by Cat Clayton
Dinner with Brandon Tripp and his wife. Remember?
I gave Cuff a thumbs up. He put his nose to the ground and trotted along in front of me, stopping to lift his leg on everything in his path. He pees more than any living thing on the planet.
It’s called leaving my scent.
I frowned at Cuff and turned my attention back to my phone call. “Oh yeah. Dinner with Brandon and Caylee. Sure. What were you guys thinking?”
“Caylee has a roast in the oven. She wants to know if you’ll bring a salad.”
Ask him if he knows anything yet on the bank robbery.
“Tell them yes. And, hey, any word on the robbery?”
“No.” I heard an exaggerated sigh through the phone. “Remember, no bright ideas. All right?” His emphasis on bright sent my blood pressure up a notch.
“I wouldn’t think of it.” To be honest, I hadn’t had a “bright” idea yet. I’d behaved myself this afternoon.
Well, except for visiting Mitch’s lab.
I frowned. Cuff had a point.
“I’ve gotta go. Becker says if I stay until six, he’ll let me off tonight since I’ve worked nearly a double in the past twenty-four hours.”
“We should finish about 5:30 PM. I’ll see you later. Love you,” I said.
“You, too.” He hung up.
I couldn’t help but notice Nick’s hum-drum tone and tried not reading too much into it.
When Cuff and I got back to the shop, Seth Welton and Daniel were at the counter, chatting. Taffy looked like a million bucks. A Daniel’s Delight with raspberry-colored highlights on her tufted head and silver glitter toenails.
Ooo-la-la. Cuff paced under the counter, panting up at her.
“Crazy about the bank robbery today. Who would’ve thought someone could hold up a bank during broad daylight in a damn cowboy outfit and get away with it?” Seth asked.
He’s hiding something. I can smell it.
I agreed. Seth Welton definitely hid something underneath his cool exterior. But what? I found it peculiar he knew what the robber was wearing. Then again, this was Buckleville. News could spread faster than a wildfire on a scorched pasture in August.
Daniel put his arm around me. “Yeah. And to think our Steely almost got shot by the guy as he fled the scene!”
Seth’s eyes widened.
Cuff whined at my feet. Pick me up, Chiquita. I need to see the hot taco up close.
I lifted Cuff and set him on the counter. He sniffed her muzzle, eyes, and then made his way to her rear end.
Seth cleared his throat. “Did you see his face? Could you identify him?”
“No,” I said. “A bandana covered most of his face and he wore sunglasses. My boyfriend says they still haven’t located him.”
Seth’s eyes shifted from Daniel to me in quick, jerky movements. “I see. Does your boyfriend work for the local law enforcement here in town?”
That’s not his business.
What’s it gonna hurt? “Yes, he does.”
“It’s good to have law enforcement on your side,” Seth said.
“Well, it looks like Taffy’s all finished, and we’re closing up shop,” I said with more haste than I intended.
Daniel’s eyes blinked owlishly. “Oh yes, here you go. Taffy’s all yours,” Daniel said, handing her over.
“Thanks, how much do I owe y’all?” Seth asked.
“Even with the adorable highlights that’ll be $32 for today. We give all of our first-timers ten dollars off, especially when Daniel’s creativity goes a little further than planned.”
Daniel blushed. “I literally couldn’t help myself.”
“She looks great. I appreciate it.” Seth smiled, pulled out a wallet, and handed me forty dollars in cash. “Keep the change.”
He had a nice smile. Almost a little too nice. Did the man have any flaws? I took the money. “Thank you. And will we be seeing Taffy again?” I asked.
A bemused grimace spread across Seth’s face. “I’m sorry, who?”
“Taffy, your dog,” I said, pointing to the little pup.
Seth laughed. “Oh, yeah. Right. Well, I don’t know how long we’ll be in town. Let’s make an appointment for three weeks from now, just in case.”
We set up Taffy’s next appointment, and I sent them on their way.
“Hello... don’t you think that’s strange?” Daniel asked, his eyes lighting up like two 60-watt bulbs.
I headed to the storeroom and Daniel followed.
“What?” I asked. Although I knew what he meant.
“Um, that he totally blanked out when you asked him about seeing Taffy again.” Daniel stood there with his hands on his hips, tapping his foot, his eyes bulging out of his head. “Like he didn’t have a clue who you were talking about.”
“Sort of, but it’s not raising any red flags for me.” It’s usually best not to jump on Daniel’s overreaction train.
“Well, it did for me. He handled the dog all wrong. Like he had no idea how to even hold her.” Daniel threw his hands in the air and waved as if he were signaling a fire.
“He asked a lot of questions. About Buckleville and a few residents. He wanted to know if I knew Cleo Peters and where he worked.” His voice raised a tad on the last part.
“Calm down. The veins in your neck are popping out and it’s unbecoming.” I began counting our inventory and marking items on the order list. “I’m sure he’s harmless. Maybe he’s thinking about staying in Buckleville and needs a handyman. Cleo Peters owns the hardware store and does a lot of odd jobs for folks. Let’s not make assumptions.”
Daniel’s face drooped. “Fine.”
“Look. I’m only saying it’s best we don’t allow our imaginations to run wild. We need to focus on gathering information about who murdered Samson and find Virgil’s whereabouts. We’ve got to find something to present to the police department. You know, hard clues.” Which is exactly what I planned to do after we closed. Find evidence. It was probably a good idea to wait and tell Daniel about my suspicions of Cleo Peters too, about seeing him last night after Samson’s murder.
“I’m leaving,” Daniel said in a huff, pouting.
“Don’t forget your new back door key on the counter,” I said.
Daniel stopped mid-grand exit, folded his arms over his chest, staring off in the other direction. “You never listen to me, and you always think my ideas are stupid.”
It took all I had not to burst out laughing.
“Oh no! You pulled the ‘never’ and ‘always’ card!” I reached over and tweaked his perfect button nose. “I listen to you, and I don’t think your ideas are stupid.” I paused, hesitating, and wondered if I should invite him to tag along.
Where? Cuff whined, wagging his tail.
“Well, I would go alone, but it might make you feel better.” I winked at him.
“What?” A smile stretched across his face. “Why, Steely Lamarr, what is that delicious glimmer in your eyes?”
He couldn’t stay mad at me. It’s one of the reasons I loved him.
“Let’s turn on the scanner and see if we can find out the location of the abandoned truck. Maybe we can check it out before heading home.”
My Pop didn’t use his police scanner after he’d retired, so I sort of borrowed it and brought it to the shop.
“I knew I hung out with you for a reason!” Daniel said, squealing in delight.
“DO YOU RECOGNIZE IT?” Daniel asked.
Parked on the side of the gravel road, I studied the tan sedan parked ahead of us.
“No, but it seems to be unoccupied. Come on. And leave Cuff in the car. We can leave it running. I don’t want him to get sticker burs in his feet,” I said. Three things you don’t want to step on in Texas: Copperhead snakes, scorpions, and sticker burs, yes, in that order.
I’m fixin’ to sticker-bur your butt if you don’t take me with you! Cuff pounced like a ping pong ball between my lap and Daniel’s.
You need me! You need me!
I sco
wled, dog-tired of all his jabber-boxing. No pun intended. Life was much simpler when I couldn’t hear his thoughts. “Fine. Let’s go.” If I left him in the car, he’d probably bark his little head off the entire time. No need for all that unnecessary noise.
You got that right, Chiquita.
We climbed out of the car, Cuff bounding ahead. He stopped to sniff the tires of the sedan. Smells like the schnauzer’s been here. Then he took off for the pasture like his tail was on fire.
Schnauzer? I wondered if he meant Mrs. Schirmack’s dog, Ranger.
I followed the black tire marks on the blacktop as they snaked off the pavement and into the ditch. Daniel and I stepped over the yellow crime scene tape strung on the barbed wire fence.
Cuff raced around in circles, barking. The schnauzer, he’s been here. Right here, Chiquita.
Ranger?
Yes! A dog’s nose never lies. In an erratic pattern, Cuff zipped around, sniffing everything in his sight. Rocks, sand, debris, scorched Bermuda grass.
Earlier, we’d learned the bank robber’s truck or the truck he’d stolen had plowed through the fence and had later torched. The fire had charred the grass entering the pasture down to the soil. Unfortunately for us, they’d towed the truck away from the scene.
“This must be where the truck burned,” Daniel said, pointing to a huge singed area of the grass.
The bank robber used diesel. Cuff confirmed, sniffing the ground.
While Cuff put his nose to work, Daniel, and I rummaged through some charred debris scattered around the burn site. Scattered around were small shards of metal and littered scraps of burnt paper, nothing legible. We found nothing useful.
Cuff whined a few feet away. Oh, Chiquita. There's blood.
“Where?”
“Where what?” Daniel asked me.
Cuff barked, holding a front paw up, pointing. Rushing over, I bent down near Cuff. Sure enough. A few droplets of blood stained a small boulder.
“It looks fresh,” I said.
“What’re you two communicating telepathically now?” Daniel chuckled, kneeling beside me. “Oh gosh, it looks like blood! Please tell me it’s not poor Virgil’s.”
“I don’t think so. More likely it’s the bank robber’s blood. Or maybe...” Cuff’s thought interrupted mine.
Chiquita, look! Cuff trotted over and picked up a blue bow in his teeth. He dropped it at my feet. Ranger’s bow.
“It’s one of ours, Steely. Oh gosh! But whose? Why is it out here?” Panic surfaced in Daniel’s voice.
“There’s no need to flip out.” I inspected the bow. Definitely one of ours. I think I’ll keep Cuff’s thoughts on the identity of the bow to myself.
Probably best. About the blood, I think it may be from Ranger’s master. Cuff’s ears pricked, and he stared off in the distance. He growled. Uh oh. We’re in deep caca.
I followed Cuff’s amber gaze to the road, the hair on the back of my neck prickling. Just beyond the end of the pasture, a black car sat on the side of the road facing us.
“Um, Daniel?”
“What?” He stood, hands on his hips, staring down at me with a curious look.
“Look.” I nodded toward the road. “Act casual. Who do you think that is?”
Shielding his eyes from the setting sun, Daniel peered at the road. He squealed. In a flash, jazz hands and all, he flung himself to the ground, face down, and flailed.
I nudged him with my foot. “I said ‘act casual,’ not flop around like a dying fish!”
He peeked up at me, dirt and grass pasted to his forehead. “FYI, there’s nothing ‘casual’ about getting caught snooping around a crime scene.”
“I can’t tell if there’s someone in the car or not. But we definitely need to get out of here,” I said.
I smell bad danger, Chiquita! Cuff barked wildly, his warning sent shivers up and down my spine. Not sure how he “smelled” danger, but his doggy intuition could teach my own a few tricks.
“Boy, he’s a yappy thing today. I think maybe we should skedaddle out of here. I’m getting wigged out,” Daniel said.
Really?! I stifled my sarcasm and crouched, careful of my knees, stealing a glance at the car.
Daniel scrambled up and crawled beside me. From this distance, the black vehicle looked like a Buick or something similar. One of those boxy, older models.
The black car’s engine roared to life, and it whizzed around backwards, coughing up dirt, rocks, and dust. I tried to figure out the make and model of the car or jot down the plates, but it peeled out on the gravel road, leaving a giant cloud of dust in its wake. It zoomed down the road and out of sight.
“I didn’t even hear it pull up. Did you?” Daniel asked.
I shook my head. The eerie way it seemed to appear out of nowhere bothered me. How long had the driver been there watching us? I got to my feet, knees aching, and dusted myself off.
“Let’s get out of here before it comes back,” I said.
DURING THE DRIVE BACK to the shop, Mitch Kolbeski called. He’d had a slow afternoon, so he had time to put the hair sample under a microscope. It wasn’t human, but from a canine. Figured. Thinking back to the color of the hair, it had to be Virgil’s. I thanked him and hung up. My mind spun in circles. Mrs. Schirmack and Ranger’s whereabouts. The blood back at the burn site. The mysterious black car.
Exhausted from our outrageous day, I pulled up next to Daniel’s Miata.
“We can talk about this in the morning. Go home and get some rest,” I said.
The deer in the headlight look in his eyes told me he’d had enough for one day, too.
Poor, Danny Boy. Cuff licked Daniel’s hand.
My partner and best friend patted Cuff on the head and offered me a weary smile before he climbed out of the Bug. During the drive back to the shop, he’d been extra quiet. Maybe the whole incident shook him up, more than he cared to admit.
Without so much as a wave, Daniel slid into the bucket seat of his car, slammed the door, and drove out of the parking lot.
“Let’s go check the appointment book for tomorrow,” I told Cuff. If the morning schedule was light enough, maybe I’d sleep in. Waking up with Nick would be nice for a change. It was a rare—what the heck?
Uh oh, Chiquita. This does not look good.
The back door of the shop stood cracked open. My first inclination was we’d left the door unlocked, and it’d popped open somehow. I tensed as I realized someone may have broken into the shop. Again.
Chapter 7
Glancing around the empty parking lot, I approached the door with caution. There didn’t seem to be anyone lurking, but I couldn’t ignore the nagging fear creeping up my spine. I felt as if a thousand pairs of eyes spied on me from the dark corners of the back alley.
As I pushed the door open, stillness greeted me. Despite the outside temperature hovering near one hundred degrees, I shivered. The first thing I noticed inside was the door to the vacant upstairs apartment was ajar. As I entered the building, I peered up the stairwell.
“Hello?” My voice echoed.
Cuff rushed past my legs, hopping up the stairs like a rabbit. Stay right there, Chiquita.
Terror gripped its claws around my throat as I stood in the stairwell entry. This was like one of those cheap horror flicks, where the oblivious lead actress walks right into the killer’s trap. I panicked.
“Cuff!” I hissed. “Get down here!”
Shh! His thought drifted from somewhere upstairs.
Something crashed above.
“Cuff?”
It is all clear up here.
“That noise... oh my gosh! Are you okay?”
I knocked over a glass vase. And you’re using that squeaky voice again. The squeal hurts my ears.
“Please come back down!”
A few seconds later, he appeared at the top of the stairwell. His bright amber eyes glowed in the fading sunlight. There was definitely someone up here, but they're gone now. He trotted down the steps, his t
ail end twisting to the side with each hop.
Let me go investigate the rest of the shop first. With caution, Cuff padded down the shadowy hallway. I flipped on the lights. Nothing bad ever happens with the light on.
Toenails click-clacking against the floor, Cuff peeked in each doorway, surveying all the rooms. He rounded the corner, disappearing into my office. I don’t like the smell in here, Chiquita.
I crept in his direction. Dread snaked up one arm and down the other, causing the hair on the back of my neck to prickle. I flipped on the overhead light and peeked inside the office. Nothing seemed disturbed, but I still couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling. Someone had definitely been in here.
You’re right. But...
“What is it?”
From the middle of the room, Cuff lifted his head high, his nose testing the air. Hmm... wait here. He bolted out my office door and headed toward the front lobby. A second later he yelped, causing me to jump out of my skin.
Oh, Chiquita.
“What?” I said, peeking out my office door. “What’s wrong?”
He didn’t answer.
“Cuff! If you don’t answer me I’m fixin’ to—”
Do not come in here. Call 911!
Who does he think he’s talking to? Someone who follows orders? I made a beeline to the front lobby, barreling around the corner. I froze mid-stride, suddenly wishing I would’ve listened.
I told you so, Chiquita.
Cuff sat on his haunches in the middle of the floor facing Mrs. Schirmack.
Her limp body sat propped up like a rag doll in one of the waiting room chairs, a dog leash around her throat, her legs crossed proper-lady style. Puppeteered hands gripped a Good Housekeeping magazine, as if she were reading. But her eyes were empty, lifeless. A bloody hammer lay on the floor at her feet.
My legs refused to move. My voice trapped in my throat. I dropped to my knees, wincing from the pain from my double-skinned kneecaps.
Mrs. Schirmack’s gaping, hollow eyes stared at me. I recalled the magazine conversation earlier today and immediately regretted any ill feelings I might’ve had.
Cuff trotted over and put a paw on my arm. Call the cops, Chiquita.
