Enforcing the Paw

by Diane Kelly

  The dog shook like she’d never shook before, sending up a spray of water and fur that coated the walls, mirror, and cabinets. Megan made high-pitched noises that Brigit knew were protests, but she ignored them and shook herself again. This is what her handler got for dragging her out from under the bed.

  Megan toweled her off and opened the bathroom door. Brigit darted out like she’d been shot from a cannon. This fruity smell was disgraceful! She had to get this awful peach scent off her fur and make herself smell like a dog again!

  She bolted into the living room, sprang over Zoe and onto the futon, and rubbed herself back and forth and back and forth against the cushion. Why not rub the bed, too? She leaped from the couch, ran to the bedroom, and flew onto the bed, rolling over and over and rubbing up and down on the bedding.

  When she heard Megan call from the kitchen, she sprang off the bed and dashed into the room, her wet paws sliding across the flooring. She skidded toward the door and bolted outside when Megan opened it.

  The grass! Sweet, wonderful grass!

  Brigit ran three laps around the backyard at breakneck speed before diving onto the grass and rolling over and over and over until she ended up wriggling on her back under a pecan tree. That same stupid squirrel taunted her from above. Chit-chit-chit!

  Wriggle-wriggle-wriggle! Wriggle-wriggle! Wriggle-wriggle-wriggle!

  Finally, she’d rid herself of the peach scent and smelled like a self-respecting dog again. Only then did she stand and walk proudly back into the house to be served her dinner.

  NINETEEN

  BACK AND FORTH

  The Devoted One

  Love was such an odd emotion. It could make someone so happy when it was returned in kind. But it could make someone so sad when it was not.

  The Devoted One was sad. Frustrated, too. Now and then even furious.

  For weeks now, the Devoted One had wanted to get back together and tried to make it happen. Nothing seemed to be working. Now, the Devoted One had begun to wonder if revenge might be more satisfying than reconciliation. Hmm …

  At any rate, one thing was clear.

  We’re not over until I say we’re over.

  TWENTY

  LET’S PARTY

  Megan

  Brigit and I arrived at the salon where Danielle worked promptly at eight Wednesday morning. Every seat in the foyer was full, the clients patiently thumbing through fashion magazines as they waited to be called back for their appointments. We made our way past them and checked in with the receptionist. “I’m looking for Danielle. She’s expecting me.”

  The woman pointed to the back of the room behind her. “Behind that curtain.”

  “Thanks.”

  I led Brigit through the salon, which was rife with the sounds of friendly chatter and the hum of hair dryers, along with the pleasant floral scents of shampoos, conditioners, and hairsprays. Brigit raised her nose in the air, her nostrils flaring as she took in the smells.

  When we reached the back of the room, I gently slid the gauzy curtain aside. Behind it was a small, windowless room with three salon chairs situated in a semicircle. Only one was in use. A middle-aged woman lay in the chair while three other women worked on her as if she was a racecar and they were her pit crew. One of the salon’s employees sat at the client’s bare feet, buffing them with a pumice stone. Another sat near the woman’s waist. She had the woman’s right hand up on a rolling table and was trimming her cuticles. A third salon staff member, whom I recognized from the photo as Danielle, was applying a creamy, pink-hued goop to the woman’s face. Slices of cucumber lay over the woman’s eyes, a plastic shower cap over her hair, which seemed to be in some phase of processing. Highlights, perhaps?

  On a small table near the woman’s head sat the bowl of goop. An open container of yogurt sat beside it. The two substances were essentially the same color and consistency.

  Danielle set down the spreader she’d been using to smear the mask on the woman’s face and used a plastic spoon to scoop up a bite of yogurt before looking up at me. “Are you the cop I talked to on the phone yesterday?” she asked before sticking the spoon in her mouth. As busy as the salon seemed to be, it was no wonder she had to grab breakfast on the job.

  “Yes, that’s me,” I said. “Is there somewhere we can speak privately?”

  “There’s really no need.” She gestured to the other women with her spoon. “We all know everything about each other’s business.”

  “Yeah,” said the manicurist. “Even if you went off somewhere to talk, Dani would give us all the details after.”

  All righty, then. I sat sideways on one of the empty chairs so that I would be at the same level as Danielle, and instructed Brigit to sit at my feet. “We still haven’t determined who went by Ryan’s apartment yesterday with the balloons,” I said, “or what the woman was after. You’re sure it wasn’t you? You know, just wanting to do something nice for him?”

  She plunked the spoon back into the yogurt and picked up the spreader. “Nope. Like I said yesterday, it wasn’t me.”

  Looked like she wasn’t changing her story. Of course it was possible she was lying, that she was in cahoots with Ryan and was trying to implicate Adriana. But my gut told me she was being honest. She hadn’t been the one with the balloons. And if my gut hadn’t convinced me, the two other women did.

  The pedicurist held the pumice stone aloft. “Dani was here at the shop all day yesterday.”

  “Yeah,” agreed the other, who’d kicked off her shoe and stretched out her leg to pet Brigit with her bare foot. “We were crazy busy. We didn’t even take a lunch break. We ordered sandwiches in.”

  I nodded at them in acknowledgment, and returned my attention to Danielle. “You said on the phone yesterday that Ryan was putting pressure on you. Can you be more specific?”

  She shifted on her seat, as if the conversation was again making her uncomfortable. “It’s not a big deal, really. It just that he’s moving a little too fast. Every time we go on a date he shows up with something. Flowers. Candy. Jewelry.”

  “Oh, boo-hoo!” called the woman who’d been foot-petting Brigit. “You know what I wouldn’t give to get some attention from a man?”

  Danielle sent a frown at her coworker. “It’s nice to get gifts if nothing’s expected in return, but with Ryan it feels like he’s trying to buy me. Like he thinks spending money on me means I owe him something.” She turned back to me. “At first I found it really flattering. It was nice to date a guy who isn’t cheap, you know? He’s always been willing to take me to fancy places to eat and stuff like that. But now he’s constantly calling me or texting or dropping by my apartment unexpectedly. I feel a little smothered.”

  When I first met Ryan I’d sensed he had a poor sense of boundaries. Danielle’s words reaffirmed that conclusion.

  “He tries to pin me down weeks in advance, too,” she added. “He already asked me to go to a Queen concert with him. They’ve got Adam Lambert singing with them now. It sounds like fun and all, but the concert’s a whole two months away. Who knows if we’ll even still be dating then? He’s a nice enough guy, but I’m only looking to have some fun. I don’t want a serious relationship.”

  The manicurist giggled. “Yeah. Dani just wants a fuck buddy.”

  “Shut up!” Dani chastised her friend, her face reddening.

  Ignoring that last exchange, I asked, “Has Ryan ever mentioned a woman named Adriana to you?”

  She gingerly smoothed the mask onto the woman’s forehead. “Adriana?” She looked up in thought. “No. Not that I remember. Who is she?”

  “An ex.”

  “Some reason why he should have mentioned her?” Once again, she set down the spreader and picked up her spoon, taking a bite of yogurt.

  “From what I can tell, it was a bad breakup.”

  The woman with the buffer chimed in. “Is there ever a good one?”

  The three women laughed, as did the client, who was unidentifiable under the mask and shower c
ap. Heck, for all I knew, it could be Adriana lying there.

  Danielle scooped up another quick bite. I was fairly certain she’d inadvertently scooped from the mask bowl, but before I could say anything she’d put the spoon in her mouth and swallowed the pinkish substance. I hoped it wasn’t toxic. She waved the spoon in the air. “He might have mentioned her, but if he did he didn’t make a big deal about it. It must have been a long time ago.”

  “One month,” I clarified.

  That seemed to get her attention. She held her spoon aloft. “Well, then she must not have meant that much to him.”

  Was she right? Had Adriana been just another girl to Ryan? No one special? Had he meant far more to Adriana than she had meant to him? Did this mean Adriana was the one causing the problems? Or had he misled Danielle? Downplayed his previous relationships so she wouldn’t get a strange vibe from him?

  “Ryan had some scratches on his neck a few days ago,” I said. “Did you notice them?”

  “Yes, I did,” she said.

  “Did he tell you how he got them?”

  “He had to go underneath an older house to wire it,” she said. “There was a loose board with some nails in it that scratched him up.”

  That wasn’t the story Ryan had told me, the officer who’d responded after Adriana allegedly attacked him, or the judge who’d issued the protective order. He might have lied to us. Then again, he might have told a white lie to Danielle in order to avoid the subject of his crazy ex, if indeed he had a crazy ex. No woman would want to have to worry about a dangerous ex-girlfriend coming around, especially if she wasn’t all that into the guy. Ryan might have realized that telling Danielle about Adriana could put an end to things with the two of them.

  Danielle must have sensed my skepticism because she said, “He didn’t tell me the truth about the scratches, did he?”

  I wasn’t sure what to say here. If Ryan had fibbed to spare Danielle the anxiety and to avoid an awkward conversation, who could blame him? On the other hand, she had a right to know what she might be getting herself into. I decided to err on the side of caution. “He told the police and a judge that his ex had attacked him.”

  “Really?” Danielle’s eyes clouded in concern. “If that’s the truth, why wouldn’t he just tell me?”

  The manicurist waved her tool at Danielle. “He didn’t tell you about the ex because he didn’t want to scare you off.”

  Danielle grunted. “He’s doing a good enough job scaring me off himself.”

  The mask had hardened on the client’s face and she could barely move her lips when she spoke. “You better call him on it. Get some straight answers.”

  I’d come here hoping to get some straight answers, too, but again they’d eluded me. Rats.

  “For what it’s worth,” I told her, “his ex denies that she attacked him.”

  She frowned and eyed me intently. “Who do you believe?”

  “Between you and me?” I lifted my shoulders. “I’m on the fence.”

  “Well, poop,” she said. “If a cop can’t figure it out, how am I supposed to?”

  Good question.

  Given that Danielle seemed to have no concrete information, I stood to go. I handed her my card. “If Ryan happens to mention anything about her that could be important, please give me a call. This could be nothing, but I’m concerned that his ex might have been the one trying to get into his apartment yesterday.”

  Her face clouded in concern. “Do you think she’s dangerous?”

  Again, good question. “Honestly, Danielle? I don’t know what to think. All I can say is that where Ryan is concerned, I’d suggest you be very careful.”

  * * *

  Brigit and I spent the next hour and a half cruising W1. Driving through the medical district, I kept a sharp eye out for a man in green scrubs enjoying a grape Tootsie Pop. I saw none, though there were several people in green scrubs going to and from the hospital parking garages and medical offices.

  As we passed the zoo, I slowed. The zoo was one of Brigit’s favorite places to patrol, though there was little call for us to do so. Not much crime happened on the property. As always, my partner lifted her nose to the window to scent the air, to check out what the various animals were up to. From the distance came the trumpet of an elephant. Though they didn’t speak the same language, Brigit nonetheless replied with a bark. Woof-woof-woof! I could only wonder what their exchange meant.

  I supposed I could have waited for the leasing agent to call, but at ten that morning I found myself turning into Ryan’s apartment complex. Patience might be a virtue, but so were hard work and dedication, right? I wanted to get this investigation over and done with, to enforce the law against whoever was breaking it. And I couldn’t enforce the law until I figured out who that person was.

  I led Brigit with me as I entered the management office. The ginger-haired woman I’d met the prior evening sat at a large desk at the back of the room. She was speaking to a tenant on the phone, advising the person it was a violation of the rules of the complex to hang towels from a balcony to dry. “I understand you were out of quarters for the dryers,” she said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “But that doesn’t change the rules.”

  A woman in her mid-thirties sat at a smaller desk perpendicular to the manager’s. She sported dark hair in a loose style that said she was either carefree or didn’t have much time to style it in the mornings. The photos of the two dark-haired schoolchildren on her desk told me it was likely the latter.

  “Can I help you?” the woman asked.

  “I hope so.” I stepped over to her desk and explained that I was seeking information about the woman who’d come by the preceding day with a gift bag and a bunch of red balloons. “What can you tell me about her?”

  “Not much,” the woman said. “I was in a rush to get some paperwork done and the phone was ringing nonstop. I barely looked up when she came in. She said something about wanting to be let into her brother’s apartment to leave him the birthday present. I told her we couldn’t take her into the unit but that she was welcome to leave the gift and balloons with us and we could put a note on his door to come pick them up during business hours. She declined and left.” She shrugged. “That’s it.”

  “Do you remember what unit she wanted to get into?”

  The woman cocked her head and sucked her lip in thought. “One of the two hundreds, I believe.”

  “Does 206 sound right?”

  “Could be,” she said. “But I really don’t remember for sure.”

  Was it possible this entire thing was only a mix-up? Had the maintenance guy gotten the apartment number wrong? Maybe the girl had come to deliver the gift and balloons to someone other than Ryan. “Did she mention the tenant by name?”

  “I don’t think so,” the woman said. “I’d be more likely to remember a name than an apartment number.”

  “Did she have any distinguishing characteristics that you remember?” I asked. “Maybe a mole or tattoo or scar?”

  The woman slowly shook her head. “Wish I could tell you. Like I said, I was swamped and hardly gave her a second glance.”

  I hated to leave here empty-handed, even if it was only with metaphorical empty hands. I wanted some evidence, a clue. And I wanted it now. “Any chance I can impose on you to check your tenants’ birth dates? I’m investigating the matter and I need to figure out whether the woman was trying to illegally gain access to the apartment or whether this was simply an innocent mistake.”

  The woman gave me an incredulous look. “You want me to look up every tenant’s birth date?” She gestured out the window. “You can see how many units we’ve got. Two hundred and forty.” As if I were dense, she repeated herself. “Two hundred and forty.”

  “I’d only need you to check the birth dates for the male tenants,” I said, hoping that might appease her. After all, the maintenance man said the woman indicated it was her brother’s birthday. “And I don’t need a list of dates or anything like that. I
only need to know if one of them had a birthday yesterday.”

  She looked over to the manager, who’d just hung up the phone, and told her about my request. The manager cast me an irritated glance and exhaled sharply, but acquiesced. “Go ahead. I’ll order us a pizza for lunch and help you with those credit checks.”

  “Thanks,” I told the two. “I really appreciate your help.” I unbuttoned the breast pocket of my uniform where I kept some petty cash, and pulled out a twenty-dollar bill. “Lunch is on me, ladies.”

  At that, their expressions brightened. I handed the leasing agent the cash, as well as one of my business cards. “Call me when you have the information, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  Brigit and I returned to our cruiser. I drove slowly through the lot until I spotted the maintenance man from yesterday working on a loose railing. I pulled up to the curb a few feet away and rolled my window down. “Sorry to interrupt your work,” I called, “but I have a quick follow-up question.”

  He made three rotations with his screwdriver and looked over at me. “Shoot.”

  “Did the woman with the balloons who came here yesterday refer to Ryan Downey by name, or did she only give his apartment number?”

  “Just the number,” he said.

  “All right. That’s all I needed. You have a good day.”

  He raised the screwdriver in an improvised salute and set back to work.

  As I pulled away from the curb, I eyed Brigit in the mirror. “Any ideas, partner?”

  She met my eyes, wagged her tail, and woofed. Too bad I didn’t speak dog. As smart as my K-9 partner was, she’d probably have some good suggestions.

  I put in a quick call to Detective Bustamente and gave him an update on the investigation. “What now?” I asked.

  “If you notice a party-supply store in the area, check in and see if they can tell you anything. The girl might have bought the balloons there.”