,” I said. “I saw some rust, if that helps. It looked like a little clown car.”
“A little clown car,” he mimicked. He added that to his trusty notepad, then closed it again.
I had been about to show him the photos I had taken of the car, but figured I should look at them in private before sharing them with Mr. Smart Ass, in case there wasn’t anything to see. Sure, I would have loved to be the person who could say, “That car? It’s a ’96 Corvette.” Or, “Hey, look, everybody, there goes a ’67 El Camino made in Atlanta.” But I’m not. Never would be. I can, however, identify dog breeds all day long.
“Can you come with me to Anglers now?”
“Why?” I asked, surely a reasonable question.
“I, uh, have a situation,” he let the sentence trail off.
“Officer Statler will wait here for the crime scene team.” He pointed over his shoulder to the uniformed officer, a young woman, standing behind him.
Rather than hang around for my answer, he gave further instructions to her. “Take statements from the two late–shift employees.” He gave the dog food on the floor a look that showed how profoundly the puppies had hurt him, then went out to the parking lot.
I didn’t have my watch on, but I guessed it was about four o’clock. “Shelby, if I’m not back in an hour, would you walk and feed Abby?”
“Of course,” she answered. “Anglers? Is he taking you fishing?”
“I don’t think so,” I said. “I have no idea why he wants to go there.”
“He’s tried every other way to get you to go out with him. Maybe he thought that would work.”
“Does he fish?” Laurie asked, with a doubtful look on her face.
I shrugged. “Maybe. Who knows? The guy is so private it’s like he’s in a witness protection program. Taylor and Laurie, do any of the boarders need extra TLC? What were the dogs doing while all this was going on?”
“All of them woke up and a few were curious. No one got upset or even barked,” Laurie said.
“Hmm,” I said. “They must not have thought you two were in any danger, or felt threatened. I’m surprised the high-pitched sound of the alarm didn’t upset some of them. Good job, ladies!”
I handed Shelby the puppy I was still snuggling and went to meet Chief Turner outside. He was waiting for me by his police cruiser. Our town, with a population of around three thousand, had a handful of these white cars with the yellow and black bands painted on the two front doors. The city’s coat of arms, which had been shamelessly copied from Lewes, in Sussex, England, was painted on both sides of the cars, too. He walked around the rear of the car and opened the door for me. “That’s what you wear in February?”
The sweatshirt had been adequate when I was scared to death. Now, not so much. “I’ll go home and get a jacket and meet you at Anglers.”
“Here,” he said, shrugging out of his windbreaker. “Take this.”
I graciously took the jacket, and got in the car, looking back at Buckingham’s, where I should be and wanted to be. I didn’t put it on—I was still leaving my options open, though we were driving out of the parking lot. “I really should stay here and clean up to get ready to open.”
“You can’t clean up until the crime scene team gets done.”
“And they’ll be through before seven o’clock?” That’s when we open on weekdays.
“I think so.” We waited for the light to change, both lost in our thoughts. I was wondering who around here would steal dog food. Then we turned onto Savannah Road and headed for downtown Lewes. On that stretch of road the speed limit lowered several times. I noticed that he obeyed each and every sign. If the police chief couldn’t speed, who could? Still, he drove at thirty-five miles per hour then twenty-five. Cute.
His avoiding telling me why we were going to Anglers? Not cute. It was too early for the store to be open. That meant we were going to the dock.
“So, what do you hear from Lady Anthea?” he asked.
Lady Anthea Fitzwalter and I are co-owners of the Buckingham Pet Palace. Her brother was a duke, her grandmother was lady-in-waiting to the queen, and her house, actually an estate, had a name. It’s Frithsden. At first, she was a silent partner. Using her name and photographs of her home, gardens, and dogs gave Buckingham’s royal cred. I paid her a percentage of the profits. Last August she visited and we bonded over solving the murder of Henry Canon.
“She’ll be here tomorrow,” I answered. “Last year the American Kennel Club approved a Trick Dog titling program. She’ll be teaching a one-week trick class and an agility class.”
“What is that?”
“It’s a timed, obstacle course a dog—”
“Oh, it’s for dogs?” he interrupted.
I rolled my eyes, more for my own benefit since it was still dark outside. “No, it’s for men we’re considering dating.”
“Will she mind not being the only VIP in Lewes?”
“Who else is in town?” I asked.
“Howard Fourie, the CEO of the management company running Friday’s celebration.”
“You’re not really comparing her centuries-old family name and title to Mr. Edutainer, are you?” I loaded all the derision I felt for the educational and entertainment project into my question. When there were no pet parents in Buckingham’s we strung out M-i-s-t-e-r E-d-u-t-a-i-n-e-r like circus barkers.
“Mr. Fourie wants to help Lewes celebrate some local history. But what I want to know is what kind of town celebrates the twenty-year anniversary of finding the bottom of a broken wine bottle?”
“Surely you know more about the discovery of the artifacts from the British supply ship than that.” I didn’t wait for his reply. “Are you stalling for time? Why don’t you want to tell me why we’re going to Anglers at this extreme hour?”
“We’re going there because that’s where the launch will pick us up to take us to the Harbor of Refuge Lighthouse. I need your help with something.”
“Look, you’re going to have to tell me more. I’d rather be at Buckingham’s. That’s where I need to be.” If we had been at a stop sign I swear I would have jumped out and run back.
“I’m sorry. I’m trying to process a few things at once.” He ran his hand over his short hair. “This morning I was about to call you and explain why we needed to go to the lighthouse when the alarm call came in. I was worried about you.”
“You need to go,” I said.
“Huh?”
“The light’s green.” There was a car behind us but since it was a police car sitting still at the light, the prudent motorist had resisted honking his horn.
Chief Turner waved an apology and drove on. We crossed the drawbridge over the canal and turned left. We drove to the end of Anglers Road, right up to the big blue Anglers Fishing Center sign.
“Why do you need my help with something going on at the lighthouse? I could give you the phone number for the president of the lighthouse foundation. Or you could call the Army Corps of Engineers since they own the Breakwater,” I said.
“I’m pretty sure you’re the best person for this particular situation. A pilot was on his way to a freighter and swears he heard a dog barking out on the Harbor of Refuge Lighthouse.”
Chapter 3
“No one on the pilot boat saw a person on the lighthouse? The Coast Guard maintains the foghorn and light, since it’s still an active aid to navigation. I guess someone could have taken their dog along,” I suggested.
“No,” Chief Turner said from behind me, as we boarded the fifty-two-foot boat. It was still dark. “I checked with the commandant. None of his folks are out there.”
Sun King could have held thirty-five passengers, maybe more, but it was just the two of us plus the captain, who stood near the ladder, and his crew of three.
“Thanks for doing this, Captain Westlake,” Chief Turner said, as they shook hands.
“Happy to help. Call me Captain Sandy. Welcome aboard, Sue.”
He handed us each an orange life vest. I held mine instead of pulling the strap over my neck. When you have your own personal flotation device, these foam versions are the equivalent of the rented bowling shoe.
From the lights on board and on the deck, I could see the tall man had sandy hair and a friendly face. The name was familiar, and it sounded like he knew me. “You have a Shih Tzu, right?” I asked.
He looked down and lowered his voice. “That’s my wife’s, soon-to-be ex-wife’s, dog.”
John looked at me with an I rest my case look. I looked back at him with a we’ll discuss this later look. It was hardly fair to say the Shih Tzu had caused the divorce.
“I’ll get you something to keep you warm,” Captain Sandy said and turned to go below deck. He returned with a polyurethane anorak and handed it to me. When he handed me the waterproof jacket, I noticed the size of his arms. His biceps had the circumference of a Shih Tzu.
I gave Chief Turner his jacket back. He was going to need it. We took our seats on a bench in front of the wheelhouse, trying to get out of the wind and safe from the spray for the trip.
I hadn’t said much since we boarded and got seated. “How close do pilot boats get to the lighthouse?” Then I answered my own question, “I guess it depends on where he was coming from. What kind of dog…?”
I shivered and Chief Turner put his arm around my shoulders to keep me warm. That was new. “I wasn’t hinting for you to do that, you know,” I said.
“I know,” John said, with a chuckle.
“Now that we have that settled, you’re sure no crew member of the pilot boat actually saw a dog? Sometimes sound does funny things on the ocean,” I said.
“Do you and your friends ever hear funny things when you’re on your surfboards?”
The smart-mouth, patronizing way he said “funny things” reminded me once again why I had never gone out with him in the six months since we met. I was this close to making up some ghost dog legend, but instead I said, “All the time, but then we’re drinking. Yep, sometimes we’re SUI, surfing under the influence.”
He smirked and then something, turned out it was someone, over my shoulder caught his eye. I turned to see Captain Sandy standing at the railing. He turned and went back to the wheel. John reverted back to his default mode, which is sober to the point of having an alpha-dog sense of duty. “Let’s talk about your robbery. How much money are we talking here? What’s the value of the merchandise you lost?”
“Five or six hundred dollars.”
“Is it dog food or pure China White?” he asked.
“Huh?”
“Heroin, but never mind. I had no idea people spent that much to feed those—” He turned and saw the look on my face and stopped. He took a deep breath. “Sorry, I forgot our deal.” He still had his arm around me so our faces were close.
I nodded, then looked out at the ocean. The Harbor of Refuge Lighthouse was out there. Everything was out there. “You said you would give dogs a chance. Remember?”
“In exchange for you giving me a chance. You haven’t exactly lived up to your part of the bargain either,” he said.
I had nothing to say to that.
“Tomorrow night?” he asked.
“Tomorrow night, what?”
“Let’s have dinner tomorrow night.”
“Okay,” I said.
He did a double take, then gave me a skeptical look. “Really?”
I held out my hand to shake his and clinch the deal.
He took my hand in his. “Finally! Yes!” he said in his deep baritone voice, laughing. He had a good laugh, I had to admit. “This has been some morning.”
“It’s been a busy morning. We had a dog food theft at my place, plus whatever is going on out here.” I shivered again. Something wasn’t right and I tried to decide if I would tell Chief Turner that I was worried. If I told him my misgivings would he still go to the lighthouse for the dog?
Then he was leaning in closer. I was aware of the sky lightening up. We were traveling west, so we wouldn’t see the sun come up even if we were on the water that long, but there was a rosiness surrounding us. “See how pink the sky looks?” I asked.
He nodded.
“It’s called nautical twilight. We’re between night and day, and the sun hasn’t risen but it’s still lighting the sky. Just a little.”
He smiled and nodded again, and leaned closer. “Maybe,” he said, “like us?”
I leaned in, thinking how my lips would feel in a few seconds. Suddenly I jerked back. “We’re being set up,” I said.
“Practically the whole town has been trying to get us together,” he said, with a hurt look on his face.
“That’s not what I’m talking about. Think about all that’s happened this morning. Someone wants us out of the way.”
“I can understand someone wanting me out of town, but why you?” he asked.
“Excuse me?”
“You own the Pet Place,” he said.
I sat up straight, feeling the cold again. “It’s Pet Palace,” I reminded him.
He stood and looked out at the ocean.
“Maybe you’re right and it was just a crazy morning. Breaking into Buckingham’s and threatening my employees would ordinarily be a sure way to keep me there.” I was talking to his back.
He twisted around and said, “If someone arranged this to get me—or us—out of town, he picked a surefire way to do it.” Then he tur
ned back and looked straight ahead. “What is going on out there?” he asked. I think more to himself than to me.
“You said someone had abandoned a dog on the lighthouse.”
“But why would anyone do that? Why not leave him on a road, or a parking lot? Isn’t that what people usually do?”
I flinched. I wanted to say something about animal rescue organizations but the thought of abandoned dogs made me wince, and I felt physical pain, like a punch to my gut.
Chief Turner was still talking. “I shouldn’t have asked you to come. There might be someone hiding inside the lighthouse.”
“I’m glad you called me. We can’t leave a dog out there, so you’ll need me to get him aboard.” I didn’t have to bring up the fact that our big, tough police chief was afraid of dogs. “I just realized I didn’t bring a leash.” I looked around. “Hmm, I wonder if there’s something on board I can use. I could make a harness out of three lengths of line but with any luck the dog is wearing a collar.”
“And I need binoculars. I’ll go talk to the captain,” Chief Turner said and began making his way to the wheelhouse.
“Remember to call it line instead of rope.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” He stopped in his tracks and turned around to face me. “You know I’ve been on the water before?”
“Uh, no.” I knew very little about our police chief’s life before he moved to Lewes.
Suddenly the wind kicked up and the temperature lowered. We were still in the Delaware Bay but we were nearing the Atlantic Ocean. I lifted my face.
“You’re happy out here, aren’t you?” John was back with a pair of binoculars, and a line loosely looped over his arm, which he dropped to the deck next to my feet.
“Yes, I get why a dog likes to have his head out of a car window. Try it,” I said, knowing there was no way he was going to.
He walked to the bow and scanned the horizon with the binoculars, a slow arc to the starboard side then sweeping back to port.
“Can you see anything?” I asked.
“Not a thing,” he answered as he returned to sit beside me, and offered me the binoculars.
