Then again: “You don’t look like much though, do you?” Maybe he didn’t belong to anyone wealthy after all.
The dog was more of a mongrel. At least he wasn’t any breed I recognized, and I knew quite a few. I went through a dog phase when I was about ten, but to my eternal heartbreak I’d never had my own dog, because both my brothers were allergic to them. By the time I moved out on my own I’d got over wanting one. Never could afford it.
“What are you, a border terrier?” He had the build and looks of one: small, stocky body, longish, slim legs and a strong head with floppy ears. “But you’ve this nice, silky black and brown coat, so maybe some Yorkie in the mix?”
The dog didn’t answer, and I hoped he wasn’t getting sicker. I didn’t know if donuts were deadly to dogs, like chocolate was, but it couldn’t do him any good to eat a tray full of them, even if he had puked out most of it.
“You really should be more careful with what you eat, you know.” If he was a pampered pet from around this neighborhood, he’d probably been fed with gourmet dog food. No wonder his stomach was upset.
Then again, dogs ate anything they found on the streets. Including dog poo. Donuts had to be an improvement.
I ambled—determinately—up and down the streets in the residential area, looking at lampposts for missing dog posters, but there weren’t any. The dog probably hadn’t been gone for long; he was in such a good condition. Maybe the owner would only miss him when he came home from work. But that would be a couple of hours from now.
“I can’t carry you around that long,” I said aloud.
But I didn’t want to go home either. I lived in Midwood, a twenty-minute subway ride away, so not that far, but I only had enough on my MetroCard for one ride, and nothing to top it up with. I wouldn’t be able to return if I left now.
“I’m not usually this bad off,” I explained to the dog. He cocked an ear, so I was encouraged to continue. “But Jessica—my roommate for the past three years—moved in with her boyfriend two months ago, so now I have to pay the rent all by myself. And let me tell you, it’s not easy with minimum wage plus tips.”
Which I didn’t have now either.
I was actually really miffed with Jessica for it. She just announced one day she’d be moving and was gone the next—and good luck asking her to contribute for last month’s rent. She should’ve given me a warning at least, so I could’ve found a new lodger.
Moreover, I didn’t want a new lodger. Jessica and I had got along well. Who knew what sort of idiot I’d had to put up with from now on just because I needed someone to pay half of the rent.
Actually, I couldn’t even pay my half of the rent at the moment.
Of course, you could argue that I shouldn’t have spent the last of my money on having my hair dyed, but it had been necessary. I have really mousy, mud-brown hair, an unfortunate genetic mix of my father’s black-Irish hair—the kind with a hint of auburn in it—and my mother’s strawberry blond. My sister Theresa—Tessa for short—had inherited beautiful auburn hair, but my auburn came from hairdressers. And it wasn’t cheap, even though my hair only reached to my shoulders.
Anyway, vanity was the main reason I was now broke.
“Maybe I should take you to the police,” I suggested to the dog when I spied the 78th Precinct’s imposing limestone building on the corner of 6th Avenue. I had two cops in the family, and I tended to think cops could solve any problem I had.
But the dog gave a disgusted huff and I nodded. “Quite right. They’d only send us to Animal Control.”
And I didn’t know where the nearest one was—or have money to get there. Moreover, I didn’t want to hand him to the nameless care of a shelter. I wanted to find the owner myself.
I wanted that finder’s fee.
I turned towards Flatbush Avenue again, mostly because I’d covered the residential area already and didn’t have any clear idea where to go from there. It was the closest main street, and I needed to find a place to sit. The August day was hot and the dog was a warm and surprisingly heavy bundle in my arms, making me even more uncomfortable, even though I was wearing my waitressing uniform of blue T-shirt and cute blue skorts, the kind that was shorts at the back and a skirt in the front, and flattering to my figure on both sides, though maybe I had slightly more figure around my bottom.
Marina Bellini, the owner of the café, had wanted me to leave the uniform before I left, but since I’d come to work wearing it, I couldn’t very well leave naked.
“You’d better return it cleaned or I’ll take it out of your last pay. And I’ll most definitely deduct the donuts,” she’d yelled after me as I was walking out the door. She had a fast and fierce temper, and while she cooled down fast too, I didn’t doubt she meant what she said.
But at least I would be paid what was owed to me, so that was something to look forward to.
There was a Doughnut Plant at the corner of Bergen Street and Flatbush Avenue, and the mouth-watering scents wafting out from the kitchen door made the dog perk.
“Oh, no. No donuts for you. Ever,” I said sternly, taking a tighter hold of him.
To be on the safe side I crossed the street and headed towards Atlantic Mall. At least it would be cooler there. A flock of people surged out from the Bergen Street station just as I passed the steps leading down. To avoid them, I walked closer to the wall, but that wasn’t good either, because it brought me into the path of customers exiting a bank on the corner.
Swerving left and right, trying to avoid being trampled by busy Brooklynites, I walked smack into a stand placed on the sidewalk by the wall. The dog whined when I accidentally squeezed him as I tried to regain my balance, and I paused to soothe him. While at it, I read the advertisement on the stand.
Jackson Dean Investigations. Help wanted. Inquire on second floor.
My heart skipped a beat. A private investigator. Just what I needed. And they needed me too.
“Let’s go in. I’m going to become a P.I.”
You can read more about Tracy Hayes, Apprentice P.I. here.
Also by Susanna Shore
House of Magic
Hexing the Ex
Saved by the Spell
P.I. Tracy Hayes series
Tracy Hayes, Apprentice P.I.
Tracy Hayes, P.I. and Proud
Tracy Hayes, P.I. to the Rescue
Tracy Hayes, P.I. with the Eye
Tracy Hayes, from P.I. with Love
Tracy Hayes, Tenacious P.I.
Tracy Hayes, Valentine of a P.I.
Tracy Hayes, P.I. on the Scent
Two-Natured London series
The Wolf’s Call
Warrior’s Heart
A Wolf of Her Own
Her Warrior for Eternity
Warrior for a Wolf
Magic under the Witching Moon
Moonlight, Magic and Mistletoes
Crimson Warrior
Magic on the Highland Moor
Wolf Moon
Thrillers
Personal
The Assassin
Contemporary Romances
At Her Boss’s Command
It Happened on a Lie
To Catch a Billionaire Dragon
Which Way to Love?
You can find more books by Susanna Shore at
www.susannashore.com
Saved by the Spell. House of Magic 2. Page 21
