Pineapple Puppies

by Amy Vansant

  Payne snickered. “Yeah, true. I remember the neighborhood had something to do with fruit. Like mango, banana place—”

  Charlotte perked. “Pineapple Port?”

  “Yeah. That sounds right. I remember the pineapple sign now. Her mother was in there in some dinky trailer house. It was depressing.”

  Charlotte glowered at her.

  “I live in Pineapple Port.”

  Payne sucked in a breath and returned her attention to her phone. “Yikes. Sucks to be you.”

  “Payne!” said Mina, her cheeks coloring.

  Payne gave Mina a sidelong glance but didn’t look up.

  “Sorry,” she mumbled.

  Charlotte turned her attention to Mina. “What’s Lyndsey’s last name?”

  “Griffin.”

  “Griffin,” echoed Charlotte. There was a Tracy Griffin in the new section. She’d seen the name in the newsletter and noted it because it was a homonym for gryphon and she’d read a lot of fantasy books as a kid. A gryphon was a lion with an eagle’s head and wings. It was a little like meeting someone named Joe Dragen.

  “Thank you for your help.” Charlotte said the words to Payne but the girl had already started to wander away, somehow navigating to the doorway between the great hall and the next room without taking her focus from her phone.

  Charlotte got the impression she’d worn out her welcome. With a nod and a thank you, she turned to leave.

  Mina touched her arm to stop her.

  “She’s a nice girl. She would never have killed Kimber.”

  Charlotte stopped. “We were talking about her stealing the puppies.”

  Mina’s face colored again. “Or that. She wouldn’t do that either.”

  “Mina, is there something you’re not telling me?”

  The woman opened her mouth and then shut it. She shook her head. “I just mean if she took the puppies I’m sure there’s a good reason.”

  Charlotte wanted to stay and coerce Mina into coughing up the secrets she obviously had ready to burst from her lips, but she also wanted to catch Lyndsey before she left her mother’s. If her mother lived in Pineapple Port, there was a fairly good chance the woman with the sixth puppy had been her mother. She was probably freaking out that she’d been spotted at the vet’s and Lyndsey had gone to calm her down.

  Once Lyndsey knew her mother might have been identified, Charlotte couldn’t be sure if she’d play it cool or try to run. There was a half-decent chance she’d never return to the farm if she was involved in the murder. Now was the time to find her.

  “I’ve got to go,” she said to Mina, patting her hand. Mina released her and she left, breaking into a trot as she headed down the porch stairs.

  By the time she reached her car, she had Frank on the phone.

  “I think Tracy Griffin had the sixth puppy. She’s Lyndsey’s mother and she lives in Pineapple Port.”

  “Who’s Lyndsey again?”

  “The horse trainer at Miller’s.”

  “How’d you come up with all that? Vet have her on camera?”

  “No, I—” Charlotte didn’t want to tell Frank the path had started with Tilly’s cameras until she had to. “It’s a long story. But I think Lyndsey is at her mother’s now. I need you to get there. I’m at the Miller Estate. It’ll take me twenty, twenty-five minutes to get back and if her mother tells her she had to ditch the puppy at the vets, she might try to take off.”

  “What are you doing at the Millers’ place? Did they hire you?”

  “No. Not exactly—”

  “Charlotte, dang it, that’s not your case. Hell, it’s not even my case. It’s out of my county.”

  “I had to return the puppy. And Lyndsey’s in your county now. She’s in your neighborhood. You have to go question her. Stall until I can get there.”

  “Why? What are you going to do?”

  “I have evidence she won’t be able to deny.”

  “What exactly am I supposed to confront her with until then?”

  “Tell her we have her mother on camera at the vet’s.”

  “But we don’t.”

  “Then just imply it. Be creative.”

  “Be creative.” Frank huffed. “Fine. But you and your evidence better hurry. I can’t keep her there with nothing for long.”

  “I’m already on the way.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Frank hung up with Charlotte and scowled at the front of his house. He’d just pulled up and had been looking forward to having a bourbon and making fun of Darla and the screaming hangover she no doubt had by now.

  He put his car into reverse and headed for Tracy Griffin’s house, just a few blocks away. He’d stopped to introduce himself to the new resident a month or so earlier, as was his habit. Best way to keep the neighborhood nice was to ensure every new person knew there was a sheriff living a few doors down. Funny business in the county was one thing, funny business in his neighborhood was a whole other.

  At the time, he’d found Ms. Griffin unremarkable. A lack of makeup or primping of any kind had inspired him to file her under plain-Jane in his memory; a small woman, hair a mixture of dark and light gray, shoulder-length with a curl to it. In her day she might have been a cutie. One of those pixie types. It wasn’t always easy to tell. Now in her early sixties, he remembered she’d seemed a bit beaten down by life. Maybe a little rough around the edges.

  As Frank pulled in front of Tracy Griffin’s house a woman burst from the front door headed for a car backed in the driveway.

  Lyndsey.

  Frank put his cruiser in reverse and rolled to block her car in the driveway.

  That’s one way to keep her here.

  Lyndsey looked up at him, registered shock and lowered the phone she’d had pressed to her ear.

  Frank stepped out of the car and walked around the back of it. Lyndsey waited until he was in full view and then unleashed a toothy smile.

  “Hi, Officer, I was just about to pull out, so if you could—”

  “Lyndsey Griffin?”

  Lyndsey appeared shocked, though Frank suspected she was less shocked than she let on.

  “Yes?”

  “I need to talk to you and your mother if you could come inside?”

  “My mother? Why would you need to talk to my mother?”

  “Could we do this inside?”

  Frank heard a growl and turned to see Mama Griffin standing at her open door, her fists shut tight at her sides.

  Lyndsey looked at her mother with what appeared to be fury, but no sooner did he note her angry expression, than Lyndsey’s face relaxed. She smiled again at Frank and led him up the stairs to the door as her mother disappeared inside.

  Frank crossed the threshold and took a moment to scan the interior. Layout-wise, the home looked like any other in Pineapple Port, though it definitely fell on the shabbier side of shabby-chic. The worn slipcover engulfing the padded chair parked in front of the television told Frank that Tracy lived alone and didn’t have much money. The chair was pulled too close to the set, so her eyesight was probably on the fritz, too.

  There were two types of people who retired to Pineapple Port: people with just enough money to afford the cheap houses and modest land rent, and people with money to live well but only if they didn’t blow all their savings on a big, expensive house. Those people sometimes had cars in their driveways that cost more than their homes. The old Ford Taurus in the driveway in front of Lyndsey’s Jeep told Frank Tracy belonged to the first group.

  “What’s this about?” asked Lyndsey.

  Frank paused, trying to eat time. If Charlotte had the evidence she said she did, Lyndsey was being pretty brash about his visit. She wasn’t a tall woman, but she’d straightened to her full height, giving him the impression she was ready to toss anything he threw her way right back at him. Her mother seemed like an older version of the same defiant personality. Something about her eyes as she watched him made him feel as though he scared her a little.

 
Let’s start with her.

  “Tracy, I don’t know if you remember me,” he began, talking as slowly as he dared without sounding as if he’d suffered some sort of brain damage. “I came by to visit you shortly after you moved in?”

  Tracy nodded. “I remember. You didn’t bring anything.”

  Frank felt his head jerk back a little in surprise.

  Bring anything? Was I supposed to? It had never occurred to him to bring some sort of welcome gift when he introduced himself as the sheriff in town.

  “Mom,” said Lyndsey.

  Tracy lowered her hands and began to wring them, rubbing the knuckles on one and then the other. “I mean some of the neighbors brought me cookies and other nonsense and he just let me know he was in the neighborhood for police stuff.” She glanced at Lyndsey and then returned her attention to Frank. “I meant, I remember you were here on business.”

  “Right. Gotcha.” Frank made a mental note to have Darla make some cookies for him next time a new neighbor moved in. He didn’t want to be known as Sheriff Doesn’t-Bring-Anything.

  Back to business.

  “Were you at the vet’s today, Tracy?”

  Tracy’s gaze shot back to Lyndsey. There seemed little doubt she had been to the vet’s.

  “I found a puppy.”

  “You found a puppy? Where?”

  “On my doorstep. In a box.” She glanced at the corner and Frank followed her stare to find a small cage with a towel lining the bottom.

  “You buy that for the dog?”

  “She had it. From her last dog,” interjected Lyndsey before Tracy could answer.

  “Looks new.”

  Lyndsey held her ground. “It’s not.”

  “Where is it now?”

  “What?”

  “The dog.”

  “She left it at the vet’s. She didn’t know what to do with it so she left it there knowing someone would take good care of it,” offered Lyndsey.

  “That true, Tracy?”

  Tracy nodded.

  “You pulled out this cage and lined it with a towel and then decided to just leave the dog at the vet’s?”

  “I realized I couldn’t take care of a dog.”

  “You mean another dog.”

  “Yeah. Another dog.”

  Tracy held his gaze to show him how sure she was of her answers.

  Frank didn’t believe her for a second.

  “Were you aware the puppy had been stolen?”

  Tracy’s eyes widened. “Stolen? No—”

  “Stolen from Lyndsey’s place of employment.”

  “We were just talking about that,” said Lyndsey stepping forward and in front of her mother, as if to limit Frank’s access to her. “I didn’t put two-and-two together at first when she said she found a dog, but she described the puppy to me and I knew it had to be Mr. Miller’s. I was going to report it to the cop who came to the house this morning. That’s where I was going when you blocked me.”

  “The cop?”

  “Like you.”

  “Sheriff Carter?”

  “Right. Carter. We have his number back at the house.”

  “What time were you at the vet’s today, Mrs. Griffin?” asked Frank, turning his attention back to Tracy. She turned her head as if surprised Frank had remembered she was there, skulking behind her daughter.

  “I don’t know. Maybe eleven?”

  There was a knock on the door behind Frank and he turned to see Charlotte standing on the opposite side of the glass storm door. When he turned again, both women were looking at him.

  “This is my, uh, associate. Do you mind if she comes in?”

  Tracy shook her head and Frank motioned for Charlotte to enter.

  “Hi,” she said, her gaze locking on Lyndsey. “We met this morning at the horse ring.”

  “I remember.”

  “This is Lyndsey’s mother, Tracy,” said Frank.

  Tracy offered her a curt nod.

  “Hi,” said Charlotte, before turning to Frank, expectant.

  “Tracy was at the vet’s this morning, around eleven,” he confirmed.

  “That was about the time we were at the Miller Estate,” said Charlotte, looking at Tracy. “Do you have your phone on you?”

  Lyndsey scowled. “My phone? Why?”

  Lyndsey tapped her mother’s hip, motioning the older woman behind her. “Sheriff, what is this about? My mother found a dog. That’s all. It’s not a crime to leave a lost dog at the vet’s, is it?”

  Frank frowned. He hated it when people were purposefully obtuse in an attempt to hide their guilt. As if Lyndsey, he and everyone couldn’t see the glaring coincidences.

  He also hated it when he didn’t know if something was illegal or not. Was it illegal to leave a lost dog at a vet’s?

  “But it isn’t a lost dog, is it, Ms. Griffin? It’s a stolen dog. You don’t think it’s a coincidence the dog stolen from your employer ended up at your mother’s house?”

  “Well, sure, it’s odd, but the other dogs—”

  Lyndsey cut short and seemed to pale a notch.

  Frank tried not to smile. Hadn’t Charlotte told him Lindsay never asked where she’d found the dogs?

  “What about the other dogs?” prompted Frank.

  “They were found here, too?” Lyndsey turned to look at her mother. “Didn’t you tell me the other dogs were found here too?”

  Tracy nodded. “Yes. I did. They were. I heard they were.”

  Damn. Obviously she knows how fast the gossip mill around here moves. A perfect cover.

  “Where’s the box?” asked Frank.

  “What box?”

  “The box left on your doorstep with the dog in it.”

  Tracy’s eyes darted left and right as she swept the house. “I maybe put it in the garage.”

  “You probably took it to the vet’s,” suggested Lyndsey.

  “Right. I did.”

  Frank looked at Charlotte. “Did she take the puppy in a box?”

  “Dr. Powers didn’t mention finding a box. Just the dog.”

  “I took it there, but I threw it out before I went in,” said Tracy.

  “So we’ll find the box at the vet’s?”

  “Maybe. I might have stopped at the store first.”

  “You took the puppy to the store with you and then threw out the puppy’s box there?”

  Tracy nodded and Lyndsey stepped away looking unstable as she lowered herself into a kitchen chair.

  “What did the box look like?” asked Frank.

  “I don’t remember.” Tracy snapped her response. It seemed as though what patience she had for questioning had come to an end.

  Frank hung his thumbs in his belt. “Mrs. Griffin, I have to tell you. I don’t think the puppy came in a box. I think your daughter handed it to you and I think you were expecting it.” He glanced at the metal cage.

  Tracy’s hands clenched again. “I ain’t talking to you no more.”

  Charlotte turned her attention to Lyndsey. “I see you changed your earrings.”

  Lyndsey snorted a laugh. “The sheriff gave me back my missing one. He said you found it in puppy poop.”

  “I did. You said you didn’t work with the puppies.”

  “I don’t. But Mina lets them run around the kitchen. One of them must have found it there.”

  Charlotte held up the paper in her hand.

  “Do you recognize this mask?” she asked.

  Frank took a step forward to get a better view of the paper. Printed on it was a screen grab of a person turning away from a door. Behind her a box sat on the door step. The person wore a dog mask, seemingly molded out of plastic. A poodle, if he had to guess, because it was pink with a tuft of curls at the top. For some reason cartoon poodles were always pink, though he’d never seen a pink poodle in real life.

  Lyndsey stared at the printout and then dropped her head to rest in her hand, her elbow propped on her mother’s kitchen table.

  “I want to talk to
my lawyer.”

  The corners of Tracy’s mouth dropped into an angry scowl.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Charlotte stepped out of her shower, towel-dried her hair and threw on a loose sleeveless, tropical cotton dress she liked to wear around the house. She was exhausted. She’d sat with the Griffin ladies until Sheriff Carter and his deputies had arrived and taken her and Lyndsey into custody. For fifteen minutes straight Tracy repeated how she’d done nothing wrong.

  Once they’d been taken away, she’d lingered another fifteen minutes trying to download everything she’d learned from Mina and Payne into Frank’s brain. She told him Carter would need to talk to Mina again, that she was probably involved somehow, and that Payne could fill in some of the blanks if they could get her to come out of her teenage funk long enough to talk to them. She babbled until Frank told her to please stop talking and go home.

  Declan had already told her he’d promised to help his uncle demo the apartment above Seamus’ new bar, The Anne Bonny, so maybe Seamus could finally move out of Declan’s house and into a place of his own. Seamus could have asked his nephew to build a new house and Declan would have done it if it meant getting his uncle out of his home. While he hadn’t minded offering Seamus a place to live when he rolled back into town, he hadn’t counted on him staying for months.

  With Declan busy, Charlotte had an evening to herself, which sounded like heaven. She’d had a long day worrying about two cases that weren’t even paying her. All she wanted to do was vegetate in front of the television with Abby. She didn’t have to worry if Abby had forgiven her for the puppies. The soft-coated Wheaton was already maneuvering to jump on her lap before she had a chance to sit down.

  The moment her tush hit the sofa cushions, Abby jumped up again as someone knocked on the door.

  Charlotte closed her eyes.

  You have got to be kidding me.

  She looked at her watch. It was almost eight o’clock.

  Most of the neighborhood was asleep by eight. Who could be at her door?

  Abby jumped back down to play protector, stabbing her elbows into Charlotte’s thigh to better launch from the sofa.

  “Ow.”

  Charlotte followed the dog to the door and opened it to find Darla and Mariska on her stoop, both dressed in black. Darla’s eyes were puffy and rimmed with dark circles. Mariska wore capris, her fleshy ankles glowing against her inky outfit. Her cheap sneakers appeared smeary, as if they’d been white and she’d colored them with a black Sharpie pen.