by Susie Gayle
Fast-forward a few years: Karen moved back to Seaview Rock and somehow managed to become friends with Sarah, which means by extension that we’re sort of friends, too. Not long ago she helped me figure out who murdered a friend of mine, Jerry, which was the catalyst that set off my involvement in the blackmail scheme.
Sammy’s right; Karen is not a discreet woman. Her style of investigating is to kick in doors, point fingers, and throw around accusations—all of which, I can imagine, has not been sitting well with those that are trying to maintain the secret.
“I know. I’ll talk to her, I promise,” I assure Sammy.
“They’re getting anxious,” he tells me cryptically.
The cryptic part isn’t who “they” are—I know darn well he’s talking about Rachel Stein and Tom Savage, the blackmail-ees. No, the strange part of that statement is what it might mean for them to be anxious.
“I said I’ll talk to her,” I tell him sharply. I shake my head. “I haven’t even been back in town two hours, and I’ve got a missing snake and an ex-wife on the prowl.”
“Sorry,” Sammy mutters. The weight and double-entendre of his apology isn’t lost on either of us. “Just let me know when you do, okay?”
“Sure.” I stand and head for the door. “Thanks for watching the shop.” I leave quickly, before he can say anything more.
CHAPTER 4
* * *
Out of the two problems I currently have to solve, I can’t help but feel that one of them is a bit more of a priority than the other—but it’s also the one I don’t know how to solve on my own. So naturally, I make a call to someone who can, and usually does, help.
“You miss me already?” Sarah asks over the phone. I can hear the smile in her voice.
“Yes, but that’s not why I’m calling. I was just at the shop. Petunia is missing.”
“Missing how?”
“Sarah, there’s really only one way to be missing, and that’s when you’re not where you’re supposed to be.”
“Alright, smart-aleck. Did you talk to Sammy?”
I quickly run through the whole shebang—door was locked, lid to the cage was on, Sammy was not helpful. “What if she’s somewhere in the shop right now?”
“Well, she can’t get to any of the other animals,” Sarah says.
“I know. But she could totally get to one of us. We can’t exactly call animal control; we never did confirm that it was legal to have her.” The last thing I want is to lose my business license for having a creature I’m not supposed to have. Actually, scratch that; the last thing I want is to get bit and die of rattlesnake venom. The second-to-last thing I want is to lose my license.
“Alright. It’s getting late, so here’s what we’ll do,” says Sarah. “First thing in the morning, I’ll meet you at the pet shop. We’ll search it together—carefully—and go from there. If she’s in there, we’ll find her and catch her. If she’s not, then… she might just be gone.”
I don’t like it. Not one bit. In my mind, the only solution is to get all the animals out and burn the shop to the ground, just to be safe—but most people would say that’s impractical.
“Okay,” I agree. “I’ll see you in the morning, then.”
I mean, if the snake is really gone, then at least I’m rid of it; silver lining, right? I immediately scold myself for thinking like that. Petunia might creep me out, and she might be lurking somewhere in my shop right now, but she’s still innocent. She is as (insert higher-power-of-choice here) made her, and doesn’t deserve to be discarded so easily, especially not by someone like me that claims to love animals.
Suddenly very tired, I decide to head home, where I’m greeted enthusiastically by Rowdy. I take a shower and make myself some food before I remember my other problem. And, assuming we solve the snake situation in the morning, I should at least plan ahead to deal with the second.
I call Karen. While we were on vacation, I got her cell number from Sarah’s phone, since I knew I’d probably have to touch base with her at some point to talk about this whole investigation thing she’s doing.
She doesn’t answer, so I leave a voicemail. “Hey, Karen, it’s Will. I promised we’d talk when I got back, and… I’m back. So, give me a call when you can, and if we can meet up sometime tomorrow, let’s do that.” I hang up.
See, this is why I had trepidation about coming back. I’m not even home for half a day before everything goes to crap. I should have just stayed on that beach, built a little hut for me and Sarah and our boys and lived the rest of our days there.
I head to bed early, dreaming about sipping straight from coconuts and weaving my own thatched roof.
***
The next morning I meet Sarah outside the shop at seven a.m. We normally open by eight, but if we don’t find the snake within the hour there’s no way I’m opening my doors to the public. I bring Rowdy along, since he’s just as mistrustful of the snake as I am; I’m hoping he can sniff her out. I hold Basket in my arms. It’s probably not a good idea to have a tiny kitten teetering about with a rattlesnake on the loose.
Sarah shows up and immediately makes me feel stupid. While I’m wearing what would be my normal apparel—jeans, sneakers, a button-down shirt—she’s come dressed for battle. She wears leather boots that nearly reach her knees, her jeans tucked into the tops. In one hand she carries a thick pair of gloves that look like something a welder would wear, and in her other hand is a thin silver pole with a loop of rope at the tip.
She looks me up and down as I do the same to her.
“I thought I should dress for the occasion,” she says simply.
“I see that. What’s with the pole thing?”
“Oh, it’s a snare. I ‘borrowed’ it from the shelter I volunteer at. They use it to catch feral dogs; the loop goes over the head and the pole keeps them at a distance. I figure it’ll work just as well on a snake.”
“Ah. Good idea.” I’ve been so focused on finding the snake that I hadn’t really thought about what we would do when we do. If we do.
I unlock the door and push it open just a few inches. I’m nothing if not a gentleman, so I sweep my arm toward the entrance and insist, “Ladies first.”
Sarah rolls her eyes and heads inside.
CHAPTER 5
* * *
Before Sarah can get through the door, Rowdy bounds ahead of her, none the wiser of the potentially deadly Petunia that may be lurking somewhere nearby.
“Rowdy!” I hiss. “Stay!”
He turns to me and cocks his head quizzically, his tail wagging—but he stays. He’s smarter than your average pup.
Sarah creeps in, surveying the area just beyond the entrance for signs of Petunia. Seeing none, she tiptoes further into the store. I slip inside and lock the door behind me, and then I catch up to Sarah and put one hand on her shoulder.
“Right behind you,” I whisper.
“I noticed. Why are you whispering?”
“…I don’t know. It seems appropriate.”
In that fashion, with Sarah leading and me in step behind her with a hand on her shoulder and Rowdy sitting on the floor wondering just what it is we’re doing, we search the shop. We start with the sales floor, the open areas, before checking behind things, under shelves, around crates and cages.
“Will,” Sarah says at one point, “it might make more sense for us to split up. Cover more ground.”
“I don’t wanna.”
“Let me put it another way. Get off me. You’re gripping my shoulder and it’s making me nervous.”
I hadn’t even realized I was holding onto her so tightly. “Sorry.” I let go of her. As she searches carefully along a shelf of pet accessories, I pick up a long, thick rawhide chew toy, rigid and about a foot long. I give it a couple of test swings before I realize that Sarah is staring at me incredulously.
“What is that for?”
“You know.” I give it another swing. “In case she surprises me.”
“We are not bludgeoning the snake.”
“…Right. Okay.” I put down the bone.
A half hour goes by. Then an hour. By nine o’clock we’ve searched every nook and cranny in the store twice, including the storage area in the back and every animal’s enclosure, just in case.
“I’m pretty confident she’s not here,” Sarah says as she pulls off the thick welder’s gloves. “And my hands are getting sweaty.”
“No. She has to be here,” I say quietly. Of course there’s no logic to that, but I really don’t like the idea of not finding the snake. It could mean she’s not in the store… or it could mean we just didn’t find her, and I know I won’t be able to relax in my own shop until we do.
“Look, Will,” she says softly, “the lid was locked on. The door wasn’t forced. We both know there’s only one possible solution to this.”
I know what she’s saying without her having to say it—it’s the same thing I originally thought. She’s implying that Sammy did indeed do something with Petunia.
“But why would he do that?”
“Maybe he was trying to be a good friend,” she suggests. “He knows you hate snakes. He could have removed her while we were gone and pretended he didn’t so she’d be out of your life.”
“He told me he didn’t. Sammy wouldn’t lie to me.”
Sarah raises an eyebrow. I had kept the secret of the blackmail scheme from her at first, but while we were on vacation I told her everything.
“Technically he still never lied,” I protest. “He just didn’t admit the truth.”
“Same thing,” she shrugs.
“Fine, I’ll humor you. Let’s say he did do something with the snake…” I sigh. “Then I guess we’d have to find out what he did. And hopefully it didn’t involve a shovel.”
Sarah scrunches up her face. “God, I hope not.”
The goose bumps on my arms still haven’t retreated. As logical as Sarah’s argument is, knowing the snake is out there somewhere still creeps me out.
“We should open the store,” she suggests.
I check my watch. “You’re right. Let me just try to call Karen really quick; she should be getting to work right about now.”
“Right, you need to talk to her about the thing. Hey, ask her why she never texted me back.”
“Sure.” I make the call. It rings four times and goes to voicemail. “No answer,” I tell Sarah.
“Here, try calling the branch number.” Sarah reads it to me and I call. Karen is a loan officer for one of the local banks, which means she should be in by nine.
A woman answers and I ask for Karen Bear.
“She’s not in yet,” the woman replies. “In fact, I’m not sure she’ll be in today.”
“Why’s that?”
“I don’t think she’s feeling well. She called out sick yesterday.”
“Thanks.” I hang up and tell Sarah.
She wrinkles her nose. “That’s weird.”
“It’s weird that someone might get sick?”
“No, doofus. It’s weird considering everything else that’s going on. It’s weird because you promised her that you’d talk as soon as you got back. It’s weird because if she’s home, why isn’t she answering calls or texts?”
“Okay. It’s a little weird.” I think back to Sammy’s cryptic remark: they’re getting anxious.
“Then let’s go check on her.”
“Maybe you should stay here…” I start to suggest, but Sarah counters with an index finger of warning.
“When you told me about all this stuff going down, we agreed we’d be in this together, didn’t we?”
“Well, yeah, but—”
“No buts, mister. Let’s go.” She takes Basket from me and heads out the door. I can see there’s no point in arguing, so I whistle for Rowdy and the four of us leave the shop, lock the door again behind us, and pile into my SUV.
CHAPTER 6
* * *
I head toward the Gardens at Seaview Rock, a relatively new apartment complex on Wilshire Boulevard. On the way to Karen’s place, Sarah calls a mutual friend of theirs, Anna Abernathy.
After she hangs up, she blows out a frustrated breath. “Anna says she hasn’t heard from Karen in three days.”
“But Karen called out from work yesterday morning,” I note. “She’s probably fine. Maybe she has the flu or something and she’s been sleeping it off.”
“Sure,” Sarah says. “Because of all the possibilities in our now-vast experience with illicit activity in general, the flu is the most likely answer.”
“Just trying to stay positive.”
I pull into the parking lot and look around. “I don’t see her car here. She must not be home.”
“We’re going to check anyway,” Sarah insists.
We leave the boys in the car and head up the stairs to apartment 2C. I knock on the door and call out. “Karen? It’s Will and Sarah. We just wanted to check on you. Karen, are you home?”
Sarah reaches out and tries the knob. “Oh, look. It’s unlocked.”
“We can’t just go walking into people’s homes—okay, I guess we’re doing this.”
Sarah pushes open the door and takes a step inside. She gasps. I peer over her shoulder and see why.
Karen’s place is ransacked. Every drawer in the kitchen is open, a few of them pulled out completely and overturned. An armchair in the living room lies on its side, surrounded by random items that appear to have been thrown around haphazardly. A cat carrier sits in the center of the carpet, the door open—and curiously, a kitchen utensil sits on top of it.
“Are those… salad tongs?” I ask quietly.
“Karen?!” Sarah calls out. She rushes to the bedroom. “Karen, are you here?” A moment later she reappears, her face a mask a dread. “Same thing in there. No Karen, though. This looks like a robbery. We need to call the police.”
Sarah takes out her phone, but I put my hand on hers. “Just wait a second.”
“Will, what if she’s hurt—?”
“Just… wait a sec.” I glance around Karen’s apartment, trying to piece all the variables together. “Sarah, look around. I don’t think this was a robbery. Nobody hides valuables in kitchen drawers, but they’re all pulled out. And why would they overturn an armchair?”
Sarah pivots her head, surveying the scene, and says slowly, “Someone was just trying to make a mess.”
“Maybe to make it look like a robbery. But,” I point at the TV and computer, “nothing is missing—”
“Except for Karen.”
“Exactly. So, I think one of two things happened here; either someone broke in while Karen wasn’t home, or they broke in while she was here and she got out quick. Her car is gone…”
“Hold that thought.” Sarah dashes once again to the bedroom. While she does, I open the front door and take another look at the lock.
“Her purse is gone too, and I don’t see her keys anywhere,” Sarah tells me. “She could have grabbed them and ran. And I think you’re right; it doesn’t look like any jewelry was taken either.”
“Take a look at this.” I point to the doorknob. “See these scratches around the lock?”
“Yeah. What’s it mean?”
“I’m no expert, but it looks like whoever did this picked it, rather than forcing it open.”
“So, it could have been a burglar,” Sarah replies.
I shoot her a sidelong glance. “How many professional burglars do you think are running around Seaview Rock?” I shake my head. “I think that whoever did this was looking for something specific. What if the thing they were looking for… was Karen?”
Sarah turns a little pale. “They picked the lock, got inside, took Karen… then came back for her keys and purse, and moved her car?” She shakes my head. “That seems too involved. This is an apartment building; if someone had tried to kidnap her, other people would have heard it. It’d be really hard to get a screaming woman all the way to the parkin
g lot, and we both know Karen would have put up a fight.”
“Let’s say they broke in while she was home.” I put both hands on my head and pace the living room. “She grabs her keys and purse and runs out the door. Maybe she made some of this mess on the way out, to get around the assailant. But she’s not answering her phone…”
“She might not have it,” Sarah says. “Let me try calling it.” She pulls out her own phone and dials. We both listen intently for a ringtone, but hear nothing. “It’s not here. The battery could have died.”
“Or whoever broke in took it.”
“Why would they do that?”
I shrug. “To keep her from calling the police, maybe? So, they had time to look for whatever it was they were looking for.”
“I still think we should call the police.”
“We shouldn’t,” I tell her, “and we can’t.”
Sarah frowns. “Why not?”
“We shouldn’t because Karen didn’t. I’m sure there’s a reason for that. And we can’t because… I mean, isn’t it obvious? It’s likely this had something to do with the blackmail.”
Sarah shakes her head. “This is too much. We need answers.”
“Yeah. And I think I know where we can start—”
I’m interrupted by a muffled, pathetic mewl from somewhere in the apartment. Sarah looks at me, eyes wide, and exclaims, “Pookie!” She clamors over to the couch and gets down on all fours to look beneath it.
In all the hubbub of finding Karen’s apartment a wreck, we both forgot about Pookie. Last year, shortly after Karen moved back to Seaview Rock, she adopted a shelter cat from an event we had at the shop.
Sarah reaches under the sofa and carefully extracts the black and white cat hiding there. She stands, hugging her to her chest. “Thank god you’re alright.”
“Hmm,” I say.
“Hmm what?”
“Karen is gone. Her purse and keys are gone. Her car is gone… but she left the cat behind.”