How to Leash a Thief

by Cat Clayton

  Yes. Daniel managed all of that in one breath. It’s how he worked. Fast and furious.

  “C’mon. Let’s go in.” I said, glancing around. “People are staring.”

  “Steely, when are you gonna learn? I don’t give a frickity-frack what anyone thinks about me.” He flicked his wrist for his audience and rolled his bright blue eyes. For added flair he threw in a loud, “Girl, puh-lease!”

  Ignoring him, I grabbed my things from the car and tried to redirect his thoughts.

  “Daniel, focus. So, how many grooms do we have on the schedule this morning?” And then, I needed to address the sad news about Samson.

  For the first time since I’d gotten out of the car, we made eye contact. Gasping, he clutched his chest with one hand and pulled my chin up with the other. Concerned eyes inspected the ugly knot on my forehead.

  “Good golly, Miss Molly! Did you have an argument with a wall this morning?”

  I guessed my make-up efforts were worthless. “Tripped. Fell. Fine.” I pushed his hand away. We were making quite the spectacle of ourselves. Small-town folks are such busy bodies—takes one to know one. “Schedule please.”

  Daniel slammed my car door and followed me inside, chattering away.

  “Honey, it will be hairy. Get it? Hairy!” He tucked Cuff under his arm. “Okay, we have four full grooms this morning. Then, I thought we’d stroll down to Bee’s at lunch.” He put his empty hand on his hip. “She’s got all of her handbags on clearance!”

  Bee’s Boutique was our favorite shop in town and Daniel was the perfect shopping companion. Up on the latest fashions, he offered superb advice and had impeccable tastes.

  “You don’t carry a purse,” I said.

  “I know, Sista, but you do. Besides, Bee’s inventory drop-off is at eleven-forty-five, and the new UPS delivery guy is hot, hot, hot.” He winked, flipping his purple, gray, and mint scarf over his shoulder. According to Daniel, it was all about accessorizing.

  He set Cuff down on the floor, who investigated the store for bad guys, growling around every corner. I smell things. Strange things, Chiquita.

  Observing Cuff, I wondered how long I’d be able to hear his thoughts. I glanced around the front lobby. The officers had done a good job of cleaning up last night. Everything appeared in order, yet Cuff insisted on smelling everything in the room.

  Interesting. Very interesting. Cuff put his nose to the black and white checkerboard linoleum, and then glanced up at the front counter, sniffing.

  “Are you listening?” Daniel asked.

  What had he been talking about? Bees... Shopping... oh right, the UPS delivery guy. “So, has this guy given you any sign that he’s interested?”

  “Not exactly,” Daniel said as he twirled the frayed end of his silk scarf.

  I thought back to when the delivery guy dropped off our shampoo and leash order last week and how Daniel sashayed around the shop. I recalled the UPS guy gawking, but then again, Daniel strutting his stuff was entertaining.

  “What makes you think he’s gay?”

  “Well, last week he asked me what my sign was,” Daniel said. He began humming the tune of the Kelis song. “My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard...”

  “Daniel, I’m not so sure,” I said. “Maybe this guy’s only interested in you astrologically. It could be a thing you know. Maybe he’s one of those New Agey people,” I said.

  “If you mean interested in my ass, I’d say I’m all for it! Oh, and that new, ever-so-hot Officer Jackson stopped by first thing and dusted for prints. Can you believe it?” He tapped on the phone receiver. “They think the killer may have used the phone because they found it off the hook. What kind of person doesn’t carry a cell phone these days? Or maybe he knocked it off the hook after he committed the murder.” He shivered with exaggeration. “Gives me the chills thinking last night a murderer touched this very phone.” He stared at the phone in horror. “I haven’t seen the paper yet this morning, but do they know who the victim was?”

  And without taking a breath, he continued rambling. “Gosh, I’m so glad Samson and Virgil weren’t here. It could’ve turned out terrible.” Daniel dashed to the supply closet, grabbed a broom, and began sweeping the floor again, humming about his milkshake.

  I had to tell him before our clients arrived. Maybe I should’ve cancelled today’s appointments or at least the morning slots. But honestly, we really couldn’t afford it after all the money I’d sunk into the renovations.

  Lift me up on the counter, Chiquita. Cuff twisted his head in my direction.

  Hesitant and still unsure about this whole telepathy thing with my dog, I scooped him up onto the counter.

  With a dust bunny stuck to his nose, he sniffed the handset of the phone. Oh yeah, it smells fishy.

  “Fishy? As in tuna or salmon?” I whispered to him.

  No, like suspicious. Cuff blinked at me. You’re not very good at this detective stuff, are you? And I can hear your thoughts, too. it’s called doggy intuition. We all can do it, but it’s rare when a human shares the gift. So, you don’t have to talk out loud. You’re a lucky human.

  Lucky? I shrugged, not understanding why I ended up with doggy intuition or if I considered it a gift.

  “Daniel, before we get started I have something to tell you. Can you stop sweeping for a minute?” I waited for him to quit and make eye contact with me.

  “What’s up?” He put both palms on the top of the broom handle and rested his chin on the back of his hands, waiting. His playful, blue eyes shimmered in the early morning sunlit room.

  “It’s about last night,” I said. Gosh, this sucks, I thought to myself.

  “About the murder?”

  “Yes, about the murder. You see...” Goodness, this was harder than I thought. “The person murdered was Samson.” I closed my eyes and braced myself.

  Cuff whimpered from the counter. He’d finished his sniffing investigations and had curled up into a tiny ball. He watched Daniel, his bulging eyes watered. Poor Samson. And poor Virgil.

  Daniel sucked in a breath and his eyes brimmed with tears. “What about Virgil? Is he okay? Oh gosh, please don’t tell me if it’s bad. I couldn’t take it if something bad happened to him.” Panic rose in his voice and sent it a few octaves higher.

  “Nobody knows. There was no sign of him here when they found the body.”

  “You mean Samson.”

  “Yes, sorry, I mean Samson.”

  Daniel wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, sniffling. He began sweeping again. Back and forth with the broom in no real direction.

  “Well, no wonder the cleaning didn’t get done last night. I should’ve known something was wrong.” His voice cracked. “Steely, we’ve got to find Virgil, he’ll be lost without Samson, the poor thing.”

  He pushed the pile of dust and hair into the automatic little vacuum thingy he’d purchased when he first started working for me. Best investment ever.

  “We will. We’ll make it our mission to find him.” I reached out to Daniel. “You gonna be okay?”

  He nodded and blinked big puppy dog eyes. “Yes, but now I will really need some retail therapy.” He padded over to the counter and thumbed through a stack of photos. He pulled one out, plucked a thumbtack from a plastic dish, and positioned a photo of Samson and Virgil on the Pet Pic board on the wall. “I took this last week. Samson really loved Virgil.”

  “I know he did,” I said, nodding. Daniel was taking this better than I thought he would. “Hey, we have a busy morning. I also have to run across the street to the bank before we hit Bee’s.”

  I moved to the counter and started shuffling through the schedule book. I didn’t want to tell him my suspicions of Mr. Peters. Too soon.

  “Steely?”

  I glanced up into his cloudy, sky eyes. “Yes?”

  “Can I have a hug?”

  I smiled.

  Daniel collapsed in my arms and clung to me.

  “Sorry. I know you and Samson were fri
ends,” I said.

  “Yeah. And Virgil...” he said.

  Ugh, this guy is breaking my heart.

  “I know. And you’re right. He’s probably missing Samson. But I feel like he’s okay wherever he is out there.” I patted his head. “Let’s see who’s first on the list.”

  “It’s Ranger.” Daniel pulled away from our hug and glanced at his wristwatch. “Wash and a nail clip. I finally convinced Mrs. Schirmack to let us cut his toenails. Gosh. The last time she did it on her own, she butchered him and the poor pup limped for a week.”

  Daniel could be quite the exaggerator. “Flora Schirmack likes to pinch pennies where she can. Glad you talked some sense into her.”

  I glanced up at the framed menu board on the wall and the variety of creative treatments we’d added. Daniel’s Delight (Peach and oatmeal shampoo wash with a lavender oil soak, trim, & blowout), All That Glitters (Spearmint & Lemongrass shampoo, a leave-in conditioner, trim, blowout, and a Paw-dicure), The Mini (standard wash & blowout), The Duck Hunter (for the male dogs who don’t do poof or froof), Lil’ Stinker (de-skunking or odor issues), and The Sassy Steely Shine (blueberry facial, orangelicious sparkling shampoo, trim, color highlight, and blowout). We offer hair color, nail polish, Shea Butter paw/pad treatments, cologne sprays, and much more.

  “Hey, Daniel,” I said. “I know it’ll be tough to keep your mind on work today, but you’ve got this. You’re my number one Domestic Canine Appearance Technician,” I said, offering him an encouraging smile.

  Daniel grinned. His eyes had cleared. “Lol, Steely. I’m your only Domestic Canine Appearance Technician. Actually, I was thinking I like the term Furologist better.”

  I winked. “You got it. My number one Furologist. Now smile, here she comes!”

  Mrs. Schirmack and Ranger bounded through the front door and she ordered the Daniel Delight for her pup. I braced myself, hoping I wouldn’t be able to hear all canines. Hearing Cuff’s thoughts was bad enough. I waited, glancing down at the little dog. Ranger, the feisty schnauzer, yapped at me as Daniel led him to the back. Nope. Only normal, doggy yaps, no thoughts. I breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Schirmack.” I offered her a pleasant grin.

  “Well, Ms. Steely. The buzz at the bakery is you had quite a fiasco here last night,” Mrs. Schirmack said. Her wiry blue-gray hair and gray eyes were identical to her dog’s.

  As they say, like owner, like dog.

  I glanced at my pup’s amber eyes, same as mine. “Yes, ma’am. Fiasco is an understatement.”

  Once again, the sadness of losing Samson hit me straight in the heart. First, Stony disappeared, we lost Grandpa, then Mama. Now Samson. Life could be so cruel, and I had to wonder if I was being tested somehow.

  Mrs. Schirmack cozied up to the counter, produced a wrapped slice of her scrumptious pie, and got straight to business. The woman knew the way to my heart.

  “Have you heard that Buckleville Hardware is about to go belly up? Cleo Peters has owned the store since his father passed it onto him.” She pushed the plastic-wrapped pie toward me and raised a bushy eyebrow. “I’m calling this one Rum Buttered Toffee.”

  I leaned over the counter inhaling rich buttery yumminess through the plastic and tried to keep from salivating.

  “Oh no! That’s a shame.”

  I unwrapped one side of the paper plate and tore off the end of the “V” shaped slice of pie and shoved it in my mouth. Good grief, the woman gossiped, but she could bake.

  “Yeah, bless his heart. Guess he should’ve kept his gambling in check. You know, he’s always running over to the boats in Louisiana.” She tsk’ed. “So, what’s the scoop about the dead guy they found here?” She wasted no time. The sunlight streaming in the windows behind her illuminated an unruly two-inch hair poking out of her chin. “Any suspects yet, hmm?”

  Sometimes, the southern usage of bless his or her heart didn’t express sympathy, but pity laced with a holier-than-thou attitude. I eyed Mrs. Schirmack’s chin whisker and had the sudden urge to yank it out, but resisted. I re-wrapped the pie slice and set it to the side.

  “I know very little. How about you?” I asked, trying not to let her stubbly face distract me. I could learn a lot, especially from the town’s biggest gossip queen.

  “As members of Citizens on the Watch (COW), we have every right to know what’s going on. Has your boyfriend told you anything?” She tapped her fingernails on the counter.

  You know if you tell this nosy rosy anything, she’ll spread it all over town. I peered down at Cuff curled up like a cat under my feet.

  I hate cats, Chiquita.

  That’s because most are bigger than you.

  “No, I’m sorry, Mrs. Schirmack, it’s still an active police matter, so the COW, I mean we need to stay out of it.” Now, if I could follow my advice.

  Good luck with that, Chiquita.

  Letting out an exaggerated harrumph, Mrs. Schirmack’s beady eyes fluttered. “Well, you think he’d tell you the juicy details, or you could at least do some digging around. That’s the whole reason we invited you to head up the COW you know. I still can’t believe the rest of the group voted for a twenty-six-year-old who’s no taller than a middle schooler, and now, when there’s an actual real crime in town, you’ve got nothing to offer.”

  She sure could bite when she didn’t get what she wanted. The COW had appointed me as the group facilitator when I’d gotten together with Nick. But I wanted to be a part of the neighborhood watch program so desperately, I could’ve cared less about the reason.

  “Sorry to disappoint you,” I said.

  “When’s the next meeting, anyway?” She raised both eyebrows.

  “Tomorrow evening, five-thirty,” I said.

  The COW met here in the front lobby every Tuesday, and we’d discuss any suspicious activity. As a group, we figured out which crimes were important and which were not we’d notify the police department when necessary. Pop was a member, and he was the perfect sounding board. He kept us in check.

  Mrs. Schirmack cleared her throat. “Well, maybe by then you’ll know something. We can’t have a murderer wandering around our town, can we? Enjoy the pie.” She waddled over to the row of chairs near the window and sat down. Every few minutes, she’d peer up at the dog clock on the wall, exhaling loudly.

  I glanced at the appointment book, and the phone caught my eye. Daniel said Jackson had dusted it for prints earlier. I realized if someone had used the phone to make a call last night, the number might still be in its memory.

  I picked up the portable phone and hit the redial button. It rang three times.

  “Hello?” a male voice answered.

  “Who’s this?”

  “Who’s this?” The male voice sounded young, laced with sarcasm.

  “I asked you first,” I said.

  “Bite me.” Click.

  I hit redial again. The phone rang. No voicemail. With shaky hands, I tried once more, failing. Perhaps I’d just spoken with the murderer or someone he knew. I shivered at the thought.

  “You got any current Good Housekeeping magazines around here? This one is from six months ago,” Mrs. Schirmack said. She waved the magazine in the air. “Read it cover to cover already. Three times. I’ve already looked at all the recipes and tore out the ones I wanted.”

  So, that’s where they’d disappeared to. I’d wondered who’d cut out sections of my magazines.

  “No, sorry. That’s all I’ve got, ma’am. Now, how’s that husband of yours?” I asked her.

  For the rest of her visit, I heard how she and Mr. Schirmack had had a terrible argument and how the bakery might be in financial ruin if they didn’t get their finances straight, and that their nephew was in town visiting and she hoped he could help them solve their issues. Listening to others’ problems can be an exhausting job, but at least this set of complaints came with pie.

  I grabbed my fork and dug in for another bite.

  Chapter 4

  We
’d finished up the morning’s schedule a tad after eleven. When Daniel came up front, I asked if he’d used the phone before I had arrived. He said he’d called his younger brother to wish him a Happy Birthday. So, the rude young man I’d spoken with earlier was Daniel’s fourteen-year-old brother.

  My hopes of the phone call leading to a suspect deflated.

  We left Cuff cuddled up in his bed on top of my desk. Shopping wasn’t his thing. Daniel and I ran across the street to the Bank of Buckleville.

  Standing in line, Daniel gabbed about how the township was trying to shut down the local tattoo parlor and No Place Like OM.

  “Jackwagons. I mean, who doesn’t love yoga and getting your Zen on? Nobody says you have to be New Age to breathe and stretch. And I bet every one of these cowgirls is inked in places where the sun doesn’t shine!” Daniel gestured over to a desk in the corner. “I hear Kit Fisher over in the loan department has barbed wire tattooed around her hoo-ha.” He let out a throaty chuckle.

  “Hello! That’s hilarious. Why aren’t you laughing?” he asked me.

  “Ha, ha.”

  “You’re being a real stick in the mud, Steely.”

  My mind redirected to the front door when it whooshed open. A well-dressed man in his mid-thirties strolled inside. Very George Strait-looking. I caught hints of dark hair from under his 10-gallon hat, his skin a deep, rich tan.

  “Who is this tall, dark, and handsome?” Daniel panted.

  “C’mon, lover-boy. It’s our turn.” I deposited four checks into the Scrubadub account and withdrew fifty dollars from my personal checking.

  As we passed the handsome stranger, Daniel elbowed me and whispered, “Ooo-la-la.” He whistled softly, practically drooling on the floor. “Why can’t I meet a man like that?”