by Destiny Ford
“Okay,” Aaron said. “Let me know what you find out.”
The first few robberies made no sense, and neither did the robbery at Inked AF. But Laura Innot’s Ron Storm sculpture being taken in addition to the Collins sculpture was odd. And now this possible sculpture theft attempt was a common thread and my gut told me to follow it.
I proofed a couple of articles and dropped them into the design software for the next Tribune issue. I was finishing that up when Spence yelled, “Kate?”
I rolled my chair over so I could see him in his office. “What’s up?”
“I got a call about someone in costume causing shenanigans.”
I raised a brow. “Shenanigans?”
“That’s what they said. The excitement is at the Mayfair house over in the Desert Ridge development. There was a police call on the scanner. It sounded frantic.”
“I’ll go check it out.”
I’d seen some pretty crazy things as a reporter, even more so since moving back to Branson Falls and covering stories for the Tribune. But nothing could have prepared me for the scene I came upon today.
A septic tank truck was parked sideways on the street, half of it on the grass like stopping was an afterthought. Don Peabody, owner of Happy Poop Septic, and driver of the truck, was standing over a struggling goat, who looked way past the level of agitated. The goat was tied up with what looked to be a shimmering silver ribbon.
A police car was next to the septic tank and Officer Bob was talking to Don.
I had no idea what had happened here, but it seemed like something straight out of the apocalypse.
“Hey,” I said, walking up to Don slowly. Who knew what other animals he’d pissed off.
“Hi, Kate,” Don said with a smile. Sweat shimmered on his brow like he’d just finished a really hard workout.
“So…Spence got a call about an interesting situation.” I still hadn’t seen anyone in costume, but maybe the person who called it in mistook the goat for a Speedy Superhero. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”
“There was a goat incident,” Bobby offered.
The hogtied goat on the ground made that pretty clear. “I can see that. Can you start at the beginning and tell me what happened?”
It was at that moment a large purple dragon complete with sequins and gold filigree, came trotting around from the back of the house, tail swinging, with a young girl who couldn’t have been more than fourteen. I put my head in my hands. Of course she was involved. Half of the Branson Tribune stories on any given week starred her.
“Kate!” she said, clapping her sparkly claws together and flashing a grin. “You’re here for my first big criminal capture!”
I closed my eyes for a minute and took a breath. This story was going to be a doozy. “A goat, Mom? Your first capture is a wayward goat?”
“Yes!” she beamed. “I brought down Humperdinck!”
I stared at her. “Humperdinck? As in Prince Humperdinck?”
She nodded. “That’s the angry little goat’s name!”
Of course it was.
I gave my mom a once over, my usual check for bruises or broken bones. Though the costume was so padded I didn’t think I had anything to worry about. The back of her dragon costume looked ripped. “What happened to your costume?” I asked, pointing to a Grand Canyon size tear.
“Oh,” she said, waving her hand like it wasn’t a big deal, “after the vacuum robbery, I learned that my costume needed a little practicality.”
I arched a brow at that. “Because a dragon costume is practical in general?”
She glared and put her claws on her hips. “My costume is stunning, but it needed easier access points for quicker outfit changes. I added some Velcro to make the costume easier and faster to get on and off. It popped open while I was distracting the goat.”
At least she had something on underneath it, or this story would have gotten even more unbelievable. And the headline would not have been flattering: Local Woman Wrestling Goat in Dragon Costume Moons Kids.
“Do you want to tell me why a goat is on the ground wrapped in silver ribbon made of tulle?”
She wrinkled her nose. “I’m not happy I had to sacrifice my bow to subdue that wily Humperdinck, but sacrifice is what superheroes do.”
I wasn’t sure a ribbon should be put in the realm of great sacrifices, but I wasn’t going to argue semantics with her at this juncture.
“Trina here was babysittin’ for the Mayfair family and their goat got itself worked up into a dither and attempted an attack,” Bobby said.
“What happened?” I asked a pale Trina. She was obviously still struggling to cope with the goat assault.
“The kids wanted to go play outside. Literally minutes after we went into the backyard, the family’s pet goat, Humperdinck, broke free from its chain and came after us. I grabbed the youngest son and ran because the older son had already beaten us to the door.” She paused like she had realized something. “You know, I think maybe this has happened before because Humperdinck was fast and knew exactly where to charge and the older son got inside lightning quick…like he’d had practice. We made it inside the house and I slammed the door before Humperdinck could get in. I thought we were safe, but then Humperdinck started ramming the door. The kids were freaking out and I was too, so I called the police for help. I warned them to be careful and not get hit by Humperdinck’s horns. It’s a mean goat!”
That would be part of the frantic call Spence must have heard.
“We were waiting and Humperdinck kept ramming the door. I thought for sure it was going to break through and kill us all, and then I saw this septic tank truck careen into the driveway and out popped a guy wearing a little poop hat and he had a dragon sidekick!”
I stared at my mom. I had questions. So. Many. Questions.
I took a deep breath. “How did you know about this goat situation and get here before the police?” I asked her.
“It’s right around the corner!” she said, like I was ridiculous. In truth, it was almost a mile away. “And I heard Trina’s call on the scanner, silly!”
“Where did you find the police scanner?” My dad had a scanner to keep track of my mom, but after her last crime fighting costume attempt, he’d told me he was going to keep it hidden where she couldn’t access it. The potential for her to cause a disaster while trying to help someone was high.
“I couldn’t find your dad’s so I bought another one!” she exclaimed. “How else was I supposed to help the superheroes fight crime in a timely manner?”
Right. What was I thinking? I had bigger questions, however. “How did you drive over here in that dragon contraption?” After a recent adventure where her truck somehow slipped into gear all by itself while she was shopping and took out an entire Branson Falls building, she’d decided to get something sportier. I didn’t want to know what favors she’d promised the insurance agent to make that happen, because there was no way an insurance company should be willing to insure her at all, let alone for a sports car like the Corvette she’d managed to acquire.
She turned her nose up in offense. “It’s not a contraption. My Cuddles dragon persona is a carefully designed crime fighting uniform.”
I managed to hide my smile with my hand over my lips. Judging by her narrowed eyes, I didn’t think it fooled her.
She continued, “Don Peabody, the septic tank cleaner, saw me trying to get my tail in the Corvette.” She paused like she was considering something—it was an expression that usually sent my dad to the garage to work on his Mustang. “I might have made the tail too poufy. I’m going to have to alter it to be more sporty for the Corvette.” I didn’t tell her there was no need since the new car wouldn’t last long.
“I’d finished up at the Howard house across the street when I saw her strugglin’ and came over to help,” Don confirmed.
My mom nodded in agreement. “Don tried to squish me all in, but it wasn’t successful. So he drove me over in the back of
his truck.”
A vengeful dragon careening around corners in the back of Don Peabody’s Happy Poop Man septic truck was absolutely already being reported on the town Facebook page. I knew it.
“Next time I have to go somewhere in the costume, I’ll take your dad’s car,” she said in a reassuring manner that wasn’t very reassuring at all, and almost sounded like a threat.
“Bad idea,” I said, shaking my head. “Last time you did that his Mustang ended up in a pond.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Cuddles couldn’t fit in the Mustang either. I’ll take the truck.”
“You started that one on fire.”
She rolled her eyes like I was making a bigger deal out of things than I should have. “He got a new truck. I made him cookies. It was fine.”
I had a feeling my dad would disagree.
“So you rushed to Trina and the kids’ defense with your trusty sidekick, the Happy Poop Man?”
She nodded. Don backed up her nod.
I tilted my head to the side, considering. “Did it occur to you that Don’s business logo is a poop, and he was wearing a poop shaped hat?” She pressed her lips together and didn’t answer. “Did you also think that Don sold happy chocolate ice cream?”
She narrowed her eyes and looked at me like she was contemplating methods of murder so I thought I should probably get the rest of the story before I died.
“So Don, the very nice Happy Poop Man, dropped you off and decided to stay and help you with this dumpster fire?”
She gave me an odd look. “What are you talking about? There was no fire in a dumpster. There wasn’t even a dumpster involved. It was just a fed-up goat.” She looked at me like I’d lost my mind, and considering I was talking to a woman dressed as a giant sparkly purple dragon who’d saved some kids from an angry goat with her poop sidekick, I thought the look was rather hypocritical. “Anyway, Don stayed because he knows some stuff about goats.”
I blinked at that. “Knows some stuff about goats?” I looked to Don.
“I grew up on a farm,” he answered. “I know how to handle an angry goat.”
“The dragon didn’t have it as bad as I did,” Trina explained. “By the time the dragon and Happy Poop Man got there, I’d already tired Humperdinck out from his chasing us and ramming the door.”
“How did you distract the goat from its original kid targets?” I asked Don and my mom.
“I got out of the truck and immediately walked up to that goat, looked it right in the eyes, and dared it to come at me,” my mom said.
“You challenged an angry goat?” I asked, the disbelief evident in my tone. I was surprised she wasn’t in the back of an ambulance right now. Again. “Was that wise?”
She stomped a claw covered foot. “Of course it was! Don’t you know anything about goats?” She asked, a skeptical look on her face. “You’re supposed to flap your arms at them.”
“Flap your arms,” I repeated, dumbfounded.
She nodded and then waved her arms up and down, her fluffy purple wings flapping in the breeze. The sequins and glitter made her flying apparatus seem less formidable than she probably intended.
I suspected that the person who had told her about the arm flapping goat defense was joking and truly believed she’d never be in a goat battle situation. That person evidently didn’t know my mom. “Where did you hear that?”
“I read it somewhere. But they were right! As soon as I started flapping my wings, Humperdinck backed down for a minute! Then I tried the other suggestions of screaming and throwing rocks.” She paused. “Those didn’t work as well.”
“I think maybe the goat backed down not because it was terrified of your arm flapping dragon, but because it knew it was up against Sophie Saxee and your reputation precedes you,” I offered as an explanation.
She glowered at me. Most people would back down from that look—including angry goats—I, however, wasn’t one of them.
“Humperdinck started chasing me around,” my mom said. “I probably sprinted a good mile back and forth across their yard!” I was skeptical of that distance estimate, but the Mayfair yard was large. “I started to get tired and knew I didn’t have much running left in me. Don was trying to catch Humperdinck unaware so I decided to distract the little bugger. I stood my ground, wiggled my bum and tail at the goat, looked over my shoulder, and stuck my tongue out. It did the trick! Don came at him from the side, grabbed his horns, and wrestled him to the ground while dodging the goat’s kicking hooves. I grabbed my pretty silver bow from the top of my dragon head and we wrapped Humperdinck up so he couldn’t hurt anyone else.”
“You’re making it seem like the goat was about to go on a killing spree,” I observed.
“Humperdinck was practically holding the whole town hostage!” my mom exclaimed. “My dragon wings saved us all!”
I gave her a skeptical look. “I think it was about ten percent dragon wings, and ninety percent your Happy Poop tackling sidekick.”
She waved her hands in the direction of Don. “Well, of course,” she conceded. “It was a team effort.”
Don nodded. “I couldn’t have snuck up on him without your mom’s talent for distraction. It’s like the sequins mesmerized the goat.”
I’d thought the attention grabbing sequins would hinder her crime fighting abilities so she’d proven me wrong there. Still, it was quite an event. “I think we can safely file this under Catasophie.”
She scrunched up her nose. “No way! This was a Sophie Saxee victory! The kids were saved, Humperdinck is going back in his shed tied up with a stronger chain, and all is well with the world.”
I took some photos and some more notes and then got some quotes before I wrapped things up. “I have to get back to the Tribune,” I said. “Will you be okay getting home?”
My mom nodded. “Bobby said he’d take me. I can’t wait to ride in the police car!”
I didn’t tell her that Bobby had once informed me that I should avoid the backseat of police cars at all costs because the back of every patrol car in history was tainted with all sorts of bodily fluids. Her dragon costume would need a hazmat team after the ride.
“Thanks for your help,” I said to Don, the Happy Poop Man.
He nodded. “No problem, I was happy to do it.”
“And thanks for taking her home,” I said to Bobby.
“Yep.”
I got back in the Jeep, already thinking of a headline: Horns of Terror.
“So what happened?” Spence asked, as I plopped down at my desk.
I closed my eyes and sank into my chair, wondering how I’d survived twenty-five years of my mom’s Catasophies and how I’d survive seventy more. Someone had once called my dad a saint for his ability to deal with my mom’s adventures. I had to agree.
“Trina was babysitting the Mayfair kids. They have a goat. The goat got loose and started chasing them, then tried to break down the house door. She called the police and my mom heard the call for help and got there first, Happy Poop septic tank man in tow.”
I gave Spence the whole rundown of the situation and he was laughing so hard he had tears.
“The fact that no one has a video of this goat/dragon battle is one of the great losses of our time,” he said.
“I know. Cuddles the dragon, goat attack hero. My mom is convinced she was the only one who could save the kids—by flapping her dragon wings.”
We laughed and laughed. Spence ordered some food for us as we continued working to put out the upcoming paper.
About an hour later, a notification popped up on my phone. It was from Not Just Junk. A new piece of art had been listed in the art section. I pulled it up and gasped. I’d seen that piece of artwork before. In Axel and Sasha’s shop. And it had been stolen.
I immediately called Hawke. “Can you track down another user from the Not Just Junk site for me?”
“Sure,” he said. “Text me the name.”
I texted him the seller of Axel’s art. As soon as I heard
back from Hawke, I’d contact Axel and Sasha and let them know I’d found Axel’s pieces.
I sat back in my chair, tapping my pen against my leg. Whoever took the pieces had to be a complete idiot to turn around and sell them on Not Just Junk so quickly. And another thing bothered me. The pieces that had been taken were huge. I wondered how the thief had gotten them out of the building so quickly and without being seen.
Fred had been at his antique shop that night with Molly. Maybe there was something they’d missed and I could ask them some more questions.
“I’ll be back,” I said to Spence, and headed out the door.
Fred and Molly’s antique store was like walking into another time. Old trunks, pottery, vases, furniture, and art were scattered around the eclectic shop and it smelled distinctly of history mixed with a little potpourri. A tiny bell chimed as I walked through the door and Fred came from the back wearing dark slacks and a red sweater. He had always reminded me of Mr. Rogers, and he was just as nice.
“Kate,” Fred said with a smile. “What brings you here?”
“A couple of questions, if you have time?”
“Sure do!” He leaned his elbow against the counter and gave me all of his attention.
“You said you were here at the shop the night the tattoo shop got robbed?”
He nodded. “I was here all day and stayed late to continue working on a project.”
“Did you see anything odd happening that day?” I asked. “Even before the robbery occurred?”
Fred knitted his brows in thought. “Not that I can remember. Is there a specific reason you’re asking?”
I had to be careful here because I didn’t want to lead him or alter his memories with my suggestions. “I was thinking about Axel’s art pieces that were stolen. They’re quite large and I think it would have taken some time for the thieves to move the pieces.”
Fred nodded. “One of the pieces was actually split into three canvases. I helped Axel hang it, so I know. But Axel told me four pieces of art were taken in total. Whoever stole them would have needed a truck or an SUV to move them all.”