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Gertie wobbled over, peered at the clean platter, and shook her head at me and tsk-tsking under her breath.
“I asked one thing, Steely! One freakin’ thing!” Daniel’s jazzy hands stretched for the Heavens. “But no! You’re too caught up in everyone else’s business!”
I left Stacia in her stunned silence, tiptoeing toward my seething friend. “Daniel, calm down. Ramen will be fine.” I braced myself while Cuff and Ramen busied themselves, licking the platter spotless.
“Calm down? I extracted a fully loaded, smashed nacho out of your grandmother’s bra. I have seen many things in my life. I have done many things.” His right eye twitched. “But never have I ever peeled melted cheese and refried beans from a thirty-six-triple-D.”
“Thank you?” I offered him.
He shook his head.
I pointed over at Ramen. “Look, he’s perfectly content. He’s smiling.”
“It’s called gas.” Daniel pinched his mouth shut, probably to keep from biting my head off. With balled fists at his sides, he closed his eyes and stood statue-still.
With all the hullabaloo our little party caused today, I wouldn’t be surprised if Little Bob banned us from his establishment. Speaking of Little Bob ... I peered around. He’d disappeared. Stacia’s father was also missing. Jackson and Agent Smalls stood near Stacia. In the fading sunlight, the three of them huddled with their heads together.
With an exaggerated throat clearing, Daniel snapped his fingers. “Are you satisfied?” His tone was harsh.
“What’re you talking about?”
“Your stupid curiosity. Is it satisfied?”
Ouch. He’d never spoken to me in such an ugly manner. “You’re being mean. Your dog ate nachos. Good grief, Daniel. It’s not like I let him run into the road.”
His eyebrows reached his perfect hairline. “The point is, I entrusted you with his care, Steely. But you’re so busy running around playing detective and trying to impress God knows who, you’re ignoring the rest of your life!” He stacked his fists on his hips. “Have you even checked on your father after your feature photo in the paper? Or what about Stoney? She’s ready to deliver any day, but you can’t take the time to go see her. It’s like, I don’t know who you are right now.”
Those were some low blows. Had I been that awful? Raising my hands in defense, I pleaded with him. “I screwed up! I’m sorry. And yes, I need to apologize to Pop. I’ll stop by and see Stoney. Okay?”
Tapping the toe of his Oxford, Daniel glared at me.
“What can I do to make this right?” I felt like I was really trying here.
Me too, Chiquita. Tell him the nacho thing was all my fault.
I winked at Cuff. Thanks, buddy, but I doubt he’ll buy that excuse.
“I’m livid with you, and I do not accept your apology.” Protruding a hip to the side, Daniel pointed to Ramen, who sat on the table, grooming himself, tongue to paw, paw to muzzle. “Ramen is staying at your place this evening, along with his nacho gut and whatever it may produce. And I’m taking the day off tomorrow to go see Lucas in Austin.”
“But we have a full schedule tomorrow,” I said.
Daniel shot me a side smirk. “Correction, you have a full schedule.”
I studied him, hoping for his usual sweet smile and maybe a “Gotcha!” but he crossed his arms and stared up at the cotton-ball clouds drifting overhead.
“Fine. But I think you’re being vengeful. Refusing my apology is cruel. And rude.” I clamped my lips shut before I took things too far by saying things I couldn’t take back. Turning toward the pups, I switched to my happy-dog voice. “Hey, boys, we’re having a sleepover!”
Cuff and Ramen wagged their tails, bottoms wiggling.
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THE FOLLOWING MORNING, I gave up my aversion to all things coffee—and fueled up with a double-shot latte from Baker’s Bliss. The dogs and I spent the better part of the night awake and miserable. The nachos did not sit well with either of their canine digestive systems. Nine times out of ten, the rush down the stairs and out the back door was a few seconds too long. At 3:30 AM, we camped on the couch in my office, staging us closer to the back door. I finally closed my eyes sometime around 4:00 AM, only to wake to my alarm at 6:00. I left the dogs sound asleep on the couch, made a coffee run, and parked myself at the front counter.
As I stared at the computer screen and tried to figure out how on earth I could manage the day’s grooming schedule alone, Jackson called my cell phone.
“Good morning, buttercup.”
“Morning.” I winced at my croaking voice.
“What’s wrong? Are you sick?”
“The frog in my throat stems from a two-hour catnap. I was up half the night with two sick dogs from their nacho binge. Pop called and said Gertie is sick too. Daniel is furious with me and took off for the day, leaving me with a full schedule. The worst part is, he told me how terrible I’ve been to everyone lately.”
“I wish I wasn’t so busy here. I’d come help you,” he said.
“Thanks. I appreciate the sentiment. You know, I thought I was handling it all—assisting with the case, the shop, family, Cuff, Daniel, and you. But after Daniel let me have it yesterday, I have to wonder. Am I really so terrible?”
He sighed over the phone. “You’re not terrible. I can’t speak for anyone else, but I think you’re pretty terrific. Your family knows you love them, and Daniel will calm down. Besides, everyone around the station appreciates your help. Even Smalls.”
“Well, at least my efforts aren’t in vain.” With all the heartache I had caused those I love, Jackson’s comments didn’t help. “Hey, did you notice the odd way Little Bob and Ruffini seemed to know one another?”
“Yeah, but neither fessed up to how or why. I don’t understand why Ruffini would bother with a small-town bar owner. The three-hundred-mile distance between them leads me to believe their dealings aren’t business-related.”
“If not business, then what?”
“It’s personal. We need to figure out how. After you left, Smalls and I questioned Ruffini more, and he swore he had stepped down from his position in the business several months ago.”
“Do you mean he’s no longer in the mob?”
“Well, he claims he quit, and are you ready for this, for his kids.”
“Huh. What did Stacia say about his confession?”
“She doesn’t know what to believe. She’s taking the whole thing extremely hard, which is understandable. The chief dismissed all suspicion on her part. He’s requested she take a two-week leave, starting immediately. He wants her to distance herself from the case and get some R & R.”
“Well, good. She needs it. I’m trying to show myself some grace over treating her so badly in the past. I think maybe one day, we can actually be friends.”
He chuckled. “Despite y’all being an unlikely pair, I agree. I’m happy to hear you’re moving past your issues with her. But back to the other matter, I had to take statements at the brewery while Agent Smalls followed Ruffini back to the station for further questioning.”
“Ruffini went in willingly?” I asked in amazement.
“Yup. And here’s where things turn odd. By the time I returned to the station, Smalls and Ruffini were on their way back to Dallas. Ruffini claims he knows who murdered Foley, Green, and who is responsible for the dog thefts—and not only the dog thefts here, but others too. He swears the crimes are not his doing, but he believes the person responsible is trying to establish himself as Ruffini’s replacement in the business.”
I shook my head. “Jackson, I don’t understand. What does all this mean? It feels more confusing than before.”
“Trust me, it’s frustrating. But Ruffini told Agent Smalls when they returned to Dallas, he’d confess everything and give him a name. In exchange, he wants his sister, Vivienne, left out of the case. He says she has nothing to do with any of it. Chief Becker assured him we would meet his request. It’s for the best, you know? Mrs. Peacock may be a lot of things, but she’s not a killer, Steely.”
I frowned, knowing his statement was the truth. “I know. I’m still mad at her, though. She sent in the photo of Gertie and me to the Banner.”
“Are you certain?” he asked.
“I saw the email on her computer, and I have a picture of it on my phone. However, I can’t understand why. Because she created a mess of her own society.”
“Well, she only has herself to blame then. Let it go, Steely.”
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JACKSON WAS RIGHT, again. Vivienne dug her own grave, and I hoped she wallowed in it. Before we hung up, he announced Chief Becker suspended Nick with pay for insubordination and his indiscretions with Brit Buckley. It turned out Brit is Little Bob’s sister, and when Little Bob discovered her affair with Nick, he all but threatened to kill him. The chief thought Nick needed to straighten out his life before he returned to work. Jackson said he’d need to pull a double shift and had to work an all-nighter to pick up Nick’s slack. I assumed he would rather work without Nick, anyway. Jackson and Nick may have been comrades at one point, but those days were over.
Before my first client arrived, I jotted down specifics, searching for a link between the three crimes. I included possible organized crime involvement. I sketched three columns. Foley Murder. Frenchie Theft. Trixie Green Death. Under each title, I listed the crucial details of each.
Foley Murder: suspect shot victim during dog theft, wife never saw killer’s face, substantial money involved, possible organized crime involvement?
Frenchie Theft: owner killed, seven dogs, Peacock’s social circle of friends contacted by unknown dog seller, Goldberg’s purchase of a puppy, one puppy recovered, Frida Ulrich’s robbery, possible organized crime involvement?
Trixie Green Death: victim wrote the murder/dog theft feature article, disappeared while following a lead, her informant claimed to have information regarding mafia involvement, found dead in car under bridge.
Rereading my list of details, I found only one detail all three cases shared: organized crime. I couldn’t shake the feeling we were missing something. A soft knock on the front door jarred me from my thoughts. I glanced at the clock. 10:02. Jeez Louise, where had the morning gone?
Honey Puckett stood on the other side of the glass door with Dewey, a reddish-brown goat with white floppy ears and a heart-shaped dot on his forehead. She waved, with a small animal crate at her feet.
I saw Dewey’s name on the computer, but none of her other pets. I unlocked and opened the door, and the skunk scent assaulted my senses.
“Ugh, good morning! I smell someone had an encounter with a skunk.”
“Yes, it’s Gus. We had to drive with all the windows open and the A/C on high,” she said, coming in and sitting the carrier on the floor. Gus, her barn cat, let out a loud yowl.
Dewey tugged on his lead rope, testing his owner’s strength.
The stench burned my eyes as I reached for the goat’s rope. “Here, let me hook Dewey’s lead over on the wall.” Recently, Pop had installed a steel pipe railing with several large carabiners, allowing customers to secure their pets while taking care of paperwork.
“Thank you,” she said. “I hope it’s not too much trouble to work a quick de-skunking in for Gus. Normally, a run-in with a skunk for our farm animals wouldn’t be a big deal. But Gus gave up his barn duties and has taken up residence on our back porch. His stink is seeping into the house!”
I secured Dewey’s leash. “Sure, I think I can manage it.”
“You?” A puzzled look crossed over her face as she glanced down the hallway. “Are you the only one here?”
“Yes, Gertie’s sick, Stoney’s on pregnancy leave, and Daniel took the day off.” I checked Dewey in on the computer and typed in Gus’s name. “I’m Gus’s only chance.”
“Oh heavens, I didn’t mean to make it sound like you couldn’t do it. I mean, I didn’t mean to insinuate I’d rather have Daniel.” She did a face-palm. “What I’m trying to say—”
I raised a hand. “No worries. I understand what you’re trying to say.” I flipped on the ceiling fan to help circulate the air. “Well, I better get these guys done. It’ll take me the full hour. I’m not as quick as Daniel, so if you have errands to run, stop back by at eleven.”
She nodded, her silver-streaked blonde hair shimmering in the sunlight. “Great, I’m running down to the hardware store. Mr. Peters ordered me several flats of veggie plants. Can I pick up anything for you while I’m out and about?”
“No, thank you, though. We’ll see you soon.”
I left the front door propped open behind Honey, hoping it would help rid the smell. Besides, Mrs. Thomas would arrive with Pablo before I finished with Dewey and Gus. I erased the stand-up whiteboard and searched the internet for a cute pet quote on my phone. I scribbled the quote on the board: “Be the kind of person your pet thinks you are!” Then beneath it, I added a note announcing I was in the groom room.
Dewey let out a “Baaaa-haaaa-haaaa!” as I unhooked his lead.
“Yep, you’re getting a bath, big guy.” I scooped up Gus’s carrier by the handle, and we tootled off to the back. I set Gus’s carrier down. “Now, I’ll be right back, kitty.” He stunk something fierce, but at least my eyes had stopped watering.
Dewey protested as I tried to lead him into the groom room. “C’mon, Dewey, the only way this’ll work is if we both put in the effort.” I tugged and tugged. The more I pulled, the more the goat resisted. “You may be cute, but you’re a stubborn thing! C’mon, boy, put one hoof after the other.” Staring at me with his oval-shaped, amber eyes, he refused to budge.
I used to be so good at dealing with our animal clients. With Daniel performing all of our grooming duties since I’d taken over the shop from Gertie, I was out of practice, to say the least.
I surveyed the groom room, hunting for something to lure him with, when my eyes landed on a plastic container of dog treats near the walk-in wash station, exactly where I needed Dewey to go. Bingo.
Except they were across the room.
I eyed Dewey, tugging again. No such luck. “Seriously, fella?”
He replied, giving me a lazy, “Baaa-ha-haaa.”
I looped the handle of his lead on the doorknob. If he pulled on it, the door would close, but I didn’t see the harm in that. I dashed over, snatched the treat container, and whirled around in time to see Dewey with the handle of his lead between his teeth, no longer on the knob.
“Dewey, don’t you dare,” I said, tiptoeing his direction. I clicked my tongue and shook the treat container. With only a few more feet to go, I reached my hand forward and lunged for his dangling lead rope.
He backed up and bolted with racehorse speed, heading for the front lobby. My heart, already in my throat, crashed to the pit of my stomach when I recalled the propped front door. Dropping the treats, I dashed down the hallway.
As I rounded the checkout counter, I caught his hind-end hightailing it out the front door.