How to Leash a Thief

by Cat Clayton

  Like a robot, I dialed 911.

  IT HAD BEEN ONE HECK of a day.

  Sitting on the couch in my office, I stroked Cuff’s head. I couldn’t erase the image of Mrs. Schirmack’s dead body from my mind. Cuff perched on my lap, his head resting against me. Am I being framed or warned? I wondered. My instincts told me it was more likely a warning, since anyone with a lick of sense would realize I wouldn’t leave not one, but two, dead bodies inside my business.

  Psst, Chiquita, the officer asked you a question. Cuff whined, nudging my hand with his head.

  “Huh? Sorry. What did you say?” I sat there like a limp noodle, staring at nothing in particular.

  Officer Jackson cleared his throat. “I said, can you go over the details one more time, starting from after you left the burn site,” he said, sitting on the corner of my desk, dressed in nice-fitting, Levi’s and a tight, navy blue t-shirt.

  I guessed by his off duty wardrobe, they’d called him in for this. Of all the officers within the department, it had to be this guy to show up. Really?

  “I’ve told you the story three times already. I don’t see how once more will make a difference. I’m tired. I want to go home,” I said, sounding like a whiner. But I couldn’t help myself.

  The sooner you answer his questions, the sooner we can get out of here. Sitting in my lap, Cuff hadn’t left my side since we’d stumbled upon Mrs. Schirmack’s body.

  I gave Cuff a squeeze. You’re right, little buddy.

  The officer spoke up. “There are no signs of a struggle. So, my guess is Mrs. Schirmack was murdered somewhere else, and they placed here her body here as a warning. This is the point I tried making to you last night. I feared you’d get yourself into trouble or danger,” he said.

  For the first time since I’d laid eyes on her lifeless body, everything came back into focus. Jackson was right. I’d gotten myself into quite the fix.

  I glanced up. He stood in front of me, in full cop mode. Notepad in hand, muscular legs slightly spread, upper body at full attention, and his intense black eyes studied me.

  “That’s my feeling, too.” My voice cracked.

  He let out a weighted breath. “We found a message inside the magazine warning you. I know this is difficult, but can you think of anything else? What about anything from the shooter this afternoon? We have little to go on.”

  I recalled the magazine propped up in Mrs. Schirmack’s manipulated hands.

  “What did it say?” I asked.

  Officer Jackson glanced down at his notepad. Then his dark eyes found mine, holding me hostage. “It said, ‘This is what happens to bitches who snoop.’”

  My stomach lurched, and I sucked in a breath. They murdered Schirmack for snooping. I set Cuff on the cushion, jumped up, and crossed the room. I dug around in the top drawer of my desk among the miscellaneous pens, pencils, and whatnots, finally locating what I needed. My inhaler. I took one big puff.

  “Better?” he asked from behind me.

  I nodded. Pushing away thoughts of the killer’s message, I walked over and sat back down on the sofa. “I can’t remember much else more than I already told y’all. Have you questioned Mr. Peters? I’m telling you that man is hiding something.”

  He shook his head. “All I can say is he’s a person of interest. Now, about this evening. Did you see anything or anyone in the parking lot when you and Daniel arrived back at the shop? Maybe someone driving away or a car parked that you didn’t recognize?”

  “No. I saw nothing, except the back door... it was open when we returned. That’s it. I’m sorry. What about that other homeless guy? You know the one from this afternoon? He had the opportunity, and he knew Samson, the victim from last night. Maybe they had an argument, and he hit him over the head with that instrument he carries. And since he knows I’m onto him he killed Mrs. Schirmack and left her body here to scare me.”

  Shaking his head, Jackson scribbled on his notepad. “The guy calls himself Banjo. I tracked him down earlier today. He and the first victim were good friends.”

  “What makes you so positive he didn’t do it?” I asked.

  “He told me so. I found him this afternoon in the park and I asked him. I believe he’s telling the truth. Look, I’ve got a hell of a lot of paperwork to do tonight before I wrap this up.”

  “Well, it’s not like he will come right out and admit to it,” I said. I wasn’t ready to check this Banjo person off my list of suspects. At least not yet. “Wait! What about her dog? He’s a schnauzer. Any sign of him?” In all the craziness, I’d forgotten about Ranger.

  “No, why?” Jackson looked bemused.

  “We found this at the burn site,” I said, digging the blue bow from my front pocket. “Daniel recognized it as the one he put on Ranger this morning after his groom. But there was no sign of him.”

  “Interesting. Didn’t you say a dog was missing last night, too?” he asked.

  I nodded.

  “Well, I’ll add a missing dog to the report. Anything else?” He jotted the note down on his pad.

  “Do you know if anyone called Nick? I wonder why he isn’t here yet,” I said.

  Something resembling pity flashed in Jackson’s eyes. “He’s not coming.”

  “What do you mean not coming?”

  Jackson shrugged his shoulders. “I called him earlier. I let him know the situation and told him you were pretty shaken. I informed him the location was secure.” He shifted his weight on his feet and shoved his notepad in the back pocket of his jeans. “He said to send you straight home when I finished with my questioning.”

  Nick would be here in a heartbeat if Jackson had called him. Wouldn’t he?

  “You’re lying. I don’t believe you called him.”

  Yes, you do, Chiquita. He’s telling the truth and you know it. It’s Nick you should be mad at. Not this guy.

  Jackson sauntered to the doorway of my office, hesitating. He turned, and we made eye contact.

  “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry Nick didn’t come.” He glanced out the door and down the hall. “It looks like they’ve still got some work to do out there. Do you have an extra key? I can stick around and lock up when they’re done.”

  I remembered Daniel’s key still on the counter out front. Earlier, we’d been in such a rush to go see the burn site that he’d forgotten it.

  “Yeah. There’s one on the front counter. I appreciate it.” Leaving these guys alone in my shop wasn’t exactly what I wanted to do, but I didn’t really have a choice. “What about opening tomorrow? I really can’t lose the business.”

  “Let me speak to the chief. It might be a good idea to remain open and keep business as usual. But I need to clear this with him. Unless you hear from me, you can open tomorrow. C’mon, I’ll walk you to your car,” he said, his dark eyes softened.

  “I got it. Thanks, anyway.” I stood, collected my things, and treaded down the hallway. Cuff trotted beside me.

  When we drove out of the back lot, I noticed Jackson leaning out the back door, watching us drive away. He was on his cell phone having what appeared to be a heated argument with someone, his facial expressions fierce.

  I drove down the road, my mind numb. Something flashed out of the corner of my eye. The disappearing sun’s reflection bounced off a sleek silver bumper. The black car. Could it be the same one from the burn site? At the intersection ahead of me, it crept by slowly. It was a Buick. Silver swirls trailed the sides of the car. Black tinted windows mocked me. The car halted, idling at the stop sign—a tad too long—as if someone inside was watching me. Could this be the person or persons who killed Flora Schirmack?

  Cuff yipped from the passenger seat beside me, shaking like a vibrating cell phone.

  Maybe you should call the officer.

  “It might not even be the same car,” I said. I threw the car into first gear and turned onto Main Street. “Let’s follow it for a bit and see.”

  I don’t think this is a smart move, Chiquita.

&n
bsp; I continued my pursuit, despite Cuff’s warning.

  Cuff tsked, tsked in my head. He jumped up, putting his two front paws on the dashboard, watching out the windshield.

  Well, if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em. But I think tailing a murderer is out of our league. We should back off a little.

  “Don’t worry. He won’t even see us,” I said.

  Pulling in behind the Buick, I followed at a safe distance. As I drove, I noted it was an 80s model Buick Regal, Grand National, with beyond legal tinted windows. Although I’m no expert, my Pop had taken me to enough car shows during my teen years to at least be able to identify the make and approximate year model. I couldn’t get a read on the plates, though.

  I tailed him, winding down the streets of Buckleville, over the old bridge, and straight out of town. I lagged further behind since the traffic thinned as we progressed out of town.

  I think he’s trying to give you the slip! Cuff stared out the windshield, his tail swished back and forth.

  “For someone who said that this was a bad idea, you sure are having fun.”

  Yeah. Yeah. Keep on his tail!

  In the middle of all the excitement, my cell phone rang in my purse. Without looking to see who it was, I pushed the answer button on my steering wheel and connected the call via Bluetooth.

  “Hello?”

  “You almost home?” Nick’s voice came through the speakers.

  The Buick continued west on Farm to Market Road 102. Did this creep live out our way? If not, where in the heck was he going?

  “Yeah.” I swallowed hard, trying to keep my eyes on the road and not lose the car at the same time.

  “I need to talk to you about what happened at your shop.” he said.

  “Okay.”

  “You sound distracted.”

  “We’ll talk when I get home. I’ll be there shortly. Bye,” I said and disconnected the call.

  “Right after I find out where this jerk is leading us.” I put the pedal to the metal.

  Way to be inconspicuous, Chiquita.

  The Buick’s high speed nearly caused me to lose it, but I kept it in my sights. Even though the sun had slipped beyond the horizon, I could still see a good deal in the distance. Just as I was about to give up the chase, the Buick’s taillights flashed. What was he doing? Our driveway was up ahead. The car slowed to a crawl. I slammed on my brakes about a mile behind it and waited.

  Cuff panted, perky paws up on the dashboard. What’s he doing?

  “I don’t know.”

  The car door opened, and the driver climbed out. The driver was definitely male. Tall and slender and dressed head to toe in ninja black, including a dark-colored ball cap.

  Can you make out who that is?

  “No,” I said, squinting through the windshield. The driver jogged to our mailbox and shoved something inside. He turned and glared down the road toward us before jumping back in his car and speeding off.

  Oh Chiquita. I think he saw us.

  “Ya think?”

  That’s what I said.

  I slumped in my seat, jaw slack and hands gripping the steering wheel. Cuff was right. He’d spotted us. My heart pounded inside my ribcage, my breathing erratic. I glanced up and out my sunroof. Breathe. Nice and slow.

  Chiquita, I told you—

  Without looking, I held up a hand at Cuff, sitting in the passenger seat. “I do not want nor need to hear I told you so. It’s clear I’ve made a huge error in judgment.”

  You’re not the sharpest knife in the drawer.

  “Not nice, Cuff. And remember who rescued you from those breeders. Who gives you treats and lets you go everywhere?”

  I’m calling it like I see it, is all.

  “Look, could we not argue right now? I can barely think straight.”

  I forced my foot off the brakes, letting the car drift forward, and stepped on the gas. I turned into our drive and got out of the Bug and headed for the mailbox. Mere minutes ago, the creep had stood in this exact spot. Pulling open the mailbox door, I felt a wave of nausea roll through my insides. He’d left a tattered piece of paper on the stack of mail. I dashed back to the safety of my car, slammed the door, and read the note.

  Did you like the little gift I left you earlier? Back off, or else.

  The messy handwriting scrawled on a torn piece of a McDonald’s to-go bag had a red smudge on it.

  “Oh my god. Is that blood?” I held the note away, scrunching up my nose in disgust.

  Cuff, balancing on his hind legs took one whiff and sat back down. it’s ketchup. And I’m catching the distinct scent of a Quarter Pounder with cheese.

  “Oh,” I said. “Well, there isn’t a McDonald’s within 50 miles of Buckleville. How do you know about McDonald’s?”

  I wasn’t born yesterday, Chiquita. And I’m no stranger to the Golden Arches.

  I leaned back against the headrest, letting the cold blast of air from the vents turn my cheeks into ice cubes. I fumbled with the locket around my neck. Opening and closing the latch. Open. Close. Open. Close.

  The threatening message played in my head on auto-loop. It didn’t take a brain surgeon to figure out that Schirmack had been killed for snooping, and the person who did it stashed her body in my shop to scare me off. Even more alarming was the fact that the guy knew who I was and where I lived.

  With warning signs flashing around every corner, the average person would probably run screaming for the hills. Me? Well, I’ve been accused of being a lot of things, but never of being average. The entire mess spurred my curiosity.

  Your common sense could use some—

  “Cuff, I really need you to stop blabbering. I have to focus here.”

  I am only trying to help, Chiquita.

  I considered my options. I could keep this to myself, or maybe, I should run straight to Nick and show him the note, confess, and wipe my hands clean of the situation. I should keep my nose out of this and let the officers do their jobs.

  Should being the operative word.

  “But what about Virgil?” I asked him. “Everyone is so wrapped up in the murders and bank robbery; nobody seems to be the least bit concerned that the poor pup is missing. He’s probably terrified without Samson, or worse, what if he’s—”

  Don’t even say it. We’ve got to find him, Chiquita, before something bad happens to him.

  “I know! I’m trying.” Tossing the threatening note on the floorboard, I steered the Bug slowly down the gravel driveway. It was time to face Nick.

  Chapter 8

  The tension in the kitchen escalated as soon as I pulled open the sliding glass door.

  “Why did you deliberately disregard me and go to the burn site?” Nick asked.

  “Please don’t start. It’s been a long day,” I said, setting my car keys and bag on the kitchen table.

  I let the dogs outside, and without so much as a blink said, “And I’m fine, thanks for asking.” I couldn’t hold back the sarcasm. “Did you mention to Becker we can probably relate the two crimes? And I informed Officer Jackson about questioning Mr. Peters.”

  “We? I told you to stay out of this.” He scowled, his nostrils flaring. “Again, did you go to the burn site today?”

  “Obviously you know I did. Daniel and I went to check things out. We’re trying to find Samson’s poor dog. What’s the big deal?” I said. “And why didn’t you go up there if you knew I found Flora dead?”

  “I was busy.” He pounded the countertop with both fists. “Jesus, Steely! Schirmack was strangled, and you’re standing here asking me what the big deal is? You’re unbelievable. The perp knows who you are. What if he knows where you live, too? Huh? Then what?”

  Yeah, probably not a good time to tell him the killer left a note in our mailbox. “I’m fine. Look, nothing’s broken,” I said and wiggled my fingers.

  “This isn’t a time to be cute.” You know what your main problem is? You don’t think.” Sounding like a freight train, he blew hot breath. And it may ha
ve been my imagination, but it appeared steam leaked out his ears.

  Time to divert and deflect. “Hey, we both need a break. For a few hours, let’s forget today ever happened and go to dinner.” Dinner. Crud.

  “In all the craziness, I forgot to pick up salad makings,” I admitted.

  Something moved out of the corner of my eye. Cuff and Trigger pressed their noses against the smudged sliding glass door, both wagging their tails. I crossed the room, slid the door open, and the dogs bounded inside. Cuff nipped at Trigger’s heels.

  Oh, I missed this big dude!

  Nick snatched his keys from the counter, refusing to make eye contact with me. “I figured as much. Don’t worry. Caylee said she’d take care of everything.” He fetched dog treats from the pantry and tossed them on the floor to Trigger and Cuff.

  I didn’t like his tone, but I didn’t want to press the issue any further. Times like this, I needed to keep my pie hole shut. Speaking of pie, I retrieved the leftover pie from Baker’s Bliss from the refrigerator—said a few kind words about Mrs. Schirmack to myself, grabbed my purse from the table, and headed for the sliding glass door. I refused to look back in Nick’s direction.

  “I’m ready when you are,” I said.

  “We’ll be back later, boys. Go lay down. And be good, Cuff,” Nick said.

  I glanced in Cuff’s direction, a Milk-bone dangled from his muzzle. He cocked his head, spun around, and gave Nick a rear-end view. I heard the way you spoke to her and nobody talks to my girl that way. Well, except me. In a royal talk-to-the-butt exit, only Cuff can pull off, he strutted down the hallway. He grumbled something about peeing on Nick’s work boots.

  I climbed into the truck and stole a glance at Nick. He gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white, as he jerked the truck into motion and barreled down the driveway. When we’d first met back at Christmas, the attraction between us made us both see stars. We couldn’t get enough of each other. But lately everything seemed to set him off. I didn’t know what, but something was definitely up with him.

  THREE GLASSES OF WINE later, I realized I had eaten nothing all day. Not good. The wine went straight to my brain. And mouth. Deep in the pit of my rumbling stomach, a tantrum simmered as I listened to Caylee Tripp preaching about how to be a “proper” cop’s wife.