Sneak Thief (A Dog Park Mystery)

by C. A. Newsome

  “If I’d known I was getting back in these boxes so soon, I would not have let Terry talk me into blocking them in like that,” Lia said between grunts as they tipped the monstrous sofa over and carried it out. They plopped down on the sofa, never minding the seat cushions were still on top of an old depression era armoire.

  “I could use something cold to drink right about now,” Dave said as he wiped sweat off his forehead with his sleeve.

  “They have a Coke machine at the office. What’s your poison? My treat.”

  “Coke or Pepsi. I prefer Coke. Unless they have Red Bull.”

  “Coming up.” Lia drove to the other side of the storage facility, got a can of Coke and chose an ice tea for herself. When she got back, she saw that Dave had pulled the first stack of boxes down and was now placing them outside the unit.

  “I went though this batch. Mostly dishes and books. Looks like it was packed in a hurry. Shame the boxes aren’t marked.”

  “We didn’t have much time. If we’d left it up to the landlady, it would all have gone out on the curb.”

  “I’m glad you were able to save it then.” He popped the tab on his soda can and took a long pull. The way he tilted his head back, the way his throat contracted as he drank, it reminded her of Peter and had her fingers itching to reach out and stroke the long line from his chin to his clavicle. She shoved the thought away, annoyed by the wistful impulse.

  He wiped off his mouth. “Tell you what. I’ll pull the boxes down and you go through them. Then we can shove them out of the way so we don’t confuse ourselves.”

  “Sounds like a plan.”

  Lia sat on her heels as she opened the third box, finding a mess of papers on top of a half-dozen Beanie Babies. She recalled gathering the pile up off the floor and shoving it in a box, counter to Terry’s insistence that he didn’t have room in his storage unit for garbage. “We don’t have time to figure out what’s garbage and what’s not. We can always throw it out later if it’s not important. This is Desiree’s life, what’s left of it, anyway.”

  She pawed through unopened junk mail, advertising circulars, some bills. Digging a little deeper, she unearthed a copy of the insurance policy for Desiree’s car. Under that lay a plain, white envelope she didn’t remember. The flap was tucked instead of sealed. She opened it, withdrawing the thin stack of paper. The pads of her fingers rubbed against the bumps of a notary seal.

  Lia had figured this afternoon to be a necessary exercise in futility. Stunned by her unlikely find, she unfolded the paper and scanned it. Dave turned away from the pile of boxes to read over her shoulder.

  As she scanned the paper, her excitement grew: I, Desiree Willis, an adult being of sound mind, willfully and voluntarily appoint my representative, named below, to have the right of disposition, as defined in section 2108.70 of the Revised Code, for my body upon my death. All decisions . . . .

  “I don’t believe this! I can’t believe we found it.” She continue reading, her eyes racing back and forth. Then they fell on a name and stopped. Lia sighed and shook her head, poked her tongue in her cheek.

  “What’s the problem?” Dave asked.

  “Do you really expect me to believe this?”

  “Believe what? That Desiree would want a responsible, business-owning friend to care for her after she died?”

  “Let me guess. The notary is your cousin, Vinnie. The witnesses owe you money and you traced Desiree’s signature off of a cancelled paycheck. You stuffed it in that box while I was getting your coke. Fast work, Cunningham.”

  “You wound me.”

  “Yeah, I see the blood.”

  “Think they’ll buy it?”

  “If I don’t tell Amanda that you helped me find it. I’m sure she’ll be so delighted to have official paperwork taking this off her hands, that she won’t check to see if the ink is actually dry.”

  “I’ll owe you one.”

  “You’re asking me to lie to a friend about a felony, and it could get her in trouble.”

  “The coroner is your friend?” His eyebrows shot up.

  “Assistant coroner.”

  “I’ll owe you two, then.”

  “Help me up. My legs are stiff.” She extended the hand that wasn’t holding the felonious document. He pulled her up and she limped over to the sofa, picked up the now-warm half-can of tea. Dave plopped down beside her. He watched her while she considered.

  “Dave, what’s your investment in this? Why did you go to all this trouble?”

  He shrugged, looking down at his hands draped between his knees. He gave her a wry look. “I always had a soft spot for Desiree.”

  “You and everyone else,” Lia grumbled.

  “Oh, I think everyone else had a hard-spot, if you don’t mind me saying. She was a good kid, trying to find her way. She would have found it, too, if she hadn’t been shot.”

  “Were you in love with her?”

  His head drooped. “I figured once she grew out of her taste for pretty bad boys, she might realize I’d always been there for her. It’ll never happen now.”

  “I’m so sorry.”

  “I’d like to do her justice. She had friends at the bar. Last night I started a collection to pay for a cremation. We can have a memorial service. You decided what you want to do with all that?” He nodded towards Desiree’s now-scattered belongings.

  “We were thinking of selling it at the Northside garage sale in August and donating the money to Three Sisters Rescue. That’s where she got Julia. Why? Do you have something in mind?”

  “I’m sure she didn’t have a will, though I guess we’ll need to go through all this to make sure. I imagine her friends would like a chance to have something of hers. We can have a silent auction at the bar during the memorial, give the proceeds to charity. We’d raise more money that way than at a garage sale.”

  Lia blinked. “Well,” she said. “I guess that’s worth lying for.”

  “I was only trying to give you plausible deniability.”

  “You couldn’t have put someone else’s name on there?”

  “Let another man have the body of the love of my life I’ll never have? I don’t think so.”

  Lia tucked the document in the glove box of her Volvo. They resumed combing the boxes, now looking for a will. Ninety minutes and a couple of overly sloppy Big Bufords from Ralley’s later, they completed the job of unearthing every piece of paper and relegating it to the status of Not-Desiree’s-Will.

  Lia looked around at the foraged boxes strewn across the concrete like shipwrecked flotsam. “Oh, goody. Now we get to put it all back. Let’s sit down for a few. I’d like to let my sweat dry so I can layer fresh new sweat over the old when we start up again.”

  “Shall we label the boxes as we put them back?”

  “What’s the point? We didn’t pack her things in any particular order, just grabbed what was closest and jammed it in a box. I guess we’ll get to organize it when we get it back out for the auction. You really going to have a silent auction, with all her undies in it?”

  Dave twisted his mouth.”I don’t know about that. I’m sure there are people who would buy them, but I’d feel funny about it. So what do we do with them?”

  “I’ll ask Bailey. She’ll know.”

  * * *

  Lia stopped by Avery’s desk on the way to her work station that evening. The transparent sides of a pyrex mixing bowl (courtesy of his wife, she imagined) revealed a kaleidoscope of sugar: Dum Dums, Smarties, miniature Tootsie Rolls, saltwater taffy, and little cellophane packets of cinnamon candies. She dug her hand in and pulled one out. Red Hots. Not hearts. Darn.

  “Lia, I’m so glad you stopped by,” Avery said, dropping a stack of files on his desk and taking his chair. “Is there any word about Desiree’s funeral?”

  “There isn’t a date yet. It’s probably going to be a simple memorial service after a private cremation. By the way, thank you for taking up that collection. Three Sisters really appreciates the donation.
”

  “Of course, of course. This may only be seasonal work, but you’re still family to us. Such a beautiful girl. Such a shame.” He sighed, then opened the top file. Avery spotted the little bag of candies in her hand. “You like cinnamon candy? I thought Ted was the only one around here besides me who did. He’s been gradually making his way through my store of them.”

  “Cinnamon is a brain booster,” Lia said lamely.

  Avery looked up and gave her an assessing look. He stretched lips in an oily smile.

  “I was not aware. Maybe we should hand it out to everyone.”

  Lia swept both sides of the aisle with her eyes as she made her way back to her team, scoping out the bowls and tupperware containers of candy. She spotted the usual sweet potpourri, but no more Red Hots. I could be going about this the wrong way. Maybe I should sniff everyone’s breath at break time to see who smells like cinnamon.

  So that kept Avery and Ted on her list. Perhaps she would leave the little packet out by her monitor and see if he commented on them.

  18

  Tuesday, June 3

  “I feel like Dr. Watson in drag,” Bailey said as she and Lia crossed Telford on the way to A. Vasari, “tailing along with you while you snoop. You really think the old guy had anything to do with it?”

  “Peter said in police work, it’s more important to be thorough than smart. Which explains how Heckle and Jeckle keep their jobs. It’s important not to have preconceived notions about who is or isn’t likely to commit a crime. He also said most people will commit a crime or even kill someone, under the right circumstances. The motivation just has to be powerful enough to overcome their self-imposed limits. That’s why you try to learn as much as you can about everyone and everything in a victim’s life.”

  “What about her father? He sounds like a real gem with his ‘thou shalt not suffer a witch to live’ BS.”

  “I feel safe in saying he didn’t do it.”

  “Why not? He sounds like he’s crazy enough to murder someone.”

  “He probably is. But he spit on her.”

  “So? That just makes him crazier.”

  “He said he’d been waiting years to spit on her dead body. If he’d killed her, he would have done it then, and he would not have done it in front of the coroner because it might give him away. And if he did spit on her both times, from what she said, he’s not smart enough to come up with something as subtle as saying he’d been waiting to do it.”

  “Don’t you think you should talk to him anyway? He might know things that could help.”

  “He’s not likely to tell them to a woman. That’s why Terry is going.”

  “Makes sense.”

  “We’re just waiting until we have info about the memorial service, and Terry’s going to pretend that we don’t know her dad hated her and refused to take the body. All we know is Desiree wanted Dave to take care of it.”

  “Smart thinking.”

  Lia opened the door to Desiree’s former place of employment. “Bailey, what does this remind you of?”

  Bailey wrinkled her brow as she considered the barrister cases glowing in the dim recesses of the store. “The snake house at the zoo?”

  “That’s what I thought.”

  “Ups the creep factor, even if it does show off the jewelry. Maybe he did do it.”

  Alfonso Vasari attended a customer at the back of his store when jangling bells on the door alerted him to Lia and Bailey’s arrival. He peered at them, frowning, then appeared to remember Lia. “You again? You ever find that no-good girl?”

  A Clifton matron took her bag and passed Lia and Bailey on her way out of the store, giving them a bland, practiced smile.

  Alfonso eyed Lia as she approached. “You don’t look too good.”

  “Mr. Vasari, I’m sorry to tell you, Desiree was murdered 11 days ago.”

  “Murdered? Little Desi?” His face paled and he sat down hard on the stool behind the counter. “Who did this?”

  “The police don’t know. They suspect she came home and walked in on a burglar.”

  “A burglar. . . . Poor Desi.” He shook his head mournfully. “Such a world that a pretty girl gets killed for being in her own home.”

  Lia felt pity for the old man, who now undoubtably felt guilty for his ill thoughts about Desiree. “They’re having a memorial service for her at The Comet. Would you like me to let you know when I get the details?”

  “You’re a good girl, to think of me. You do that. Is there anything I can do?”

  “I was hoping for some information. Desiree kept several little dolls made of aluminum foil, but they weren’t in her apartment. We were wondering if she left them here.”

  “Those little dolls? I saw her little dolls, but I don’t think she left them here. Lonzo!” he yelled into the back. “Come out here.” He turned back to the women. “Lonzo does her job now. If they’re here, he would see them.”

  A tall twenty-something man with a dark, tousled hair that was a shade too scruffy to be sexy came out of the workroom. “What is it, Pop?” He eyed Lia and Bailey under heavy lids. I bet he thinks he’s irresistible.

  “Little Desi. She had those tiny dolls made out of foil. Are they around?”

  “Dolls?” his lip curled. “No dolls. What do you want with that trash.”

  “I don’t think it’s trash to Desi’s friends. Did you throw them out?”

  “No, Pop, honest. You need anything else? I got work to do.”

  “Not right now. We’ll talk later.” Vasari Jr. ducked into the back as Vasari Sr. turned back to the women. “I’m sorry we couldn’t help.” He squinted at Lia, beetling his brows. “Your amethyst pendant. It’s very nice.”

  “This?” Lia touched the stone laying against her chest. “It’s unusual, isn’t it? It was Desiree’s.”

  “She give that to you?”

  “I found it when I was clearing out her apartment. Do you know anything about it?”

  “It’s old. Worth a few dollars, not much more. A hundred years ago, amethyst was precious. Not now.”

  “I was hoping it was valuable. We’re having a silent auction of some of Desiree’s things at the memorial, so people who knew her could have a memento and to raise money for charity. We’re selling it then.” She stroked the stone, wishing she could keep it.

  “I would like a memento of Desi. You sell me the necklace? It would be nice to remember her by. I’ll give you fifty dollars for your charity.”

  “Come to the auction. You might find something else you like even better. I’ll let you know as soon as the date is set.”

  “You do that. I’ll be there.”

  * * *

  “What a nice old man,” Bailey said as the door to A. Vasari shut behind them. “He really cared about her. I thought you said he was a grouch.”

  “He sure was last time I was here. Shame her own father doesn’t care about her like that.”

  “So why didn’t you give him the pendant?”

  “He’s a jeweler. What would he do with it besides give it to a woman who never met Desiree, or reset it and sell it? I want to be sure the person who buys it values it for its connection to Desiree. “Plus,” she added as she stroked the purple stone, “I like it.”

  “You think people will love us this much when we’re dead?”

  “Who knows, Bailey. I hope so.”

  19

  Wednesday, June 4

  Honey whined and strained towards Lia’s apartment as she juggled leashes and keys. Chewy jumped up, scrabbling his claws against the wood while Julia wrapped herself around Lia’s legs.

  “Brats. Hooligans. I’ll feed you if you just let me open the door. Sit, Chewy.”

  Lia reassured herself that her Schnauzer hadn’t damaged the door, then untangled Julia’s leash from around her legs so Julia wouldn’t pull her off her feet in the rush to get inside.

  “What’s wrong with you today?” she scolded.

  Once the door was unlocked, Julia nosed it
open then bolted. The leash tore out of Lia’s hand as Julia raced for the bedroom. Before Lia could unclip Honey and Chewy, Julia trotted back, dragging a freshly laundered tank top. She dropped the tank on the floor and rolled over, squirming her back on it.

  “Julia!” Lia admonished. “Where did you get that?” She took possession of the top and stalked into bedroom to toss it in the hamper.

  Chaos greeted her. The contents of her dresser were in a pile on the floor, and all the drawers hung open. The mattress and bedding had been dragged halfway off the box-springs. Her jewelry box was upended on her dresser.

  She retreated from the wreckage and went into her bathroom. Toiletries lay in the sink, the cabinet shelves empty. Back in the living room she was confronted by the heap of cotton batting, entrails from eviscerated throw pillows. Her lovely collection of hand-made throw pillows: quilted, embroidered, painted, sequined. Accumulated over years. Gifts from far-away loved ones and fellow artists. Her emotional history, gutted.

  Lia stumbled into the kitchen and dropped onto the nearest chair, stupefied. Glassy eyes struggled to take in the open cupboard doors, the contents of her drawers dumped in the sink. The only sounds were the distressed whines of her dogs as they gathered around, sniffing her as if her distress had its own, unfamiliar odor. She collapsed, wrapping her arms around Honey for support, taking comfort in the Golden’s silky fur as Honey nosed her face, licking her wet cheeks to reassure her.

  Officer Hinkle responded to her 911 call. Lia was thankful to see Cal Hinkle, an earnest young officer who was barely out of rookie status. Lia liked that he was polite and respectful. Peter said Cal barely scraped through the academy. Despite his deficiencies, nobody wanted the job more than Cal, and nobody worked harder.

  More importantly, he was not Heckle or Jeckle, whose questionable competence as police officers, she was convinced, was based on their ability to think like the thugs they pursued.