How to Fetch a Felon

by Cat Clayton

  How to Fetch a Felon

  A Steely & Cuff Mystery, Book 3

  CAT CLAYTON

  How to Fetch a Felon

  A Steely & Cuff Mystery, Book 3

  © 2019 Cat Clayton

  Cover Design by Bobbye Marrs

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Your support of the author's rights is appreciated.

  Edited by Yaupon Berry Press

  Published in the United States by Pickle Juice Press

  www.catclayton.com

  Other Books by Cat Clayton:

  How to Leash a Thief, A Steely & Cuff Mystery, Book 1

  How to Kennel a Killer, A Steely & Cuff Mystery, Book 2

  Praise for Steely & Cuff Mysteries:

  “Mysterious fun in Small Town, Texas!” ~ Amazon Reviewer

  “Grab a cup of coffee, a piece of pie, and snuggle

  up with Steely & Cuff!” ~Goodreads Reviewer

  “Steely & Cuff—crime-solving duo!” ~Amazon Reviewer

  To my youngest daughter, Ashley, the voice of reason in our family, and the one who continuously teaches me to always do my research, discover and trust the facts, and encourages me “to just do” me.

  You are the change I wish to see in the world.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  How to Fetch a Felon

  As the tiny Texas town of Buckleville adorns the downtown square with twinkling white lights, mistletoe, and crimson bows—preparing for what will soon prove to be a Christmas season the town will never forget—a stalker lurks. He watches. Waits. He will do anything and everything in his power to have her. She will be his.

  Chapter 1

  An ominous, gunmetal-gray sky loomed overhead, mocking me as if saying, this is what you get for waiting until the last minute. Fighting against the wind, I stretched my arms upward and struggled to secure the strand of lights to the porch awning with the final plastic clip. I hopped down from the bench, stepped back, and admired my handiwork.

  “Better late than never,” I said to the threatening sky.

  A job well done, Chiquita! Cuff stood on one of the lobby chairs, gaping at me through the large window pane with bugged amber eyes. He barked and wagged his sickle-shaped tail.

  I shot him a thumbs up and wondered if I would ever get used to hearing my Chihuahua’s thoughts.

  As I gathered my supplies, I glanced up and down Main Street, my breath visible in the frigid morning air. White twinkling lights adorned the trees, and it seemed each shop entrance tried to outdo the next with decorations. Mistletoe, garland, holiday wreaths, and red and green bows festooned the town. It was a Christmas wonderland, minus the snow. In our region of Texas, Jack Frost only visited when a Canadian cold front blasted south and aligned with our Gulf moisture. A rare occurrence.

  In my hand, my cell phone rang, startling me. I swiped it open.

  “Good morning, Pop.”

  “Steels, where are you?”

  “At the shop, finishing the exterior lights—”

  “Stop what you’re doing. I need you at the house, hurry,” said my father, his voice strained.

  “I’m on my way,” I said and hung up. I sprinted inside, tossed the extra strand of lights on the counter, and rushed down the hall to the groom room, Cuff hot on my heels.

  I poked my head around the corner. “Daniel, something’s up at the house. I gotta go.”

  “But...” he said, pointing around the room. “This place is a wreck!”

  Daniel, Scrubadub: Three Pups in a Tub’s head groomer and my best friend, was invaluable to me and the shop. He also had a knack for being theatrical.

  “I know.” I acknowledged his concern. “I’ll be back!”

  I whistled for Cuff who followed me to the back door. I snatched my car keys from the hook and threw open the door.

  What is it, Chiquita?

  “I don’t know, little buddy. But we’re about to find out.”

  High-tailing it down Main, I passed by Ziggy’s Used Cars and saw a gorgeous newer model of the VW Beetle, same as I drove, except this one was a powder blue. My sister Stoney needed a car and it would be perfect for her. After I found out what trouble awaited me at Pop’s house, I’d mention it to him.

  The car ride from the shop to my childhood home took exactly five minutes with Buckleville’s small-town traffic and two stoplights. As I rolled into the driveway, alarm bells sounded in my head. Jackson, Officer Tripp, the police chief, and my father stood on the wheat-colored wintered lawn. A teddy bear dangled from the large oak tree in the middle of the yard.

  What the heck?

  Cuff and I scrambled out of the car, and as we approached the group of men, I noticed Pop’s expression, a mixture of anger and worry. Jackson shifted his body and opened a space for me to join them.

  “Why is there a stuffed bear hanging in our tree?”

  Sporting a knit Christmas sweater, Cuff trotted over and stood on his hind legs, panting up at the bear. I think if I jump high enough, I can get it, Chiquita.

  “Cuff, down,” I said.

  Oh man, you never let me have any fun.

  I raised an eyebrow at him as he skulked back over and planted himself near my feet.

  “Hello? Is someone going to tell me what is going on?” I snapped my finger for some emphasis.

  Pop handed me a white envelope with my sister’s name on it. Stoney. “Read it, and we’ll explain, or at least try to.”

  I slid the card out. A cute baby adorned the front. There was an uneven typed message inside. I’m guessing from an old-school typewriter with an old black ink ribbon. Most of the letters were visible, except letter C, which had been handwritten with a black ink pen. I read the inscription.

  On the 1st day of Christmas, my true love gave to me, a teddy bear in an oak tree. Love, your Secret Santa

  I glanced from the card to the golden-brown bear suspended by its arm with a rope hung from the tree’s lowest branch, a red bow around the bear’s neck. I searched everyone’s faces.

  “A Secret Santa who hangs a bear? Why would someone do this? Who would do this?” Creeped out, the questions spilled from my mouth.

  Pop’s jaw tensed. “I’ll give you one guess before I hunt him down.”

  Chief Becker set a firm hand on Pop’s shoulder. “Randall, you’re not hunting anyone down. Am I clear? We will try to figure this out.”

  “Fine. I’ll let you and your boys hand
le it for now, but if you do not bring Lloyd Madden in, I will,” Pop growled.

  I read a concerned expression on Jackson’s face. My father’s attitude could be a huge conflict for my law enforcement boyfriend.

  “Pop, you’re not thinking it was Lloyd, are you?”

  “The one and only,” he replied, pulling out from under the chief’s heavy hand.

  I turned toward my father. “Look, I know you don’t care for Lloyd. I’m not a huge fan either after the role he played in Petunia’s murder, but this doesn’t sound like something he’d do.”

  Pop scoffed.

  After Lloyd had an affair with Petunia Jinks, Buckleville’s librarian, Lloyd’s wife, Lizzie, had poisoned and killed her. Lizzie Madden spent her days locked away, awaiting trial, but Lloyd stuck around town, and he and Stoney had struck up a friendship. Lloyd had made it clear to Stoney he wanted more from their relationship. But her recovery from a fifteen-year nightmare as a victim of a sex trafficking ring in Houston required a lot of personal, hard work. Her counselors and doctors all agreed she should avoid any intimate relationships until fully recovered.

  “They’re only friends, and I don’t think Lloyd would jeopardize Stoney’s recovery,” I said.

  “I have to agree with Steely,” Jackson said, backing me up.

  Pop grimaced. “How well do we really know the guy? He’s married to a murderer, and he seems to have a thing for chasing other women regardless of his marital status.”

  Jackson shrugged.

  I reached out and took Pop’s hand in mine. “Stoney seems to care for him, as a friend. I think for her sake, we need to at least give him the benefit of the doubt before we accuse him of something he may not have done.” Like a lightbulb switching on, Stoney came to mind. “Speaking of Stoney, please tell me she hasn’t seen this.”

  Pop shook his head. “No, thank God. But I need to get this thing down before she comes home.”

  “Too late,” Officer Tripp said, nodding down the road. “Caylee’s car is heading this direction.”

  Brandon Tripp, my sister’s best friend’s husband, crossed the lawn in five wide strides. “I’ll try to distract them, y’all get the bear down.”

  Even though Tripp and I had our differences in opinion about Lieutenant Nick Campbell of Buckleville PD—my cheating ex-boyfriend and Tripp’s best friend—I believed Tripp and I could look past our differences, find common ground, and remain respectful of one another.

  As Jackson flipped open his switchblade and he and Pop cut the stuffed animal down. The look on Stoney’s face in the passenger window said everything. She had seen it. Standing at the curb and trying to divert her attention, Brandon waved his arms. Caylee pulled her red Chevy Suburban over and rolled down Stoney’s window.

  “Where have they been?” I asked through gritted teeth and a forced smile. I waved to my sister and her best friend. “Hi, y’all!”

  “Caylee took Stoney to her OB appointment in College Station,” Pop said with a matching smile to mine. He held the bear behind his back. The rope lay in a heap at his feet.

  Three months ago, when our father rescued her, she had come home pregnant and nearing the end of her first trimester. At first, there were many heated debates between our father and her over whether she should keep the baby, but ultimately, it was her decision. Pop was slowly warming up to becoming a grandpa, and in another three months, I’d be a proud aunt.

  Jackson slipped the knife in his pocket. “I think she saw the bear before we cut it down.”

  “I know,” I said, shoving the card into the envelope and handing it over to him. “Whatever happens, let’s try to keep things under control.” I flashed a got-it? look at Pop and bounced over to Caylee’s car, Cuff following in my wake.

  He sniffed the two curbside tires, lifting his leg on the front one. Can I go lay down on the porch? I am tired, Chiquita.

  Sure, little buddy.

  I leaned past Brandon, waving in the window. “Hey, Stoney! How was your appointment?” I said as she pushed open the door, forcing Brandon backward.

  “It was fine. Thank you.” She climbed down from the front seat, onto the curb, and marched over toward Pop and Jackson.

  I leaned into the car door. “She okay?”

  Caylee’s big sky-blue eyes widened. “She saw them cutting down the stuffed bear, and it was obvious y’all were trying to hide it from her.”

  I turned back, and even though I couldn’t hear her, I knew she was interrogating them. “We’re trying to protect her. Some creep left her a weird Secret Santa note about the baby along with the bear.”

  Brandon went back to join the others.

  I closed the door, lingering at the window. During Stoney’s fifteen-year kidnapping absence, Caylee and I had become friends, and although strained now that Nick and I had broken things off, I still loved her, and Caylee loved me.

  Gripping the window frame, I smiled. “Pop means well.”

  “Steely, I know you and your father are doing what you believe is best. But y’all are handling her with kid gloves. She’s tougher than that. Heck, Stoney is tougher than any of us. After what she’s endured, she has to be.”

  “I know. But sometimes it’s hard to talk with her. When the information is too much or not enough.”

  “Look, it will be tough, and y’all will have some difficulties, but Stoney knows you all love her. I think the key is balance and honesty. Gentle honesty.” She winked, lifting Stoney’s purse from the passenger floorboard and handing it over. “Tell her I’ll call her later. I’ve got a PTA meeting at the kids’ school.”

  I said goodbye and carried the purse over to Stoney. She, Pop, and Jackson were reading the card and discussing the incident. Chief Becker and Officer Tripp had their heads together a few feet away in the driveway.

  “Caylee says she’ll talk to you later, Stoney.” I held up her purse.

  She took it and placed the strap over her shoulder, resting a hand on her round stomach.

  “And I’m guessing you are on Pop’s side?” She eyed me with the same soft brown eyes of mine and Mama’s, her willowy body towering over my short stature. I wanted to reach out and touch her honey-brown waves blowing in the cool breeze. Instead, I reached for her hand.

  “I’m not taking anyone’s side.”

  Pop turned and trudged into the house, shaking his head.

  Cuff followed him inside.

  I tugged at her hand. “He’s doing the best he knows how to do. He’s concerned for your safety and believes this,” I pointed to the bear and the card dangling in her other hand, “is a threat to you.”

  “Regardless,” she said, snapping at me. “He’s smothering me, jumping to conclusions about Lloyd, and I’m not sure how much more I can take.”

  Being a super smart guy, Jackson kept quiet, his head bouncing back and forth between us. Lucky for him, the chief and Officer Tripp came to his rescue.

  “Ms. Lamarr, if you don’t mind, we’d like to take the bear and the card back to the station and see if we can get any prints from either of them,” Chief Becker said, his pure country manners and southern accent proving their authenticity.

  Stoney handed both items to the chief. “They're all yours.” She turned and strode away.

  “Jackson, I’ll ride back with Tripp. We’ll see you at the station,” Chief Becker said, and they left Jackson and I standing in the front yard alone.

  “You all right?” Jackson asked.

  “I’d be okay if I knew this ended here. But seeing as how the note is for the first day of Christmas, we both know it’s far from over.”

  He pulled me into a tight embrace. “Yes, buttercup. I have a feeling it’s only the beginning.”

  Chapter 2

  My chest tightened at the thought, and I felt the all-too familiar squeeze in my lungs. The cold weather wreaked havoc on my asthma. The excitement and panic of the current situation didn’t help either. I pulled away from Jackson.

  “Hold on,” I said, trottin
g over to my car. I opened the passenger door and grabbed my spare inhaler from the glove compartment. In my rush, I’d forgotten my purse back at the shop. Giving the cartridge two firm shakes, I put the plastic mouthpiece to my lips and took a puff. Relief washed over me with the ease of my next inhale. I turned to find Jackson right behind me.

  “Better?”

  I nodded, noticing a troubled expression on his face, his dark eyes foreboding.

  “Are you worried about this thing with Stoney or is there something else bothering you?”

  He leaned against the hood of my car, removed his uniform hat, and ran a hand over his tight-buzzed head. Sighing, he glanced down the street.

  “No, there’s more. I responded to a noise complaint early this morning from the house right behind the car lot, and it didn’t end well. I guess it’s hitting me harder than I expected. You know, finding a body takes me back to my tour in Afghanistan.”

  A body?

  “Jackson, what body are you talking about? The car lot, do you mean Ziggy’s?”

  He nodded. “He’s dead.”

  “Ziggy’s dead? How?”

  “We don’t have a cause of death yet, but one thing’s for sure, he’s been dead for days. They did some preliminary tests and ran the samples over to Mitch’s lab, but his body is on its way to Austin for an autopsy. We’re thinking he drank too much and died.” He tossed his hat on the car and shoved his hands into the front pockets of his trousers. A haunted look plagued his rugged, handsome face.

  Ziggy, owner and operator of the used car lot in town, drank like a whale and could consume an entire fifth of vodka in a day. My grandmother Gertie, who once had a gambling issue and played cards with him frequently back in the day, called him a shyster, a liar, and a cheat.

  I reached over and touched his arm. “You said the call was a noise complaint. What did you mean?”