by Dana Mentink
“No, squirt,” Zach said, hastily grabbing it up again. “I remembered that it’s dog-treat baking day.” He grabbed a ceramic bowl and began to crack eggs into it. “Eddie’s down to his last dozen or so.”
The little girl nodded solemnly. “And I marked it on the calendar. See?” She pointed to a little dog bone drawn in brown marker. “That means baking day.”
“Right,” Zach said, whisking the eggs and slopping some over the side in the process. “Baking day, and I’ve got the best helper in the world. And you work cheap, too.”
“One dollar,” she said, but she looked troubled.
“Whatsa matter, squirt?”
Ellie squinched up her button nose and sent a sidelong glance at Violet. “Violet knows how to cook more things than I do. Maybe she should be your helper.”
“No way, Ellie. I only know how to make people things, not dog things,” Violet said. “I’m just here to bring over some muffins, anyway.” Violet kissed Ellie. He looked for signs that she was overtired, stressed from the trauma she’d endured, but she seemed in perfect control as always. “I’m heading to the diner.” She held up a palm. “Carter’s taking me. You two enjoy treat-baking day.”
“I want to talk to you, Vi,” Zach said.
“Later. Dog treats take top priority.” She gave Ellie a thumbs-up and left.
Ellie watched her go. “I like Violet.”
“I like her, too, even if she does argue with me.”
“Why don’t you marry her, then?”
He dropped an egg onto the floor. Before he could grab the paper towels, she got the salt and sprinkled it onto the smashed egg, scooping it up easily.
“Where’d you learn that trick?”
“From Violet. So why don’t you marry her? She’s pretty and friendly and she knows how to cook and take care of dogs and people.”
He cracked another egg and got it into the bowl this time. “’Cause we’re just friends. Friends don’t get married.”
“Daddy said Mommy was his best friend before she died.”
That one stopped him. What was the best way to answer? Distraction, he remembered. Carter always tried that when Ellie was fixated on something. “I...uh...do you want to mix?”
“No. Mixing is your job. You have bigger muscles.”
“But my muscles are tired.”
She tipped her head, solemnly considering in that way that made him turn to mush.
“I am the roller and the cutter,” she said. “I don’t do the mixing. Do you want me to get Uncle Noah to help since your muscles are tired?”
He chuckled. “I think I have enough energy to mix.”
“Good. I have to do the other parts.” Ellie was the one who had helped him find the dog treat recipe in the first place, sitting with him to pore over pet cookbooks, testing out several recipes until they found the perfect palate pleaser for Eddie. Ellie was great at reminding him about the next step when he forgot, and patiently setting the timer when he tried to impress her by saying he didn’t need to set one. Wise beyond her years, tender and sweet, and he was proud to be her uncle. And he’d be one to Katie and Jordy’s child, too, the best uncle he could possibly be. Swallowing back a tide of bittersweet emotion, he set to work.
When the dough was mixed, she rolled it out, pressing the tiny bone cookie cutter into the brown goo and loading the shapes onto the cookie trays.
“How hot do I set the...?”
“Four hundred twenty-five,” she said. “For...”
“Ten minutes,” he said. “I remembered that one.”
“That’s great. You’re doing a good job, Uncle Zach.”
He laughed. “Thanks. I haven’t had to use the fire extinguisher in a long time, have I?”
“That’s because we set the timer.”
He tugged at her ponytail. “What would I do without you?”
“You would have to pay someone else a dollar to help you. Like Violet. She would help you even without the dollar.”
Zach tried to forestall any more marriage suggestions by washing up the bowls and sliding the pan of baked treats out of the oven. They passed a happy half hour until Noah came in and poured coffee.
“Good morning, squirt,” he said, kissing her cheek. “Your daddy said to remind you to brush your teeth.”
“Can I do it later?”
Noah pretended to consider before he shook his head. “Your teeth will be sad if you wait.”
“I don’t think teeth get sad.”
“But your daddy does, so go do it now, okay?”
“Okay.” Ellie trotted off.
Noah looked at the coffeepot. “Did you make it?”
“No, Carter did.”
“Excellent, then I’ll have some.” Noah poured himself a cup.
Zach ignored the jibe and washed the dishes. “Vi settled?”
“Yeah. All quiet at the diner. Carter made sure there’s a detective outside.” He fetched a water bottle and twisted off the top. “Got a tip on Victor Jones.”
The third man frequenting Bill Oscar’s ticket counter at Emerge Airlines. Zach perked up. “Yeah?”
“Snitch we popped says Jones hangs out at a bagel shop in Pomonok, selling drugs when he can, mostly on Thursdays, though he’s been away from it for a while. We’re staking it out today. I’m not even going to ask if you want in.”
“Waste of breath,” Zach said, sprinting for the stairs. He was showered, changed into street clothes and had Eddie secured in a civilian leash and harness by the time Noah finished his cup of coffee.
“Scotty will be sorry he’s missing out,” Zach said, eyeing the rottweiler’s police leash hanging on a hook.
“Especially since he hates having his teeth cleaned, but I promised him a cheeseburger when I pick him up tonight.” Noah paused. “I stopped in to see Katie yesterday afternoon.”
His heart thunked with pain at the mention of Jordy’s widow. “How’s she doing? Baby okay?”
“Baby is healthy, though the doctor is concerned Katie isn’t gaining enough weight. She isn’t sleeping, but Sophie is plying Katie with food all the time and checking on her daily, like everybody else.” Noah cleared his throat. “Katie says she keeps having dreams where Jordan and Snapper walk through the door.”
A painful reminder of what she’d lost, what they’d all lost. Zach exhaled against the anguish. “Any new word on Snapper?”
“Couple more possible sightings. After the news first broke, people thought they saw German shepherds all over Queens, but nothing’s panned out.”
The more time that passed, the worse chance they had of finding Snapper alive. It was possible, maybe probable, that Jordy’s abductor had killed the dog, too. It wouldn’t have been easy. Snapper would have fought to the death to defend Jordy. He remembered working a parade with his older brother when a guy high on drugs took a swing at Jordy. The guy had been so scared of the barking and snapping teeth he’d begged to be taken to jail.
If you’re out there, Snapper, hang on, buddy. We’ll find you.
Zach finished the water and slammed the bottle into the trash. There had to be something, some bit of hope in the midst of this disaster. Arresting Victor Jones might just get them some info on who was running the airport smuggling operation. Bill Oscar? The shadowy Uno?
Noah put his cup down, interrupting Zach’s thoughts. “Katie said she’s praying that we are all dealing with this okay.”
“Praying? She can save her breath. God’s not answering.” He grabbed his cell phone and jammed it into his pocket.
“Yes, He is,” Noah said, voice low. “We just can’t hear Him right now, but we’ll feel His comfort in time.”
God doesn’t care, he wanted to tell his brother, but he could not say such a thing, not in the house where his parents had raised them to be men of faith; not in the p
lace Jordy would have taken him to task for railing at God.
It occurred to Zach that his brother looked tired, haggard, as if the weight of the universe rested on his shoulders. How was Noah managing to deal with his own grief and lead the K-9 unit in that calm and reasoned way of his? No blowups or angry venting from Noah. Zach admired his brother, his skills, his quiet strength and his faith. He blew out a breath. Maybe he would pray again someday, but it wouldn’t be today.
They loaded up in their Chevy Tahoes and took off for the bagel shop. As he drove away he peeked at the top floor of the Griffin household, which was dark, of course, because the whole family was busy at work serving breakfast at the diner, which was a scant fifteen minutes from the Jameson home. Hopefully, Violet would stay put, but there was a needy puppy to be dealt with, so she’d probably be going back and forth. There would be a cop assigned to watch her and he felt infinitely better knowing that during her puppy care stints, she was right next door to a houseful of cops and dogs, depending on the hour, instead of alone in her apartment.
Traffic was no worse than usual, and they made it in less than a half hour. Noah took up a position in his car, away from the store. It would not be unusual to see a cop car parked along a busy city block. Zach had to prowl around for fifteen minutes before he finally found a spot vacated by a departing delivery truck. He began to unobtrusively stroll the street, his earpiece hidden beneath a Yankees baseball cap, gun holstered and concealed under his windbreaker. The tip was good because a mousy guy in baggy clothes and a denim jacket loitered near the dumpster that filled an alley to the side of the deli.
“In position,” Zach said into his radio.
“Ten-four,” Noah replied. “I got eyes on him, too. We’ll move in if Eddie alerts.”
Zach and Eddie made their way to the shop window, peering in as if they were planning out a purchase. A whiff of yeast-scented steam tickled their noses. The shop was crammed with people grabbing up morning coffee and shouting out their orders for bagels to the unflappable guy behind the counter. Poppy seed, cinnamon raisin, hard salt, accompanied by dozens of different spreads from cream cheese and lox, to whitefish, to pimento-olive spread. Zach kept his peripheral vision on the alley.
He bent to scratch the dog. “Find the drugs, Eddie.”
Eddie sprang into action, tail zinging as Zach walked him by the guy in the alley who was lighting a cigarette. Eddie sniffed in the direction of the man’s boots, his body tensing in that way that promised a bust was going to go down. He pointed his nose at Victor’s pockets, precise as a laser beam locked on target.
The man looked up, startled, just as Eddie sat down at his feet. Zach pulled his gun. “Police. Let me see your hands.”
In moments Noah was there, and Gavin, too, who had been positioned a few blocks from their location. Zach patted the man down and retrieved his wallet, identifying him as Victor Jones, along with an eight ball of cocaine, three and a half grams, wrapped neatly for easy distribution. It wouldn’t fetch much, probably a hundred dollars or less, but it was plenty. While Gavin cuffed Jones, Zach gave Eddie a few of the coveted treats from his pouch. The dog munched happily, celebrating a job well-done.
“You’re under arrest,” Gavin said, before he Mirandized Jones.
Jones grunted. “C’mon, man. I can’t do jail time now. I got bills to pay and my girl’s gonna dump me if I serve time now.”
“Your girl should dump you, anyway, if she knows what’s good for her,” Zach said. “You sell drugs. She can do better.” Zach waited a few beats as Victor wriggled in the handcuffs. “But I’m a softie so maybe there’s something we can do, work out some kind of a deal.”
Victor raised a wary eyebrow. “What kind of deal?”
“Information. You share it with me, and I can talk to the DA, maybe get you off easier.”
Victor’s body went tense. “Don’t have any information.”
“Aww, come on, Vic. Don’t waste my time, man. We know you’ve been working with someone at LaGuardia who gets you and the drugs through security. Who is it?”
Terror sparked in Victor’s eyes. He shook his head. “Dunno anything about that. I’m a homebody. I don’t like airplanes.”
“Not buying it, Victor. You flew on Emerge Airline three times the last month alone. You’re smuggling for someone. I want the name.”
“Like I said, I can’t help you.”
Zach stood a little closer. “Yes, you can. One name.”
Victor’s throat muscles worked but he remained mute.
Zach heaved an elaborate sigh. “I tried. You’ll be going to jail now. You can say goodbye to your girl.” He pretended to be thinking it over. “Hey, this is your second strike, so you’re getting close to prison time, aren’t you? Another drug charge isn’t going to look good for you.”
A bead of sweat slid down Victor’s cheek. “Don’t you have other people to hassle? I’m small-time.”
Zach closed in like a shark smelling blood in the water. “But you can give me the big-time guy. Who are you smuggling for, Victor?” Bill Oscar. Zach was ready for Victor to spill the name. One word and he’d put Violet’s boss away before he could threaten her safety any further. He stepped forward even farther, crowding Victor, and Eddie whined. Noah shot Zach a look. With an effort, Zach remained calm. “I’ve got things to do, Victor. We can’t stand here forever. One name, that’s all.”
Victor chewed his lip. “Can’t tell you, man.”
“Why not?” Zach snapped. “If you don’t, you’ll go to jail for a long time.”
“Better than crossing him.”
“Who?” Zach demanded. “Give me the name and we’ll protect you.”
“Yeah, right.” Victor guffawed. “’Cause the cops are so good at protecting people they want to toss in jail. Uh-uh. I don’t work for anybody, and I ain’t giving you nothing. Take me to jail now and let’s stop wasting both our time.”
Zach grunted and started to question Victor further when Noah gripped his bicep. “Let it go for now. He may be more inclined to talk after he sits in a cell for a while.”
Stomach tight with fury, Zach led Eddie away. Anger coursed through him in unrelenting waves, though he tried to calm himself. He knew Victor and Beck and Roach had to be working for or through Bill Oscar. It was the perfect setup. Bill ushered them through the airport, being sure they checked in during his shift. They bypassed security via the crooked TSA guy, Jeb Leak, who had so far avoided arrest, and Bill reaped the profits. Could be Bill was working with a big-time dealer, Uno or someone else, but he was the key, Zach was certain. All he needed was confirmation from Victor...and he hadn’t gotten it. He would try again after Victor cooled his heels in a cell for a couple of hours.
The flood of people exiting the store with their bagels passed by, oblivious to him and Eddie. The sun was unusually warm for May, and Eddie was basking against a brick wall, soaking in the beams after enjoying his treat. Dogs had an enviable ability to relax no matter what the circumstances. With Violet intending to return to work the next day, he felt anything but relaxed. Another chance to nail Bill Oscar had slipped right through his fingers.
Next best step. The words came to him unbidden, Jordy’s favorite saying. When the wheels fell off the wagon and everything about a case was coming apart bolt by bolt, his big brother would say the only option was to take the “next best step.” For the first time since Jordy’s death, he was able to enjoy the memory without a stab of agony. There was pain, yes, probably always would be, but there was also a bit of gentle comfort in the replaying of his brother’s wisdom. He had that to hold on to, if nothing else.
The sun was mellowing into a perfect spring morning. He felt a ferocious yearning to run along the Vanderbilt Parkway and breathe in the sights and smells of the city like he’d done so many times with Jordy, but he knew that place would forever be ruined by the image of his dead brother, back
against the tree. What had been his last thoughts as he’d died? Sadness that he was alone without a single soul to share his last moments? Zach swallowed down the anguish. There would be time for rest later, after he got Bill behind bars. Before that happened, he had another difficult mission to attend to: convincing Violet that she should take some vacation time, a leave, anything until he figured out the truth about Bill.
Violet was, above all things, loyal, so he’d have his hands full with that endeavor. Somehow he would find a way to reason with her. He looked at Eddie. “Got any good tips on how to handle a tough woman who isn’t about to listen to good sense?”
Eddie opened one eye and then closed it again.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought. Let’s go, Eddie. Time to try and move a mountain.”
NINE
Fatigue dulled Violet’s senses, though it was only just past the breakfast rush. She had been awake since 3 a.m., long before her muffin drop at the Jamesons’, thanks to the whining of a certain Labrador puppy. She’d finally strong-armed her parents into letting her go to the diner, promising to get a police escort when she returned to check on Latte. To her chagrin, a plainclothes detective had been assigned to be her babysitter, unless Zach or another member of the K-9 unit was available.
Even without the shrill puppy whining, she would have been awake, anyway. She hadn’t slept past eight o’clock more than a handful of times in her entire life. The early bird got the extra puppy shifts and she’d spent the predawn hours in between doggie playtime sessions searching her mother’s cookbooks for the perfect lemon meringue pie recipe.
Now, back at home for another round of midmorning puppy care, her thoughts traveled again to pie. It still irked Violet that she could not seem to master the art of making her mother’s favorite pie, no matter how she went about it. Every time she attempted one, the meringue would shrink and pull away from the crust or the custard would be too loose or too firm. Her father had always said the best way to get Violet to attempt a task was to tell her she couldn’t do it. He was right, and she was doggedly determined to make a perfect pie for her mother’s birthday party on Tuesday. Killers and threats and fear were not going to derail her from her self-appointed mission.
