by Cat Clayton
“Mr. Peters, Maisy’s fee for today’s services will be $37.50,” I called over to him.
Mr. Peters stretched his arms over his head. He groaned as he peeled himself out of the chair.
“You sore from pickleball, Peters?” Gertie said, clapping him on the back.
“Yes, ma’am. Aren’t you?” he asked.
She blew a raspberry at him. “You kiddin’? I feel like a million bucks. I’ll see you at practice this evening?”
He nodded. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll be there.”
Pickleball, a game like tennis but with a Wiffle Ball and a racket, was the newest sport down at the county park on the outskirts of town. I don’t believe there was a hard rule you have to be over a certain age to play on the teams, but everyone who’d joined so far were seniors. Gertie and Mr. Peters joined the game after she’d cracked her bowling ball, heaving it at Lizzie Madden for attacking me. Gertie claimed the game did her brain good and kept her active.
After a few minutes of chatting with Mr. Peters, Gertie headed down the hallway. “I’m cleaning up a few things in the groom room, then we can grab lunch. I’m starving!”
Maisy and Lotus played in the lobby while I checked Mr. Peters out.
“Your grandmother is always hungry,” Mr. Peters said at the counter.
“Isn’t that the truth?” I replied.
Daniel pulled a stool over closer. “I love Maisy when she gets a blowout. Look at how fluffy she is.”
“She looks nice, Daniel. Thank you,” Mr. Peters said, turning his head and admiring the black standard poodle’s silky, curled coat. “She always smells good when she leaves here.”
“Well, it’s our pleasure, Mr. Peters,” I said.
He wrote us a check, tore it out, and handed it to me.
As Daniel took care of scheduling Maisy’s next appointment, Sauren breezed in the front door, wearing a flowing cover wrap over her yoga attire and a pair of fuzzy tan boots. Her honey-colored hair draped over one shoulder twisted in a long, thick braid. She owned and operated the yoga studio, No Place Like Om, a few doors down.
“Hello, beautiful people!” She bent and gave Lotus a quick kiss on the head. “Hey, sweet girl. Steely, have I told you lately how much I love your red hair?”
Sauren, one of those gentle souls, saw the beauty everywhere she looked.
I chuckled. “Thank you. And how’re you?”
She handed me forty dollars. “Keep the change. And I’m well. Thank you for asking.” She rested a hand on my arm. “Missed you at class this week.”
I sighed. “I know. I’m sorry. We’ve had a lot going on.” Well, there’s the understatement of the year, I thought. Even though I wasn’t the most bendy and flexible of people, I tried to fit a weekly yoga class into my schedule.
Sauren’s hazel eyes widened with alarm. “Oh right, I heard about the strange gifts your sister is getting.”
“Yeah, it has my family worried.”
“I’m sure it does. Everyone’s talking about it around town.”
Traffic and citizens may dawdle at a snail’s pace in Buckleville, but news and gossip traveled with the speed of a cheetah.
“Hopefully we figure out who’s doing it and stop it. Stoney nor my father needs the stress.”
“Gosh, I bet not.”
Itching to steer the conversation in another direction, I changed subjects. “So, I’ve been training for the Reindeer Stampede. Do you think yoga would help?”
Her heart-shaped face beamed. “Are you kidding? Yoga is a perfect combination with running. It’s also good for your breathwork and stretching and lengthening the muscles.”
“Okay, I’ll try to make it next week. I’m hoping to keep up the jogging once the marathon is over.”
“Me too!” Daniel added.
“Me three,” Gertie said, walking in from the back. “I love the yoga. Gets rid of unwanted gas in the body.”
I snorted in laughter, and Sauren raised an eyebrow in her usual compassionate way.
“Sorry, Gertie,” I said, biting back my grin.
Sauren had a way of bringing out the kindness in people, or at least she tried to. Since the Scrubadub crew started yoga back in October, we’ve heard Gertie pass gas in yoga on several occasions. I’ve had to remove myself each time until I got myself under control.
“Oh, pshaw, get over it, Steely. Gas is a natural body function. Everyone does it, even you.”
Yeah, but not in public, I thought.
She clapped Mr. Peters on the back. “Peters, wanna do lunch with us?”
Mr. Peters, who was on his way out, turned back. “Nah, don’t want to intrude.”
Gertie tossed her hands on her hips. “Peters, don’t be a fuddy-duddy. We can put Maisy in a holding kennel. Lotus too if you want to join us, Sauren.”
Sauren glanced at her cell phone, checking the time. “I could use a bite before class at 1:30 PM. I’d love to join y’all.”
“I’ll put the dogs up. I want to check and see how Cuff is doing,” I said, reaching for their leashes. “Come on, ladies. I’ve got treats!” I grabbed three peanut-butter dog treats from the canister on the counter and led the girls to the holding kennels.
I headed to my office to check on Cuff. He peeked his eyes open.
“How ya doin’, little buddy?” I rubbed the top of his head.
I am okay. I think maybe it is the cold weather on these old bones. I am ten. You know in dog years, that is like 56 years old.
I handed him a peanut-butter treat. “Maybe it is the weather. We’ll see what Doc Benson says tomorrow. I brought you a present.”
Cuff sniffed the treat but didn’t gobble it up like usual. He tucked it under his chin. I will save it for later.
“Okay. We’re off to lunch. Can I bring you anything? Bacon maybe?”
No thank you, Chiquita. I want to sleep. No bacon.
I rubbed the soft spot between his ears. “We won’t be long.”
Worrying, I shuffled out of the office. Cuff had never denied bacon.
OUR IMPROMPTU LUNCH bunch strolled down the sidewalk toward Orsack’s café, several conversations taking place all at once. Five blocks later, we arrived at the edge of downtown. Across the street, a burly man in a ball cap crouched over the low pipe fence, unwrapping the Christmas lights in front of Ziggy’s lot. A short dumpy man in a Santa suit stood talking to him.
“The man taking down Ziggy’s Christmas lights, who do you think he is?” I asked.
“Better yet, who’s the Santa guy?” Daniel asked.
Gertie pushed her way in front of us, squinting at the men through her glasses. “The big one looks familiar. I think. I’ll be right back.”
Before anyone could stop her, she stumbled off the curb into the street, not bothering to even look for cars. Lucky for her, the street was clear of traffic. She marched across the road with her hands on her hips.
“Gertie!”
The Santa glanced over at Gertie approaching, did a double take, and waddled down the sidewalk, the white fluffy ball on his Santa hat bouncing behind him.
“Get back here!” I called out to my grandmother.
Gertie looked over her shoulder and flapped her hand to hush me. “I got this!”
Daniel snickered. “LOL, I thought she was turning around to flip you the bird.”
“She wouldn’t dare,” I said.
Mr. Peters snorted. “Girly, do you even know your grandmother?”
“Point taken.” I motioned for the rest of the group to follow me. They tagged along behind me as we crossed the road and joined Gertie. I didn’t need my grandmother causing trouble with whoever the mystery guy was at Ziggy’s place.
“Gertie?” I said behind her.
She frowned. “I said, I got this.”
I eyed the forty-something-year-old lumberjack of a man. He towered over us, wearing blue jeans, a thick flannel button-up, tan work boots, and a ball cap, his face and eyes shaded. I shoved my hand in his direction, noticing wisps o
f blond hair poking out from under his hat.
“I’m Steely Lamarr, and you are?”
A flicker of something flashed in his eyes, but before I could identify what it was, he quickly recovered, forcing a grin. Had it been surprise? Shock? Anger? He took my hand, giving me two shakes and dropped it like a hot potato.
“I’m Earl Wood,” the guy said, shooting Gertie a strange look. “And how is it you know me?”
Gertie blew a raspberry in his direction. “Don’t act like you can’t remember me,” she spouted to him. She turned. “This here is Ziggy’s younger brother. Back in the day, we used to call him The Kid. I knew I recognized him. When Ziggy and I played poker together above Dickie’s Bar, he’d sneak into the poker room upstairs and try to weasel into the games.” She pointed a finger at his chest. “I bet Dickie’s bar is the first place you went after arriving in town, isn’t it?”
Earl narrowed his eyes at her. “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”
“Gertie, please don’t badger him,” I said.
She rolled her eyes.
“It’s nice to meet you and we’re very sorry for your loss, Earl,” I said.
He nodded. “When I found out about Eugene dying, I knew I had to come to town and close the lot. Someone needs to sort out his belongings. Both our folks are gone, and it was just the two of us.”
“Eugene?” Daniel asked.
“He’s talking about Ziggy. It was his given name,” Gertie snapped.
Earl fumbled with a strand of Christmas lights in his hands. “Well, I have a lot of work to do here. So, if you’ll excuse me.”
“We have a few questions for you,” Gertie said, her voice laced with sarcasm.
Earl’s head drooped, and he let out a heavy sigh.
I reached for her arm, tugging gently. “What my grandmother meant to say is we’re sorry to have bothered you. C’mon Gertie.”
She tried pulling from my grip. “Wait. But I haven’t—”
“We need to go to lunch so we can get back. Remember?” I said through clenched teeth, tightening my grasp.
“But,” she said.
I shook my head. “No buts. Let’s go.” I pulled her toward me, and we made our way across the street. The others followed in silence.
From the other side of the street, Earl observed us as he removed the next strand of lights. The man lost his brother, and Gertie had kicked him while he was down. Guilt struck me square in the heart.
“We’ll meet y’all at the café,” I told the rest of our group. “Gertie, can I talk to you for a minute?”
She folded her arms and pursed her lips. “I guess.”
The others drifted off in reluctance. As soon as they were out of earshot, I turned to her.
“You can’t go around harassing people,” I said, recalling Pop telling me the same thing months ago when I’d accused Mr. Peters of murder. “Especially those who’re grieving. It’s wrong, Gertie.”
She glared at me over her glasses. “But you don’t know those guys. They were mixed up in some bad stuff. I think Ziggy was involved with selling drugs. At least that’s what I heard through the grapevine. The bar staff at Dickie’s bar would know. I’m sure. I wanted to see if his brother knew anything. That’s all.”
I sighed and rested a hand on her shoulder. “I know you meant well. But he’s mourning the loss of his brother.” I pointed across the street at Earl. “The police have probably already spoken with him. You don’t have to interrogate him. Okay?”
She nodded.
“Hey, if it makes you feel better, you can mention your concerns to Jackson later.”
“Fine. Can we go now? My stomach is talking up a storm,” she said.
Chapter 5
After lunch, we all headed back to the shop so Sauren and Mr. Peters could retrieve their pups. We only had a few appointments this afternoon and about an hour to kill before they arrived, so we busied ourselves decorating our reindeer antlers for the Reindeer Stampede this weekend.
I unwrapped a tiny strand of LED Christmas lights and twisted them around my pair of antlers. Daniel attached silver tinsel and red plaid ribbon to his set. Gertie carried Cuff into the lobby where we were crafting.
“He was whining in his bed,” Gertie said, cradling my pup.
I need to take a break, Chiquita.
I set my antlers down on the counter and reached for him. “I’m taking him outside. We’ll be back in a few.” I grabbed a roll of doggy waste bags, and Cuff and I went out for a walk. I observed his limp.
“You gonna be okay?”
I think I will live, Chiquita. But I am hoping the doc will know what is wrong.
“I bet he will,” I said.
We strolled down Main Street a few blocks. Cuff did his business, and I made use of a disposable doggy bag and tossed it in the trashcan. When we returned, Daniel and Gertie were sitting at the front counter.
Cuff climbed onto the small doggy bed in the lobby's corner, circled three times, and curled up.
“Do you think Ziggy’s brother has any intentions of keeping the used car lot open?” Daniel asked, working the hot glue gun. He affixed tiny colored ornaments on his antlers.
Gertie scoffed. “Let’s hope not.”
“Did you tell Daniel about what someone left at the house for Stoney this morning?” I chimed in.
“I hadn’t gotten to that yet,” Gertie said.
“Well, don’t keep me in anticipation. Tell me already!”
“Another Secret Santa gift from some sicko,” Gertie replied.
Daniel motioned with his hand for her to continue. “Such as...?”
“So, I was jogging past the house this morning, and I discovered three baby rattles tied to Pop’s Jeep antennae.”
“Sounds creepy,” Daniel said, wrinkling his nose. “Why three?”
“They went along with the 3rd Day of Christmas message inside the card left underneath the windshield wiper. Pop called the chief again.” I picked up my antlers and held them up so I could get a better look.
Gertie smacked a hand on the counter. “It’s stressful times like this when I miss smoking the worst.”
I offered her a supportive pat on the hand. “You’re doing a good job. We’re proud of you.”
She grumbled thanks and shook off my hand.
“Do the police have any leads yet?” Daniel asked.
I shrugged. “None, but they’re looking into it. I hope for Lloyd Madden’s sake, it isn’t him.”
Gertie drummed her fingers on the countertop. “Me either. Because if so, your father will lose his mind.”
The front doorbell jingled and all three of us jumped. Vivienne Peacock sashayed into the shop. Mrs. Peacock, with a book satchel, in the lobby.
With a plastered grin on her face, she breezed up to the counter, her platinum blonde hair pulled into a perfect French twist. She pulled something from her bag and slapped it down in front of us.
“Good citizens of Buckleville,” she began.
I mentally rolled my eyes but remained quiet. Show grace, I heard Mama’s voice in my head.
Gertie snorted. “Good citizens, my ass.”
I pointed to her swear jar on the counter.
With a sneer, she reached into her smock, pulled out a dollar, and dropped it in the jar.
“What can we do for you today, Mrs. Peacock?” Daniel asked, as he seemed to be the only one in the house with an ounce of respect for her.
“I’m running for City Manager, and I would appreciate your support,” she said, tapping the flyer on the counter. “Will you be so kind as to hang this in your front window, please?”
“Why should we support you?” I asked.
Vivienne pursed her lips. “You really need to mind your manners. I bet your mother is rolling over in her grave, bless her heart.”
Before the viper set her sights on me, she spent years giving my late mother grief, mostly because my father chose my mother over her back in high school. I bit my tongue
and counted to ten.
“Vivienne, you don’t know what Mama would think or feel. So, please don’t pretend you do.” My pulse ticked up a few notches, and I was fixin’ to lose my cool with her.
Peacock’s mouth opened and closed, resembling a dying fish, and she gulped air until Daniel swooped in to resuscitate her.
“What does the City Manager do?” he asked.
He’s such a sweetheart, even to the mean girls, I thought.
Vivienne clapped her hands together. “Oh, a multitude of things. In Buckleville, we help oversee the fire and police departments, help oversee the finance manager working on the city budget, city planning, and most of all, assist the mayor in running the city. I hear there’s a good chance I’ll be overseeing the citizen’s watch program, Steely.” She grinned. “Don’t you think the group could use some new blood, maybe even a new president?”
Oh no she didn’t, I thought.
Yes, she did, Chiquita.
Our first afternoon client walked into the lobby. Ms. Stella clutched Prince in her arms.
I smiled at her and snatched the flyer off the counter. “Daniel, will you chat with Ms. Stella about Prince. I’ll be right back. I’m walking Mrs. Peacock out.”
A peculiar expression spread across his face, one with fear and oh crap! emotions. With reluctance, he peeled his eyes from mine and greeted Prince.
“But I wasn’t finished,” Vivienne said.
Forcing a sugary smile, I motioned for her to follow me to the front door.
“I don’t mean to be rude, but we have clients arriving and we have work to do. On behalf of Scrubadub, we’ve decided not to hang your flyer.” I dangled it between my fingers. Oh this feels good, I thought. “Now, is there anything else we can do for you?” The corner of my mouth twitched.
“Harrumph!” she said, tossing the straps of her bag over her shoulder. “Soon, I’ll be running this town. If I were you, I’d watch the attitude, young lady.” She seized the flyer from my hand.
I felt my cell phone vibrate in my pocket but ignored it.
“I may have to look at the city’s rules on pets when I’m elected.” Vivienne whipped her head around and shoved the door open. “I bet I can find a no-dog rule in the downtown area in the books somewhere.” She puckered her lips, clutching her satchel brimming with campaign flyers.