3

Screeeeech!

A car screamed to a halt outside, horn blaring loud enough to waken fossilized dinosaurs. I shot from the sofa—phone tumbling from my fingers. Holy catfish! If that was a police car—Detective Inspector Adams must have the telepathic powers of the part-faerie barmaid, Sookie Stackhouse. A snarling Tater immediately went into his usual guard dog pose, hair vibrating all along his back, growl deep in his throat, while big soft Lucky scuttled behind the sofa, long ratty tail between her legs, paws over her eyes.

Could it be Purple Pants returning to steal another one of my dogs? Heart skipping several beats, I stashed my cell in the back pocket of my jeans and sprinted to the front door.

One step through the doorway I stopped. Paralyzed with dread. I tried to yell, but the sound stuck in my throat. All I could do was stare in silent horror as a stony-faced Purple Pants hauled Stella from the car, and as though she was a piece of garbage, tossed the dog over my front fence.

“No—” My throat closed over and a red hot fire invaded my chest as I raced across the yard to the whimpering Stella—in time to see Purple Pants thrust one arm through the open window and gesture with an arrogant middle finger. In time to hear tires gouge the bitumen as the pus-colored Holden slewed from one side to the other and took off up the road. In time to inhale a nose full of exhaust fumes.

Before I could close my gaping mouth, a fire-engine red Toyota Yaris, a car reminiscent of a matchbox toy, spun in through the gateway and came to a four square halt beside me. Out of the car, like an avenging angel, tumbled my best friend, Tanya Ashford and her eleven-year-old daughter, Erin.

“What’s going on? Did the dog get run over? Who’s the wrinkly who took off in the crap car?” Tanya’s rapid fire questions could barely be heard over the roar of the disappearing Holden.

“It’s Stella.” I squatted to check on the miserable brindle greyhound bitch lying in a heap at my feet. “And that wrinkly who took off in the crap car stole her and, deciding she was faulty, brought her back.” I gazed up at Tanya and shook my head in disbelief, struggling to stem the tears prickling like hot daggers behind my eyes. “He-he just tossed her over the fence, Tan!”

“Come again?”

“That piece of shit threw Stella over the fence.” The red hot fire burning in my chest turned white. “If I find him I’ll kill him—tear off both his arms and beat him over the head with the bloody appendages until he stops breathing—and then I’ll kill him.”

“Hallelujah!” Tanya stood, hands jammed hard on hips, eyes flashing. Her body language screamed retribution. With that one word—hallelujah—I knew, without a quibble, Tanya would hold the geriatric thief down while I kicked him repeatedly in the nuts.

Turning away, I cupped Stella’s face in both hands and planted a kiss on her long nose. In return, two sorrowful brown eyes met mine and a rough tongue licked its way across my cheek.

“Did you get the car’s rego, Kat?” Tanya hunkered down beside me, her fingers reaching to smooth Stella’s brindle fur.

“The plate was dirty.” I closed my eyes trying to visualize the car’s number plate. “I think the first two numbers were seven and three and there was what looked like a V somewhere in the mix.”

“Might be enough to find an address. Anyway, I’ll ring my mate, Paul Simmons—ask him to check it out on the police data base.”

“Paul Simmons?” I frowned. The name rang a distant bell.

“Yeah. Remember that star footballer I dated back in high school?”

Still frowning, I shook my head.

“Well, I ran into him a couple of weeks ago and guess what—he’s a cop now—and he owes me one.”

A hazy image of a fresh faced high-school footballer’s woebegone expression after Tanya dumped him flashed into my mind. “Dated? Tan, you gave the poor guy his marching orders two days into the relationship.”

All nonchalant, Tanya shrugged one shoulder and stood up. “Anyway, as I said, we caught up again recently and got to talking over a cup of coffee at Rivers, you know that new restaurant on Philip Highway, and Paul admits the dumping was his fault. He knew the most important rule I dated under—never ever stand me up.”

I shook my head at her. Tanya might be my best friend in the world and a powerhouse to have on side in times of trouble, but she still had the ability to leave me open-mouthed, gob-smacked at times. “If I remember rightly, the reason Paul stood you up was because he was called away to the hospital. His mother had been in a car accident and was in intensive care. The poor guy sent you a text from the hospital and rung several times afterwards to apologize.”

“Yes, I know Paul was sorry at the time, but aren’t you forgetting something?” At my duh look, Tanya continued. “Because Paul stood me up that night I made the mistake of my life.” When my duh look intensified Tanya glanced surreptitiously at her daughter who was leaning against the door of the Yaris, completely absorbed in her new Smart Phone and likely discussing how to make petrol bombs with her 2001Facebook friends. “Kat, think about it. That was the night I let Dan tempt me into his bed.”

Suddenly the penny dropped. Being in Dan’s bed that night instead of at the movies with Paul had changed the course of Tanya’s life.

“As I said,” Tanya reiterated, “Paul owes me one.”

“You’re right there.” Noticing two of Stella’s stitches had burst, I added, “And if Paul comes up with an address for us, I say we pay the dog-napper a visit. See how he enjoys being tossed over a fence.”

Erin, phone cemented to one hand, strolled across to stare at the blood seeping from Stella’s torn stitches. The baby skin between her eyes wrinkled. “How ’bout we toss that bad man in a prickle bush instead?”

“You bet, pumpkin,” I said. Although Tanya’s daughter and I were always at loggerheads, after Ben and I rescued her from a couple of lowlife thugs who kidnapped her and locked her in a dark cupboard, she and I had come to an amicable understanding. She was still a pain-in-the-butt but she was our pain-in-the-butt–and we loved her. “And if there are no prickle bushes around,” I promised, “we’ll improvise. Okay?”

Erin’s evil grin was a carbon copy of her mother’s. “Better still, let’s like, chuck him into a hive full of angry bees.”

Tanya slung one arm around her daughter’s shoulder and drew her closer. “Good idea, cupcake. Or what about a piranha infested river?”

“Both options are fine by me,” I said giving the nearby gate a vicious kick as I stood up. “At the very least the man will be eating custard through broken teeth.”

When Stella let out another soft whimper I bent and scooped her into my arms. “I’m taking Stella inside to clean her up. Got time to help?”

“You betcha.”

With Tanya and Erin tagging along behind, I lurched up the path in the direction of my front door, all four of Stella’s limbs sticking in the air like table legs.

* * *

Naturally Tater and Lucky behaved like it was the social occasion of the year when I brought Stella into the lounge room and lowered her onto the sofa.

“New friend, guys,” I told the bouncing twosome. “And she’s hurt. So be gentle, okay?”

Lucky immediately raced into the kitchen and came trotting back with her new purple squeaky toy lizard which she presented to Stella. Tater, not to be outdone, strode around the room, head up, tail cocked, a picture of cool. Probably eager to let the newcomer see he was a Hugh Grant lookalike—only shorter.

“Why would anyone want to steal a greyhound they could legitimately adopt?” Tanya mused as she selected a bottle of Betadine from my ever-present first aid kit, broke a bag of cotton balls with her teeth and placed the bottle and the open bag on the coffee table beside me.

I shook my head, every bit as confused as Tanya. “All he had to do was fill out a GAP application form and buy the dog.”

“And why bring her back a few minutes later?”

“Got me.” I finished bathing Stella’s torn stitches and tipped a few drops of Betadine onto a cotton ball. “None of it makes sense.”

Tanya chewed on her bottom lip and you could almost hear her brain ticking over as she snagged the basin of bloody disinfectant water and emptied it into the sink. “Unless he stole the wrong dog.”

“You mean he thought he was stealing one of my racing dogs?” I blew the bangs out of my eyes. “But which one? The only brindle dog I have racing at the moment is Big Mistake and although Stella’s brindle, no-one could mistake her for Lofty. For a start, he’s eighteen kilos heavier than her. Plus he has all those extra bits and pieces girl dogs aren’t born with.”

“Still, it might pay to apply extra security around Lofty—just in case he is the brindle greyhound the dog-napper’s after.”

I gave her a thumbs up. “I’m ahead of you there, Sherlock. There’ll be a new super-lock fitted on Lofty’s kennel as from today.”

After I’d finished attending to Stella, Tanya collected the used cotton balls, dropped them into the pedal bin under the kitchen sink then moved across to the room to give me a quick hug. “Sorry, Kat, but I’ve gotta get going. Will you be okay?”

“Yeah. No sweat. And thanks for your help.”

“I’d hang around in case the dog-napper came back but my shift at The Luv Bug starts in half an hour and I gotta drop Erin off at her Dad’s first.”

“That’s okay, I’m racing at Gawler, but hey, we’ll find this guy, and when we do, we’ll kick his ass to Sydney and back. No-one messes with my dogs and gets away with it.”

“Right on, girlfriend.” Tanya stooped to rescue her hot-pink faux Gucci handbag from Lucky’s mouth before sending a grin in my direction. “Hey, d’ya remember that young stud who often pops into my shop to test the new products—you know, the guy who looks a lot like Angel from the Buffy series?”

I nodded. How could I not remember someone who looked like Angel?

“Well, he’s trialing our new range of blow up bimbos this afternoon.” She wiggled her eyebrows as she ushered her social-network obsessed daughter in the direction of the front door. “Last time he trialed a new product, The Luv Bug was overflowing with drooling women and we sold out of the new merchandise in an hour.” Tanya winked. “Shame you can’t come along and watch.”

“Tempting,” I said regretfully. “But if I’m not driving out of my gateway and heading toward the Gawler dog track in the next ten minutes I’ll have the Chief Steward breathing all over me. And he won’t be drooling over my alluring curves and scintillating sex appeal. Oh no. He’ll have me reaching deep into my hip pocket to pay a hefty fine—and that’s after scratching all my dogs from the meeting.”