Red Sole Clues

by Liliana Hart

  “I don’t understand people,” his father said. “Stealing a dog. That’s awful.”

  “You’d be surprised,” Lucie said, “my friend is a detective. For months he’s been working a case involving show dog thefts. People steal the dogs and then sell them. It’s horrifying.”

  “And your dog is a show dog?”

  At that, Lucie laughed. “No. He’s way too stubborn for that. He was in the talent show. And he’s not really my dog—I’m the dog walker. But he’s…special. I love him and I have to get him back. I have to.”

  Lucie and Kurt’s father huddled at the back of the chair and peered over Kurt’s shoulder. “I’d say cue it up to around 9:40. We should be able to see her walking out the door.”

  Kurt clicked a link and a black and white image of the outside door popped up. A bar appeared on the screen and he clicked again, dragging the little icon until the time stamp read 9:40.

  He hit play and sat back, folding his arms as he watched.

  Any second the woman—barring some kind of insanity that was fairly typical in Lucie’s world—should be walking right through that door.

  The door swung open and out bounded Otis, as usual thinking he was the alpha dog and taking the lead. The blonde looped the leash around her hand a couple of times and jerked it.

  Lucie clamped her teeth together. She’d never been a violent person, aside from those infrequent moments, typically involving Joey, when her temper got the best of her.

  But if that blonde were standing in front of her right now, she’d hospitalize her.

  On the video, before Otis could step from the curb, a car passed through the shot and the woman once again jerked the leash.

  The idea of sweet Otis in this woman’s ugly clutches? Sickening.

  Maybe I’ll do more than hospitalize her.

  She might need Ro for this one.

  The woman stepped off the curb and hustled straight across and out of the shot.

  No. Nooo, nooo, nooo. That couldn’t be it. “What happened? Why can’t we see where she went?”

  “Hold on.” Kurt tapped a few keys and clicked on two links. “These should be the parking lot views from the corner of the building.”

  Two black and white images of the parking lot popped onto the screen and Kurt tiled them side-by-side. He clicked, setting the first video in motion.

  Lucie poked her finger. “There she is!”

  “Gotcha,” Kurt’s father said.

  When Otis stopped to sniff the rear bumper of a car, the woman jerked the leash again. Otis, being as stubborn as the entire Rizzo bunch combined, ignored her. He’d move when he was ready.

  Good boy.

  “Swear to God,” Lucie said, “if she hurts that dog, I’ll take her out.”

  Finally, Otis cooperated, trotting just ahead of the blonde as she led him to the end of the row and out of the camera’s view.

  Kurt clicked again and the second video rolled. “Let’s see where she takes us.”

  The woman walked three rows over, finally making a left into a row. Sticking to the right, she picked up her pace, moving swiftly now. Otis slowed as he glanced up at her. She checked her watch. Must have been behind schedule. Lucie knew that feeling all too well.

  But being behind schedule might be the best thing—each second Otis wasted gave them more time to catch up.

  “Come on, Otis, do your thing, buddy.”

  The woman kept walking, maybe halfway down the long row, but Lucie couldn’t quite tell. She stopped at an SUV, popped the rear door and patted the floor of the cargo area. Otis plopped his butt on the pavement.

  Good boy!

  Lucie waggled her hand. “She’s crazy if she thinks he’s getting in there. That would take way too much energy.”

  The woman poked her finger, then motioned Otis into the car. Nothing.

  Keep it up, Otis. Obviously growing frustrated, the thief checked her watch again and shook her head. Then she squatted, wrapped her arms around Otis’s not-so-tiny bulk and hoisted. Whoa, on the first try she heaved him into the SUV.

  “Damn, she’s strong,” Kurt said.

  Lucie frantically shook her head, her panic soaring as the woman unclipped the leash and lowered the door.

  Poor Otis. This rotten, degenerate person was stealing him from the people he loved.

  She smacked her hand on her chest, waited for the woman to move and prayed for a clear glimpse of the license plate.

  Kurt’s dad slipped his arm over Lucie’s shoulder and squeezed. “We’ll find him. Have faith.”

  Please, please, please. Lucie fought welling tears and nodded.

  On screen, the woman checked her watch again.

  What’s she waiting for?

  Then she held her keys up, clicked the fob and headed back toward the building.

  * * *

  Marlowe led Tim and the Pickneys out the north exit, exactly where Lucie said the woman and Otis left the building.

  Morning sun offered a good blast of heat and took the chill out of the October air. Having faith in the weather report, Tim had opted for a light jacket that did the job easily.

  Marlowe lifted his snout, sniffed and went back to the ground. Being a cop, Tim had been around tracking dogs before, but the department had spent tens of thousands of dollars training those dogs. This super wiener? He’d been trained by his owner.

  “Oh,” Mrs. Pickney said, her eyes dancing, “he’s on him. Hal, look at him go.”

  “He’s a beast,” Mr. Pickney agreed.

  Well, beast might be taking it a bit far. For a wiener dog that clocked in at a whopping thirteen pounds.

  But if Super Weiner pulled this off, Tim would figure out a way to get him recognized. Get him some kind of award from the PD.

  That would be the least he’d deserve for saving Otis. And the Lucie factor couldn’t be dismissed. If they didn’t find Otis, Lucie would…she’d… Hell, he didn’t know what she’d do.

  But it would be ugly.

  The devastation would level her. And he couldn’t have that.

  He looked down at Marlowe, prowling side to side, his nose to the ground, unmercifully stalking his prey. Maybe he was a beast.

  “O’Hottie!”

  Tim let out a grunt. Three rows over, Roseanne waved both arms over her head. Did she think he’d miss her with that big hair and the screaming?

  “O’Hottie?” Mr. Pickney said.

  Tim held up one finger, gave the man his best I’m-in-charge stare. “Don’t.”

  Mr. Pickney pulled a face then went back to Marlowe. Wise man.

  “Tim,” Ro called again.

  Better. At least she’d gotten the hint he wasn’t responding to the nickname she’d cursed him with.

  “Keep going here,” he said to the Pickneys. “I’ll catch up.”

  He jogged through a few cars and met Ro by a mini-van with I love my Mastiff and People Suck. Buy a Dog bumper stickers.

  So harsh.

  The adjacent Volkswagen was no better with one of those plastic hanging window signs that read My German shepherd is smarter than your honor student.

  Holy hell, these people were intense.

  He met Ro’s gaze. “What’s up?”

  She waved her hand, long red nails glistening in the sun. “We’re searching these cars. No sign of Otis or the perp.”

  Perp. Tim puffed out his cheeks, containing a laugh. This woman. Totally insane.

  “Where’s Joey?”

  She pointed over her shoulder. “Thataway. We’ve checked three rows so far. No sign of Otis. Listen, O’Hottie, if that dog is—” she slashed her hand across her throat, “—our Lucie will lose it. I can’t have that. I love her too much.” Deep in drama mode, she let out a heavy, sigh. “And what are you doing standing around?”

  Standing around. Nice.

  “I’m not standing around. The wiener dog is tracking Otis.”

  Her red lips formed a perfect O and Tim nodded. “Yeah. It’s something to see.”<
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  “Where’s Lucie?”

  “She’s in the security office. Trying to get video of where the perp took Otis.”

  “Very smart. Because there are a lot of freaking cars out here to check. Remind me to wear sneakers to our next manhunt—doghunt—whatever. If I get dirt on these shoes, I’ll murder someone.”

  Already exhausted, Tim wrapped his hand around his forehead and squeezed. How did Joey deal with her day in and day out? The maintenance must be unbelievable.

  After this, he was drinking. Heavily.

  “Tim!”

  He swung around, found Lucie sprinting from the building, her ponytail flying.

  She waved her phone. “I’ve got it. The video.”

  He ran toward her and Ro fell in behind, her heels clickety-clopping against the blacktop. He left her in the dust, but since she was pretty much making him nuts right now, he didn’t feel so bad.

  He met Lucie in the middle of the row and she skidded to a stop, breaths coming hard. “This place is huge. I just ran all the way around looking for you.” She slapped her phone into his hand and bent at the waist, bracing her hands against her thighs. “The blonde put Otis in the car and went back inside.”

  “She’s still here?”

  “As of five minutes ago, yes.”

  Ro joined them just as Tim cued up the video on Lucie’s phone. “What’s happening?”

  “Lucie found Otis.”

  “Where is he?”

  Lucie stood tall and jerked her thumb. “In a car a few rows over. We need to get him and then find this blonde so I can kill her. I think she might be trying to steal another dog.”

  “That bitch,” Ro seethed. “Let’s get her.”

  Lucie nodded. “Otis first.”

  That’s all Tim needed. An emotionally strung out Lucie and her normally wacked-out friend hunting down a dogjacker. What a mess. Tim held both hands up, patting the air. “The two of you, relax.”

  Three rapid barks sounded—Super Weiner—and Tim pivoted.

  Mrs. Pickney waved one hand. “We found a dog. Come quick!”

  Tim and Lucie took off running, dodging between cars, Ro once again clippety-clopping behind them but screaming for Joey, who was halfway across the parking lot.

  For a small girl, Lucie had some speed, but Tim’s longer legs ate up more ground and he got there first, coming to a halt in front of a newer model navy SUV.

  “There’s a dog inside,” Mr. Pickney said. He pointed to the back window. “Right back here.”

  Lucie ran up, stopped beside Tim, tugging on his sweatshirt. “This is it. This is the car I saw on the video. Is he in there?”

  Tim cupped his hands against the window. And, holy crap, there was a dog. Snoozing away.

  And with that mashed-in mug? The jutting bottom teeth?

  Definitely Otis.

  Tim’s shoulders dropped a full six inches and a he let out a burst of air. “It’s him. You did it, Luce. You found him.”

  Chapter Five

  Lucie nudged in beside him, pressed her hands and face against the window so she could see that sweet baby, just waiting for them to rescue him.

  While he slept.

  Only Otis.

  She stepped back, her shoulders shaking with a weird combination of a relieved sob and a strangled laugh.

  They’d done it. They’d found him.

  Mrs. Lutz. That poor woman was still inside searching.

  Lucie straightened up, snatched her phone back from Tim. “I have to tell Mrs. Lutz. And then—” she waggled the phone, “—we’re hunting this blonde down.”

  “Yeah.” Ro pinched her face, propped her hands on her hips. “Unleash me on this bitch.”

  “Oh, my,” Mrs. Pickney said.

  Tim stared at Ro, blinked twice and pulled his phone from his pocket. Probably ordering a strait jacket.

  “Nobody move,” he said.

  But when it came to her BFF, the one she’d had since kindergarten, straitjacket or not, Lucie was all Team Ro. “You know it, girlfriend.”

  Tim stepped away, talking to someone on his phone just as Joey flew around the rear bumper of the last car in the row.

  He charged toward them, his big body moving like an out of control freight train. Lucie prayed he didn’t roll right over them.

  “We found him,” Ro said.

  Joey halted and sucked a giant breath. “Seriously?”

  Lucie gave him a thumbs up. “Yep.”

  “Listen up.” This from Tim, who once again shoved his phone in his back pocket. “The cops are inside. They pulled in on the other side of the building. They’ll be here in a second to get Otis out.”

  “Great,” Lucie said. “You wait here and we’ll go looking for the blonde.”

  At that, Tim snorted. “Forget it. I’m not letting you two out of my sight. There are more cops on the way. They’ll find the blonde.”

  “No way,” Ro said. “That’ll take too long and she might get away. Besides, we know who we’re looking for.”

  Lucie grabbed Tim’s hand and squeezed. Being somewhat straight-laced, he might need a little finessing. “She’s right, Tim. I promise, we’ll behave. If we find her, we’ll just follow her. Keep tabs until the police can arrest her. Eventually, she’d have to make her way back here anyway.”

  Tim’s phone chose that moment to ring, momentarily saving her from a surefire lecture about staying out of police business and maintaining personal safety.

  Tim O’Brien worried about her way too much. But she supposed that was one of things she adored about him. His never-ending concern for her well-being. Physically and emotionally.

  She hit him with a smile. He grunted as he whipped his phone from his pocket and checked the screen. “Crap. I gotta get this.”

  After he stepped away again, a distressed bark from the direction of the gym cracked the sounds of traffic from the main roadway. Lucie scanned the end of the row until she spotted what looked like a Scottish Terrier with an inky black coat tugging—really tugging—on its leash. The dog barked again. This time tinged with a cry.

  Lucie brought her gaze up. As suspected, that damned blonde thief had grabbed another dog.

  And Lucie started moving, running hard, her mind buzzing as she locked onto the blonde.

  Get her.

  She pumped her arms, her feet pounding the pavement as she drew closer to the woman, who finally looked up and saw the group surrounding her car. She dropped the leash and took off, running parallel to the building. But Lucie was on her. Maybe ten feet behind.

  Get her.

  “Luce,” Tim yelled.

  Sorry, big guy. Can’t talk now.

  “Dammit,” he said. “Joey, go after her.”

  “I’ll get the Scottie,” Mr. Pickney said.

  The blonde scooted around parked cars, trying to lose Lucie. No way. She kept on her, picking up speed, gaining ground with each step.

  “Stay with her, Luce!”

  Ro. From somewhere behind her, but Lucie couldn’t look. Couldn’t chance slowing down. She darted between cars, shortcutting it to the next aisle as the blonde headed for the edge of the lot.

  And then the rotten thief did it. The one thing Lucie wouldn’t do.

  She looked back.

  Gotcha.

  Kicking into her next gear, Lucie dug in, pumping her legs and arms. The woman skirted right. Lucie, now just a few feet behind, followed as she angled around the rear of a parked car.

  Lucie leaped, just—whoop—flew right off her feet, across the back driver’s corner of the car and grabbed the blonde’s blouse. Losing her footing, the woman stumbled. Lucie hung on. Her left hip clipped the edge of the vehicle and—wowza—the stabbing pain shot up her leg, into her torso.

  But she hung on as the blonde went to one knee. Lucie landed on her back.

  Got her.

  “Hang on, Luce,” Ro wailed. “I’m coming!”

  But the blonde bucked and Lucie was suddenly airborne. She rolled right
and rocked back, locking both hands around the thief’s ankle.

  “Get off me!”

  “Are you crazy?” Lucie clawed at the blonde’s leg, dragging herself up. “Do you know what that dog means to me?”

  But this witch wouldn’t go down.

  No more playing. Lucie threw her body weight into the blonde, bouncing them both to the ground. “Lady, you picked the wrong dog to steal.”

  “Ahhhhh!”

  The woman’s shrieks split Lucie’s skull. Everything went upside down as Lucie rolled with the blonde on top of her. She bucked and the two of them barrel rolled again, landing in the middle of the aisle, Lucie half on top.

  Scrambling, she straddled the blonde, tried to grab her hands, but the woman swung and slapped, connecting with Lucie’s right cheek. Lucie dodged and started slapping back—fwak, fwak, fwak.

  And then Ro’s feet, one shoe on and one off, appeared near the woman’s head.

  Lucie kept swinging, blocking the blonde’s slaps, but looked up.

  Ro stood over them, one shoe in hand, the skinny heel pointing outward. She scrunched her nose, bared her teeth and growled.

  The sound must have triggered the blonde’s radar. Still slapping, she cocked her head up at Ro.

  “Go ahead, witch,” Ro said, “make my day.”

  “Roseanne!”

  Joey’s voice. He stepped up, shook his head and ripped the shoe out of her hand. “Are you nuts or what?” He looked down, pointed at Lucie’s attacker. “Hit my sister again and you’ll deal with me.”

  Instantly, the slapping stopped. Dammit. How did he do that? Just get people—and animals—to obey him.

  “You,” Joey said to Lucie, “get up.”

  Tim flew around the side of the car, his face a mix of stoic resolve and smirking amusement. “Everybody chill. Joey and Ro, step back.”

  The blonde looked up as he badged her.

  “Ugh,” she said.

  He snapped his wallet closed. “Yeah, bad day for you.”

  Not knowing what else to do, Lucie put her hands up. That’s what criminals always did on television.

  Tim snorted. “Honey, this isn’t a stick up. Put your arms down.”