by Lane Stone
Chief Turner reluctantly agreed with that.
“I want to see if anyone went inside—which I seriously doubt! And I need to check on Abby.” As I ranted, I raised the cover of the garage door opener keypad then froze. It was covered in blood.
Chapter 6
“The blood on his fingers...” I didn’t finish the sentence because I was imagining what had happened here—here at my house. “There’s no blood on the cover.” I saw him come to the keypad. The top row of buttons was now dyed brownish red. “He opened the cover, then he was hit on the head.” Sure, there were other possibilities, but this felt right.
John, standing behind me, reached over and put both of his big paws on my hands and lowered my arms before I disturbed anything. The touch had been so gentle I could have imagined it, except for the way my skin felt.
He picked up the story. “He put his hand up to his head where he was struck, then tried the keypad, but collapsed before he could gain entry.”
We had been looking each other in the eye. “We’re thinking alike,” I said. “This is just like the last case we solved.”
Chief Turner took the notepad out of his jacket pocket. “You didn’t have a case then, and you don’t have one now.” He spoke slowly, and in a singsong rhythm.
Shelby snorted a laugh that said: we’ll see about that. More than a few of the officers snickered too, then tried to turn theirs into coughs when Chief Turner swung his head around to them.
“I have someone who thought he could get into my house. He had, or at least thought he had, my passcode. Why else would he try?”
“Can you go inside through the front door?” John asked.
After seeing the blood, I had forgotten I was about to go in to take care of Abby. “Sure.”
The uniformed officer, Officer Statler, from this morning at Buckingham’s, cleared her throat. She was waiting a few feet away.
“I think she needs to talk to us,” I said, giving her a smile.
“I’m pretty sure it’s me she was waiting for,” Chief Turner said.
“Whatever,” I said.
“Whaddya got?” Chief Turner asked.
“Looks like someone ran across the front yard,” she said.
I interrupted her. “With or without a dog?” I motioned for Shelby to join us.
“Without. In this direction.” She pointed to the right. “He or she ran along that side of the house and then doubled back to the front yard.”
“As a guess, does the shoe size look like it could have been him?” I pointed back to where the ambulance had been parked.
“We’re taking photographs now,” she said. I was wondering how long Chief Turner was going to let me go on.
“Suuuuue?” I had my answer. He was standing next to me, starting a low boil.
“That’s all for now, Officer Statler,” I said.
“Sue!” He had blown. “That’s all period!”
“I’ll get Abby, then I’ll be at Buckingham’s,” I said. “If you need me.” I added that because I couldn’t help myself.
“Sue, I’ll take Bernice home and come back,” Shelby said.
Chief Turner pointed his pen at the dog. “She knows not to leave town, right?”
Whenever he joked like that I felt myself thaw—a little. Too bad they were outnumbered about a hundred to one by his harsh remarks. I walked to the front porch and let myself in. Abby had had a very confusing morning and she let me know it. She was sitting just inside the front door, staring at me and waiting for an explanation.
“You don’t lock your front door?” Chief Turner was right on my heels.
“This is Lewes,” I reminded him as I leaned over to pet Abby. I walked to the back porch with Abby following, leaving Chief Turner to check out each room—there weren’t many—for signs of something. I opened the door to the screened-in porch and Abby ran outside for her “go-out,” as we like to call it.
“Let’s get some breakfast,” I said when we were back inside.
“Thanks, but I’ve eaten.” I guess he was satisfied the premises were secure since he was standing in the family room waiting for us.
“I was talking to Abby,” I said. She had taken off and was waiting for me by her bowls.
“Sue, with that,” he said, motioning in the general direction of the garage, “I’m going to have to put in a lot of hours the next few days. Can we take a rain check on dinner tomorrow night?”
“Of course!” I said. “Wait a minute, are you canceling our dinner because the body was found here? I can’t be a suspect because I was with you!”
“Technically, that would depend on the time of death, but, of course, I don’t suspect you.”
I went back to filling Abby’s bowls.
“Well, do you want to go get some breakfast?” he asked.
“Thanks, but I need to get to Buckingham’s. I have to place a dog food order, take the mystery dog to the vet to see if he has a chip….”
“Look, I hope you don’t feel uncomfortable because of what happened on the boat,” he said.
“What happened on the boat?”
“When you tried to kiss me,” he said.
“Whaaaaat?” I yelled. “In your dreams! I didn’t try to kiss you!” I realized I was holding Abby’s bowl and she was looking at it longingly so I lowered it to the floor. “You tried to kiss me!”
I was yelling at myself. He’d gone.
Chapter 7
“Oh, no!” Dana cried when she heard my tale of the blood on the keypad of my garage door opener. We were huddled behind the reception desk at Buckingham’s.
“His fingerprints were on the top row of keys and he died or passed out or something before he could enter the last digit,” I explained.
Shelby jumped in to say, “Sue, first, make a list of everyone you’ve given that code to. Then you’ve got to change it. That guy was this close to breaking into your house.” She held her thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “Sure, he was probably trying to get away from his killer but still—”
“Wait, wait…” Dana tried again to get a word in.
“Why do I need to change it now? The person that had the passcode is dead.”
“He must have gotten it from somebody since obviously you didn’t give it to him,” Shelby answered.
“Listen to meeeeee!” Dana wailed.
Shelby and I turned to her. She was young and we had no business barreling ahead like we had been doing. “I apologize,” I said.
Dana took a deep breath. “Your passcode is 1-2-3-4, isn’t it?”
“Yeah,” I said and looked around. “How did you know? Is it written down somewhere?”
“No, but half the people on the planet use that as a passcode. He was guessing,” she said. “That’s why only the top row of buttons had blood on them.”
“Ooooooh,” Shelby and I said at the same time and with equal sheepishness.
We turned when we heard the front door open. Mason came in carrying the Pug. They had been to Lewes 24-Hour Pet Care to see if the little guy had a chip.
“Brrr,” he said. “I think it’s colder in here than outside.”
“I have a call in to Class Glass,” Shelby said.
Shelby and I were wearing green Buckingham Pet Palace pullovers. Dana still had on her leather jacket. It was a bright and sunny day, but the cold air coming in through the wrecked doors meant we were chilly.
My cell phone rang and I waved a greeting at Mason and answered the call.
“What did you find out?” Shelby asked.
I turned to listen to my caller, not waiting to hear what Mason said since I assumed the answer was that there was no chip. The morning we were having wasn’t going to have a piece of good news pop up.
“I have the name of the deceased,” Chief Turner said. “I have someone trackin
g down his next of kin.”
“That’s progress. What’s his name?” I asked.
“Sue, you know I’m not allowed to say.”
“I told you, I already know him. I just don’t know his name.”
“If I tell you, will you let me know if you think of anything else about him or his associates?”
“Of course,” I promised.
“I don’t want this all over town, but his name is William Berger,” Chief Turner said, loud enough for everyone to hear.
“William Berger owned the Pug,” Mason said.
Why I was stunned to learn the dog belonged to the deceased man I couldn’t say. Was I thinking he didn’t look like someone who would pick a Pug for his pet? “I’ll call you back,” I said.
“Hey, your friend, Rick Ziegler, hasn’t reported his robbery yet,” he was saying as I hung up. I walked around the counter and reached my arms out for the dog. Rapid-fire looks were going from Dana to Shelby to Mason, then back again.
“But no one calls him that,” Shelby said. “Billy. Billy B. That’s the waiter-singer’s name, isn’t it? The dog belongs, uh, belonged to the man I found dead at your house?”
I nodded that it was true.
“They know him at the vet clinic. They have all his medical records,” Mason said, almost whispering.
“So they know the dog’s name?” Dana squealed. “Tell us!”
“It’s Wags,” he said.
Joey, our second groomer, came into the lobby from the hallway, and he and Mason made eye contact.
Mason cleared his throat and coughed, then went on. “He’s up-to-date on all his vaccinations except Bordetella.”
“If you take him back, can they give him that one? The last thing we need here is a dog with kennel cough,” I said.
“Yeah, I asked and they said they would but…” Mason’s voice trailed off.
“They want to be paid first?” I asked, with a chuckle. Buckingham’s was responsible for ending Dr. Walton’s boarding business because of our higher level of service. And last year he ran Lady Anthea and me off the road in a drunken rage for which he was sentenced a hundred hours of community service. I shifted Wags to one arm and took a few twenty-dollar bills out of the top drawer and handed them to Mason.
“Petty cash, literally?” Mason said. He pulled a note-size piece of paper out of his pocket. “Here’s the phone number and address that were stored on the chip.”
The phone on the desk rang and Shelby reached for it. “It’s Ass Glass,” she said after looking at the caller ID.
“I think it’s Class Glass,” I said.
She answered the call, described what needed to be replaced, and gave him the size of the doors. We watched and waited as she made faces at the phone. We didn’t know exactly what Mr. Class Glass was saying, but we were starting to feel sorry for him.
“No, no, no, no,” Shelby began. “There’s no need for plywood. Replace the glass. No, you do not need to measure the doors since I just gave you the measurements.” She pulled out the two words to show they had the same root. “Now when can we expect you and the new glass?”
This time his answer satisfied her and she hung up.
“Way to go, Shelby. You kicked his glass,” Dana said.
“His glass was grass,” Mason added.
I put Wags in Mason’s arms. “Joey, go with him.” The laugh over Class Glass helped but Mason was taking this hard, and it didn’t take a psychologist to know he would want to be with someone he cared for. Even if the two of them hadn’t been a couple, Joey was a gentle soul who could make anyone feel better.
I unfolded the note. “He lives in Lewes and has a local phone number. Shelby, neither Billy B. nor that dog has ever been here, right?” I asked, stuffing the note into a pocket.
She shook her head. “Nope, but to be on the safe side I’ll do a search of our database.”
“Can you guys give me a ride to school?” Dana said. Cape Henlopen High was about a mile down Savannah Road.
“Sure,” both Mason and Joey said.
As they were leaving they passed Rick Ziegler bringing in a cooler with our supply of raw dog food, and held the doors open for him. I’d hardly thought any more about the stolen dog food, other than to wonder if the thief was the dead man or his murderer. Shelby had inventoried what we had left. It was mostly puppy food that had been stolen.
His girlfriend, local pet photographer Dayle Thomas, was behind him.
“Look who I have helping me get caught up,” he said, beaming at her.
“In exchange for lunch,” Dayle said.
“The lunch is to celebrate your final chemo treatment,” Rick reminded her. She wore a maroon paisley scarf tied at the back of her neck.
“Rick, what she lacks in hair you make up for,” Shelby said. Rick’s long ponytail hung out the back of his baseball cap.
Rick and I transferred the dog food to the refrigerator in our storeroom, while Shelby told Dayle about Wags and the dead body in my driveway and how the two were connected. Rick headed back to his truck for a second cooler. “Wait, Shelby, you found a dead body?” Dayle shrieked.
Shelby nodded her head. “Sure did.”
“I’ve got to keep unloading. Dayle, honey, get all the details.”
“Did you know we had two employees here when we were robbed?” Shelby asked.
“No! That’s terrible.” Dayle said. “Was anyone hurt?”
“One of them is very dramatic and to hear her tell it they were almost asphyxiated by the fumes from his car. It was tiny, like a clown car and really old and—”
“Rick, that sounds exactly like your father’s car,” Dayle said. Then to Shelby, with a laugh, “Was the paint so rusted you couldn’t tell what color the car was?”
I saw Rick pause on his way to the door. He seemed to sway.
“What’s the matter, Rick?” Shelby had seen it, too.
“Uh, nothing,” he said and started walking again to the door.
I was standing in the hallway, outside the kitchen, listening to the exchange and watching Rick’s back as he went out the first set of doors then the outer pair. The bit of information my brain had been trying to retrieve was right there. Rick’s father was the owner of Mozart’s, the German deli where Billy B. had worked.
Rick’s father’s car had been involved in our theft. Had it been used to rob Raw-k & Roll? Several ugly thoughts raced around inside my head.
I saw someone standing outside talking to Rick, who was nodding. It was Chief Turner. I had to get to the reception desk before he came in.
“Don’t mention the car,” I whispered to Dayle.
She grabbed my arm. Hard. Those bony fingers were going to leave a mark. “Are you saying the dead man is Rick’s father?”
“No!” Shelby and I said at the same time.
“It was his employee,” I whispered.
I checked over my shoulder and Chief Turner was coming in.
Chapter 8
“I have some photos of different models of cars.” Chief Turner motioned to the notebook he held.
I looked over his shoulder. Rick was still outside and on his phone. Suddenly he crammed it into his jacket pocket and looked up at the sky.
“Would you and Shelby take a look at them and tell me if one looks like the car you saw leaving here this morning, and at your house?” Chief Turner asked. “When the part-timers come in again, maybe they can look at it, too?”
Rick came in and stood behind him motionless, like a hunting dog on point. In classical point position, he was looking at the back of Chief Turner’s head like it was the source of the strongest scent. I half expected his forward foot to lift. I couldn’t see Dayle’s face but I could tell she was frozen to the spot where she stood. I knew her to be handicapped by personal honesty and a conscience so I hoped she woul
dn’t pass out from the stress of this small, temporary deception I was asking of her.
Shelby reached for the book. “Can we look at this and call you later?”
Chief Turner turned to glance at me, then around the room, just then sensing the sea of tension he had entered. He returned his gaze to me. “Can we talk?”
Without waiting for an answer, he walked behind the reception desk, turning sideways to get behind Shelby, and into my office. “Chief Turner, funny story about Billy B. and my passcode.” I followed him, trying to think of a way to signal to Rick that I was on his side.
From the corner of my eye I saw Shelby look at Rick. Telegraphing to him that I had this.
“Who’s Billy B.?” the chief asked.
“That’s what everybody calls Billy Berger. You know, William Berger.”
We were in my office and I sat behind my desk while he paced. “I’m waiting for that funny story about your passcode,” he said.
I gave him Dana’s theory about Billy B. correctly guessing my passcode.
He stopped and shook his head in slow motion. “Okay, but there’s still some connection to you. He was at your house and he broke into your business. You’re sure you don’t know him outside of seeing him at the deli?”
“I’m sure,” I said.
He was back to pacing. “Even after you change that combination you should block the keypad with your remote or from the inside. And please remember to lock your front door.” He turned and saw the expression on my face. “I don’t care if this is Lewes.”
“I’m not going to let you scare me. This town is my home.”
He took a seat on the white leather sofa, finally, at the end closest to the desk, so he could face me. “I just want you to be safe.” A throw pillow with a hound dog Elvis impersonator caught his eye, and he smiled in spite of himself. He leaned forward and put his elbows on his knees, then he sighed and waited for me to speak.
Finally I did. “You heard that the dog from the lighthouse belonged to Billy B.?”
“No! You hung up on me.” He was standing again.
