How to Leash a Thief

by Cat Clayton

  “And you know I love you like you were my sister,” she said with a disapproving look on her face. She went on about being my old babysitter when I was younger and being Stoney’s best friend, but I blocked her voice out.

  Five years older, and married to a cop for four years, Caylee—dutiful and dedicated—had a firm grip on the reality on the life of a cop’s wife. I should use this as a learning opportunity.

  “More wine, please.” I patted the mouth of the wine tumbler.

  Caylee raised an eyebrow as she gave me a refill. Glass number four. Some would call that a bottle.

  “It’s plain awful what happened to Flora. I can’t believe she’s gone. What will we do without her yummy creations at Baker’s Bliss?” she asked.

  “I know. The whole thing was awful.” I will really miss her pies. I hoped I didn’t say that last part out loud. I studied Caylee’s face, and it appeared it’d only been in my head.

  “It’s all so surreal! I bet you were downright petrified when the bank robber shot at you. I can’t believe this has happened in our quiet little community.” She shook her head, the blonde flat-ironed mane glistening.

  Caylee was everything I wasn’t. Tall, a bodacious D-cup, piercing, icy-blue eyes, and curvy in all the right places. Compared to her, I felt like a brown-eyed, red-headed tree sapling.

  “Sugar, I know you think you’re helping and all, but it’s best for our kind to stay out of these things, ya know.” She had the whole southern drawl thing mastered.

  Our kind? I wondered if Nick insisted on this dinner date so Caylee could work her wifely charms on me. The three of them working against me ticked me off. Royally.

  “Well, I’m not like you.” Then, to continue spewing wine-induced ugliness, I added, “Besides, Nick knew I wasn’t the quiet, submissive type when he met me.”

  Her smile faded and Caylee made her way over to the stove. With a pair of oven mitts, she pulled out a sizzling roast, causing my mouth to water.

  “Dinner’s done!” She flipped a 180 and flashed me a big, Texas grin. “We’ll let the meat set for five minutes while I finish setting the table. You sit there and relax.”

  I traced the mouth of my wineglass with a finger, as I gathered enough nerve to ask what I’d been dying to know.

  “Did Nick bring me over here so you could talk some sense into me?”

  The look on her face said it all.

  “Look, darlin’, Nick is getting some flack over this.” She poured herself a glass of wine and sat down on a stool across from me.

  The veins in my neck pulsed.

  “Officer Jackson let it slip to Becker you were poking around where the murder took place last night. The chief isn’t happy.”

  I set my wineglass on the counter, so I wouldn’t hurl it across the kitchen. I figured Jackson had reported it, but I’d hoped Nick wouldn’t get any backlash for my actions.

  “First, it’s my building. I wasn’t poking around. And I can’t believe the guy would do this to Nick. They were in the Marines together. Don’t they have a brotherly code? Gosh, he had to know Becker would freak out.” My blood boiled.

  Outside, Nick and Brandon had their heads together in a serious conversation. A grim look plagued Nick’s handsome face.

  I’d caused that look.

  “I can’t speak for Officer Jackson. Brandon says the guy is high-strung, and apparently between his two tours overseas, he was dumped. I’m sure he’s damaged goods in more ways than one. I’d stay off his radar. But sugar, you need to keep out of all this, for Nick’s sake,” Caylee said with a sweet smile. She fiddled with the huge rock on her left hand, spinning the gold band on her slim finger.

  It must be nice to be so perfect. I counted to ten, before I said something I’d really regret.

  “Thanks for the advice,” I said, careful not to slur. My cheeks burned and hot lava bubbled in my stomach, waiting to erupt.

  “Well, you’re like a little sister to me and I thought you ought to know,” she said with a sugary smile. “Let’s call the guys in so we can eat.”

  My head was woozy from all the wine; I didn’t trust myself to open my mouth. We’d made it all the way through the meal without an incident until Caylee served up the pie I’d brought. Then the volcano exploded. In conversation, Brandon mentioned Jackson’s name.

  “You know, if you’re such a great friend, one would think you’d have Nick’s back!” The words were already out before I could slip a muzzle on my mouth. Well, no taking it back now. I slugged back the remaining wine in my glass.

  Caylee’s mouth gaped open, her pie-packed fork froze halfway to her mouth.

  Wide-eyed, and obviously in shock, Brandon kept quiet.

  Nick set his fork down. He removed the cloth napkin from his lap and wiped his mouth. “That’ll do on the wine, Steely.” He spoke in a clear tone as he reached over and rested his hand on mine.

  “No, really. I mean, what were you thinking letting Officer Jackson rat on me last night? Why didn’t you stop him?” I ripped my hand out from under Nick’s, slamming it on the table.

  The dishes and glasses rattled.

  My head spun in circles.

  “Anyone for coffee? I picked up a bag of Savory Snickerdoodle,” Caylee said in a mousy voice.

  “Nobody wants freaking coffee!” Even though I could use a dose of snickerdoodle in a cup right about now. “Why don’t we discuss where Brandon’s loyalties lie?” I stood, shoving my chair back. It toppled over, crashing to the floor. I almost timbered over along with it. Damn wine. “Forget it! I want to go home.” My eyes filled with tears, anger seething from every pore. I’m not a big drinker, but when I do, it never ends well.

  Everyone else remained in their seats, mouths gaped, eyes peeled on me. You could’ve heard a flea burp in the room.

  The glaring kitchen lights killed my throbbing head. I swayed, the room spinning around me. Grabbing the table, I steadied myself. Nick jumped up, circling around the table to me. He wrapped his arm around me, giving me a tight squeeze. And not in a cozy, romantic way.

  “I’m sorry, guys. Looks like we’ve had too much wine tonight.”

  I pulled out of his grasp. “Leave me alone.”

  Anger flickered in Nick’s eyes, the corner of his mouth twitching.

  I pursed my lips and stuck my nose in the air.

  Caylee popped out of her chair as the front door burst open and the sound of squealing children punctured my eardrums.

  I swayed. Or the room moved. I didn’t know which.

  Nick made his move, grabbing my arm. “Let’s go. Brandon, Caylee, I’m sorry about this.” He marched me to the front door, passing the children and Caylee’s parents. “Mr. and Mrs. Pieper.” He steered me out the door, ushered me to the truck, and opened my door with a stern look. “Get in.”

  Although neither of us said a word on the drive home, the tension screamed between us. By the time he pulled up to the house and killed the ignition, my drunken anger had switched gears, shifting into exhaustion and all I wanted to do was crawl into bed.

  “What was that back there?” His voice boomed in my head.

  I shrugged and stared out the windshield. “It’s been a rough day, and well, I got so mad when Caylee told me you’d gotten grief over what I did last night, and then, the wine... I don’t know. I guess I flipped out.”

  Nick ran a hand through his dark hair, letting out an exaggerated breath. He leaned forward, resting his head on the steering wheel.

  I half expected him to bang his head in frustration.

  “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.” I folded my hands in my lap. I shivered, the freezing air blowing out of the A/C vents causing my skin to break out in goosebumps. Tears bubbled up, spilling over onto my cheeks. There was no stopping them. I’d really screwed up back there. Not only did I mess up things for Nick at work, but now, I’d offended his best friend and his wife.

  “I should’ve told you myself. I could’ve prepared you.” He spoke to the roof
of the truck, eyes closed. “I should’ve known you’d be irrational when you heard Jackson told Becker. I know how you can get.”

  Irrational? How I can get? It burned me up when he was right, but I had a tendency to blow crap out of proportion. Regardless of what Jackson did and the fact Nick had kept it from me, I was way out of line for ridiculing Brandon and offending Caylee.

  “I guess I overreacted,” I said.

  He scoffed, cutting his eyes at me and pulling the keys out of the ignition. “You guess? Well, I’m done.” He got out of the truck and slammed the door.

  Nick left the nightly chores of feeding the dogs and letting them out up to me. I went through the motions and got ready for bed only to find him already asleep. I crawled into bed wanting to wake him so we could talk, but lost my nerve the longer I lay there. What had he meant when he’d said I’m done? Was he finished with the discussion? Done with me? I couldn’t help but feel the cold gap between us widening, not only in our bed, but in our lives.

  Before I dozed off, Cuff wheezed from the floor underneath us. My poor Chiquita.

  At least someone felt sorry for me.

  I ROSE EARLY TO FIND Nick’s side of the bed empty. He must’ve had errands to run, or he was avoiding me. I figured it was the latter. My head pounded from a killer hangover. I rolled over and checked my phone. A text from Officer Jackson had come through at 3:42 AM.

  Will need to keep shop sealed off today. Not finished. Sorry for the inconvenience. Chief promises business can resume as normal tomorrow unless you hear otherwise.

  I mechanically let the dogs out. I swallowed two ibuprofens, called the dogs back in, and sent Daniel a quick text explaining what had happened and to cancel the day’s clients. Next, I sent a group text and rescheduled our Citizens on the Watch meeting, turned my phone on silent, and crawled back into bed where I stayed all day.

  Nick never showed up, and he ignored my text messages.

  It was a long night. In the time we’d lived together, Nick had never spent the night away. It worried me. But maybe he needed time to sort out what had happened, so I tried not to read too much into his absence.

  The following morning, I checked my phone. No text or call from the police department, so I assumed all was well. No return text from Nick. Three missed calls from Pop. I pulled his number up and put the call on speaker.

  “Are you okay? I tried calling you, but you wouldn’t pick up. So, I got a hold of Nick. He said you were home resting. I was worried,” Pop said, his voice urgent.

  “I’m fine, really.” Nice to know Nick at least had the courtesy to respond to my father.

  “I can’t believe this. Not one murder, but two. Back in my day this would’ve never happened,” he said.

  “Probably not, because you’re the best.”

  “Damn straight. But I’m concerned about you. Tell me you will close the shop and take some time off.”

  “Pop, you know I can’t do that. We’ll lose too much money, and I don’t want to jeopardize the business. I can’t let Gertie down. I won’t.” My grandmother was counting on me. I refused to let the shop suffer. If the investigation had wrapped up, we were business as usual.

  “You know you’re as stubborn as that old woman, don’t you?”

  “Pop, is that any way to talk about your own mother or daughter?”

  He chuckled on the other end of the line.

  “Besides, I’m sure I get my tenacity from you. I’m fine, and I’m going in today. I’ll see you later this evening for the COW meeting. Love you.”

  “Love you, too, Steels,” he said before disconnecting the call.

  Your Pop is a good man, Chiquita. Cuff sat on his haunches, peering up at the bed.

  “I know. I’m a lucky girl,” I said.

  I made the bed and tidied the room in case Nick came home during the day. I thought it was important for him to come home to a clean space. I showered and dressed in a black tank top adorned with a sequin dog paw print, denim cut-off jean shorts, and my spiked camo boots. The boots were overkill, but I didn’t care. I ran some gel through my hair, and we hit the road.

  WHEN CUFF AND I ARRIVED at the shop, the front waiting room appeared normal. The crime unit did an excellent job of cleaning up; like nothing had happened. I shuddered, staring at the row of chairs against the window. One was missing. Evidence.

  Cuff sniffed the floor. Smells clean to me.

  “That’s a relief,” I replied and headed to my office.

  The moment my butt hit the desk chair, Daniel burst through the back door and rushed in. He was in full-blown panic-mode. His arms flailed and he spit and sputtered as he thrust the Buckleville Banner under my nose.

  “Read this!”

  I scanned over the front page announcing Mrs. Schirmack’s murder. It featured a street view image of Scrubadub. “Yeah. I figured we’d make the paper.”

  Daniel tapped the paper with his index finger. “Keep reading!” His voice spiked a few octaves higher than usual.

  Skimming the short article under a very nice photo of Mrs. Schirmack, a few years younger, I found what had Daniel in a tizzy.

  Even though the Buckleville PD doesn’t consider Lamarr a suspect...

  Yeah, the reporter went there. Sheesh. I glanced up at Daniel, shrugging.

  “It’s all good. They know I didn’t murder her,” I said.

  “But this is soooo bad for business!” he exclaimed.

  “Calm down. It’ll be fine.” This was no time to panic.

  Speak for yourself, Chiquita. Look at him. He’s hyperventilating.

  Huffing and puffing, Daniel clutched his chest and collapsed at my feet. “You totally don’t get it! We’ve already had two cancellations via text on my cell this morning! The shop is a murder scene. Won’t we lose customers? What if Chief Becker finds out I was at the burn site, too? Oh my gosh, what if they accuse me of killing her?” He stuck his head between his knees, gulping air.

  I refrained from admitting I’d already confessed to Jackson that Daniel had been with me at the burn site. No reason to push him over the edge.

  Cuff peeked up from his bed. Right. But he has a point, Chiquita. You should work on your alibi.

  “I don’t need a stinking alibi. I didn’t kill anyone!”

  “Huh? An alibi?” Leaning against my legs, Daniel gasped. “Oh dear, this is plain awful!”

  I reached down, patting his head. What was I supposed to do? I didn’t know the first thing about handling a man in a frenzy. I grabbed the feather duster hanging on the wall near my desk and walloped him over the head.

  “Get a hold of yourself. If we were suspects, we’d be down at the station right now.”

  Daniel gazed up at me, blinking. A speckled brown and white feather clung to his perfect, wavy hair.

  “You think?”

  I reached down and tweaked his chin, his baby blues brimming with tears. I plucked the feather and tossed it in the trashcan.

  “I don’t think. I know. Now, for all our sakes, chill out.” I traded the feather duster for an unopened bill from my desktop and fanned myself. The two cancellations weren’t exactly going to help our financials.

  “We must make our own list of suspects, and then we can give it to Nick,” I said.

  Good thinking, Chiquita. Cuff rested his muzzle on his paws and watched us.

  “Okay,” Daniel said and stood up. “That’s a good idea.”

  From the front lobby, he dragged the upright, folding chalkboard where we usually write a “love-your-dog” quote and wiped it clean. He grabbed the white chalk stick from its holder. “Who’s first?”

  “Well, we know it’s not me. So, let’s start with Samson’s friend Banjo. Write his name down,” I said.

  “The scruffy guy we saw in the alley yesterday? His name’s Banjo?”

  “Yes.”

  Daniel wrote the name down. “Who’s next? How about the tall drink of water, the walk-in from yesterday?”

  “Just a second. We’ll get
to Seth Welton,” I said.

  I thought back to the night of Samson’s murder and hearing the “blunt force trauma to the head” comment on the scanner. “Okay, so Samson was hit over the head with a large object, something big and hard enough to kill him. And we know that Banjo carries a banjo, hence the name. Maybe he and Samson had an argument and Banjo lost control and hit him over the head.”

  Daniel jotted down the details.

  “Then, we have Mr. Peters,” I said. “You mentioned he and Samson had been arguing. His hardware shop is in proximity, and I saw him leaving the crime scene that night with Patrice. I’m not sure what his motive could be, but he seems to be acting strange. What do you think?”

  “I don’t know him that well.” Daniel continued writing. “But, this is all good. Although the Banjo character, he and Samson were friends, good friends, I recall Samson saying. So, I don’t think—”

  “I know. Officer Jackson said the same thing,” I said. “But let’s not cross him off yet. Okay, moving on, who’s next?”

  “I’m thinking Seth Welton,” Daniel said.

  Me, too. Cuff spoke up in my head. “Okay, write his name down,” I said. “But I’m not sure. He seems so nice.”

  Daniel talked as he wrote. “Seth Welton, a newcomer to town. I heard from Sauren that he arrived the same night of Samson’s murder. He’s definitely strong enough to kill him, and he’s super hot.” He shrugged. “Okay, that’s all I’ve got.”

  I raised an eyebrow at Daniel’s last detail. Seth being hot had nothing to do with his means, opportunity, or motivation to murder a man. But Daniel had one thing correct. Seth Welton was a stranger in Buckleville.

  “Okay, who else?” he asked.

  I picked up the paper and tapped the front page with my index finger. “Mr. Schirmack.”

  “Flora’s husband?” he asked.

  “Yes, I saw them arguing in town last week, and she told me that business was down. Their big oven broke, and they were having financial issues,” I said. I tried to recall details from our conversation. “Mr. Schirmack sometimes cuts hay out at the Hollick Farm, so he’d have a reason to be out at the same pasture we found the blood and the bandana bow. Do you think he’d kill his own wife?”