Groomer Has It

by Katie Hagen

  “I’m not back,” I said sternly. “Not really. It’s only temporary. I could never…”

  “Live here?” Jordan finished my thought for me.

  Jordan was a small-town guy and that’s all he would ever be. It wasn’t bad. Some people just wanted a smaller world I guessed. I’d never been one of those people.

  “I just need more,” I sighed. I remembered saying something very similar when we broke up. Jordan moved his hand back to the wheel and tightened his grip.

  We turned onto main street.

  All the lights were off in the little shops and restaurants of Glaney. The homes on the hill were mostly dark as well. In L.A the lights never seemed to be out.

  Suddenly Jordan braked. His arm flew out to push me back against the seat and I gripped hard to Picklepuss. I gasped as I recognized the white masked face of the dog that stood in front of our car.

  A saluki. Sleek and black with patches of white on his ears and feet, he stood with the stature of a greyhound. Wisps of hair hung down from his neck, belly, legs, and his abnormally long, thin tail. A few slips of paper hung from his mouth. He watched us through the glass as the engine rumbled.

  “That’s the dog,” I whispered. “I saw him behind Kitty’s a couple nights ago.” Picklepuss growled.

  The saluki’s black eyes drew me in beneath his mask of white fur. What was he carrying?

  Jordan honked the horn and the dog slowly moved on as my heart raced. I reached over and punched him in the arm.

  “What?” He laughed.

  “You scared me, that’s what.” I laughed too. “And I’m pretty sure you copped a feel.”

  “Sorry,” he snickered as we pulled up in front of Kitty’s. “You got your key?”

  I reached into my pocket before realizing I’d left my keys on the counter at Paint N’ Tings. “Crap. Oh well, Carlie should be there. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

  Jordan laughed. “Good luck waking her up.”

  “I’m sure if I knock loud enough,” I smiled and shifted the little poodle in my arms.

  “Maybe if you set off some fireworks?”

  “Do you happen to have an industrial foghorn?”

  “Nope, clean out. Sorry.”

  “Thank you, Jordan. For the ride.”

  Jordan tipped an imaginary hat. “Night, Kit.”

  “Goodnight.”

  I watched him pull away and turn up the hill toward the little houses and side streets of Glaney. Eventually the sound of the car’s engine was replaced by frogs croaking from the wooded area next to Kitty’s that spanned from the parking lot to the beach.

  I realized then that I had no idea where Jordan lived. For years I’d still pictured him in his mom’s garage. “He’s probably moved out by now,” I said to Picklepuss as we walked around the building.

  When we got to the back, I let her down to do her business. As she sniffed, I noticed a paper flutter by in the breeze and bent to pick it up. Another caught my eye and I gathered that as well, following the trail until I had four pages in my hand. Picklepuss let out a sharp yip at the top of the stairs telling me she was ready to get inside. I followed her to the top with the papers in my hand and wiggled the doorknob. It was unlocked. No need for that foghorn after all.

  Inside, the kitchen light was on and I could hear Carlie snoring from somewhere in the back. The clock meowed midnight.

  It was officially Tuesday. The grooming shop would be open in the morning. I yawned while Picklepuss drank some water from the little bowl I’d got her. Grabbing a mug that said ‘I have a small wiener’ with a picture of a dachshund, I poured myself some water and sat at the bar.

  The papers were scattered in front of me. Two looked like building designs, one was a colored pencil drawing of modern buildings with storefronts and restaurants set up like a sort of tiny community. It reminded me of The Grove in L.A., one of my favorite shopping centers. On top, in pretty cursive were the words, Glaney Commons.

  “Holy crap,” I said to myself. “Glaney is finally moving up in the world? No way!”

  The last piece of paper was a handwritten note. The lettering was smeared and smudged with dirt so I couldn’t quite make out the entire thing and the signature on the bottom was practically illegible. There was one sentence however that I kept reading over and over.

  ‘I’m sure you will make certain our problem is handled.’

  “That sounds ominous,” I said out loud even as Picklepuss began to snore from the couch.

  Quietly, I flipped off the kitchen light and went down the hall to the guest room. Carlie’s snores came from Aunt Kitty’s bedroom. The door was cracked open and I could see her in the bed. Her blond hair reminded me of Kitty, and I smiled.

  In my own bed I thought about the note and wondered what it meant. What problem was the writer referring to? I wondered who the letter was meant for and how it got behind my shop? Even more curious was the nagging feeling that the note might in some way be connected to Vicki Perring’s murder. But how could a nasty old woman and something as wonderful as a shopping center be connected? The thoughts swirled around my mind as my eyes grew heavy. It didn’t take me long to drift off to a Cinnabon scented dreamland.

  I awoke to rustling in the kitchen and stretched my legs. The light coming through the curtains was dim and the little clock on the nightstand told me it was 6:15 am. The shop opened at seven-thirty to allow customers to drop their dogs off before heading to work. Kitty never minded keeping the dogs until closing. Anything to make it easier for the customers. I put on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt that I’d cover with an apron downstairs. In socks and slippers, I padded out to the living room and sat at a counter stool.

  Carlie was making toast and I mumbled yes when she asked if I wanted some. “Coffee?” I asked and she pointed at the pot. “The service in this place is terrible,” I mumbled.

  After fixing myself some of the black nectar of the gods, I sat back at the stool where Carlie had placed some dry toast and a log of butter. I spread it on the toast in a haze then sipped my coffee. Finally, I began to feel my head clearing.

  “Where’s Picklepuss?”

  Carlie leaned on the counter across from me and took a bite of jam slathered toast. “The little diva is napping over there,” she pointed to the couch where I could see just the tuft of her grey head over the arm. “I let her out earlier because she came in and demanded it.”

  “Thanks,” I yawned. “I take it you’re working today?”

  “Yup. Just living the dream,” Carlie complained. I noticed her hair was pulled back into a tight ponytail and she was dressed in jeans and a tank top.

  “Are those mine?” I questioned her wardrobe change.

  Carlie scrunched her nose. “No. They’re mine.”

  “Funny, I don’t remember you bringing a bag with you last night but I’m pretty sure that’s your second outfit change.”

  Carlie stirred her coffee with her finger and then plopped it in her mouth. “I keep a few things in Kitty’s closet. You know, for emergencies.”

  I raised my eyebrow at her.

  Carlie glared at me. “Ok fine. I’ve been living here since Kitty passed.”

  I didn’t say anything at first.

  I knew she’d had some financial issues. Jobs and Carlie didn’t often go well together. I also knew that she probably hadn’t expected me to come back and had wrongfully assumed that the apartment would be free after Kitty died. It didn’t really matter anyway. Yes, Kitty left it to me, but I didn’t need it. I had my place in L.A. I’d rather have Carlie living there than a stranger anyway.

  “You could have at least dusted,” I smiled at her.

  Carlie rolled her eyes. “I wouldn’t even know how.”

  “I’ll have to show you sometime.”

  Carlie laughed. “You’ll show me? You’re a slob!”

  “I’ve gotten a lot cleaner over the years, Carlie. I hardly ever leave Twinkie wrappers in my room anymore and I even take out the trash sometim
es.”

  Carlie reached under the counter and pulled out some crumpled, coffee ground covered papers. “Like this? You left these right on the counter and that pile of shredded paper is still in the corner over there.”

  I grabbed the papers from her and smoothed them out. “That one was Picklepuss,” I said of the pile then remembered I still had laundry in the wash I’d never transferred. I’d have to wash them again now. “These were outside last night when I got back from jail.”

  Carlie coughed. “Excuse me?”

  “Oh, right.” I explained to her how I ran into Vic Perring and Ashely Trull outside and how I’d been dragged off to a cold jail cell while she danced the night away with Doc. I then told her about my meeting with the mayor, my ride home from Jordan, and the saluki in the street. “And that’s when I found these papers,” I finished.

  “So, did you and Jordan…”

  “Oh, my gawd Carlie. I’m not even answering that.”

  Carlie ripped a piece of crust off her toast and stuck it in her mouth. “So, no then?”

  “No! Absolutely not. No.”

  “Ok!” she held her hands up in defense. “Jeez.”

  “Anyway, what do you make of this?” I showed her the drawing, the design, and the note.

  Carlie scanned them all then set the pile down. “Looks like someone’s planning on building something. Oh! Maybe this is what they were all talking about last night?”

  “Who?”

  “The Vicki Perring club thing. They’re also all on the chamber of commerce board actually and they were talking about how the Mayor keeps hinting that we need to expand. Maybe this is part of his plan?”

  “Huh,” I grunted and took the papers back. “I wonder if the note was the Mayor’s. Is this his signature?”

  Carlie leaned in and looked it over. “I have no idea. It’s all smeared anyway. I’m not sure he would even know.”

  “Yeah, probably. I wonder who he was writing to?”

  Carlie shrugged.

  “It’s just…do you see this part here? It says something about a problem.”

  Carlie securitized the line. “Sounds super mobby.”

  “I know, right? You don’t think this could have something to do with the murder, do you?”

  Carlie’s eyes got even bigger than usual. “Like a conspiracy?”

  “Maybe,” I shrugged.

  Carlie stood up and started pacing the kitchen floor. “Last night I heard Peter say something to Frannie. Something about a problem being taken care of. You don’t think?”

  “No. Peter couldn’t have had anything to do with this,” I said defensively.

  “Why, because he’s cute? Ever hear of Ted Bundy?”

  “Peter isn’t a killer. I’d be able to tell something like that. Besides, I was alone with him in that house when we found Vicki Perring. If he was a killer, why didn’t he kill me too?”

  “Maybe you weren’t a problem…yet,” she frowned. “Most serial killers had wives and families that knew nothing about it.”

  “I’m not a problem now.”

  “Eh,” she shrugged and put her dishes in the sink. When she turned around, she grabbed a plastic glove from the counter and fished what looked like a cookie of some kind out of it. “Want one?”

  “Gross! What is that?”

  “There were way too many treats at that party last night. I had to bring some home.”

  “But in a glove?”

  Carlie shrugged. “It was all I could find. What? Does it creep you out?” She held the sugar stuffed hand toward me and tried to stroke my cheek. I swatted it away.

  The clock meowed seven and we both turned to look at it. The conversation would have to wait. It was time to get to work.

  Chapter 7

  When we got downstairs, I set Picklepuss down in the grooming room which was separated from the front by a small latched gate. Of course, she spent a minute or two whining before noticing Beverly sitting on her stool at the back grooming table. The little poodle didn’t waste any time and ran to the elderly groomer’s feet and demanded to be picked up. Beverly obeyed and began fawning over her as Picklepuss knew she would.

  “Oh Kit, she’s just darling,” she cooed. “Is she yours?”

  “Hi Bev,” I smiled genuinely and gave her a hug. Picklepuss licked my ear. “Actually, she belonged to Vicki Perring she…”

  “Phooey!” Beverly spat. “Of course, it’s not HER fault,” she said to Picklepuss who hung on her every word. “You’re lovely. But your mother…” She let the words trail off, but I imagined that inside of that tiny, silver-blue haired head there was nothing nice to be said about Vicki Perring.

  Beverly gave Picklepuss another squeeze, then let her free to the floor to roam. Her tools were all laid out on the table and a coffee mug sat on the shelf next to her. On any given day, Beverly might only have one or two clients, but she was always there at opening and would stay as long as she could be useful. She was a shining example of health and had always attributed it to keeping busy.

  Carlie went up front to check messages and get ready to open while I found Kitty’s apron and set up her station.

  “So, you weren’t a fan of Vicki, Bev?”

  Beverly practically growled. “That hussy stole my Henry from me. Best boyfriend I ever had.”

  I smiled to myself as I went to check the shampoo bottles. “I’m sorry to hear that, Bev. But there’s plenty of fish in the sea I hear.”

  “I’m all fished out,” she grumbled. “Worst part was she dropped him anyway. Rumor has it she had another one on the hook. What a waste.”

  So, Vicki had a boyfriend. More than one if Beverly was right. I wondered if they could have had a lover’s quarrel that ended badly. It wouldn’t explain the note I found but I still didn’t have any proof they were connected.

  “Good news girls,” Carlie came around the corner. “No appointments today.”

  “That’s awful news, Carlie. None?” I asked sadly.

  “Well there were three, but they all left messages to cancel.”

  “Did you try to call them back?”

  Carlie looked at Beverly and then back to me. “Well, yeah. I guess there’s a rumor going around that maybe you had something to do with the Vicki Perring thing.”

  “But that’s ridiculous! Argh! All this trash talking is going to ruin us.”

  The other girls went silent while I vented. Picklepuss whined.

  I was about to ask what we were going to do about it when I realized that they were waiting for me to tell them the same thing. Kitty’s Laundromutt had two employees and they were both counting on me, not to mention my aunt’s dream and her good name.

  Suddenly there was a knock on the front door. Carlie went to open it and then came back with a perplexed look. “Umm, Kit? It appears you have a customer?”

  “Why are you saying it like that?” I mumbled as I headed to the front.

  There in the lobby was Vic Perring with a small cat carrier in his hand.

  “Oh no,” I sighed.

  “Before you say anything I’d like to apologize,” Vic stated.

  Picklepuss growled and stuffed her nose underneath the gate.

  “I didn’t want to press charges, it’s just that Sheriff Trull can be...she’s scary, man.”

  I didn’t respond and instead began tapping my toe. Carlie leaned on the counter and looked back and forth between us excitedly.

  “I thought that maybe if I brought you my cat, you know, to work on? Like business supporting business or something?” He moved forward cautiously and put the carrier on the counter. I glanced inside and saw the Persian cat from the bookstore window.

  “This is Crookshanks 2. He needs the works.”

  “What happened to Crookshanks 1?”

  Vic looked at me seriously and said, “No one really knows.”

  I looked at Carlie who giggled and walked out of the room. Her laughter could be heard from the back.

  “It’s a Harry Pott
er thing,” Vic said sheepishly as Carlie continued to laugh.

  “Oh…k. I guess I could do a bath, brush-out, and nails. You can come back for him in about 2 hours. I don’t like to keep cats all day because they need litter boxes.”

  “Understandable. I’ll be back around nine thirty. Thanks, Kit.”

  “No problem,” I said as he turned to leave. “I’m sorry about your aunt by the way. It must be rough. You’re her only family, right?”

  Vic turned back around and sighed. “Yeah. I was kind of a mess as a kid. My parents couldn’t deal. They sent me to live with Aunt Vicki here on Whidbey when I was fifteen. She was tough. But it was ok. Better than it was back home at least.”

  “Yeah, it’s not too bad. When I was fifteen, I was dying to get out of here though. You never thought of moving anywhere else?”

  Vic laughed. “Where would I go?”

  “Umm anywhere?” I shrugged.

  “I get it. It’s a small town and there’s not much to do but I’ve got my bookshop, and my garden. I play a lot of video games with people online. I’m not like a loser or anything. I’ve got friends.”

  “Oh, I’m sure!” I laughed nervously. Sounds cool.”

  “Do you play?” He seemed a little too excited.

  “Not really,” I winced.

  “Oh.”

  Vic tapped on the glass counter then leaned down to take a closer look at Kitty’s collection of tchotchkes.

  “Well, you know, if you need anything,” I slowly began moving away from the counter.

  Vic stood slowly, opened his mouth, closed it, then shook his head before speaking again. “So anyway, it’s cool. She had a lot of money I guess and like investments. Everything’s good. Actually, I probably don’t have to worry about whether or not I sell any books for a while. So that’s cool.”

  Was he really bragging about his inheritance? The body wasn’t even buried yet. That reminded me. “Is there going to be a funeral? I’d like to come. I know it seems weird since I didn’t actually know her, but I feel like I should since I, umm, you know.”

  “Found her corpse?”

  “Yeah, that.”

  “Sure. It’s going to be on Saturday. We have to do it pretty quick because she refused to be cremated.”