by Sam Cheever
Hal tried to be gentle. He tried to soothe. And then he did the only thing he could.
“Dammit, Joey. Pull those toes back from the cliff. We have a Pitbull to save!”
Like a bucket of cold water his words finally cut through my inconsolable grief. I jerked backward, nodding sharply, and let him get to Caphy. He carefully gathered her into his arms, rising from the ground with her pressed tightly against his chest. We ran toward his car.
Arno ran up to us as I was pulling the back door open so he could put her on the seat.
“What happened?”
“We’ll tell you later. Just arrest that man over there,” Hal said.
To his credit, Arno took one look at my dog and my devastated face and nodded. “Call me as soon as you can so I know what I’m doing with the FBI agent.”
His emphasis on the title was no doubt meant to convey a message to my PI. I was too far gone to realize it at the time or to care. I slipped into the back seat and Hal draped my pibl gently across my lap.
Just before Hal closed the door I yelled out at Arno, “Call Doc Beetle.”
Arno nodded and he was already talking on his cell as Hal slammed the car into gear and tore away from the house.
DOC WAS STANDING AT the door when we arrived. He motioned for Hal to carry her into the exam room we’d visited the last time we’d brought my dog to the clinic. That time seemed like eons ago but it had only been a couple of days.
My poor pitty.
Doc quickly set to work as soon as Hal laid Caphy across the table. She offered a gentle little wag of her tail when Doc laid a gnarled old hand on her and gave her shoulder a scratch. “Now you and I are seeing entirely too much of each other pretty girl.”
Caphy’s tail smacked the stainless steel again and I barely contained a sob.
Doc looked at me. “Maybe you should wait outside.”
I shook my head. “I’m staying.”
He nodded, injecting something into Caphy’s thigh. “Then make yourself useful. Go get that blanket I put into the dryer. We don’t want our girl to get shocky.”
I hurried to obey and, by the time I’d returned and draped the deliciously warm blanket over Caphy’s shoulders, Doc already had the wound site shaved and was examining it.
“It’s a clean shot. Through and through.”
I wasn’t entirely sure what that meant, but by the way Hal relaxed I thought it must be a good thing. “Okay.”
Doc glanced up, giving me a tight smile. No major arteries hit or bones broken. No organs damaged. The bullet went right through the muscle and out the other side. A few stitches, one of those lovely drains you hate so much, antibiotics and rest and our little girl’s going to be just fine.”
A ten-thousand-pound weight lifted off my chest and I stumbled backward, dropping into the nearest chair. “Thank you, God.” Maybe I’d go back to church after all.
Hal gave me an encouraging smile. “Can we take her home?”
I liked the way he said “we” and “home” in the same sentence. It made me all warm inside.
But Doc put a chill into my warm spot. “I need to keep her here tonight. I’d like to give her some blood and make sure we keep her fluids up and ward off that shock. But hopefully she can come home tomorrow.”
I could live with that. There was nobody I trusted more with my dog’s life than Doc Beetle. Except for maybe Hal Amity.
“Where’s Sally?” I asked the doc. His assistant was usually there helping him with things like warmed blankets and IVs.
“She’s visiting her mother in Indianapolis. I’ll call her and have her come back this afternoon. We’ll take turns keeping an eye on this little girl.”
I nodded, feeling like melty butter now that the terror had fled. “We should probably get back then, Joey,” Hal told me gently. “Arno’s going to want to know what’s going on.”
I nodded wearily. The last thing I wanted to deal with was giving Arno a statement. But I let Hal lead me out of the vet’s office, after giving Caphy a kiss on her chubby cheek, and sat like a zombie in the front seat as he drove us home.
When we got there, Hal took pity on me and called Arno himself, filling him in on everything. Including Devon and the missing painting.
I lay down on the couch and closed my eyes and, before I even knew what hit me, I had drifted off to sleep.
I AWOKE TO THE SOUND of the television and the warm scent of tomato sauce and cheese. I wrenched my eyes open to find that Hal had covered me with a blanket at some point and was sitting on the other end of the couch with a beer in one hand and a slice of pizza in the other.
“I guess the temple has fallen?”
He glanced my way, his brows lifting when he saw that I was awake. “Temple?”
I nodded toward the slice in his hand.
Hal grinned. “I plead extraordinary circumstances.”
“Ah. And what exactly are those circumstances?”
“The pizza place was the first one listed in the restaurant app and I was starving.”
I chuckled.
“Are you feeling okay?” He set the slice on a plate and wiped his hands on a paper napkin.
I shoved myself upright and tugged the blanket up to my chin, feeling chilled. “I’m good. I slept like the dead. I must have needed it.”
Hal nodded. “I thought you might be hungry when you woke up.”
I eyed the half eaten large pizza. “Well, at least somebody was hungry.”
He grinned. “I’d blame Caphy for some of that but...”
My smile slid away. “Have you heard anything?”
“Yep. Doc Beetle called and said she’s awake and draped alongside him on the couch, licking all the lint off his pants.”
I laughed. “That’s my girl.”
“Seriously though, he says she’ll be fine. She’s a lucky girl.”
I sighed. “I thought for sure I was going to lose her.”
Hal patted my foot.
I looked at him and felt tears burning my eyes. “You saved her life.”
He shrugged, flushing. “I didn’t do enough.”
“If you hadn’t hit his arm he would have killed her. I owe you everything for that.”
“No, you don’t. Truth is I’d have been only slightly less devastated than you if anything happened to that dog. She’s wormed herself right into my heart.”
“She has a way of doing that.”
We shared a smile.
I scooted over and grabbed a slice of pizza, taking a bite and chewing thoughtfully. When I’d swallowed, I looked up at him. “What happened with Cox? Before Caphy showed up. Was he threatening you with the gun?”
“He was demanding the painting. When I told him it was gone he didn’t believe me.” Hal shook his head. “He had a crazy look in his eyes.”
“How’d he find out we had it? Surely Pru didn’t tell him?”
“That was what I wanted to know. When I called Arno to tell him what happened, he said Cox was ranting like a lunatic. He apparently admitted to attacking Prudence when he found out she was going to come retrieve the painting without him and killing poor Tom the homeless guy.”
I almost choked on my pizza. “Are you serious?”
“As a heart attack.” Hal took a big bite of his pizza.
“But why?”
“Killing the man he thought was Devon was a desperate attempt to get information on the painting’s location. Cox was obsessed with that painting. At first I think it was just a need to stamp ‘Closed’ on a case he felt he should have easily settled two years ago. He apparently has a pretty good close record and it stuck in his craw that the painting got away from him. But when he started to realize how rare and valuable that painting was, I really think he’d begun to think about taking it himself.” Hal shook his head. “Cox admitted taking Mitzner’s truck and ATV too. I guess Mitzner wasn’t lying.”
“And Arno’s instincts were right about him.” I sighed. “I’ll never live that down.”
“And he
was the one who attacked you that night in the yard.”
I swallowed hard at the thought, nodding.
“I spoke to Pru,” Hal said.
“She’s okay?” I felt slightly guilty for not asking that question sooner. But not all that guilty.
“A little banged up but she’s fine. She’s coming down here to take charge of Cox in the morning.”
I nodded. “I’ll bet slapping him in cuffs after what he did to her will feel good.”
“That’s a good bet.”
We ate in silence for a moment. Then it finally hit me. “It’s over?”
Hal nodded. “Cox hasn’t copped to killing your parents and the others yet but...yeah...I’d say, except for one big detail, we’re close to putting this to rest.”
I frowned. “Dev and the painting.”
“Dev and the painting.”
“He’s probably in Mexico by now.”
“You know Pru will find him. She’s a good agent.”
I eyed him for a while, an ugly swirl of jealousy spiraling through my belly. “Is that all she is?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean...” Heat flared in my cheeks and I wanted to hide under the blanket. Instead I took a deep breath and plowed ahead. “Are you and Pru dating?”
Hal stared at me a long moment and then cocked his head. “Why are you asking?”
I chewed my lip as my cheeks proceeded to catch fire. “No reason. Just curious.”
He nodded. “Well, to answer your question, no. Pru and I have never dated.”
“Would you like to?” I couldn’t believe the words fell out of my mouth. I should have had Doc Beetle stitch my renegade lips together before they got me into trouble.
“Not really. She’s not my type.” Hal moved closer, lifting my legs and placing them over his lap. “Would you like to know who is my type?”
Something warm and delicious swirled in my belly. Hal was flirting with me.
Before I could consider the full meaning of that thought, Hal leaned close and his lips were suddenly on mine. My world righted itself fully, bathed in the spicy taste of cheese and pizza sauce and infused with the delicious scent of a man who was sexier than should be legal.
It would have been the perfect moment.
For a beat in time it was.
But then an evil sprite inserted herself into the life changing event and my world turned inside out again.
“Well isn’t that sweet?”
Hal and I jerked apart, our heads whipping toward the door.
And we found ourselves looking at a cray-cray portrait artist holding a gun that was bigger than her head.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Heather Masterson sneered at us. “I hate to interrupt, but...”
Something told me she was lying. She didn’t really hate to interrupt.
“How’d you get in here?” I asked an intruder for the second time that day. I really needed to get a new lock, or locks, on my front door.
She shrugged. “It wasn’t locked.”
Or just lock the one I had. Oops.
Hal eased away as I bent my legs to allow him to escape. Tucked as I was under a fleece blanket, I wasn’t doing anything quickly. If I tried I’d most likely end up on the floor between the couch and the table, rolled up like a fleece burrito.
He lifted his hands. “You don’t need that gun, Heather.”
Her smile tightened. “I’ll be the judge of what I need. Where’s the painting?”
Oh oh. Not that again. Cox hadn’t reacted well to the news that my negligent godparent had hoofed it with the stolen art. I had a feeling the woman who left her ceiling unfinished so mice could poop directly onto her unfinished wood floor wouldn’t take it too well either.
I decided it was time for a little distraction. Maybe someone would rescue us if I stalled long enough. After all, it worked in the movies. “You’re the one who killed the homeless guy?” Maybe Cox had been lying about his part in the murder. He was clearly unbalanced.
Cray-cray laughed, a high-pitched, slightly manic sound. “You think I stuffed a guy into a wood chipper? Please.”
I eyed her diminutive form and realized she was right. Unless she was a sprite from a forest on Krypton, she probably hadn’t lifted Tom the homeless guy into a chipper. “But you did kill my parents...?” Rage made me vibrate beneath the blankets.
“I did. They shouldn’t have threatened me. If your father had just given me the painting they could have gone on about their business and no-one would have been the wiser.”
“How’d he find out it was you?”
She frowned, going from uncaring to enraged in the beat of a heart. Cray-cray. “That old busybody told him. She saw me that day, on the lot. He put two and two together when the painting went missing.”
“Betty?” Suddenly the pieces fell together. “And I’m assuming Michael Blount saw you too?”
“I’m not sure. I didn’t think he had. But I needed to snip off all those loose ends. You know?” She grinned as if talking about murder was akin to planning a party.
“No. I don’t know. Those people didn’t do anything to you.”
“I beg to differ, Missy. Your father took what was mine. He was going to tell the police I stole it.”
I decided it wasn’t a good idea to tell her the painting didn’t belong to her. Yeah, I can be smart when I need to be. “How’d he get hold of it anyway?”
“I was meditating. He must have snuck into the house and grabbed it. Then he hid it and confronted me.” Her diminutive face had gained several shades of red as she recalled the incident. The tiny hand that was wrapped around the enormous silver gun was shaking so hard the gun was wobbling.
I eyed that gun with trepidation. If her finger vibrated onto the trigger...
Hal must have shared my concern. “You need to put that gun down. There’s no need to threaten us.”
Heather shrugged. “I just want the painting. Give it to me and I’ll go.”
I wasn’t a PI or a cop, but I was pretty sure that was a lie. Just like I understood that my parents had been doomed as soon as my dad approached the evil artist and told her what he knew. “We’ll take you to it.”
I could feel Hal go very still beside me and I prayed he wouldn’t let on that I was stalling. I needn’t have worried. My PI was intuitive and smart.
He nodded. “It’s in Mr. Fulle’s hangar.”
I only hoped he could find a way to save us on the way to the hangar.
Heather flicked the gun toward the door. “Let’s go then.”
THE SUN WAS LOW ON the horizon when we stepped outside. But the air was still hot enough to bring beads of sweat up on my brow as we made our way toward the back of the property. A blue heron rose silently out of the pond as we passed by and I watched it struggle to gain air beneath its massive wings, thinking as I always did that big birds had it rough. They worked so hard to get off the ground and they were in danger from predators until they managed to gain altitude.
I used to think the same thing about my dad’s little Cessna. Though he’d explained the theory of aerodynamics to me several times as I was growing up.
Mostly because he liked to explain it. I didn’t really care that much about the theories. Only the reality of the plane not plunging to the ground and taking my parents away from me.
I’d apparently always had a feeling the Cessna would be the way I’d lose them.
We followed a beaten-down path of tall grass toward the building, which sat quiet and unassuming in the growing dusk. My gaze slid hopefully toward the single, small window, hoping Uncle Dev was still there. Maybe the shock of seeing him would make Heather lose focus and give us a chance to tackle her and grab the gun.
I scanned Hal a look and he reached out to clasp my hand, giving it a squeeze.
I liked the warmth of his skin against mine and the feeling that I wasn’t alone. So, I was happy when he didn’t let me go. We reached the big doors to the hangar and stopped
, looking at the woman with the gun.
“What are you waiting for? Open it.”
“Sometimes wild animals nest in here,” Hal told her with a straight face. “The building’s been vacant for a long time.”
I nodded enthusiastically. “My dog had a run in with a skunk once. She was protecting her babies.”
Hal gave my hand another squeeze. I assumed he liked my addition to his lie.
Heather eyed the doors, frowning. “Then I guess you’re going in first. If anybody’s going to get skunked it’s going to be you two.”
A strident cry sounded out beyond the runway, toward the not-too distant line of trees separating our property from Uncle Dev’s.
“Coyotes,” I breathed, infusing the single word with as much terror as I could manufacture. The crazy artist liked to fancy herself a woman who understood nature, but I doubted she’d ever really interacted with the more dangerous denizens of Mother’s world.
I held my breath as she stared off in the distance. Would she be spooked? Or just shake it off.
Her gaze slid to the doors and she waved her gun at them. “Let’s get inside.”
The shrill call sounded again and was quickly answered by several others.
Hal and I stared toward the woods and saw the shadows shifting there. A beat later a single, large gray coyote stepped from the trees and stood looking at us, its posture tense and hostile.
“Didn’t you tell me this used to be a Native American burial ground?” Hal asked in a hushed voice.
I nodded, biting my lip and moving closer to him. “That’s why there are so many coyotes around here. They were the tribe’s spirit animal.”
I skimmed Heather a quick look and saw her throat work over a hard swallow. Hal squeezed my hand again.
Two more coyotes stepped out of the woods and the long grass ruffled behind the artist. She lifted the gun and shot in that direction, her eyes wide with fear.
Hal took a step toward Heather but she whipped back around. “Don’t move.”
He raised his hands. “Not moving.”
The grass shifted again, several feet from the first place she’d fired. Heather’s arm whipped around and she fired two more times.
