by Diane Kelly
So we’re back to the crotchless tiger costume, huh? I’d hoped to never hear about that again. I tried to sound nonchalant when I asked, “Are you talking about the sexual role play?”
“Sexual role play?” He barked a laugh. “Ha! That would be the day. Adriana’s strictly old-school when it comes to sex. I’m talking about dressing up for the comic convention. I tried to get her to wear a cheetah costume but she wouldn’t do it.”
“Cheetah?”
“You know, Minerva from the Injustice League?”
No, I didn’t know. Comics weren’t my thing, not that I faulted anyone for enjoying them. We all need some form of escape. Mine was mystery novels. “I’m not familiar with the character.”
“DC Comics?”
I shook my head.
He pointed up to his apartment. “I have a poster of her on my wall. One of Killer Frost, too.”
I remembered seeing the posters the first time I came to his place. “So you’re saying you didn’t try to get Adriana to dress up for sexual role play?”
“Heck, no,” he said. “It’s too hard to get in and out of those costumes to get it on. I mean, if you want to do it, just do it already.”
Huh. Had Adriana been lying to me about Ryan’s unusual sexual proclivities? Or had she merely misunderstood his intentions?
He repeated his request. “You’ll go talk to her again? Tell her to leave me alone?”
I felt like he was goading me into making a stop at Adriana’s, but I also felt like it couldn’t hurt to give her another warning in case she’d failed to heed the first one. “I’ll swing by her place,” I told him. “But you continue to stay away from her, okay?”
He scowled. “Why are you treating me like the bad guy? She’s the one causing problems.”
Is she? I wasn’t so certain. Nevertheless, I raised a conciliatory palm. “I don’t want to see either one of you get hurt.” At least that much was true.
He seemed to accept my explanation, thanked me for coming out, and turned to go back to his apartment.
Once he’d gone, I went in search of the maintenance man. I found him in the pool area kneeling down on the hot cement, changing a filter. As I walked up to him, Brigit seized the opportunity to cool off in the pool, doing a belly flop off the side. Splash! Water splashed up onto my shoes and the legs of my pants. “Bad dog!” I scolded.
She ignored me as she began to dog-paddle. I had no choice but to release her leash and let her swim to the steps to climb out. Once she was back on dry land, she gave herself a solid shake, sending up a tsunami of water.
“Sorry about that,” I told the maintenance man as I walked over to him.
“No worries,” he said. “Can’t say as I blame her. It’s hotter ’n hell out here today. Got more questions for me?”
“Just one.” I pulled out my phone and showed him the photo of Danielle. “Was this the girl who came by today?”
He stood to take a better look. His gaze went from her face to her cleavage and held there for a moment, as if he was trying to recollect the breasts he’d seen earlier today. When he looked back up at me, he wobbled his head. “Could be,” he said, “but I can’t say for sure. Like I said, she had sunglasses on and I only talked to her real quick.”
Darn. “All right. Thanks again for your time.”
I mulled things over as I rounded up Brigit and wrung the pool water from her leash. Was there any other evidence I could find here? Hmm. I decided it couldn’t hurt to take a peek in the Dumpsters, see if anyone tossed a gift bag into the garbage when their plan was foiled.
I led Brigit around to the back of the complex. Despite her earlier shake, she left a trail of water droplets in our wake, though they quickly evaporated in the sun. We found three large metal Dumpsters situated behind an eight-foot brick wall. The place smelled beyond foul. While I was tempted to plug my nose, Brigit was having a field day, sniffing the stray trash that had fallen on the ground, enjoying the odors. I glanced down at my partner. “You’re disgusting, you know that?”
She wagged her tail in response.
I pulled a pair of latex gloves from my pants pocket, slid them on, and lifted the lid of the first Dumpster. I had to stand on tiptoe to peek inside. A swarm of flies buzzed about, angry that I’d disturbed them. All I saw were black garbage bags and a few stray pieces of trash—ice cream wrappers and the like—that had been tossed into the bin separately. Ditto for the second Dumpster. The third Dumpster contained black garbage bags, but also a taupe couch cushion that had been soiled with what looked like red wine, spaghetti sauce, or blood. Yuck.
When I turned around, I found Brigit rolling on her back on some unidentifiable guck that had been spilled next to the garbage bin. What the heck is that? An empty white plastic container nearby told me it was rancid cottage cheese. “Brigit!” I shrieked. “No!”
While many people believed police dogs obey their handlers perfectly, such was simply not the case. Like their human partners, they had minds of their own and could sometimes be stubborn and insubordinate. Like now, with Brigit. My partner ignored my pleas, continuing to squirm on her back among the sour cheese curds as if having the time of her life. Dumb dog. She’d be getting a bath tonight.
Having found no evidence, Brigit and I returned to the cruiser. I did my best to wipe her sticky, stinky back down with an antibacterial hand wipe, but it wasn’t up to the task. The cheesy gunk was hopelessly stuck to her fur. Blurgh.
We climbed back into the car. The scent of sour milk filled the vehicle. “You’re smelling up the cruiser!” I scolded her, rolling down the windows. Still, while my K-9 partner stunk to high heaven, she had nothing on Derek Mackey. That guy’s body odor could be weaponized.
I placed a call to Danielle. When she answered, her voice was tentative. She probably didn’t recognize my number and assumed I was a telemarketer.
“Hello, Miss Griffin,” I said. “This is Officer Megan Luz with the Fort Worth Police Department. I need to speak with you about Ryan Downey. I understand the two of you have been dating?”
“We’ve been out a few times,” she said hesitantly. “Why? Is something wrong?”
“We’re not sure,” I said. “One of the staff at Ryan’s complex said a blond woman came by today with a gift and balloons and asked to be let into his apartment. We’re just trying to figure out who that might have been. Ryan mentioned that the two of you have been going out. If it was you who came by today, you’re not in trouble or anything. We’re just trying to determine who it was.”
She sounded peeved when she responded. “It wasn’t me,” she said. “I really don’t appreciate him dragging me into this, either. I mean, he’s an okay guy, but…”
When she paused, I prodded her to continue. “But what?”
She exhaled sharply. “He’s been putting a lot of pressure on me. I’m not ready to get serious. I’ve told him that several times but he hasn’t backed off.”
Sounded to me like Ryan might not consider their relationship to be as casual as he’d claimed.
“Now this thing,” Danielle continued. “The balloons and whatever? It’s weird. I’m feeling very uncomfortable right now.”
“I don’t blame you,” I said. “Is there any chance I could come talk to you in person?” Given what she’d told me, that Ryan was pressuring her, she might be able to shed some light on him, help me get closer to the truth. And given her discomfort, I figured I could get more from her in person than I might on the phone. I’d be willing to work late if I could get some answers.
“I’m double and triple-booked the rest of the day,” she said. “But early tomorrow morning would work.” She mentioned she worked as an aesthetician at a salon and gave me the address.
“Thanks,” I said. “I’ll see you then.”
We ended the call, and Brigit and I pulled out of the lot. We were halfway down the block when my eyes spotted something atop a tree up ahead. A bunch of red helium balloons. They were tangled in a branch at the pinn
acle of the tree and bounced in the brisk breeze, the string pulling the branch up and down.
Could these be the red balloons the woman—Adriana?—had taken to the apartment? Had they gotten away from her earlier, pulled out of her hands by a gust of wind? Maybe she’d let them go when she couldn’t get into the apartment. Better than being caught with them if she was up to no good. What were the odds someone else in the area would have lost a bunch of red balloons today? Probably very small.
While obtaining fingerprints from the string would be impossible, the balloons themselves might have retained a print if the person who’d carried them had touched them, too. If the woman had come in a car, she would have had to push the balloons into the vehicle, right? Sure. Helium balloons tended to want to drift out and up. I remembered fighting a trio of them I’d bought for my brother’s high school graduation. If our technicians could lift a print from the balloons, I could see about getting one from Adriana and determine whether they matched. If they did, we’d have a much stronger case against her for trying to get into Ryan’s apartment.
But first, there was the matter of getting the balloons down from the top of the tree. Unfortunately, the tree wasn’t some small, decorative variety, like a crepe myrtle. It was a tall, stately oak that appeared to have been standing since Texas had still been part of Mexico. ¡Ay caramba! How could the balloons be retrieved?
The crime scene teams carried extension ladders in their vans, but I wasn’t sure an extension ladder would be of much use trying to get to the middle of the top of a tree. There’d be too many limbs in the way. I sure as heck wasn’t going to try to climb the thing, either. A gust of wind could blow me down and break my back, putting me out of commission. What would become of Brigit if that happened? I couldn’t bear the thought of her being reassigned to another officer.
This is where it paid to have friends in high places. Or, rather, a friend who could get to high places. Why not call Frankie? After all, she had access to a ladder truck that was specifically designed for this type of thing.
I pulled into the parking lot of a bagel shop near the tree and placed a call to her. “Want to get something out of a tree for me?”
“Is it a kitten?”
“Nope. It’s balloons.”
“If you want balloons, I can buy some for you.”
“You could also buy me a kitten.”
“Yeah, but then the reporters wouldn’t come out and put the rescue on the news. How cool would it be for me to be on the news my second day on the job?”
“Pretty cool,” I agreed. “So can you come or not?”
“Hold on a second. Let me check.” There was muffled discussion as she checked with one of the higher-ranking firefighters to see whether they could come by and help. She returned in a few seconds. “We’re on our way.”
I gave Frankie the address. In minutes, the ladder truck pulled into the lot with one of her coworkers at the wheel.
“I can’t thank you two enough,” I told them.
The guy at the wheel raised a shoulder. “Eh. It’s a slow day.”
After a minute or two of expert maneuvering, the ladder was angled so that the end was within reach of the balloons. Frankie ascended the ladder, reached out, and worked on untangling the balloons from the tree. Respect. I would’ve been chicken to go up that high without some type of harness as a safeguard.
She held the bunch up by the string. “Got ’em!” she called down to me.
“Great!”
She’d just started to descend the ladder when WHOOSH! Mother Nature sent forth a gust of wind so strong it rocked me back on my heels and parted Brigit’s fur down to her skin. Unfortunately, the gust was also strong enough to yank the string from Frankie’s hand.
“Oh, no!” She reached up, desperately trying to snatch the string out of the air.
“Don’t fall!” I yelled in panic. I’d feel terrible if she got hurt trying to help me out.
The two of us watched with alternating hope and dismay as the balloons swirled around in the air. They’d swirl close, nearly close enough for her to grab them again, and then twirl out of reach as if they were teasing her. Maybe we’d get lucky and they’d catch on something else, something lower even, where I could reach them unassisted.
We didn’t get lucky.
When another gust of wind came, the balloons spiraled upward, bumping and bouncing off each other, growing smaller and smaller as they headed toward the stratosphere. Dang it.
Frankie climbed down the ladder. “I’m so sorry. Were the balloons important?”
“Maybe,” I said. “But maybe not.” At this point they were halfway to Mars, rendering the issue of their importance moot.
I thanked the two again, saw them off, and drove to Adriana’s place. She and I spoke briefly on the porch, while Brigit snuffled around the steps, probably looking for the possum.
“Were you at work today?” I asked her.
“Yes,” she said. “Why?”
That’s for me to know and you to find out. “What did you do for lunch?”
“I came home, like usual,” she said. “It gives me a break from the center and that way I can do a chore or two.”
“Were you alone?”
“Yes.” Her eyes narrowed. “Why are you asking me all these questions? Something’s happened, hasn’t it?”
“Someone tried to get into Ryan’s apartment today.”
“Why would anyone want to get into that pigsty?” She rolled her eyes. “What did they do? Try to pick the lock or pry the door open?”
“No.”
“No? Then how did they try to get in?”
I decided not to give her any detailed information. That way, if she slipped up, maybe I could catch her revealing something she’d only know if she’d been the one with the balloons. I merely said, “False pretenses. Do you know anything about that?”
She jerked her head back as if I’d slapped her. “Why would I know anything about it?”
I raised conciliatory palms. Seemed like I’d been doing a lot of that lately. “I’m just asking, trying to figure out what’s going on here.”
“What’s going on,” she snapped, “probably has something to do with one of Ryan’s girlfriends. I’ll bet he’s got two or three.”
Two or three? Heck, I’d been surprised he’d had one. Even if he was handy at troubleshooting computer and Wi-Fi and other technology issues, that kazoo voice wasn’t exactly a turn-on. “What makes you think that?” I asked.
“I saw pictures on his phone once,” she said. “He claimed they were old photos from before he met me, but I didn’t buy it.”
“Why not?”
“He was late for our dates a lot,” she said. “He canceled a few times, too. He’d say he had a headache or that he had to work overtime. I’m pretty sure he was seeing someone else while we were dating. That’s another reason I broke up with him. I couldn’t trust him.”
She didn’t trust him, but could I trust her? Was there any truth to what she was saying? I glanced at her wrists, but she was wearing a long-sleeved shirt. Odd, given the high August temperatures. Then again, some offices were cold, and hospitals were notorious for keeping temperatures low. Should I ask to see her wrists? On one hand, I didn’t want to unnecessarily antagonize her, especially if she was innocent. On the other hand, I wanted to get to the bottom of things as soon as possible. After a quick mental debate, I decided to go for it. “May I see your wrists?”
“My wrists?” she repeated, her forehead furrowing in question.
“Yes.”
“I guess so.”
She pushed her sleeves back and showed me her wrists, turning them so I could see all sides. Not only were her wrists bare, they did not appear to have been recently scrubbed, either. There was no telltale pink tinge to her skin.
She pushed her sleeves back down. “I’m not sure what you’re doing here, but if you think I’m behind anything at Ryan’s place, you’re mistaken. I’m done with that loser
and I hope he’s done with me.”
“I hope so, too.”
With that, I wished her a good evening and left, my mind swirling in confusion like that bunch of balloons.
EIGHTEEN
IN HOT WATER
Brigit
Uh-oh.
Megan was in the bathroom, calling in a pleasant voice for Brigit to come to her. But Brigit wasn’t fooled. Megan had filled the tub with water but had not gotten undressed. That could mean only one thing. She planned to give Brigit a bath.
Well, good luck with that. Brigit had other plans.
The dog ran into the bedroom and wriggled until she was under the bed. With any luck, Megan wouldn’t find her here. If I just keep quiet …
She saw Megan’s feet appear in the bedroom doorway. A moment later, Megan’s face appeared as she bent down to peek under the bed.
Busted.
Megan reached under the bed, grabbed Brigit’s front paws, and dragged her out into the room. Brigit was tempted to snap at Megan, but as much as she didn’t want a bath, she knew biting her partner would get her in big trouble. Besides, even though she didn’t like that Megan was trying to make her get in the tub, she loved her partner and didn’t want to hurt her.
Her instincts kicked in, telling her what to do. If she couldn’t fight, she must flee. Run!
Brigit’s paws scrabbled on the floor, but before she could get any traction Megan grabbed her collar, dragged her to the bathroom, and slammed the door behind them so Brigit couldn’t attempt an escape like she’d done before. Though Brigit flattened herself against the floor, Megan somehow managed to get her hands under Brigit and pick her up just high enough to wrestle her into the tub.
The jig was up.
There was nothing to do now but get it over with.
Brigit endured the bath, all the while wondering whether Megan realized Brigit could rip her throat out if she wanted to. Not that she ever would. Don’t bite the hand that feeds you and all that. But it was kind of fun to think about sometimes.
Megan scrubbed her with that awful fruit-scented shampoo, rinsed her with the sprayer, and, after what seemed like forever, pronounced her “all done.” Brigit knew what that meant, too. Time to leap out of the tub and shake before Megan could get that towel around her.
