Bulldogs & Bullets: A Dog Town USA Cozy Mystery

by Meg Muldoon

  “Forget it,” I said. “Things happened. Just… stay out my way now, all right? We’re co-workers. But I don’t know you, Jimmy. And you sure as hell don’t know me.”

  I opened the car door and got out of there.

  “Wait, Fredd—”

  I slammed the door before he could say anything else and headed into Taylor High’s office.

  The school board member’s meeting was over, whether or not he knew it yet.

  Chapter 28

  I squinted hard and studied the atrocious, raggedy scrawl that filled the notepad I had specifically reserved for the school board candidate profile piece, transcribing the words to a digital document in our newsroom cloud program.

  To most, the handwriting would have been completely illegible mental-patient scribbling. But after nearly seven years of being a reporter, I had developed my own system of notes and was able to – for the most part – understand what I meant by the rushed lettering.

  The interview with Taylor High had gone well, considering that I had been in tears only moments before sitting down with him. But like a professional, I’d carried on with the interview despite how I was feeling inside. And by the end of it, I’d even been able to laugh at a joke or two the blue-eyed blond-haired school board member had told.

  Taylor had brought with him a German shepherd called Peyton. The creature was a large, unfriendly dog that always seemed to be just moments away from snarling at me. But it couldn’t be denied that the dog was photogenic, and that the photos of Taylor with Peyton would most likely go towards solidifying his election victory this November. The dog conveyed the stance that Taylor wanted voters to see – the tough, no-nonsense, let’s-protect-our-schools-come-hell-or-high-water image that had been popular with voters last school board election.

  It was going to be an absurd article. Probably one of the most absurd that I’d ever written in my career. But at the moment, I was just glad to have a distraction. That way, I could try and ignore what had happened right before the interview.

  But try as I might, the conversation with Jimmy started to creep back into my head at every turn.

  Why had I been so honest about my feelings? Why had I said those things I’d kept to myself all this time? Why had I exposed myself like tha—

  “I’m holding the dog poop story, Ms. Wolf.”

  I looked up from my computer, finding Kobritz standing next to my cubicle.

  “Okay,” I said.

  I had expected as much, especially since my main source for the story had disappeared.

  “It’s not there yet,” he said. “Which I see now isn’t necessarily your fault. But nonetheless, it isn’t A1 material.”

  “I understand,” I said.

  “And besides, we’ve got a couple of Mr. Royce’s pieces running about Melinda Monahan’s disappearance that’ll take your story’s place on Sunday.”

  I bit my lip.

  “That’s fine,” I said, trying not to take it too personally.

  I went back to typing, but felt Kobritz still looking at me.

  He cleared his throat.

  “Uh, thanks for taking on the school board candidate story,” he said, shifting his weight between one pleated khaki leg and then the other. “I know I don’t have to tell you this, but every story matters equally when you’re looking at holes in the paper, Ms. Wolf. So I appreciate you stepping up and taking this on.”

  I didn’t really have much of a choice in the matter, but having Kobritz thank me was a step forward in our rocky work relationship of late.

  I nodded, forcing a tight, unnatural smile.

  “It’s not a problem—”

  But before I could finish, the static sound of the five o’clock news blaring from the television in the corner of the office interrupted me.

  I recognized the anchor’s voice as belonging to that of Kip Bannow, KTVX’s slickest reporter. The one I had scooped on the injured dog story.

  “We start the program off with breaking news tonight,” he started saying.

  I stood up from my chair and followed Kobritz’s gaze to the small, bulky television situated on the far wall.

  “The Dog Mountain Police Department has informed KTVX that Errol Tabor Elementary school teacher Mindy Monahan is officially missing, and that the dog found shot yesterday on Lassie Lane belonged to her. Police did not comment on whether or not they suspect foul play, but they did tell me that Mindy hasn’t been heard from or seen since the night of the district school board meeting.”

  “You got all that already, Mr. Royce?” Kobritz said, raising his voice so the crime reporter could hear him from his cubicle.

  Erik Royce stood up and leaned over the partition wall. He ran a hand through his thinning hair.

  “It was all in the news release they sent out fifteen minutes ago,” he said. “That hack on the television is just reading the release word-for-word.”

  Like most print journalists, Erik took special offense to TV news reporters who didn’t write their own material and just blindly regurgitated whatever the cops told them.

  “Several Tabor Elementary staff members are organizing a search party set to take place tomorrow morning. But police ask that if you know of the whereabouts of Mindy Monahan, or if you see her 1996 Jeep Cherokee with the plates MZT 575, or have any information that could help locate her, please call either Dog Mountain Police Department lieutenant, Samuel Sakai at…”

  The screen cut to a photo of Mindy wearing a paint-spattered art smock, surrounded by a group of smiling kids.

  I felt a round of chills rush through me as the thought crossed my mind that I might not ever see Mindy again in real life.

  “Can you do better than that story, Mr. Royce?” Kobritz asked.

  As a newspaper, we could never beat the television station when it came to breaking actual news. The only thing we could do was ensure that we had more details in our articles, and that we actually reported things rather than copy and paste sentences off news releases.

  Erik nodded his head confidently.

  “With flying colors, sir,” he said. “I already talked to several of Mindy’s co-workers and friends at the school. I’ve got a statement from the district superintendent. And I’ve even got some real sappy statements from some of her students’ parents about what a phenomenal teacher she was.”

  “Good,” Kobritz grunted. “And Mr. Royce? Be sure to refer to the missing person by her real name – Melinda – in the story. Not by her shortened name – Mindy – like the news station people. It’s unprofessional.”

  “Sure thing, boss,” Erik said. “I’ll see to it.”

  It was all I could do to not roll my eyes.

  I didn’t know how the new crime reporter could see anything, what with his head so far up Kobrtiz’s a—

  “Hey, Winifred?”

  I glanced over in Erik’s direction.

  He always called me Winifred. Though I had told him repeatedly I preferred Freddie, he never seemed to get it through his head.

  “Do you have a cell phone number for Mindy’s husband?” he asked. “I haven’t been able to get a hold of him at his office. I imagine the police are still eyeing him as a primary suspect, but I haven’t been able to confirm anything. A cell number for him would be really useful.”

  I swallowed and forced a weak smile.

  “Uh, no. Sorry,” I lied. “I’ve only got Mindy’s number. And everything else I know about the case I already sent to you in that email earlier.”

  I didn’t know exactly why I’d decided not to share everything with Erik. He was my co-worker, after all. And that meant I should have been upfront with everything.

  But there was something about Erik Royce I didn’t exactly trust. Maybe it was because he was new. Or maybe it was because he brown-nosed Kobritz at every opportunity. But whatever the reason, he wasn’t getting Phil’s cell number. At least not from me.

  Erik studied me for a long moment.

  I started gathering my things, slip
ping a few fresh reporter notepads into my purse.

  “Okay, then,” I mumbled. “Have a good weekend, Erik. See you on Monday.”

  He crossed his arms and leaned back.

  “Yeah,” he said. “Don’t work too hard here.”

  I slung by bag over my shoulder, grabbed my empty thermos, and quickly walked down the hallway without saying goodbye to anybody else.

  There was no way that Erik didn’t know I was lying.

  But I didn’t care.

  We all had to do our own navigating with this one.

  Chapter 29

  I pulled up in front of the run-down house, my stomach erupting with a seriously displeased growl.

  I’d eaten an apple at 6:30 a.m. that morning, but had skipped lunch, and had yet to have dinner. All I was running on was that apple and four cups of coffee – and I’d burned through that caffeine hours ago.

  I should have been heading home now to a dinner of baked butternut squash lasagna, which Lou had sent me a text message about earlier. It was one of my favorite dishes of hers, and I got the feeling that she was making it especially tonight as a way to entice me to come home and give up looking for Mindy.

  But I wasn’t going to do that. So the lasagna was just going to have to wait a little longer. And my growling gut was going to have to deal with it.

  I buttoned up my grey trench coat and grabbed my bag, then stepped out into the blustery night. I closed the Hyundai door softly behind me and then quietly walked down the cracked concrete path that led up to the house’s front porch.

  Mindy’s grandfather’s house was in one of the historical neighborhoods of Dog Mountain that bordered downtown – one of the neighborhoods that had become somewhat left behind when folks like Greg Terwilliger came into town and started building whole swaths of new homes. The craftsman-style house in front of me looked as though it needed some serious renovations. Paint was peeling off the siding, and some of the boards on the porch railing were broken or missing altogether. Weeds choked the front yard and I wondered if anybody in the neighborhood could remember the last time the lawn was green.

  The house was completely dark and silent.

  I walked softly up the steps, knocked on the peeling door, and waited for some sort of answer that I knew wasn’t going to come.

  I didn’t bother knocking a second time.

  I went over to one of the dusty windows and cupped my hands around the glass, peering inside. I couldn’t make out much in the darkness. But what I saw was enough – a pair of women’s shoes lying on the wood floor.

  Somebody had at least been here somewhat recently.

  I glanced back behind me, looking toward the street. I watched for movement and listened intently for any noises.

  When I determined that no one was looking, I tried lifting the window open. It wouldn’t budge.

  But I wasn’t the sort who took no for an answer.

  I quietly descended the porch steps and then made my way around the side of the house, looking for any points that could be easily entered. After several minutes of searching, I finally found an unlocked window with no screen. I lifted the pane, and did my best to squeeze in, making as little noise as possible.

  But, as I found out, I didn’t have the makings of a cat burglar.

  I let out a muffled cry as I crashed unceremoniously onto a hard wood floor.

  Luckily, nobody was inside the house to take notice of my klutzy tumble from the window.

  After the pain from my fall subsided, I rummaged around in my pocket and found my cell phone. I got to my feet and held the phone out in front of me, letting its luminous blue glow light the way. I felt along the wall until I reached a light switch. I flipped it on and stuffed my phone back into my pocket, looking around the now-illuminated room.

  The living room looked how I would have expected an elderly person’s living room to look. It was wallpapered floor to ceiling in some sort of paisley, vomitus floral pattern. Wing-backed chairs and old antique furniture seemed to fill every nook and cranny. A bulky box television sat in one corner, looking as though it had been gathering dust for several years.

  The only thing that made the place look lived-in was the stack of cheerful children’s drawings sitting on the coffee table, and a pair of bright orange 70s style wedge heels near one of the ottomans.

  A pair of shoes that only could have belonged to one person, and one person only.

  I glanced around the shabby room some more.

  Poor Mindy.

  No wonder she’d been so obsessed with the dog poop issue. With her marriage in shambles, and this dreary old house to call home, she must have been trying to take her mind off of her troubles any way that she could.

  If I’d known things had gotten so bad with her marriage, I’d have offered her our guest bedroom.

  I studied the living room for a long time, though I didn’t know what I was looking for. I didn’t even exactly know why I was here in Mindy’s grandfather’s house to begin with. Part of me hoped that something miraculous might happen. Like I might just find Mindy sitting in one of those wing-backed chairs, grading papers and going on about irresponsible pet owners misusing children play fields.

  But it was just wishful thinking.

  I didn’t know where Mindy was. But I did know that she wasn’t here.

  But maybe… maybe something else might be. Something like a clue or a sign that might tell me how a well-liked school teacher and active member of the community could just disappear into thin air.

  I walked silently through the room and soon found myself in a dark hallway. I searched for a light switch, but couldn’t find one. I pulled out my phone again, holding it in front of me. The hallway was claustrophobic and narrow, but I followed it until I got to the first door on the left.

  I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up straight as my hand brushed against the rusted metal door knob, though I didn’t know why. Like the way I didn’t know why my heart had suddenly started beating faster.

  I took in a deep breath.

  Then I pushed open the squeaky door and blindly felt the wall for a light switch. I flipped it on.

  A second later, the room was bathed in an eerie red glow.

  Chapter 30

  What was this place?

  I blinked hard as my eyes struggled to adjust to the strange glow of the bathroom lights.

  Several lines of string hung over the bathtub, clothesline pins clamped down on the thread. The tub was crowded with paint trays filled with some sort of liquid that shone beneath the red glare of the bulbs.

  I stood there taking it all in, dumfounded for a long while.

  Until it struck me what this place was.

  I closed my eyes and remembered the sound of Mindy’s camera shutter snapping loudly away as we sat in her car outside the Tabor Elementary School field.

  I was standing in Mindy’s dark room, I realized. The place where she had most likely developed her pictures of the dog code violators.

  But as I looked around, it struck me that something significant was missing from the room.

  There were no pictures.

  Not a single one. Just the empty clotheslines and developing solution and—

  I felt my breath abruptly catch in my throat.

  I gripped the leather strap of my bag tightly, gulping hard as the metal grinding sound of a key clicking against a lock echoed through the house.

  I gulped even harder when the noise was followed up with the sound of a door creaking open.

  Out of instinct, I hit the bathroom light switch off. I quietly shut the door behind me, standing flat as an ironing board against the wall. I tried to steady my breathing as the house floorboards groaned beneath a series of footsteps that grew louder with each passing moment.

  Somehow I knew those footsteps didn’t belong to Mindy.

  Dammit, I thought.

  Dammit – I was in real trouble here.

  The footsteps sounded substantial. They belonged to a
man. A man who was walking fast. A man who seemed to know his way around the house.

  My heartbeat shifted into overdrive.

  I pushed myself farther up against the smooth tile, like if I pushed against it enough, I’d be able to break through and hide within the walls of the house.

  Lou had been right.

  I wasn’t a detective or a cop or even a private investigator. I was a reporter whose senses had been dulled by the past 10 months of covering dog board hearings and pet parades.

  I now saw how stupid this “plan” of mine had been. And I regretted thinking I could just break into a house without any consequences.

  I’d taken a needless risk, I realized.

  One that could be fatal.

  I considered what to do: I could make a bolt for it. Run through an unfamiliar house searching for a way out before the mystery intruder – who could very well have been involved with Mindy’s disappearance – found me. Or, I could stay right where I was and remain as still and silent as possible. Hoping against hope that the intruder walked right by the bathroom door and never noticed me.

  I was debating the pros and cons of each option when the boots picked up their pace, and the decision was made for me.

  The oxygen of the room suddenly ran out, and I was left struggling for air like a fish out of water.

  I nervously reached into my bag, grasping my keys and the small black Mace canister Sam had given me.

  I clutched onto the plastic container and listened hard.

  The loud steps stopped suddenly.

  I stifled back a whimper.

  Oh, man. Oh man, oh man, Oh ma—

  “You do know that criminal trespass is a crime the Dog Mountain Police Department takes very seriously, don’t you, Freddie?”

  I jumped so high, I nearly broke through the ceiling.

  Chapter 31

  When I finally came down from orbit, I hurriedly flipped the light on and reached for the rusted doorknob.

  I let out a long sigh of sweet relief when I saw him standing there.