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After a busy day of grooming, Daniel and I sat in my office discussing the French bulldog thefts and Mr. Foley’s murder when we heard the lock of the back door flip open.
Daniel scrambled to his feet and dashed to peek down the hall. He twirled and waltzed back toward the couch with a huge, dopey grin. I recognized the look. Daniel saved the goofy grins for when a hot guy was present. And sure enough, my hunky cop boyfriend, Officer Jackson, strutted into the office, carrying his leather jacket and a motorcycle helmet.
“What’s up, buttercup?” Jackson winked. He set the helmet and jacket on the edge of my desk and bent to peck me on the lips. I didn’t mind his after-hour scruff one bit, and he smelled of leather, spice, and everything nice.
I grinned like a giddy schoolgirl. Gosh, he was gorgeous, especially in uniform. He had this bad-boy persona mixed with sexy soldier, smoldering dark eyes, a rock-hard body, and a mischievous smile that caused me to go weak in the knees.
“Hey you, how was work today?” I finally asked.
“Dealing with the Foley case. Anything interesting happen around here?” he asked. And like usual, before I could answer, Daniel sprang from the couch, and with animated hands, he blurted everything out.
“What about the dogs? The Frenchies. Have y’all found them? We did! Melinda Goldberg has one! She told us her husband purchased it at an event held at the Peacock residence. And are you ready for this? Mr. Goldberg paid three-thousand smackeroos! Steely and I are looking into it, acting as Citizens on the Watch, of course. The COW will report to you if need be.” Daniel sagged back onto the couch and exhaled like a released helium balloon. “Sheesh, I feel better getting that all off my chest.” He fanned his face with his hand.
I bit the inside of my lower lip. Jeez Louise.
Cuff tiptoed across the couch, licked Daniel’s hand, and crawled into his lap. My pup peered at me with bulging amber eyes. Chiquita, he is very ... How do I say it?
Hyper? Excited? Anxious? A big mouth? Shall I keep going? I thought.
Cuff barked. I was thinking he is like a live wire. I will use my Chihuahua super power to ease his nerves. And with that, Cuff rested his muzzle on Daniel’s arm.
Jackson sat down in the chair on the opposite side of my desk. He folded his arms over his chest and studied Daniel, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.
I braced for the questioning as he turned to me.
“Steely, what is Daniel rambling about? And before you answer, let me remind you, I recognize that look.”
“What look?”
Jackson pointed at me, drawing a circle in mid-air around my face. “The one you’re wearing right now. The one where you clamp your lips shut and chew the inside of your mouth. The mischievous glint in your eyes. And the single raised eyebrow and crinkled forehead.”
I relaxed my forehead, quit chewing my bottom lip, and offered him a smile. “I have no idea what you’re referring to.” I fluttered my eyelashes, attempting to remove any trace of guilt over the subject Daniel and I were discussing when Jackson interrupted us. If I had to guess, he wouldn’t approve. From hours of online research, Daniel and I learned about a rash of French bulldog thefts in this region of Texas. “Steely?” Jackson said.
“Yes?” I widened my grin, twisting my head in the usual cute manner I used when I’d rustled his suspicion.
Wiggling on the couch, Daniel squeaked.
Like a kernel of popcorn, Cuff shot from Daniel’s lap and scurried to the opposite end of the couch, shivering. He rumbled a tiny growl.
Daniel performed a rapid-fire succession of hand gestures in my direction.
I attempted to decipher his signals. Take down? Fold? Close? Under? I shrugged. Daniel moaned, shaking his head.
Jackson's eyes traveled around the room, landing on the desktop, on the front page of the newspaper. He stood, walked around to my side of the desk and focused on the computer monitor. Leaning forward and reading, his eyes closed for a few seconds.
Oh, the internet search. Daniel had tried telling me to minimize the internet page. But it was too late. Jackson’s head started shaking before he spit the words out. “Not a good idea.”
“What’s not a good idea?” I asked, knowing good and well what he meant.
Jackson pointed toward the computer. “Y’all getting involved in the murder and dog-napping isn’t a good idea.”
“What if I told you we found information to help the case. Would it change your mind?” I asked. “Probably not,” he said.
Daniel raised his hand from the couch. “Can I say something?”
Jackson turned and leaned against my desk. He nodded at Daniel. “By all means.”
“Well, we did research! And there’s been a lot of dogs stolen! It could be gang related. What if the gang of dog thieves hit our charming town?” For added emphasis, Daniel tossed his hands in the air. A baffled look appeared on Jackson’s face. “Where did you read? No, forget it. I can only imagine. Regardless of what you found online, you two shouldn’t get tangled up with the investigation.”
“Fine.” Daniel pushed out a choked grunt, dragging himself off the couch. “But for the record, you never let us have any fun. Steely, I have plans later, so I won’t be at the COW meeting.” Pouting, he shuffled out of the office and across the hallway into the groom room.
“He does a great job at grooming. But he should’ve become an actor.” Jackson turned back toward the computer screen and read the mob-related article we’d found.
“Well, for the record, Daniel’s right. You always say no.” Standing over the side of the desk, I busied myself by organizing invoices.
Jackson sighed. From the corners of my eyes, I watched him close all the open tabs and delete my browsing history. He glanced up at me.
“Hey, you.”
I met his gaze.
“And for the record, I don’t always tell you no,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “This is about your safety. It’s about doing my job effectively and worrying about you at the same time.”
“Jackson, you don’t have to worry about me. Even Chief Becker said back at Christmas when I helped catch my sister’s kidnapper that I have good instincts.”
With my help, Chiquita. Remember?
Yes, Cuff.
Cuff hopped up and perched on the back of the couch. He barked. Give me credit then. Out loud. Or I’ll keep barking.
I gave Cuff a squinty glare and then turned back to Jackson. “With Cuff’s assistance, of course. If you recall, he did chase the guy down and trip him so y’all could make the capture.” Jackson studied me, his head twisting toward Cuff. “I swear. Sometimes, it’s like the two of you communicate on a level no one else understands.”
You have no idea, I thought. “Yes, but the point I was trying to make is I am capable of reading up on the case and informing you what I learn. I’m also the president of the Citizens on the Watch. It may be a
small amount in the eyes of law enforcement, but I do have some credibility. I take my role seriously. It’d be nice if others did too.” My voice shook on the last part, my breath hitching in my chest. Before I started wheezing, I dug in the top desk drawer and located my spare inhaler. I took a deep puff. “You okay?” Jackson asked, squeezing my shoulder.
I nodded, tossing the cartridge inside the drawer.
“You’re right,” he said, the tension melting from his face, his body relaxing. He walked around the desk, retrieving the rolling office chair he’d used earlier, and pulled it next to mine. Sitting down, he smiled. “Okay, show me what you’ve found.”
I showed him the various articles Daniel and I discovered online, including the ones alluding to organized crime stealing and dealing expensive breeds of dogs.
Jackson leaned back in his chair and crossed his hands behind his head. He stared up at the ceiling and remained silent a few minutes. I recognized him and I processed things differently. I preferred discussing my thoughts with others while he needed introspection.
I organized the writing utensils in the pen holder by color.
I tidied the various stacks of papers on the desk.
Out of tedious tasks, I grabbed the feather duster from the hook on the wall beside me and walked over to the couch area. I started clearing the top shelf of the bookcase. Dust bunnies floated in the air around me.
Cuff hopped over and caught one mid-air. You never clean, Chiquita.
I know. But I’m trying to be patient and give Jackson some space.
Patience is not one of your virtues.
I know, Cuff. Don’t rub it in. I moved to the next shelf.
He leaped onto the floor and chased a drifting dust bunny on the floor. What are these? They are light and fluffy and move in mysterious ways! He pounced, tackling a wad of what I guessed was dog hair mixed with dust and dander.
Running the feather duster across the wood and books, I thought about my late friend, Samson. Before I took up residence in the apartment upstairs, he lived there. In exchange, he cleaned the shop every evening after business hours. The shop remained dust-, dirt-, and clutter-free when Samson looked after it. Late one evening last summer, he fell victim to a terrible murder after witnessing a bank robbery attempt from the upstairs window. I used to love hearing his laughter, so jolly and lively. “Steely,” Jackson said, startling me. “You’re cleaning.”
I turned to find him smiling behind me. “I know, shocking.” I held up the feather duster and waved it. “At first, I tried occupying myself, but then I started thinking about Samson and how much he’s missed around here. Not because he kept the place tidy, but he was such good company. We enjoyed having him around.”
Jackson pulled me into his arms and hugged me. “I’m sorry I never got the chance to meet him.”
“Me too. He was a sweet person.” I snuggled against Jackson’s chest, seeking comfort. “I’m not sure if you remember. But we met the night of Samson’s murder. When you and Brandon Trip caught me upstairs looking around.”
“Oh, I recall, buttercup.” Chuckling, he rubbed my back. “You were feisty and adorable.”
“Adorable, huh? You could’ve fooled me. You threatened to arrest me for meddling at the crime scene.”
“Nah. I was only messing with you,” he said.
I pushed back, glancing up at his handsome face. “You say that now. You refused to let me go, and you called Nick! What if he’d thrown me in a jail cell to make a point?” I playfully jabbed a finger at his chest.
A mischievous grin appeared on his face. “I would’ve rescued you.” He pulled me close again, lifted my chin, and kissed me.
My toes tingled.
Interrupting the moment, Cuff’s rattling growl traveled from the couch. This is no time to lick muzzles, Chiquita. Can we get back to the case at hand? There are puppies to rescue!
“Somebody’s jealous,” Jackson said, ruffling the back of my hair.
Cuff barked. I am not jealous. I am tired of waiting for you two to get back to business. And I am missing my Taffy love.
Glancing at my pouting pup, I wiggled out of Jackson’s embrace and knelt down beside him. “Cuff, we talked about this. Taffy is visiting his mom.” Whining, he looked at me with sad eyes. “Remember, it’s only for two weeks, and then she’ll be back.” I patted his head and headed over to the desk.
Jackson studied us. “Sometimes, I actually believe the little guy understands what you’re saying.”
“He does,” I said. “But what he doesn’t understand is the concept of joint custody. He needs reassurance that Taffy will return.” I motioned for Jackson to follow me and hung the feather duster on the wall hook. I watched Jackson breezed over and scratched Cuff’s belly. I wasn’t crazy over the idea of Jackson sharing custody of their Yorkie with his ex-wife. It meant a thread still existed between them.
Jackson made his way over to the desk and nudged me. “Hey, I know what you’re thinking. Trust me. I would’ve preferred a clean exit too. Try not to read anything into it. Okay?”
“I’m fine,” I said, cringing on the inside. “Let’s talk about something else. What are your thoughts about the information we found online today?”
“Interesting, to say the least,” he replied. “I’m not sold on the whole organized crime thing, but the connection between yesterday’s dog theft and the others reported throughout the state is definitely something to take into consideration.”
“Can I ask, what is Chief Becker’s take on Mr. Foley’s murder and the dogs? And has he given y’all a direction in how he wants to take the case?”
Jackson shrugged a shoulder. “Sort of. We were made aware of the Goldberg purchase earlier today. We spoke to Mrs. Goldberg an hour ago, and she’s quite distraught over the money, Mr. Foley’s death, and having to give back the puppy. Phil Goldberg claims he knew nothing about the pup being stolen.”
“Who did he purchase the Frenchie from? Is Vivienne Peacock involved?”
“This is where the situation takes a turn for the weird. Goldberg claims he saw the puppies for sale online, but the seller insisted on remaining anonymous. The arrangement took place in the bowling alley parking lot, and as for Vivienne Peacock’s involvement, the details are murky. We’ve questioned several members of her inner circle, and they, too, have made contact with the mysterious online seller to arrange purchases. Vivienne swears she knows nothing about the dogs or the seller. But with her being the city manager and a prominent member of society, the chief wants to approach her carefully, so we don’t ruffle her feathers.”
I chuckled. “Punny. Be aware of the Peacock. Her feathers ruffle in a light breeze. I should know.”
“Well, for now, we’ve got her on our radar. The chief called in a favor from an FBI friend out of Houston. Once he hears back, he’ll decide how to proceed with an investigation,” Jackson said. “The FBI?”
He nodded.
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THE USUAL COW MEMBERS were present at our weekly neighborhood meeting: my father; Mr. Peters; Donny Thomas, who parked his bicycle outside with a full basket of bluebonnets and veggies strapped to the handlebars; Sadie Westerfeld, who recently opened a new hair salon a couple of doors down from my shop; Kit Fisher from the Pleasant Hills Bank; April Schirmack, owner of Baker’s Bliss; and Jackson, who acted as our watch program’s liaison for the police department. This week, we had three new members: Bill Evans, an outspoken pot-stirrer who’d quit the group nine months ago, then decided he wanted to start attending again; Becca Metcalf, the owner of the local animal shelter and rescue group; and a small-framed young volunteer with the shelter named Vin. With disheveled brown hair, round wire-rimmed eyeglasses, skinny jeans, and combat boots, Vin gave off a chess-playing, skater kid vibe. It
turned out, Vin was Stacia Peacock’s twenty-one-year-old brother, and he’d moved to town a few weeks ago.
As the group’s president, I held the meetings at Scrubadub. Since the population in our small, rural Texas town totaled around twelve-thousand folks, our usual crime level would be a joke in a big city such as Houston. The COW’s typical dealings were things like stolen yard art, kids knocking over trash cans in the neighborhoods, schoolkid pranks, and stray dog mischief. We only had one item on this evening’s agenda, which was a reoccurring stray dog problem. Mostly, the watch group assisted the police department by keeping an eye on situations. Once a real crime took place, we turned the case over to the police.
In the front lobby, I clapped and gave a little whistle, calling the meeting to order. “Thanks for coming this evening, folks,” I said, shuffling through a few email printouts from Pleasant Hills PD. Lenora sent us thirteen emails from our neighbors in the community regarding a stray dog issue. It seems there have been many sightings of a huge gray male dog on the loose. According to these emails, which I will pass around now, he’s skittish, runs mostly at night, and is raiding trash cans all over town.” I handed the stack of emails to my right. “I also have a few printed photos of him from several security cameras in the area, and they’re paper-clipped to the emails. I’ll let Becca and Vin tell you more about him.”
Bill Evans cleared his throat. “I’m curious. Why are we not discussing Mr. Foley’s murder yesterday and his stolen dogs?”
The room burst into an uproar.