by Amy Vansant
“He literally tried to take a bath in a forest?”
“Yep. Said he overheard some guy yapping about how great it was.”
Charlotte laughed harder as Abby insisted they started walking again. “But he never asked the guy what forest bathing was?”
“Nope. Mr. Literal just started rolling. Remind me to never tell him, ‘Hey, why don’t you take a stab at this.’”
Charlotte wiped her eyes where tears of giddy laughter clouded her vision. She had to fight to stop laughing. It seemed the stress of the day had finally driven her mad and Declan’s Blade story had pushed her over the edge.
Abby dragged them toward a woman standing in her yard with a Pomeranian in one hand and a phone in the other. A dachshund sat on the grass at her feet, tied to her lamp post by a leash. It looked almost as if it were pouting.
The woman looked up as they approached and motioned to the dachshund. “Is this your dog?”
“No.” Charlotte thought she knew everyone’s pets, but she didn’t recognize the wiener dog staring up at her with doleful brown eyes. She was usually better with the dogs than the people. For instance, she was pretty sure the woman’s name was Wendy, but wasn’t positive. She knew the Pomeranian’s name was Sadie.
The woman-probably-named-Wendy huffed. “He wandered over to say hi to Sadie.” She held up the Pomeranian as she said her name. “But I don’t know where he came from or who he belongs to.”
Abby strained to touch noses with the Dachshund, but he turned his head to avoid her. He’d clearly been wandering around, leash-free, out on an exciting adventure and was now embittered by his capture. She suspected he’d fallen for the oldest trick in the book—the Pomeranian honey-trap. Abby’s attentions only shined a light on his humiliation.
His little chest rose and fell as he sighed.
“We’ll keep an eye out for someone looking for him while we’re walking around the neighborhood,” offered Charlotte, pulling Abby back to the sidewalk.
The woman raised a phone to her ear. “I appreciate that. I’m going to call the office and see if they have any idea. It must be someone new.”
Charlotte nodded and they continued their walk.
“So how was your day?” asked Declan when they’d wandered a few feet away from Sadie and her mom.
Charlotte winced.
Oh right. That.
Here we go.
“Um...also weird.”
“Did Mariska go forest bathing, too?”
Charlotte scanned the area, searching for anything to distract the conversation from her day. To her surprise, she actually spotted a diversion. “Not exactly. Hold on...”
She stopped, staring at the stoop of a house five doors down from the captured Dachshund.
“There’s a clue,” she said, pointing.
On the porch of the house sat a clay-colored statue of a Dachshund.
Declan nodded. “Good eye.”
Charlotte handed Declan Abby’s leash and jogged to the door to knock. Inside, a dog barked in response to her rapping.
Hm. They already have a dog inside. Maybe this isn’t the house.
A woman answered. “Yes?”
“Are you missing a Dachshund by any chance?”
A pointy brown nose popped between the woman’s ankles as the hot dog threw a final bark in Charlotte’s direction for good measure.
The woman shook her head. “No, I have Harry and Sally right here...” The woman glanced down at the two of them to count the faces.
One face.
“Harry?...” The woman pirouetted as she searched for the missing dog.
The Dachshund once held back by her owner’s legs trotted outside to investigate Charlotte. As she lowered to a squat to say hi, the dog made a sharp left, avoiding her hand. The pink-collared girl instead trotted down the path leading from the door, stopping to sniff every couple of feet.
“I’m afraid you’ve got some wanderers,” said Charlotte, standing.
The woman nodded, her wide eyes betraying her growing panic. “I am missing one. Now where did Sally...Sally!” The woman slipped past Charlotte and scooped up her dog. Sally didn’t look any happier about being captured than Harry had.
Charlotte pointed down the street. “Five houses down that way there’s a woman with your other dog. You can see her from here.”
The woman took a step forward and strained her neck to get a peek. “Thank you so much. I swear I don’t know how he got out. I should have named him Houdini.”
Charlotte felt a strong urge to point out Houdini’s first name actually was Harry, but stopped herself.
The woman started down the street, holding Sally over her head presumably so the woman with Harry tied to her post would see she was looking for the other half of her pair.
Declan grinned as Charlotte joined him to reclaim Abby’s leash. “Look at you, solving mysteries everywhere you go.”
“It’s a gift.” Charlotte sighed. She’d delayed long enough. The time had come to Band-Aid the situation—rip it off and get it over with. “Speaking of solving crimes, I need to tell you something.”
“Oh no. I don’t like the way that sounds.”
“Oh it’s much worse than it sounds. When I woke up this morning Mariska was gone.”
Declan stopped and turned to her. “What do you mean, gone?”
“Gone. She and Bob. They were missing from their bed, and mannequins were there instead.”
“In their beds”
“Yes. Someone had kidnapped them and replaced them with mannequins.”
“You’re kidding. This was part of a joke?”
Charlotte tilted back her head and stared up at the sky. “I wish.”
“And you still haven’t found them?”
“Oh no. We found them. Or I should say, they found us. They drove up, covered in Christmas decorations and tied to their golf cart, not long after I found them missing.”
Abby found the spot to do her more serious business and Charlotte pulled a poopie bag from the plastic, bone-shaped container hanging from the handle of her leash in preparation for clean-up duty.
“Please skip to the end,” said Declan. “The suspense is killing me.”
“You’re going to be sorry you said that.”
“I figure.”
“Well, guess who I got a phone call from claiming responsibility?”
“I can’t imagine.”
“Jamie.”
The blood drained from Declan’s face as if someone had left his tap on. “No.”
“Yup. It was her way of showing me what would happen if I didn’t get Stephanie cleared of all charges. She made it pretty clear everybody’s a target if I fail.”
Words seeming to fail him, Declan put his arms around her and cradled her against his chest. She realized she must have looked like she needed a hug.
She did.
She leaned into him, finding his pecs a lot harder than pillows, but twice as comforting. Charlotte felt her defenses slip as tears rushed to rim her eyes.
“I’m so sorry,” said Declan.
“What are you sorry about?”
“Without me, Stephanie and Jamie would have never met you.”
She sniffed and pulled back to look up at him. “But then life would be so boring.”
He kissed her on the forehead and hugged her to him again.
“Let’s go figure out what we’re going to do.”
Chapter Seven
“This it?”
The black Cadillac rolled to a stop in front of the square modular home in the center of the Pineapple Port retirement community.
Andy Sanfasso looked at the piece of paper in his hand. “Yeah, I think so. The numbers are right.”
Butch Fermani turned off the Cadillac’s engine.
Andy cocked an eyebrow at him. “Whataya doin’?”
Butch held out his hands, palms rotating to the sky. “I’m turnin’ off the car, whaddya think I’m doin’?”
“Shouldn
’t I just drop off the stuff?”
“You don’t think we should introduce ourselves?”
Andy grimaced. “I dunno. I was thinkin’ maybe she should get the stuff first, think about it, and then we make ourselves known.”
“Nah. Get it over with now.”
“Fine.”
“Good.”
They exited the car and walked up the driveway.
Andy rapped his knuckles on the hood of the Volvo parked there as they passed it. “I guess she’s home.”
Butch tucked the manila envelope under his arm and pointed at a dog bowl sitting beside a pot holding the skeleton of an ex-geranium. “She’s got a dog.”
Andy grunted. “Good to know. Hey, remember Richter’s dog?”
Butch chuckled. “That crazy thing. Thought it was some kinda Pitbull by the sound of it, but I could pick the thing up in one hand.”
“Whatever happened to that dog?”
“I gave it to my cousin’s kid.”
“Oh yeah? That’s nice.”
“Kid had suhmn wrong with his head. Dog, like, brought him out of his shell.”
“That’s nice.”
“Yeah. Mutt wasn’t doin’ Richter any good anymore.”
They chuckled and released a collective sigh, recalling the good old days. The days before they got arrested. Before they agreed to turn state’s evidence against their bosses. The days before they were shipped to Florida to live out the rest of their days as law-abiding citizens.
Andy raised his hand, preparing to knock. “Get ready for the dog.”
Butch nodded and pulled a gun from the waist of his pants. Andy frowned.
“You can’t shoot the dog.”
“You said get ready.”
“I mean get ready to move so I can run and not end up in a pile at the bottom of the freakin’ stairs widju.”
“Oh.” Butch tucked the gun back into his pants. “I wouldn’t shoot the dog anyway.”
“Uh huh.”
“Seriously. Unless it was gonna bite me. And it was big. Like, Cujo big.”
“Right. Watchu bring that for anyway? You should’ve left it in the car.”
Butch shrugged. “Simone said to stay on our toes. Said the girl was unpredictable.”
“Yeah, well, I’m gonna be unpredictable next time you bring a gun to suhmn simple like this.”
“Whatever.”
“You whatever.” Andy raised his hand to knock again and Butch sighed.
“We shoulda got coffee or suhmn’.”
Andy left his hand hanging in mid-air and looked at his partner. “Yeah, we should have got coffee. That’s a good call.”
“You wanna go get coffee?”
“Let’s talk to the girl first.” He knocked and they waited.
No one came to the door. Nothing barked.
“She ain’t home,” said Butch.
“Her car’s here.”
“Dog ain’t home either. Maybe she’s walkin’ the dog.”
“Another good call. You’re like a freakin’ genius all of a sudden.”
“So let’s go get coffee.”
Andy shrugged. “Yeah, why not?”
They turned, Butch’s foot already hovering over the next step down. At the bottom of the stairs a woman with nutmeg-colored, wrinkled skin stared up at them through beady eyes. The hands positioned on her hips acted as a makeshift belt for the loose-fitting dress hanging from her tiny bones. She had a vape pen hanging from the right side of her dark red lips, her mouth draped in a curve of obvious disapproval.
“What are you two goons doing here?” she asked.
Butch stopped and grabbed the handrail to keep from failing forward as Andy banged into the back of him. When they’d both stabilized, Butch put his hand on his heart. “Jiminy Christmas, Tilly, you almost gave me a friggin’ heart attack. Whatta you doin’ here?”
Tilly’s neck telescoped toward them, head tilting like that of a curious turtle. “I asked you first.”
Both men were large and round and they struggled to find an elegant way to stand side-by-side on the tiny landing, boxed in as they were by Tilly at the foot of the stairs.
“We got business,” said Butch.
“What kind of business?”
“For her.”
“Her? She’s long gone.”
“Yeah, well. Only in spirit.”
“You mean only in body.”
“Whatever.”
“What’s she want you to do here?”
Andy looked at Butch. “Whaddya think?”
His partner’s eyebrows tilted up in the center like seesaws, his mouth twisting into a knot. “I dunno if we should say.”
“You scared she’ll kill you?” asked Tilly.
Andy scoffed and returned his attention to her. “Yeah, I’m scared she’ll kill us. Or I’ll have to run. I don’t have that kinda livin’ in me anymore, Tilly. I play golf tree, four times a week.”
Tilly pulled the vape pen from her lips and a large plume of mist filled the air around her. “You here to kill this girl?”
Both men gasped.
“Are you out of your freakin’ mind?” asked Andy. “When she makes me do stuff—”
“When she makes us do stuff,” corrected Butch.
Andy nodded. “Right. When she makes us work, we’re just muscle. Monkey stuff. We don’t kill people no more. Not for her and not for anyone.”
“Sometimes we go find her somethin’ she needs,” added Butch.
Andy jerked a thumb in Butch’s direction. “Yeah, sometimes we find something she needs. That kind of work. Little fixer stuff.”
“No killin’.”
“My wife would kill me if I killed someone.”
Tilly trained her steely gaze on Butch. “How about you? You golfing now, too?”
Butch sniffed. “Nah. I’m on a bowling team though.” He motioned toward Tilly’s vape pen.
“What is that crazy thing?”
“Vape pen. I’m trying to quit smoking.”
Butch nodded his approval. “Huh. Good for you.”
Andy shifted, his gaze sweeping the carport area. “Hey, how’d you know we were here, anyway?”
Tilly flicked her wrist at the sky. “I got the place wired.”
“The girl’s house?”
“The neighborhood.”
Butch twisted to look at Andy. “Maybe that’s good.”
Andy shrugged. “Maybe it ain’t.”
“Might make our job easier.”
“Maybe.”
Tilly slipped the vape pen into a large square pocket on the side of her dress. “So what job did Simone give you this time?”
“She wants us to deliver a package and watch over the girl until she’s done doin’ whatever Simone has her doin’.”
“So you’re here to protect Charlotte.”
The men nodded.
“In a matter of speakin’,” added Butch.
“Manner,” muttered Andy.
“What?”
“It’s manner of speakin’.”
“You sure?” Butch looked at Tilly.
She nodded her agreement.
“Huh.”
Tilly thrust her hand into the pocket of her oversized house dress to twiddle with the pen. “Simone have something to do with what happened this morning?”
“What happened?” asked Butch.
“Someone pulled the people across the street out of their house.”
“Beat them in the street?”
“Kidnapped them.”
Andy and Butch both shook their heads.
“We don’t know anythin’ about that,” said Butch. “I mean, it wasn’t us.”
Andy frowned. “It could be Simone, though. I know she likes to mix up assignments so none of us see the big picture. They still missin’?”
Tilly shook her head. “No. They came back in a golf cart a little while later, tied up and decorated like Christmas trees.”
Butch laughed. “Dat�
��s gotta be her. You gotta admit. She’s got style.”
“Tilly, what’s up?” called a female voice.
Andy and Butch glanced at each other as Tilly pirouetted to look down the driveway. An attractive young couple headed toward them, a sandy, wavy-haired dog leading the way. The dog’s tail started wagging as Tilly leaned down to pet it. After a few good chin scratches, Tilly straightened and slipped a hand into the other pocket of her house dress to produce a thumb drive.
“I brought you that footage you wanted.”
“Oh great,” said the girl, taking it.
The couple’s attention moved to Andy and Butch still standing on the landing.
“Can I help you?” asked the girl.
“You Charlotte?” asked Andy.
The girl looked at Tilly.
“Am I?”
Tilly nodded.
Charlotte shrugged. “I guess I am.”
Butch lifted his hand to flash the manila envelope. “We got somethin’ for you.”
“From Jamie?”
Andy scowled. “Jamie?”
“Jamie’s her real name. Simone was her cover,” croaked Tilly in her smoky baritone.
Andy nodded. “Oh, yeah. Yeah then. From Jamie.”
They stood in silence, until Butch spoke up, bobbing his head toward the door.
“You got coffee in there?”
Chapter Eight
Charlotte stared at her brewing pot of coffee, feeling a little as if she’d fallen down the rabbit hole. Here she was, playing hostess-with-the-mostess to two of Jamie’s flunkies. The woman who threatened her life and the lives of everyone she loved had sent these men to her doorstep, and she was making them coffee.
“Cream? Sugar?”
“Black, thanks,” said the one sitting on the left side of her sofa. Charlotte thought that one was Andy but she wasn’t sure.
“Splash of milk if ya got it,” said the one on the right. Butch.
“Tilly?”
Tilly waggled her fingers in the air. “I’m good.”
Charlotte pulled the milk from the refrigerator.
For all I know these men were actually sent here to kill me.
She glanced at Declan who sat stone-faced in a chair facing her new friends, his arms crossed against his chest as if he were holding himself back. She could tell he didn’t like the idea of her new friends floating around. Tilly seemed to think the men were safe, but she’d be hard-pressed to convince Declan.