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Detective Jeff Combs took the rinsed plates from his daughter Melinda, and added them to the dishwasher. He kept an eye on her younger brother, Willie, as his son dumped clean laundry on the couch. The boy soon had sorted a small pile of his own socks and underwear. Melinda rattled silverware under the faucet, and dropped them into the dish rack.
Combs treasured these times spent with his kids, even on mundane chores. He didn't get much time with his kids since the divorce. It had been a rough few years for their family, especially Melinda, his little drama-queen.
"Hey Melinda." Willie snagged a pair of his sister’s hot pink undies, wrinkled his nose, and twirled it in the air around his finger, making sure she could see. "These'd make a great sling-shot." He launched them toward her.
Her face flushed red. She'd turned thirteen, and no teenage girl wanted her brother—or her dad—to notice, let alone handle, her undies.
Combs hid a smile.
She tried to snatch them, missed, and the dog grabbed them and ran, a white streak of fluffy fur. "Dad. Make him quit." Melinda chased down Kinsler and had to play tug with the terrier mix to retrieve her underwear. The dog shook his head and sneezed, the tan saddle spot and contrasting ears striking against his snowy coat. Combs could swear the dog smiled, dark eyes twinkling through the curtain of disheveled fur.
"Quit bothering your sister. Finish folding your own laundry." He tried not to laugh. He'd been a pest to his sister at that age, too.
Willie launched another bit of lace toward the dog. "Kinsler likes them. Hey boy, go guard second base."
He'd named the dog after Ian Kinsler when he still played for the Texas Rangers. Willie wanted to change Kinsler's name when Ian deserted The Rangers to go play ball for the Detroit Tigers, but Combs convinced him that would confuse the dog.
"William Stanley Combs, stop bothering your sister and put away your laundry. I promised Rick you'd get chores done before he brings your mom home from the hospital. You may have the day off but I have to work. Detective Gonzales picks me up in fifteen minutes."
He'd never imagined such an arrangement when Cassie left him for Rick-the-Prick. Normally Combs wouldn't lift a finger to help his ex-wife and her new husband. She'd been a bitch during the divorce, and made him fight to get joint custody. Now with her inability to care for their kids, and her CPA husband's fourteen-hour tax season rush, he could sue for sole custody, but couldn't afford the court costs. Besides, he didn’t want to put his kids through that tug-of-war, and his job schedule with the Heartland Police Department made time a challenge.
So, he made a deal with the devil. It gave him a guilty sense of satisfaction to know Cassie would hate being beholden to him, even if these days, Cassie wasn't aware of much.
Melinda caught the dog and retrieved her underwear. She stuck her tongue out at Willie when she thought Combs couldn't see, a gesture far younger than her teenager status. "Stupid dog. Now they need washing again, yuck." She disappeared into the laundry room.
"You need to cut your sister some slack, champ." Combs finished rinsing and loading the breakfast dishes, and closed the dishwasher.
Willie slowly folded his clothes. "Uncle Rick says you're only helping because Mom's sick and won't get better."
"That's a lie." Melinda flounced back into the room. "Tell him, Dad." She punched Willie on the arm. "Don't say things like that, it's bad luck. Besides, they can cure all kinds of things, even cancer these days. Right Dad?"
Combs pretended to wash his hands, to give himself time to form an answer. "I'm not a doctor, Melinda. I don't know if it's like treating cancer. Rick hasn't shared any details." Before her scowl melted into tears, he hurried to add, "But you're right. Lots of new medicines and treatments happen all the time."
She punched Willie again. "See, brat? And you're folding wrong."
He clutched his arm. "Bossy-pants."
"Stupid face." She squealed when the dog leaped onto the pile of laundry, splitting the pair, barking and dancing, scattering the clothes onto the floor. "Daddy. Make them stop."
"Both of you, that's enough. Melinda, pick up the clothes."
"But Dad, Willie's the one—"
"Don't want to hear it." He turned to Willie. "Take your dog outside. Keep him on the leash, or he'll try to catch every squirrel on the planet. And stay out of the mud, or I'll hose you both off. With ice-cold water. Got it?" He rubbed his eyes. Probably not a good incentive. Both Willie and the dog would relish a game of hose tag.
Willie ducked his head, and whistled for the dog. Kinsler barked—he had an extraordinarily loud bark—and the pair clambered noisily out the door into the fenced back yard. Before Willie could attach the leash, the dog dodged away. Combs sighed.
Melinda glowered. "Not fair. He's such a brat lately. Why does he always get off the hook?" She picked up the spilled laundry, and threw each piece one by one back into the basket. "Now he and Kinsler'll track all over and I'm the one who has to clean up the mess. Uncle Rick's barely here anymore." She sulked.
"Nobody said life's fair. He's your little brother, and now you're a teenager, I expect more from you. This isn't easy for any of us. I need you to take more responsibility." He crossed and pulled her into his arms. God, she was so much like Cassie, a redheaded firecracker ready to explode. She stiffened, and pulled away from his hug. That hurt but didn’t surprise him.
"He won't listen to me." She turned her back, concentrating on the clothes. "How can I be responsible if Willie won't listen?"
Combs ran a hand through his hair, and then searched his pocket when his cell phone buzzed. "I'll talk to him, okay? Dump Willie's on his bed. He can fold his own stuff later. Wouldn't want you to touch boy undies."
"Oh, Dad." Melinda scooped the remaining laundry back in the basket, and carried it down the hall.
The phone call brightened his mood. Talking to September always made him smile, especially since she'd finally relaxed enough to go out with him. He couldn't wait to surprise her with his belated Valentine's Day plans. She refused to go out that day, saying it made things too serious, but that didn't mean he couldn't turn a later date into a romantic evening. She needed someone to spoil her for a change.
Melinda called from her brother's room. "Dad, it stinks in here."
"Then hold your breath." He answered the phone, still smiling. "What can I do for my favorite lady?"
"Hi Jeff, sorry to bother you at work."
He didn't correct her, and checked the clock. Gonzales should be here any minute. "No problem, the day's still young. What's up?"
"Can you recommend a private investigator?" Her voice sounded hushed, as if she didn't want someone to hear.
Combs crossed to the front door to watch for his ride. "Why? What’s wrong?"
"Don't worry. It's not for me. A friend asked."
Melinda came back into the room, and checked the oven. "Your breakfast burrito is ready."
Combs mouthed 'thanks' as Melinda poured coffee into a mug and secured the lid before he answered September. "Sure I can't help?"
"For now, she wants to keep it private. I found out this morning when she dropped by the house a couple hours ago."
He checked the clock and frowned. Awfully early for someone to stop by. She sounded nervous, too, and he wondered who among their friends needed a P.I. He knew all of September's local friends. She'd not been back home in Heartland long enough to make many new connections.
"There's a guy I considered working with last year." He'd nearly left the police force when summarily demoted over a scandal. It ultimately blew over but had been the straw that broke his marriage’s back. "If he's available, I'll ask him to reach out to you directly." He cleared his throat. "On another note, I want to pick your brain about an animal issue."
She laughed. "Kinsler acting up again? Or your sister’s cat, Simba?"
"Kinsler's a mess. Acts demented around squirrels and keeps digging out from under the fence. But your cat tips did the trick." Simba had been Mom’s cat and probably still missed her, hence the litter box indiscretions.
Melinda leaned across the counter. "Is that September? See if she'll take the mutt off our hands." She batted her eyelashes, clearly not meaning it.
Combs shook his finger at her. He knew she loved the dog as much as Willie did, if not more. “September, we’re working on something up your alley and the Captain authorized you to consult on the case. We got a lead on a dogfight ring.”
Her voice turned cold with outrage. "Here in Heartland? That's disgusting. What is wrong with people?" She took a beat, and he could imagine her finger combing her hair, a nervous but endearing habit. "Does this have something to do with the dogfight bust two weeks ago in Oklahoma? You know, the ASPCA has a whole division devoted to shutting down dogfights. They even have a veterinary forensics team. That's how they nailed Michael Vick."
Combs turned around when a car honked outside, and nodded at Melinda when she held out the hot burrito in a bag, with the coffee ready. "Listen September, Gonzales just got here. We can meet later, and I’ll share what I can and pick your brain.”
“Sure. I’m in and out today, too. Got a consult about a stray cat that ought to be a hoot. I keep waiting for the number of AWOL pets to diminish, now that the wildlife die-off has abated. And then thanks to you, I’m playing cello over at the theater.” He could hear the smile in her voice, and was delighted she enjoyed the gift so much.
She’d created a unique business tracking lost pets with Shadow. Combs admired her ability to celebrate happy reunions as well as accept sad outcomes. The latter seemed to outnumber the live finds. He knew from his own experience with missing persons that finding the body, while tragic, also offered closure to loved ones. Maybe it was the same for pet owners.
“Have a good show at the theater. Do I say break a leg? Or a string?” Combs grinned when she laughed. After he disconnected the call, he quickly texted a brief note to the P.I. for September. He set his phone down beside the coffee. "Where's my coat, honey?"
Melinda retrieved it from the back of one of the kitchen chairs. "You promised to talk to Willie."
"Right, right." He hurried to the back door, cracked it open and shouted into the back yard without stepping outside. "Willie, listen to your sister. When I'm not here, she is the boss of you." He winked at Melinda, and she smiled back as he shut the door. "Melinda, you watch your brother. It's a boy rule to be obnoxious to older sisters, so you'll have to put up with it. Okay? I'm counting on you."
The horn honked again. Melinda offered the bag in one hand and coffee in the other, and once his hands were full, she held the door for him. When she got back inside, she didn't notice he'd left behind his phone.
