by Cat Clayton
I shrugged. “I don’t know. But then, he looked across the street in my direction and pointed his gun.” My throat tightened as the reality of the situation settled over me. I could’ve died today.
Officer Jackson scribbled in his little steno book.
“And the gun, can you describe it?” he asked.
Growing up in a law enforcement household, I was no stranger to guns. “It was a semi-automatic. A black slide and gray receiver. And the barrel...”
Remembering the gun triggered the memory of how we’d lost Mama while she’d been on duty. A domestic disturbance call gone very wrong. Mama had tried to talk some sense into the man, to leave his wife alone and go with her downtown. According to the wife, he’d put up a fight, and when Mama got on the radio to call for backup, he pulled a pistol from his back pocket and... shot her.
“Ms. Lamarr, about the barrel? What is it?” Officer Jackson’s voice yanked me out of my memory.
My heart ached. I glanced down at the floor and closed my eyes, forcing back the tears. I took a deep breath before looking back up.
Cuff wandered over and peered up at me.
The officer is trying to help you, Chiquita.
I know. Officer Jackson was only doing his job.
“The barrel,” I said. “After he pointed it in my direction, it was all I could see. The black hole just kept growing bigger and bigger, like it could swallow me whole. My gut instincts told me what was about to happen, but I froze. I knew he was about to shoot, but my body refused to move.” I reached up and wiped a tear rolling down my cheek. “I’m sorry.”
“I know this is difficult,” he said. “Is that all?”
I nodded, unable to speak at the moment.
“If you come up with anything else, let me know.” He handed me a card.
I read the details. B. Jackson, a California address, and a phone number.
“Thank you.” I pocketed his business card.
“I’ll remove the slug from the wall and get out of your hair,” he said, moving past me.
“Wait,” I said, recalling another detail about the shooter.
He turned. “Yes?”
“He shot one-handed,” I said. “And, his hand... the one he pointed the gun with. It was his left hand.” Somehow, the important little detail came back to me. Hopefully, it’d prove to be useful.
Officer Jackson nodded. “That’s good. Very good.” He turned and walked into the lobby.
I watched him, trying not to take notice of how well he filled out his uniform trousers.
“Steely!” Daniel shouted from the washroom, interrupting my thoughts.
“Pop-Tart’s done. Can you come get him? I’ve got Sid in a sitz bath!”
The heavenly herbal scent of lavender, rosemary, and chamomile filled the room. With a rag tied around his nose, Daniel stood in front of the tub. A soaked Sid stood immersed up to his neck in a bubbly concoction.
“You can remove your nose armor. It smells divine in here. But a sitz bath? The dog doesn’t have hemorrhoids,” I said.
“I figured the effervescent bubbles would get down to the scene of the stink, ya know?” Daniel looked up at me. Soap suds dotted his forehead.
Adorable, I thought.
“I trust you. Where’s Pop-Tart?” I asked him.
Daniel jutted his chin toward the table. A perfectly groomed Pop-Tart with one of our signature bandana bows, his blue, leaped off the table at me, jumping into my arms. I carried him out front and set him on the floor. Officer Jackson had left.
“Here you are, Mrs. Peacock. He’s all yours.” Mrs. Peacock, in the library, with the candlestick. “That’ll be thirty-two dollars, ma’am.”
Pop-Tart bounded for his owner with Cuff nipping at his docked tail. As Pop-Tart skidded to a stop, Cuff began humping him.
Who’s the man?
Mrs. Peacock shrieked.
“Cuff, stop that and get over here!” I snapped. What’s gotten into him lately?
Cuff trotted over to one of the lobby chairs near the front window and hopped up. I’m showing that dog who’s in charge around here. He faced the window and looked out at the activity across the street. It’s what we dogs do to establish ourselves. You might try it sometime. Would put the Mrs. High and Mighty here in her place.
Yeah, no thanks, Cuff.
Mrs. Peacock glided to the counter, her powder blue linen tunic flowing like a soft breeze as she moved. “That handsome officer said to tell you he had to get back to the station with the bullet he removed from the wall.”
My eyes shifted from her to the wall and back again.
“Did you see the shooter? Was it the same man who robbed the bank?” She leaned over the counter and whispered. “Now, about last night’s murder, you’d tell me if you knew anything, right? Hmm?” She pinched her ruby lips together, her face scrunching up like she had a pain.
Maybe gas. Someone ought to tell her holding it in is bad for your health.
I refrained from cracking a smile at Cuff’s recommendation. “No, ma’am. I have no more information than you do. It’s police business. I’m sure they’ll let everyone—”
“That is plain rubbish. Police business. We are Buckleville citizens and we deserve the right to know what is going on in this town.” She let out an exaggerated breath.
“Well, I’m sure we’ll find out soon enough,” I said. She needed to get a life outside of everyone else’s business.
“I wanted to let you know how much we here at Scrubadub appreciate your continued business after I took over for my grandmother.” I smiled. “And we take credit cards now.”
She raised an eyebrow and began digging through her white leather purse with a big, flashy, rhinestone cross on the front.
“I do not use credit cards. With all those sketchy people stealing identities and such.” She glanced in both directions as if someone here were eavesdropping on our conversation. “Did you know they have these little devices that can scan your card from several feet away? It’s a horror. No, I stick to cash or checks.” She pulled out a white leather wallet. “I still can’t believe Gertrude handed this shop over to you. Are you even old enough to own a business? What’re you, all of twenty?”
“Twenty-six,” I corrected her.
“Well now, you’re about the same age as my niece. She recently moved to town. Y’all have a lot in common. More than you know, actually,” she said, giving me a peculiar smirk. “And now that you’re over twenty-five, you ought to think about joining the Buckleville Belles. My niece just joined. It’d do a lot for you, and this shop,” she said, glancing around the lobby. “I’m sure your mother would’ve agreed. Bless her sweet resting soul,” she said through her false pearly whites.
Her mention of my mother made my blood boil. She never gave my mother the time of day when she was alive. And I wouldn’t associate myself with that stuck up, high falootin’ society if they were the last remaining people on this planet. Heck, I’d rather throw myself into a flesh-eating horde of zombies than join the Belles.
“Thank you kindly for the invite, Mrs. Peacock. But I’ve got a lot going on with running the shop now.” I channeled Mama’s sweet southern soul and smiled. “I appreciate the offer though.”
She tsked. “How is Gertrude doing?”
“Oh, she’s—”
Shushing me, she flapped her jeweled hand. “Never mind that, now, I hear the dead person was that strange homeless man. You know the one who always wore sweaters? Heard the other homeless mongrel killed him. That’s what the paper said. I wish our town would get rid of those kinds of people. I may have to consider running for city council,” she said, opening her checkbook. She scribbled out the amount I quoted her and tore out the check.
I bit my tongue. I won’t tell her judgemental, gossipy butt a darn thing. But I’ll take her check any day. Money pays the bills.
“Thank you, ma’am,” I said, grimacing.
“Guess I must go hear what news Trudy has to share.” She t
urned to leave and Pop-Tart pranced after her. “If crime around your business continues to escalate, maybe I ought to take my business for Pop-Tart elsewhere. Like Houston or maybe Austin,” she muttered under her breath.
I opened my mouth to agree with her, but Cuff interrupted me.
Do not be tempted, Chiquita. Remember, you spent your savings to get this place in tip-top shape. You need her business.
I forced a smile. “You have a wonderful day!” I called out and then locked the door behind her.
Daniel checked out Mr. Walton and Sid, and then we took a quick coffee break. After that, I began transferring the appointments from the book to the computer. Going paperless was proving to be a bigger pain in the butt than I’d expected.
Seeing as I’d let our last client out the door fifteen minutes ago, a knock up front startled me.
I noticed the tall cowboy from the lobby of the bank earlier this morning staring through the glass, his ten-gallon Stetson absent. Standing next to him was Sauren, owner of No Place Like OM yoga studio, three doors down. She wore the no makeup, all natural look well, her bright, heart-shaped face lined with wispy blonde hair and strawberry highlights.
I twisted the keys and pushed the glass door open. “Can I help y’all?” I asked.
Sauren smiled and linked her arm through his. The cowboy held an adorable Yorkshire terrier in his other arm. Interesting. I didn’t know she had a significant other.
“Hi Steely!” Sauren said, her voice velvety and gentle. “This here is my new friend Seth. He’s a new client of mine and is looking for someone to groom his pup. I naturally thought of you.”
Pushing back his sooty black hair, the cowboy nodded his head and smiled. His deep indigo button down dress shirt accentuated his tanned skin. His dog, who’d obviously never seen a pair of clippers in its life, wiggled in his arms. The panting dog looked anxious with wide, panicky eyes.
Cuff whined at my feet. It’s a she, and wow... set my tail on fire! She’s one hot tamale!
“We were hoping you were still open,” he said, giving me an exaggerated grin.
I held back Cuff with my boot and welcomed them inside. Back, Romeo. “Well, we were just closing up, but what can I do for you?”
Sauren unlinked her arm from Seth’s. “I need to run back to the studio, but I wanted to introduce y’all. He’s new to town and doesn’t know many folks. I told him you’d treat his pup well, so I hope it works out!” She turned to leave and then twirled back around like a ballet dancer.
“Seth, are we still on for supper this evening, say 7:00? I’m fixin’ grilled tofu steaks and kale salad,” Sauren said.
“Sure, I’ll be there. I love tofu,” Seth said, watching her tip-toe out the door on dainty, bare feet.
“Do you really love tofu or are you just being polite?” I asked him, smiling. I let the door close with a swoosh.
“Polite. I’m not even sure what tofu is,” he said. His curious, charcoal eyes darted about the room as if he’d never seen the inside of a grooming shop before. Although, upon further inspection of his pup, I’d say that was a good assumption.
Cuff immediately started sniffing Seth’s jeans.
Oh jeez. Please don’t let him lift his leg or start humping the guy.
You think so little of me, Chiquita.
Well, if the collar fits, I thought.
Cuff sat back on his haunches, peering up at the Yorkie.
I don’t like him. He smells funny. Cuff continued inspecting the man’s legs.
I sniffed. All I smell is Patchouli. But he’s hanging out with Sauren, so what do you expect? I’m sure he’s fine. I disregarded Cuff’s observation and offered my hand. His saucer-sized hand swallowed mine in a firm handshake.
“I’m Steely Lamarr. So, how can we help you?” I heard Daniel clear his throat behind me. “Oh, and this is my assistant and best friend, Daniel.”
Daniel scooted around the counter. “Nice to meet you. And who do we have here?” Daniel reached to pet the tiny terrier. “Aren’t you just the cutest little apple dumpling I ever saw?” He made silly baby noises to the dog.
“Well, Taffy here needs a bath.” Seth gave the little dog a peculiar glance. “I know I don’t have an appointment, but, um... she could use a serious trim. If you have the time, that is.” Seth Welton flashed a Crest White, prize-winning smile. The man didn’t have an imperfection on his flawless, five o’clock shadowed face.
Cuff whined. Taffy, may I offer you some of my Milk Bone?
I glanced down at my pup. A half-nibbled dog biscuit dangled from his muzzle.
The shaggy Yorkie panted, shivering in Mr. Welton’s arms.
“Sure we have time to get this sassy little girl into shape! May I?” Daniel said, reaching for the pup, his demeanor an ounce shy of euphoric.
So much for closing the shop early today.
Raising his eyebrows, Daniel cleared his throat. “I got this, Steely. Didn’t you say earlier you had an errand to run?”
“Um, no—”
Daniel jutted his chin toward the front door, eyes as big as quarters. “You know. You have that thing we talked about earlier.”
“I have a thing?”
Don’t be so dense, Chiquita. He’s trying to make his move.
The guy is old enough to be his father! Not to mention, he’s seeing the yoga chick.
Daniel grinned.
Well, who am I to stand in his way?
“Oh, thaaaat thing. Yeah. I’ll be back soon. I’ll take Cuff with me.” I reached a hand out to Seth. He didn’t look gay, but then again, what did I know? I’d been wrong this morning about the UPS guy.
“Nice to meet you, Seth.”
“Likewise,” he said, shaking my hand in return. He held onto it longer than the casual handshake, offering another generous smile. What a charmer.
On our way out the door, Cuff growled. I don’t like him. He’s hiding something.
I waited for the door to close before I answered him. “We can ask Daniel if he noticed anything odd about him when we get back. Can’t you walk any faster?” I urged Cuff.
But the sidewalk is hot on my paws! Carry me!
I scooped him up and put him inside my bag. The sweltering heat pounded off the concrete, nearly suffocating me. “We need to get this hair sample over to Mitch Kolbeski’s lab.”
You know you can talk to me in your head. Right?
“Yeah, but talking to you in my head makes me feel like I’ve got a major screw loose.”
Just saying.
As I marched down the sidewalk, Cuff badgered me. So, what are you talking about, anyway? What hair sample? He popped his head out of the bag’s opening. Are you even listening to the thoughts coming out of my head?
“No, I’m not. You’ll find out soon enough.” No sense in me repeating the information twice. “Now hush. I can’t think straight when you’re prattling on!”
A passerby gave me a strange look.
So much for not wanting to appear loco, Chiquita.
I couldn’t argue with that.
Chapter 6
I strolled through the front door of the Kolbeski Lab Corp. They mostly focused on processing lab tests for the urgent care clinic in town.
“Hey, Cory!” I said and waved as I skirted around the counter. Cory was Mitch’s lab tech, who usually parked himself in the front playing games on his phone instead of working. I didn’t have time to stop and chat about whatever level he was on in his current game. I was on a mission.
Bent over his worktable in the back of the lab, Mitch Kolbeski glanced up and grinned. His thick bangs draped across his eyes.
“Hey, Steely! Whatcha been up to lately?” Picture Shaggy from Scooby-Doo, only cuter.
“Not much. But I need a favor,” I said, flashing a sweet smile.
Mitch fiddled with the protective goggles hanging around his neck. “Is it legal?”
“Oh, come on, Mitch. When do you play by the rules?” I reached in my pocket and pulled out the
clump of hair I’d collected from the stairwell of the shop. I set it on the counter in front of him.
“I need you to see if you can get any DNA from this,” I said.
Mitch inspected the hair clump and then picked it up with a pair of tweezers, holding it up toward the florescent light. “Hmm...” He dropped the sample in an evidence bag. “Where’s it from?”
“The shop stairs. Found it today. Thought it might have something to do with last night’s murder.”
“I don’t know, Steely,” he said.
“Please? We could work out some kind of deal. You do this for me, and we’ll groom Boomer. For free.” I grinned.
Mitch peeked around me, checking for Cory.
“Well, I don’t think it’s from the murder victim I read about in the paper,” Mitch said. “But I’ll do it. Boomer would love a day at the doggy spa.”
“What makes you so sure?” I asked.
Mitch shook his head, writing the date, time, and my initials on the evidence bag. “It looks like dog hair, but let me put it under the scope. I’ll get back to you. Can I reach you on your cell?”
Well, dog hair would make sense. “Yes. Thanks, Mitch. I appreciate it,” I said, turning to leave. “And don’t forget to call soon and make Boomer’s appointment.”
“Will do. Hang loose, chicky!”
On the way back to the shop, Cuff whined inside my purse. Gotta take a whiz.
I kneeled down, letting him out of my bag. He strutted over to a small tree and lifted his leg. Ah, now that’s how I spell relief.
My cell phone buzzed in my pocket. I read the caller ID. Nick.
“Hello?”
“Where are you?”
“Out back of the shop. Cuff’s taking a break.” I hated lying, but he’d murder me if he knew I had been at Mitch’s lab.
“Hey, you never gave me a definite answer.” Nick’s voice came from the other end.
Welcome to my world, Nick. I could count on one hand how many “definite” answers I got out of him.
“About what?” I racked my brain. Did I owe him an answer about something? I attempted to recall our conversation from earlier, drawing a blank.