by Cat Clayton
“He’s too cowboyish for you.”
Daniel scoffed. “What? I dig cowboys.”
I laughed and dragged him outside, the overpowering July heat threatening to roast us right there on the sidewalk.
Something out of the corner of my eye caught my attention. I peered across the street at the Baker building complex. Mr. Peters and a disheveled, gray-haired man were arguing. Mr. Peters’s arms were flailing and the other guy’s arms hung limp at his sides. They both turned and looked at me. Peters turned and stormed off in the opposite direction of the other man. He wore something bulky strapped across the front of his chest. I squinted, trying to get a better look as the man spun a 180 and hurtled down the sidewalk.
What in the world was that about?
“Wait!” I called after him, as he took off at a full sprint. Before I could even think of chasing him, he’d vanished between two buildings.
“Who was Mr. Peters talking to?” Daniel asked.
“I don’t have a clue. But it didn’t look friendly.” I really wished I’d gotten the chance to talk with the man before he took off.
“Well, that was weird.” Daniel fanned himself with his hand. “Girl, it’s hot as a well-digger’s butt out here! Let’s get our shopping thing on.”
I followed in Daniel’s wake. According to the bank LED sign, the balmy, humid temperature had already reached ninety-three degrees, and it wasn’t even the hottest part of the day yet.
Daniel and I passed by Orsack’s cafe, and my skin tingled with anxiety. I got the sneaking suspicion someone was watching us. Peering inside, I discovered the reason. Officer Jackson.
He sat at one of the high tables for two near the front window, dressed in off-duty street clothes, a white t-shirt and faded blue jeans. A baseball cap rested upturned on the table in front of him. He gave me a little two-finger salute.
I rolled my eyes. Calling Nick last night after I begged him not to was a crappy move. It was as if he’d done it to be a jerk. I refrained from flipping him the bird.
“What’s his deal?” Daniel said, noticing the ogling through the glass. “And why is he staring at you like that?”
“Ignore him.” I strode down the sidewalk toward Bee’s Boutique.
“Wait!” Daniel hollered.
I paused, turning back to find him pressing his butt against the cafe window. “Take a picture, it lasts longer!” he said, whirling around and blowing Jackson a kiss.
Boy, were we a pair.
“Don’t antagonize him. You wouldn’t even know what to do if he came out here anyway.”
“Speak for yourself! Too bad there isn’t a gay bone in the man’s body.” Daniel covered his mouth and giggled. “I said bone!”
“Let’s go,” I said and dragged him away.
Even when we were out of the officer’s view, the disturbing sensation of being watched remained. I glanced around. All seemed normal.
“He and Officer Tripp caught me in Gertie’s old apartment last night after Samson’s murder. I was having a look around.”
“What? I told you to call me the next time you went snooping!”
“I wasn’t snooping. I was observing. There’s a difference. Besides, it was late.”
Daniel’s jazz hands fluttered toward the Heavens. “Well, don’t keep a man in suspense! What happened?”
“Nothing. Except, jerk-off Jackson convinced Tripp to turn me in and they called Nick.”
“OMG! Was he absolutely furious?” Daniel paused, grabbing me by the shoulders, shaking me. “The details, please!” His sky-blue eyes begged me.
“Yes. And I’d like to forget the whole thing happened. Can we stop talking about it?”
“I can take care of Jackson. Looks like he has a serious chip on his shoulder. He could use a good spanking.” He smirked.
I don’t care what the rest of the town snobs said; I adored Daniel. “C’mon, Tiger. Let’s shop.” It was too early in the day for him to get all worked up about spanking some guy. Besides, we had work this afternoon. I needed him focused. And shopping helped him focus.
As I entered Bee’s, I paused and scanned the street and sidewalk. I still had a creepy feeling someone was watching us. I shivered at the thought. But I saw nothing out of the ordinary. No suspicious activity. Nobody lurking. I ducked into the boutique and headed for the rack of discounted handbags.
After blowing an easy fifty bucks on one fabulous pair of blingy, wedged flip-flops, and a sexy magenta tank top, I felt much better. I also picked up a small, lipstick-red clutch for six dollars on clearance. Nothing beats a good clothing and accessories sale. Daniel scored a butter-yellow pair of loafers and one UPS business card with a note on the back saying, Call me.
The phone was ringing when we arrived back at the shop. On top of the counter, Cuff bounced up with each shrill bark while trying to attack the phone. I rushed to the counter, and when he saw me, he sprung into my arms.
Oooowww, the ringing hurts my ears. Save me, Chiquita!
Wincing from Cuff’s yaps, Daniel answered the phone. “Afternoon, Scrubadub!”
I set Cuff down on the lobby floor. At the same instant, I heard shouting from outside and what was unmistakably a gunshot. Without thinking, I flew out the front door, stopping short of the curb. Cuff, who’d followed me out, yipped at my feet.
Chiquita, look, in front of the bank!
Across the street, a man dressed in all dark clothing, a black cowboy hat, and a red bandana and dark sunglasses covering his face, skidded around the front of a gunmetal-grey Ford F-350 dually pickup truck parked at the curb.
The man looked in my direction and raised a pistol, pointing it straight at me. Tunnel-vision took over and my eyes fixated on the black hole of the barrel. Everything else around the gunman blurred into the background.
As my blood pulsed in my veins and my heart pounded, the black hole in front of me grew to the size of a dinner plate. Time seemed to stop, my limbs froze, and dread washed over me.
“Steely, get down!” I heard someone scream, the voice sounding impossibly like Mama’s.
Before I knew what was happening, a deafening Boom! echoed in the street, and the huge black hole seemed to explode in slow motion, and then, a Zing, Ping-Ping!
Instinct took over, and I hit the concrete. Hard. My already busted knees screamed in pain.
Am I hit? Did he shoot me?
With his teeth, Cuff tugged on my shirt. CHIQUITA!
Stars filled my peripheral vision. “I think I’ve been—” I mumbled and then darkness enveloped me. Someone shot the sun out of the sky.
“Steely! Steely, wake up! Are you hurt?”
I opened my eyes to find a wide-eyed Daniel hovering above me, and Cuff licking my face.
“Oh my God, are you shot? Where?” Daniel said in a squeaky voice.
“My knees,” I said in a hoarse whisper.
Daniel patted gently, inspecting my legs. “Yeah, they’re a mess, but I think they’re only scratched. Probably from when you hit the ground. Can you sit up?”
He raised me slowly. My brain hurt, my vision blurry.
“I was on the phone when, oh my gosh, when I heard gunshots. I thought... I thought you were dead when I came out here. You were so still.” Daniel grabbed me, pulling me into a quick bear hug.
The bullet hit the window. You’re okay, Chiquita. Cuff hopped up, putting his front two paws on my chest and planted puppy kisses on my chin.
I winced from the pain in my knees. “What happened?”
The bad guy is gone. I barked him away.
“Thanks, Cuff.” I kissed the top of his furry head. Besides the sound of the gunfire and the vision of the big black hole of the barrel, I couldn’t recall many details.
Don’t mention it, Chiquita. More kisses.
“Enough smooching you two. I think someone just robbed the bank!” Daniel said. The shop’s portable phone rang in his hand. He answered it on the second ring. “Yes, she’s right here,” he said, handing me the phon
e.
He whispered, “It’s Nick.”
Play it cool. Yes, you almost died, but try not to panic. “Hey there,” I said into the phone. I nodded to Daniel as Mr. Peters and his monster-sized, black standard poodle, Maisy, charged across the street.
Daniel carefully helped me stand up. I wobbled and clutched the phone to my ear.
“Steely, someone robbed the bank. Lock the shop doors.” Nick’s voice came across the phone.
My legs threatened to give out. “Yeah, we know,” I said.
“I’m headed into town. I’ll be there soon.” He disconnected without another word.
Sirens blared in the distance, as Daniel, Cuff, and I made our way into the shop. Mr. Peters and Maisy followed us in. He dropped her lead and Maisy sat obediently beside him.
“Everyone okay in here?” Mr. Peters asked, his eyes bouncing from me to Daniel to the street and back. He lifted Patrice’s strap and hoisted the shotgun over his head. “I heard gunfire.”
“We’re fine, but we think someone tried robbing the bank. And they shot at Steely.” Daniel motioned for me to sit in one of the lobby chairs and got to work cleaning my knees.
I peeked at the damage. The right one had an ugly gash caked with sand and gravel. The left one had a small bruise and some minor road rash. He rinsed them both clean and patted them dry. He blew on both as he unwrapped the bandages. Carefully, he taped two rubber ducky Band-Aids across the right knee and one across the left.
“All better,” he said.
“Thank you, friend,” I said to Daniel and glanced over at Mr. Peters. He looked spooked, and I couldn’t quite tell if it was shock on his face or guilt. But he definitely looked nervous. Which direction had he come from earlier? In all the confusion and excitement, I hadn’t noticed.
Holding a toolbox in one hand and Patrice in the other, he inspected the small hole in the front window. Sweat poured down the sides of his face, his dark skin glistening. Maisy panted at his side, wagging her pom-pom tail across the floor. Dog and owner had the same black frizzy hair and dark eyes.
Cuff scratched his back paws on the floor as if marking his territory and then strutted in circles around the lobby. Nobody hurts my Chiquita and gets away with it. He stopped pacing and gave Mr. Peters a throaty growl. I’m watching you, Peters.
I gazed around the shop, attempting to clear my head and keep myself calm. My eyes landed on the bullet hole in the wall on the opposite side of the room, inches away from the dog clock. According to the small hand pointing at the beagle, and the big hand near the St. Bernard, it was almost one o’clock.
I reached up and found my locket, as I vaguely recalled those last few seconds before I hit the ground. A man ran out of the bank, dressed in all black. Except for the black sunglasses, he’d reminded me of an old school bank robber from an old black and white film. Then he aimed his gun at me.
My lips tingled and my vision blurred. I felt myself sinking, and I slowly lowered myself to the linoleum floor. The last thing I recalled was gulping huge intakes of air and then blackness took over.
“Steely?”
I opened my eyes.
“You fainted again. Maybe we should call an ambulance.” Daniel slumped on the floor beside me, fanning my face. He offered me my inhaler. I drew in two puffs.
“No ambulance.” I raked a hand through my hair, slowly sitting up. I stared at the rubber ducky Band Aids.
“I’ll be fine. Someone shot at me. No big deal. Right? Why don’t you get Maisy to the back? I’m sure Mr. Peters is on a schedule. I’ll wait here for Nick.”
“I don’t know. Maybe I should sit here with you until he gets here.” Wild blue eyes blinked at me.
“I’ll be all right. I promise. I have Cuff and Mr. Peters out here. Go on. It’ll be okay.”
With a few huffs and puffs and a great deal of reluctance, Daniel dragged Maisy toward the washroom. I leaned against the lobby chair behind me. Could this day get any worse?
Cuff licked my hand. You’re still on the floor, Chiquita. He panted, nodding over at Mr. Peters. Maybe you should get up.
Mr. Peters watched me struggle to stand, without even an offer to assist me. I limped over to the front counter and planted myself on a stool. So much for chivalry.
Cleo Peters stood like a statue at the window. “This town is going to hell in a handbasket,” he said.
You can say that again. Cuff hopped up on one of the lobby chairs and peered out the window. I bet if they let me sniff around, I could find the bank robber. I am sure of it. But sigh... nobody listens to a Chihuahua. He stretched out on the floor and put his muzzle between his front paws.
“First a murder, now a bank robbery and a shooting.” Mr. Peters turned and shuffled across the waiting room. “Guess I’ll install the new lock on that back door of yours.”
“Mr. Peters?”
“Huh?”
“I noticed you and Samson hadn’t been getting along recently. Can I ask why?”
“No, you can’t. Now, if you don’t mind, little miss busy-bee, I’ve got work to do,” he said and hurried down the hall with Patrice slung across his back.
I frowned behind him.
An idea popped into my head. I had exactly ten minutes until he arrived. Two squad cars had arrived and parked in front of the bank, the officers already inside beginning their investigation. They’d be busy dealing with the bank staff taking their statements for a while. And until we reported it, nobody would know someone had shot at me.
I snuck to the door leading up to the apartment. I peeked back toward the lobby, making sure Cuff didn’t hear me. In a deep doggy snooze, he’d positioned himself in front of the row of chairs to catch the sun streaming in through the large lobby window. He’d rolled over on his back, all fours in the air, head slumped to the side. A soft, snoring rattle issued from his muzzle.
I avoided pulling down the yellow caution tape and slipped through the door. I left it cracked open, so I could hear the front doorbell ring if anyone arrived. As I climbed the stairs, I noticed a clump of black hair, flecked with silver or white stuck in the crevice between the wooden steps. I picked it up gingerly and darted upstairs for a baggie. Surely there was one in the kitchen somewhere. I’d get it to Kolbeski’s lab later. Probably canine fur from downstairs, but one can never be too sure.
After sealing the hair sample in a snack-size baggie, I slid it into the front pocket of my shorts. I canvassed the floor. Nothing. It appeared they did a thorough job cleaning up after last night.
I crossed the room to the windows and studied the tacked front page of The Banner. The paper had yellowed and the once black ink had faded to an ash gray. My fingers trembled as they grazed over the print. There had to be some kind of clue. But what? It appeared to be ordinary Buckleville news. Recent gas price increases, local weather, a county fair article, miscellaneous pictures from the fair cook off. Gertie had entered that year. She was in a photo, along with the Schirmacks standing in front of their bakery.
Oh. There was Mama in her apron with her blue ribbon. I’d forgotten she’d entered a dish that year, too. My eyes filled with tears. I fumbled with my locket and turned to observe the surrounding room, looking for any evidence. I tried to channel her intuition. To find out what had happened to Virgil, I had to first discover who killed Samson. I’d put money on the fact that whoever did it, had the dog.
Something about Mr. Peters being the culprit didn’t add up even though he acted guilty, and I wasn’t sure he could murder Samson. It was definitely too soon to point fingers. Unless he’d had an accomplice, it also seemed unlikely he’d had time to rob the bank, shoot at me, drive away, and then appear on our front porch. All of this gave me a headache.
I checked the time on my cell phone. Six minutes. I needed to hurry. I peered out the window overlooking the street. It was the most perfect view of the front of the bank. Police scuttled about down below. The front of the bank...
Oh my gosh. That’s it! I knew why the killer had been
up here. He was scoping out the bank. That must’ve meant the bank robber, and the killer were partners or possibly the same person.
A scuffle came from behind me.
I turned and nearly toppled over from fright! The scruffy guy Mr. Peters had been yelling at earlier bulldozed out from the small closet near the stairs. In a flash, he disappeared into the stairwell, a musical clanking trailed behind him.
My lungs tightened and my pulse sped up. I squatted as it seemed to help ease my breathing and stuck my head between my knees, to keep myself from hyperventilating. “Breathe. Nice and slow. Then, you get the heck out of here, Steely Lamarr,” I muttered to my feet.
“That would be wise. Unless you have a confession to make.”
I knew the voice without even looking up. I hadn’t heard him approach. I lifted my head slowly, meeting those dark, dangerous eyes. Where’s a paper bag when you need one? He took my breath away. Literally.
“I, um, I heard something, so I ran up here to see what it was. And I don’t know what you want me to confess. I didn’t hurt anyone!” I rested my head against the wall. “And there was this man, a scraggly guy. He had something big strapped across the front of him. A gun?” Take a breath. Start over. “Look, I’ve had a rough day. Someone tried to kill me. And maybe it was the guy who fled out of here just now. Maybe he has something to do with murdering Samson. I saw him arguing with Mr. Peters. And you don’t know this because you’re not from around here, but Peters and Samson were good friends. Maybe Peters knows the scruffy guy killed Samson. Or maybe Peters will go vigilante and take out the scruffy guy with Patrice. That’s what he calls his shotgun. Or maybe Peters killed Samson, and the scruffy guy saw him do it. Peters has a bad temper.” I knew I sounded like a rambling idiot, but I couldn’t help it.
“Wait, who tried to kill you?” The officer raised an eyebrow. “And who’d been arguing? I’m lost.”
“Samson and Peters, gosh. Can’t you keep up?” I snapped.
Widening his stance, the left side of his mouth twitched as if he were attempting to fight back a smile. He must’ve gone on duty after we saw him at lunch, because he now wore his officer’s uniform. And he wore it well.
