Paw Enforcement (A Paw Enforcement Novel)

by Kelly, Diane

  “What’s the difference?”

  “For one, reptiles never have gills,” I said. “Amphibians have gills until their lungs develop. For two, amphibians reproduce through external fertilization. The males fertilize the eggs after the female lays them. Reptiles, as you can see, use internal fertilization.”

  Seth’s eyes squinted. “I’m glad I’m not an amphibian. Internal fertilization seems like way more fun.”

  Brigit betrayed me by walking over to Seth, her tail wagging. He bent down and scratched her under the chin with both hands. “Who’s a pretty girl?”

  She woofed as if to say, I am! I’m a pretty girl!

  “How long have you been here?” I asked.

  He looked up at me with those deep-green eyes. “Long enough to have serious concerns about your voyeuristic tendencies.”

  He offered a smile that would’ve evaporated my panties three weeks ago. Today, not so much.

  Much to my partner’s disappointment, Seth stood and closed the distance between us, stepping up beside me at the glass. “I was driving home from a shift when I saw your cruiser. Figured I’d say hi.”

  Damn, but he had me feeling confuzzled again. He was dressed in civilian clothes, his ticket stub sticking out of the breast pocket on his T-shirt. What did it say that he’d dropped $12 on the zoo’s admission fee just to follow me in here? I wasn’t sure. I was afraid to read anything into it, to set myself up for more disappointment. The guy was too unpredictable.

  I turned to watch the crocodiles again. In my peripheral vision, I noticed Seth stare at me a moment longer before he, too, turned to the glass.

  “Something’s wrong with that one,” Seth said, pointing at the male, who had a bulbous growth at the end of his snout. “His nose looks weird. What the hell is that?”

  “It’s called a ghara,” I said. “It amplifies their hisses.”

  “How come he’s the only one who’s got it?”

  “The other croc’s a female. This species is sexually dimorphic.”

  Seth grunted, as if annoyed by my use of jargon. “Meaning?”

  “Meaning the males and females have visible differences other than their sex organs.”

  “How do you know all this?”

  I gestured to the informational plaque nearby.

  “You read all that?” he asked.

  “Yeah.”

  He flashed me a grin. “Nerd.”

  Evidently bored now that their mating was over, the male swam off, leaving the female in his wake. I supposed I should say something to Seth, but I wasn’t sure what. Couldn’t go wrong with updating him on the investigation, though, right?

  “Serhan was released from jail,” I said, still looking through the glass, “but the Lipscombs are still on the loose.”

  Someone from Animal Control had seized their snake, leaving a note behind letting them know where they could claim him if they returned to their house.

  “They can’t hide forever,” Seth said.

  It was little consolation. After all, Osama bin Laden had managed to hide out for nearly a decade. Besides, we weren’t even sure the Lipscombs had anything to do with the bombing. We might be waiting on nothing.

  My radio crackled, Dispatch asking for an officer to respond to a fender bender on University. I pushed the talk button. “Officer Luz responding.” I released the button and turned to Seth. “Gotta go. Duty calls.”

  “I’ll walk you out.”

  Seth walked alongside me as we made our way to the exit.

  As we approached my cruiser, he said, “Blast has been wanting to see Brigit again. Can he take her to the dog park Friday night?”

  I’d wanted a sign of interest from Seth, but after he’d made me wait three full weeks I wasn’t about to jump on it. He’d tortured me. Why not return the favor? “Sorry. She’s busy Friday night.”

  Disappointment registered in his eyes. He hesitated a moment, as if he was trying to get a read on me. About time he read something, huh?

  He pulled the ticket stub out of his pocket and appeared to be examining it, though I think it just gave him something to look at other than me. It was an insecure gesture, not one I’d expect from a guy as attractive as him. I was beginning to think there was far more to Seth than met the eye.

  He fiddled with the corner of the ticket. “What about Saturday night? Is she free then?”

  I looked up, pretending to consult my mental calendar, which was, as always, entirely open. “That would work.”

  His face brightened, though from his forcibly relaxed posture it was clear he was trying to play it cool. “Seven o’clock?”

  “Okay.”

  I loaded Brigit into the back of my cruiser and climbed into the front, unrolling my window. “See you later, alligator.”

  Seth smiled. “In a while, crocodile.”

  * * *

  The next few days were relatively uneventful. I responded to two false alarms at residences in Mistletoe Heights, issued five speeding tickets, and helped the mall security team deal with an unruly shoplifter armed with pepper spray. As she held the team at bay, I’d snuck up behind her and knocked the canister out of her hand with my baton. Swish-whack!

  On Friday afternoon, the Lipscombs returned.

  Detective Jackson gave me a call and told me the news. “I’m heading out to visit with Sherry and Michael. You wanna join the party?”

  Hell, yeah! “On my way.”

  I met the detective at the station and we rode over together in my cruiser. When we arrived at the house, the couple met at us the door. Michael’s expression was equal parts bewildered and incensed. Sherry’s was equal parts befuddled and frightened. Nonetheless, they invited us inside. As Brigit and I passed the aquarium, the snake that had newly been returned to his home looked up from where he lay coiled on a flat stone, raised his head an inch or two, and gave us a silent, forked-tongue raspberry. Brigit replied with a growl: Grrr.

  The couple led us into their kitchen, offering us seats around their cheap dinette set.

  Michael stared pointedly at Jackson across the table. “You had no right to search our house and seize my snake.”

  Jackson waved a dismissive hand. “We had every right to do what we did. Your snake is fine. We made sure the thing got fed. Besides, you’ve got him back now.” She set her briefcase flat on the table and snapped open the clasps. “Where the heck did you get a rattler, anyway?”

  “We intervened in a rattlesnake roundup a couple years ago,” he said. “The snake had been injured, but he managed to slither away from the crowd. We rescued him.”

  I’d heard about those roundups. Frankly, they sounded like nothing more than an excuse for a bunch of bloodthirsty rednecks to get together and commit a mass slaughter in the name of family fun. Here, little Cindy. Take this hoe and let’s hack this snake to pieces together. Watch your toes now, honey pie! Ain’t this fun? Woot-woot!

  Michael folded his hands on the table and leaned toward the detective. “You want to tell us what this is all about?”

  Jackson cocked her head. “We suspect you might be involved in the bombing at the Chisholm Trail mall.”

  “What?!” Sherry cried.

  “That’s bullshit!” Michael said. “We’d never do anything like that!”

  “But you would assault two men,” Jackson said, pushing a copy of Michael’s rap sheet across the table.

  On the drive over, the detective had told me she’d tried to get details on the incident, but since the matter had not gone to trial the records had been woefully devoid of details. The police report was vague and the assistant DA who’d handled the case no longer worked at the prosecutor’s office. Jackson hadn’t bothered following up on the couple’s nonviolent convictions. Too many pending cases, too little time, and since the nature of the crimes was dissimilar she didn’t think any information that could be gathered would be of much use in the bombing investigation.

  Michael looked down at his criminal record and snorted. “I poked a
couple of truck drivers in the chest with one of those plastic souvenir back scratchers I bought at a truck stop. They were hauling horses down to the slaughterhouses in Mexico and a group of us were trying to stop them. The pussies got their panties in a bunch and filed charges on me.”

  Jackson and I exchanged glances. His story made perfect sense.

  Jackson laid a copy of Sherry’s criminal record on the table now, too, tapping it twice with her index finger. “Fill me in, Mrs. Lipscomb.”

  Sherry offered up information willingly. The theft charge related to a pair of registered poodles she’d stolen from a breeder running a puppy mill. Sherry had gone on to vandalize billboards promoting a substandard roadside zoo with a history of negligence. Most recently, she’d pled guilty to slashing tires on the 18-wheelers driven by the truck drivers Michael quote-unquote “assaulted.”

  “Look,” Michael said, calmer now. “We’re all about compassion. Planting a bomb that would hurt or kill innocent people isn’t how we swing.”

  Jackson looked from Michael to Sherry. I could tell from the detective’s expression that she believed them. I did, too.

  The detective gathered up the reports and slid them back into her briefcase. She stood and held out her hand. “Sorry for the trouble.”

  After conciliatory handshakes were exchanged, Jackson and I headed back to my cruiser.

  “What now?” I asked after we’d climbed in.

  “I’m out of ideas,” she said, “and I’m out of suspects. I suppose the only thing we can do now is hope for a break before another bomb goes off.”

  I didn’t like that plan. I didn’t like that plan at all.

  * * *

  As I drove home from work on Friday, I passed by Honeysuckle’s house. She sat on her stoop in her overalls and Keds, her arms wrapped around her tiny knees and her refurbished wares on display about her small yard, waiting for potential purchasers. Noting the bookcase on her lawn, I circled the block and pulled up to her curb.

  She stood and waved. “Hello, Officer Luz! Hello, Sergeant Brigit!”

  We climbed out of my tiny car and met her under the tree.

  I ran a hand over the bookcase. “Wow. This looks as good as new.”

  Honeysuckle beamed. “Sanded it. Re-stained it. Fixed the shelf and the support on back.”

  “I’ll take it.”

  A wicker patio furniture set caught my eye, too. The set was painted a golden yellow and included a love seat and two chairs with sunflower print cushions. I had no room for it in my apartment, but it would look nice out by the pool.

  Honeysuckle and I agreed on fifty dollars for the patio furniture, twenty for the bookcase, and another ten for her to drive the pieces over to my place in her van. Both of us were pleased with the deal. Me because I’d finally have a place to shelve the stacks of books sitting on my floor and a place to sit by the pool. She because she now had enough money for her next week’s groceries.

  I loaded the pieces into the back of her van and she followed me to my place. When we arrived, I pulled them out and set them in the parking lot.

  “Thanks, Honeysuckle!” I called to her after I shut the back doors.

  She beeped her horn and raised a hand out the window. “Enjoy your new furniture, dear!”

  Another five dollars paid to Rhino got the bookcase up to my apartment. The love seat and chairs I carried myself, positioning them inside the small fenced area while Brigit swam around in the pool, lapping up water as she swam, her leash trailing behind her.

  Grigsby yanked his door open and stormed over to the fence. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  I straightened the cushions on the chairs. “Making this place look like less of a shithole.” Hey, that would make a great marketing slogan, wouldn’t it?

  “If you expect me to pay you for that furniture,” Grigsby spat, “you’ve got another thing coming.”

  “Trust me.” I shot the man a look. “I had no such expectation.”

  “And get your dog out of the pool.” He swung his arm like an umpire calling a batter out. “Her fur keeps clogging the drain.”

  “If you’ve got a problem with Brigit,” I said, “you’ll have to take it up with the police chief.”

  Grigsby scowled. He’d never call the chief. Too many building-code violations around this place to risk getting someone higher up at the department involved. Cowed, Grigsby stormed back to his apartment.

  Rhino flopped back on the love seat with his bass guitar and a can of Bud.

  My yellow-toenailed neighbor descended from his usual spot on the stairs and settled in one of the chairs with a cigarette. “Ahh.” He expelled a stream of smoke into the air. “This is living!”

  FIFTY-SIX

  BEST IN SHOW

  Brigit

  Brigit wasn’t sure what was going on, but she knew it must be something special. They’d spent their entire day off preparing. Megan had given her a bath this morning. Afterward, Megan had taken her to a salon, where they’d both had their nails painted a pretty shade of red. Megan had bought her a new collar, too, a pink one with rhinestones. She’d even given Brigit’s coat an extrathorough brushing and clipped a flowered barrette in her hair.

  A knock sounded at the door. Brigit trotted over and put her nose to the threshold to see if she could identify who stood outside. She recognized the scent in an instant.

  Blast!

  FIFTY-SEVEN

  PACKING UP

  The Rattler

  He had everything he needed ready to go. The bombs, fully assembled and waiting to be placed. A set of secondhand golf clubs and bag he’d bought at a garage sale forty miles away in the town of Granbury. A new golf glove. Not only would it make his disguise more authentic; it would also help prevent him from leaving fingerprints.

  He could hardly wait until tomorrow.

  FIFTY-EIGHT

  DOUBLE DATE

  Megan

  Seth stood at the door, Blast at his feet, the two wearing matching green bow ties. I’d planned to act cool and aloof, but they looked so damn cute I couldn’t help myself. I smiled.

  Seth glanced down at Brigit, then up at me, his eyes roaming over my loose hair, the silver dangly earrings, the black halter top. “Brigit looks really pretty tonight.” The gleam in his eyes told me the compliment extended to me, too.

  “Thanks.”

  I locked up my apartment and we went down the stairs to his Nova. Rhino was sprawled on the sunflower love seat by the pool, one leg crooked under him, his guitar and a beer in his hands. He raised his can in greeting as we passed by.

  Seth opened the passenger door. Brigit and Blast hopped in and over the seat back. I slid inside after them.

  In fifteen minutes, we were at the Fort Woof dog park. An unusual place for a date, but not a bad one, necessarily.

  Seth grabbed a soft nylon throwing disk, a tennis ball, and a blanket from the trunk of his car. After a quick look right and left, he pulled a bottle of red wine out of the trunk, too, and slid it into the front pocket of his loose-fitting shorts, pulling his shirt down over the mouth to hide it.

  “What are you doing?”

  He pointed to a nearby sign that listed the dog park rules: No Alcohol.

  “Ah,” I said. “You’re a bad boy, Seth Rutledge.”

  On hearing the words “bad boy,” Blast looked up, his furry forehead furrowed in worry.

  “Not you, Blast.” I ruffled his ears. “I was talking about your daddy.”

  We headed through the gates, unclipping the leashes from our dogs’ collars once we were inside. Brigit and Blast took advantage of their freedom and bounded off together, making the rounds to meet the other dogs hanging out tonight. While Blast sniffed the back end of a fluffy red chow, Brigit did the same on a Dalmatian before the two switched places. A Shar-Pei puppy trotted up, looking like an old man even though he could be no older than six months. A bowlegged basset hound stood on the edge of the group and began baying, as if feeling left out. When Brigit ci
rcled around from behind and mounted him, he stopped baying and instead put his efforts into crawling out from under her. Blast stood nearby, watching and looking perplexed and concerned.

  “She’s so embarrassing.” I put my hand over my eyes. “Tell me when it’s over.”

  “It’s okay now,” Seth said after a few seconds. “The basset hound got away.”

  Seth and I walked around the perimeter of the park.

  “Do you bring Blast here a lot?” I asked as we made our way along the fence line.

  “At least once a week. He loves it here. It gives him a chance to sow his wild oats.”

  I glanced over at Seth’s canine partner. “Looks to me like you’ve had his ‘wild oats’ removed.”

  “Yeah,” Seth said. “Didn’t want some skanky poodle showing up with a litter claiming Blast was her puppy daddy.”

  I’d never been to the dog park before, but seeing Brigit frolicking with her furry friends I knew the place would become a regular hangout for us.

  As Seth and I made our way around the park, Blast and Brigit routinely checked in with us, darting over to see what we were up to, then running off to see who’d just come in the gate.

  “Hey, boy!” Seth pulled out the Frisbee, held it up where Blast could see it, and sent it sailing through the air. Blast took off after it, with Brigit on his heels. As the disk began to descend, Brigit bolted past Blast and rocketed into the air, snatching the Frisbee before Blast had a chance.

  “She’s good,” Seth said. “You teach her that?”

  “No. I didn’t even know she could c-catch a Frisbee.”

  My partner was full of surprises.

  Brigit loped back our way with the disk in her mouth and dropped it at my feet. I picked it up and hurled it into the air. She took off after it again. With the Frisbee now shanghaied, Seth threw the tennis ball for his partner to retrieve. Blast galloped after it, snatched it up midbounce, and returned in record time.

  As we walked, Seth mentioned that he’d spent the previous weekend at the joint reserve base west of town, fulfilling his required one-weekend-a-month Army reservist duty. Knowing he hadn’t been free made me a little less annoyed that he hadn’t called. Of course that didn’t explain why he hadn’t called during the two weeks before. Was he seeing someone else? Busy with previous commitments? Unsure whether I was worth the trouble? I was dying to know, yet I knew asking would only make me appear desperate and needy. Besides, we were here together now. Better to look forward, right?