Furry Godmother’s words of warning: The Good Ship Lollipop is a misnomer. And an earworm.
I parked beside Mrs. Neidermeyer’s convertible in the lot at Fancy Paws. My wipers flopped back and forth at warp speed, unable to make a dent in the river coursing over my windshield. The storm had eased for a few minutes when I’d left the house only to rush back to life with fervor before I hit Prytania. Luckily, I was one of the few people crazy enough to be on the road. Storms in Louisiana came on fast and rough, though they normally subsided as quickly as they erupted. This one was hanging on like a bad omen.
The Fancy Paws lot was desolate. Mrs. Neidermeyer’s white Beamer sat near the rear entrance. Every light in the building was on. I admired her dedication. It made me glad to be a part of her brand. When the Fancy Paws dancers pranced onto the stage in my tutus, spectators would associate me with her and vice versa. A partnership like that was priceless no matter how much she made me work for it.
I sent a quick text to Jack.
It had taken longer than I’d planned to make the trip to Fancy Paws, and I wasn’t convinced she’d let me grab the costumes and run. It was more likely that she’d insist I make the changes before leaving. Hopefully the adjustments would be nothing significant. The supplies I’d used for her pieces were at the studio. Maybe I wouldn’t be late getting to Furry Godmother after all. As long as she didn’t blame me for whatever had her so upset, I would be okay. The problem had to be something she’d caused. The costumes were perfect when I’d left earlier.
My phone screeched the Psycho shower scene theme. I debated not answering, but with Penelope on the line, I had little choice. “Hello, Pete.”
“I can’t believe you, Lacy!” he seethed. “You can collect your damn cat from the airport in the morning. I’m glad to be rid of her.”
Emotions went up like fireworks in my mind. She was coming to me! In the morning! “Which airline?”
“Delta. I put her on the first flight out. I hope the plane’s four hours late.”
“Fine.” I’d cheerfully wait forever. “Thank you.”
“Whatever. Thank your hard-nosed attorney. He made the arrangements and sent her airplane ticket along with a letter threatening to expose me if she wasn’t on the plane. How dare you tell him about my lab? I could lose my job over that!”
I pressed a palm to my mouth. He meant the time I’d caught him and his other woman enthusiastically christening the entire room. I’d never intended to tell anyone about that humiliating nightmare, but it slipped out to Scarlet in a deluge of tears and desperation.
“Good riddance,” he yelled.
“Hey! It was supposed to be a clean lab, Pete. People expect their results to be accurate, not tainted by your body fluids and skin cells.” I opened my car door and stepped into the blustery night. “I’ll be at the airport tomorrow morning. Penelope had better be on that plane and in the same perfect condition as when I left her.” I disconnected and jammed the phone into my pocket. The elation of victory overcame me. If Penelope was on that plane tomorrow, Chase was getting the kiss of his lifetime.
I texted him and Scarlet quick praises as I hustled toward the building. Loose flyers and debris skimmed across the wet parking lot, catching on telephone poles, trees, and shrubs along the building. I splashed through tiny rivers twisting across the asphalt. My shoes, socks, and feet were soaked before I reached the door.
The wind was frightening. I thrust the entrance to Fancy Paws open and dragged it shut behind me. I stomped sopping shoes against the welcome mat. “Knock knock.” I shook my arms and hands, flinging raindrops over the floor. “Oops.” If I were lucky, she wouldn’t make me mop it up before leaving. “Hello?”
“On the Good Ship Lollipop” played on hidden speakers, giving the bright studio a lively feel. The Shih Tzus had looked fantastic prancing on their hind paws and spinning in little lines earlier. I should have stayed longer to see what happened after a couple rounds in the new ensembles.
Plenty had changed in the few hours I was gone. A dozen wooden stage props cluttered the floor. Stumpy waves on wheeled carriages stood among pinwheels of jumping fish and random nautical props: A boat. Oars. Life preservers. The little boat had a broad deck, pink ramp, and plenty of giant, foam gumdrops. A sign strung between two four-foot candy canes showcased the words Good Ship Lollipop in bright, chunky letters.
The tutus hung in a neat row near the window, swinging gently from their pint-sized rolling rack. Right where I’d left them.
I shifted my weight and squished a small puddle from my shoes. “Mrs. Neidermeyer? I don’t want to ruin your floor.” I leaned in the direction of her open office door and projected my voice. “Mrs. Neidermeyer?”
The bathroom door was open. It seemed to be the only room in the building that didn’t have a light on.
Maybe she couldn’t hear me over the music?
I stepped carefully onto the high-polished floor, accepting my fate. I wasn’t going anywhere until I dried the gallon of water pouring from my hair and shoes. “Mrs. Neidermeyer?” I hustled to the stereo and turned the peppy tune down to a soft drone. “Are you here?”
She wouldn’t have left the studio with all the lights on.
She wasn’t in the bathroom. Her car was in the lot.
I turned in a small circle, surveying the possibilities. Maybe she was in the office. I tiptoe ran across the floor feeling awful. She was probably on the phone and unable to answer me. Meanwhile, I was in the studio yelling like a child.
I slid to a stop several feet before the office door, lingering in my self-made puddle.
The red soles of Christian Louboutins came into view. “Oh no.” I stepped closer, hoping her shoes were cast off and not attached to the rest of her.
A gasp flew from my lips. Mrs. Neidermeyer was face down on the faux sandpaper beach behind the Good Ship. Her face was bloody, as if she’d fallen flat on her nose. Her legs were splayed in a less-than-ladylike manner.
“Oh my goodness.” I yanked the phone from my purse and swiped it to life. I ran to her side and visually evaluated her condition. Her chest rose and fell in steady breaths. No gashes, extensive bruising, or obvious injuries. “Mrs. Neidermeyer? Did you fall? Can you hear me?” I tapped her cheeks and checked her pulse. She was knocked out. Probably fine, but better safe than sorry.
I twisted for a look at the situation around her. Did she have low blood sugar? Trip on a prop? Fall off the Good Ship? I brought the keypad up on my phone and hovered a thumb over the nine-one-one speed dial. “I’m calling an ambulance. We’ll let the paramedics come to us. I don’t want to move you, and the roads are a mess.”
Thunder cracked and white lightning flashed outside, illuminating the dark world beyond her studio windows. Then splintering pain coursed through my skull and my world went black.
I woke to the dreaded refrain of Shirley Temple. I hated the Good Ship and everyone on it. I hated everything because everything I had hurt. My head felt like someone had mistaken it for a piñata. My eyes pulsed with pain. I pressed them shut and fought for comprehension. What happened? Did I fall?
My arms and shoulders were immobile. My wrists burned. My legs were heavy and nonresponsive.
I blinked the hazy world into focus with sheer force of will and took a personal inventory. I was seated on the floor and slumped uncomfortably forward. My wrists ached because they were bound behind me with heavy rope from the beach display. No wonder my arms wouldn’t move.
I needed medical attention. My left shoulder was likely out of its socket, and I probably had a concussion. I peered through blurry eyes at my feet, tied at the ankles like an ugly mermaid tail. An unconscious Mrs. Neidermeyer lay inches away, breathing on my shoes. We were surrounded by ocean props and relentless speakers blaring that heinous song.
Thunder rocked the building, and nausea rolled in my gut. I definitely had a concussion.
I pointed and flexed my feet, wiggling the rope loose like Dad had shown me on endless camping trips. I tapped Mrs. Neidermeyer’s head softly with the soles of my wet shoes. “Hey.” My throat was dry and gravelly. “Wake up.”
I raised my eyes and searched for clues. Was I dreaming? Was this real?
The cuffs on a pair of dress slacks came into view. Shiny, black shoes anchored the pants. “Good. You aren’t dead.” Mr. Tater’s voice intruded on my nightmare. He squatted, and his face swam into view.
Thank goodness!
“Mr. Tater.” I pried my sticky tongue off the roof of my mouth. “Help. Help us. My phone is . . .” Where was my phone? It was in my hand a minute ago. Wasn’t it? I forced a bottleneck of thoughts into order. “I dialed nine-one-one. There’s help on the way. Did you see who did this? Was there another car in the lot when you arrived?” I wiggled against the ropes on my wrists. “Untie me, please!”
He shook his head in sad rejection.
A spear of pain sliced through my forehead. “Wait a minute. Why are you here?” What would bring him to Fancy Paws in a storm?
He wiggled my phone in one hand. The keypad was still on the screen. “You didn’t make your call for help. No one’s on the way. The storm is loud. The music’s loud. You are alone. With me.”
“What?” I squinted to see him in the blinding studio light. Two versions of Mr. Tater swam before me. “Help us.” The words were a strangled mix of pain, fear, and confusion.
“Absolutely.” He stood with a grunt. “First, give me my diamonds.”
“Your what?”
Mrs. Neidermeyer released a low, anguished groan at my feet.
I ached to help her, but my hands were literally tied. My rattled brain strained to make sense of the situation. I squinted up at Mr. Tater. “Did you do this to us?” The truth fell slowly into position. “You sent those texts from Mrs. Neidermeyer’s phone. She didn’t demand I come here. You did.”
Mr. Tater slid a grinchy smile across his spray-tanned face. He produced her bedazzled flip phone from his pants pocket. “Now you’re catching up.”
“You could’ve killed her! How long has she been like that?” I wiggled my wrists against the pain. “I knew my tutus wouldn’t fall apart.” I made my most fierce face. “Let me go. She needs help.”
Mr. Tater swung his chin left and right with an expression doubly as frightening as anything I could manage. “First, the diamonds.”
“I don’t have your diamonds. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He clomped his shoe against the floorboards. “You know exactly what I’m talking about. Miguel left the jewels with you, and I want them back.”
“Miguel’s dead.” I scooted against the prop behind me, forcing my body into a proper seated position and levering my hands off the floor. “He didn’t give me anything. The police thought I killed him.”
“Stop lying!”
I longed to grip my head against his booming voice. Every move I made sent knives through my shoulder. “I don’t have your diamonds. If I had them, I would’ve returned them to you. Why would I keep something that doesn’t belong to me?” I bent my legs, prying as much of myself as possible off the floor.
“Oh, right,” He hacked another laugh that made my ears ring. “Why would anyone keep diamonds that didn’t belong to them?” He dropped back into a squat before me and pressed one corner of my phone to his temple. “Why? Why? Why?” he growled.
“I don’t have your diamonds.” I winced as the decibel of my voice sent shrapnel through my head. The move jerked my tender shoulder, and I cursed.
His face knotted in anger. “I saw Miguel in your store that afternoon. I know you spoke to him. I know you were in on it. What was your cut?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Tears formed in my eyes and raced down both cheeks.
He scratched his head and huffed a small, humorless sound. “At first, I thought it was an unfortunate coincidence. I believed your gung-ho, solve-the-crime, save-my-store act. I worried you might dig too far in my direction, so I left you a note to knock it off before you forced my hand. Do you know how difficult that was for me? I don’t want to have to do this.”
“Then don’t,” I sniffled. “Don’t do this.”
He lifted and dropped his hands at his sides. “I combed your store, Lacy. Every box, every shelf. No jewels. At first, I was so confused. How could they be gone? Where could they go? Where could they be?”
“I don’t know.”
Mr. Tater groaned and rapped the phone against my pounding head. “You’ve had them all along. He gave them to you, and you hid them for him. I know what that pet shop of yours makes every month. It can’t possibly keep you at the standard of living you’re accustomed too. It was only a matter of time before you looked elsewhere for cash.”
I rolled the back of my head against the stout, wooden prop.
“Answer me!”
“No. It’s not true. I never had them. I don’t even know what he stole.” I closed one eye to bring Mr. Tater into focus. “You wanted to distance yourself from me so I wouldn’t tarnish your name. Do you know how crazy I’ve been this week, scrambling to make enough money to cover my costs and a lease payment? You didn’t want to be associated with me. And now you’d kill two women over some stolen jewels? What’s wrong with you? You have insurance. Call them. File a report. They’ll replace your lost inventory. You know that. You’re a businessman.”
He crossed his arms and furrowed his brow. “You still don’t get it. Where do you think my jewels come from? The diamond store? You think I buy all my merchandise legitimately and still make a killing in a town like this? Don’t be daft; it doesn’t suit you.”
I tried opening my other eye and failed. He was off his rocker, and I needed a plan. I worked my feet back and forth, wiggling and scrubbing the rope against itself, loosening the ties.
“Tell me where those jewels are, and I’ll let you live.”
“I have no idea where jewels come from.” I pressed my back to the prop behind me, hoping it was less sturdy than it looked. “None of them. Not yours. Not Tiffany’s. I make pet costumes.”
He looked at the ceiling. “Have you heard the expression ‘Pride cometh before a fall’? Miguel had too much pride. We had a deal, and he got greedy. He supplemented my collection with gems from his heists, and I paid generously. I reset the stones into my original pieces and no one was any the wiser until he came down here asking for more money. He robbed every jeweler in the district, including me.”
Robbed by his personal burglar. Maybe karma was real. “You sell stolen jewels? What was Miguel? A freelance thief?”
“Close enough. Now I have to find another one, all because he wanted to cash in and run off with that girl.”
If Hayden had threatened to hurt Sunshine and their baby, like Jack said, Miguel must’ve felt trapped. Hayden was stalking him. He had to get out. My heart broke all over again, for the three of them this time. Sunshine, Miguel, and their baby. I squinted sore eyes at Mr. Tater. “Everyone thinks you’re a great businessman. You’re a fraud. You’re no better than Miguel. And now this?” I motioned to Mrs. Neidermeyer. “What were you thinking?”
“I’m thinking I’m tired of being jerked around. I sell a few stolen jewels. So what? They aren’t enough to draw attention. I use the extra money to bankroll new investments. Like yours. I give back to the economy. That’s called business savvy.”
I nodded in faux agreement. “Shame on you.”
My phone dinged with a new text. He turned it to face me before dropping it beside my leg and smashing his heel into it. Jack’s selfie shattered. “Enough. I’m tired, and the storm won’t last forever.” He pulled a revolver from beneath his suit jacket. “I need to finish this while the storm’s going, so talk.”
Well, that wasn’t going to happen. “How’d you know Miguel kept the jewels so he could leave with Sunshine?”
“I followed him all day after I spotted him in your store. When he went inside that night, I started after him, but a woman beat me through the door. I entered next and heard them out back.” He switched to a high-pitched voice and made a whiny face. “‘You never loved me. You can’t leave me. You lied to me. Why are you doing this?’” He waved the gun in circles, as if the whole thing was ridiculous. “Eventually, it got quiet, and I opened the back door. Miguel was dead, and the woman was gone. Imagine my surprise when the cops showed up a few minutes later with you.” His expression turned grim. “Last chance. Where did you put my diamonds?”
Tater shoved the gun closer to me.
A new idea sparked in my broken head. “Fine. You got me. I’ll show you where I hid the jewels. Untie me, and I’ll take you to them.” Hopefully I was right about the turtle tank. Even if I wasn’t, a car ride would buy me thinking time.
He tipped his head over one shoulder. “Where?”
“They’re at my store.” Where he would also find a very annoyed detective. “I’ll show you.” The knot behind my feet finally gave way, and I stilled.
“Liar!” Mr. Tater screamed, spittle flying into the air.
Panic pried at my brain. He was going to shoot me. What if I died tonight? What a stupid way to die. “Let me show you,” I pleaded.
“I’ve already searched your store. The jewels aren’t there and you know it!” He pulled the revolver’s hammer back with his thumb. “Tell me the truth or she gets the first bullet.” He swung the gun’s barrel toward Mrs. Neidermeyer’s head and inched closer, dropping into a crouch at her side. “Come on,” he taunted. “Be a hero. I know you want to.” He pressed the gun to her temple and looked at me. “Where. Are. My. Jewels?” Each word was a sentence. Each pause was a countdown.
I tensed my muscles and braced myself against the prop. “I. Don’t. Know.” In one excruciating move, I kicked my feet into the air and brought them down on his neck.
He cried out, tipping forward and grabbing his head with one hand.
I pulled my knees to my chest and pushed both feet into his face. They connected with a thud.
His neck snapped back, and he bounced against the floorboards. The gun skittered and thumped against the wall.
“Yes!” I scrambled to my feet, head pounding, eyes crossing, and stomach churning. The prop attached to my ropes slid down my back and fell away, drawn by gravity and aided by slightly loosened ropes. I bit my lip to squelch a scream and hurried to Mrs. Neidermeyer’s side. I shoved her with my foot. Hard. “Wake up! Get up! Wake up!”
Mr. Tater moaned and rolled onto his back.
The gun was on the other side of him, and my hands were still tied behind my back. I couldn’t hide. I couldn’t use a doorknob or phone. He’d smashed my phone!
Mr. Tater rolled onto his side and grabbed his nose. Blood rushed over his lips and colored his teeth. “I’m going to kill you!”
I kicked his gun away and scrambled through the open office door, shoving it shut behind me. I pressed my back to the door and turned the lock on the knob with my fumbling fingertips.
The scent of burnt coffee and old paper overtook me. There was no other way out. No windows. I was trapped. I scanned the area for a weapon. I needed an envelope opener or another way to free my hands.
An enormous, tan rectangle in the corner caught my attention. The little black squares and spiral phone cord called to me like the savior that it was.
I jumped backward onto the desk and screamed as my left arm jostled and bounced against my side.
I leaned forward, craning my bound hands to reach the receiver. If I could unhook the phone, I could dial 9-1-1.
Outside the door, Mrs. Neidermeyer screamed.
“Come on,” I cried. I swatted through the pain, aiming but missing the phone behind me.
“I warned you!” Mr. Tater’s voice cut through the hollow office door.
“Please let her be okay,” I whispered.
A gunshot exploded before I finished the prayer.
My ears rang, and I heaved onto the floor. My teeth chattered painfully.
An ugly sob shook my body. My fingers connected with the receiver behind me, and it rattled off the cradle and onto the desk.
“Thank you thank you thank you thank you.” One, two, three. I counted the rows of buttons with my fingertips and pushed. “Nine.” Back up. One. Two. “One. One.” Tears fell over my face in hot, wet sheets.
“Nine-one-one. What’s your emergency?” a tinny voice lifted from the receiver.
“Help!” I screamed, suddenly overcome with desperation. “We’re at Fancy Paws dance studio. There’s a man with a gun.”
The office door burst open, and Mr. Tater walked in. The fingers of one hand were knotted deep in Mrs. Neidermeyer’s hair.
Mascara blackened her cheeks. Lipstick smeared her chin and jawbone. Blood clung to her nose and upper lip. Awful sounds gurgled from her twisted mouth. “Please don’t do this. Please.”
He pressed the gun to her ribs with his free hand. “Shut. Up.”
The storm drummed to a crescendo on the roof, flickering the lights and stopping my heart.
Mr. Tater stepped forward, leaving a trembling Mrs. Neidermeyer behind him. He lifted the gun toward me. “Last chance.”
I dug deep for any semblance of composure and channeled my mother. “No, Mr. Tater,” I corrected. “It’s your last chance to run before you’re arrested. I’ve dialed nine-one-one.” I tipped my head slightly, indicating the phone receiver at my hip. “They’re on their way, and they’re recording every word. If you leave now, you can avoid a murder charge and maybe get out of town before they find you.”
His crazed eyes flicked to the phone. “You’re bluffing.”
I tented my eyebrows. “I’m not, but it’s your call. Waste some more time. Kill me before you go and never see freedom again, or make a run for it and maybe disappear before the police get here.”
Beads of sweat lined his brow and upper lip. Rage and fear colored his face.
I thought of my parents. I’d promised Dad I’d call so he’d know I was safe. I’d never lied to my dad before. The weight of all I’d put my mother through crashed over me. I owed her more than I could repay. I’d never been as happy as I had been since moving home. I closed my eyes and sent loving thoughts to my folks.
I opened them again to see Jack step into view outside the office door, inches behind Mrs. Neidermeyer.
Tater’s hand and gun shook. “If I’m going down, I’m taking the witnesses with me.”
I worked up a cocky smirk. “Too late.”
Jack set a hand on Mrs. Neidermeyer’s shoulder, presumably to usher her away. She released a bloodcurdling scream and collapsed.
Tater spun in her direction.
“It’s over,” Jack said. “Put the gun down.”
Gun shots erupted. Two in quick succession.
I released a wild, regretful cry. My ears rang and my vision blurred.
Mr. Tater staggered backward into the tiny office and sprawled onto the floor at my feet.
Jack appeared before me. His strong hands wrapped my cheeks, and his wide, calloused thumbs stroked the hollows beneath my eyes. His voice caressed my frantic heart. “It’s going to be okay.”
I cried louder. The chatter in my teeth spread to my limbs, and I vibrated with shock and excess adrenaline. “Mr. Tater bought stolen jewels from Miguel. He broke into my store. He left the note on my tire. He saw Hayden at Furry Godmother that night.”
Jack paid no attention to my rambling. He prodded my skin with gentle fingers. “Is your arm broken?”
I shook my head. “My shoulder’s dislocated.”
He untied my wrists and rubbed them gently. He lifted the receiver on the desk. “Hello? This is Detective Jack Oliver.”
I forced my attention to the dark-crimson stain spreading toward us over the office floor.
Jack put the old receiver on the cradle and took my hand in his. “This is going to hurt like hell.” He braced himself and pulled my arm until the furious pain in my shoulder released with a snap.
“Ah!” I screamed. He pulled me against his chest. “You’re supposed to count me down or wait for the paramedics,” I sobbed against his shoulder. “Are you trying to kill me or save me?”
Jack leaned away and curved my arm against my tummy to stabilize the shoulder. “I’m saving you.”
He bumped the body at his feet with the toe of his boot. “He’ll live. I only gave him a flesh wound. I want him to stand trial.”
“What about Mrs. Neidermeyer?”
“She fainted. I tapped her shoulder, and she went down like a bag of bricks.”
I laughed. “Ow.” I squinted. “I’m concussed.”
Jack moved confident fingers through my hair and over my scalp, evaluating the report. “You know I told you to stay home, right?”
I flinched when he found a tender spot. “Really? You’re blaming this on me?”
“If the tutu fits.”
Outside, the distant whir of sirens cut through the wind and rain.
I tried to still my rattling teeth. “Thank you for saving me.”
“No problem. Besides, you saved yourself. I was on my way here to yell at you after I got your text about making a pit stop. I called first, but you didn’t answer, and I assumed the worst. Then I heard the nine-one-one dispatcher sending units to this address.”
“Tater had my phone. He smashed it. What about Hayden? Did you find her?”
“We’ve got Hayden in custody. She admitted to the murder almost immediately. It was an accident. A crime of passion.”
I held back a body-shaking sob and sought something good to think about while EMTs loaded Mr. Tater onto a gurney. “Pete’s giving my cat back. I’m picking her up at the airport tomorrow morning.”
Jack frowned. “I don’t think you should be driving for a few days.”
“I’ll call a cab.” Or Dad, or Scarlet, or Imogene, or Chase.
“I’ll drive you.”
Or Jack. I pulled in a deep breath. I had people. “Oh.” I set my palm against Jack’s stubbled cheek. “I didn’t ask about you. Tater tried to shoot you.” I wiped tears from my face and did my best to look strong. “Are you okay?”
He made a sour face. “Haven’t you heard? I’m indestructible.”
I laughed. “Ow.” I removed my hand from his cheek and used it to hold my head together.
He placed his hand over mine. “I didn’t expect to shoot anyone tonight. I haven’t done that in ages.”
“Yeah? Well, stick with me,” I muttered.