Otterly Scorched

by Tara Sivec

  “What the hell?” Harley quickly pulls away from me, her eyes darting across road.

  Dogs start barking somewhere close by, and Ryan’s previously dark house that is making all this noise is now lit up like a Christmas tree. There are at least fifteen security spotlights shining down from the gutters now, illuminating every inch of the front and side yards.

  “Oh no,” I mutter as Harley and I walk into the middle of the road to see Charlie running toward us from around the back of Ryan’s house, the security alarm getting louder and louder.

  “Start the car! Start the car!” Charlie shouts over the wailing siren of the security system.

  There are people coming out onto the porch of the neighbor’s house I can see down the road, and Charlie’s running across Ryan’s yard like a crazy person, waving frantically for us to run. This is the exact opposite of the quiet, peaceful peeking in windows I promised Harley just seconds ago.

  “Where the hell is Davidson? I know you didn’t do something this stupid all by yourself!” Harley yells at her father when he gets closer to us, out of breath and sweating profusely, while I continue looking around, making sure there aren’t any cars coming this way yet.

  “You’re an only child now, Harley. Just embrace it,” Charlie huffs between breaths, patting her on the shoulder as he hustles by us and toward where I parked his car. “Let’s go! Start the damn car already before someone sees us!”

  Right when I’ve come to terms with never seeing Davidson again, the front door of Ryan’s house opens, and I watch Davidson waltz out casually with one of his hands in his front pockets. Looking like he’s fucking whistling to himself as he goes, he pulls the front door closed behind him and strolls down the porch, across the front lawn, and meets us in the middle of the road.

  “What are you guys just standing around for? Let’s go!” Davidson finally starts running after he passes us, following his father to where I parked the car down the road.

  Since we can now hear police sirens in the distance, on top of the constant screeching of the security alarm, I grab Harley’s hand and tug on it, forcing her to run with me to the car.

  “I’m assuming you didn’t park anywhere near here, because you’re smarter than all of us. Your car stays put, and you’re coming with us, so I know where the hell you are and that you’re safe,” I tell her as we run hand-in-hand down the still-deserted road.

  “You better not tell anyone I’m letting you order me around and that I’ve gone soft or I’ll kill you and hide your body in the nearest swamp,” Harley threatens, the two of us dropping hands and separating when we get to her dad’s car parked on the side of the road.

  “I promise when this is over and we’re not in prison, I’ll tell your dad and Davidson that you beat the shit out of me tonight and that it was long and painful… and I cried a little.”

  I don’t think I take another breath until Harley and I have scrambled into the front seat of her dad’s car to join Charlie and Davidson, who are in the back waiting for us, and I’m breaking every speed limit to get us as far away from this neighborhood as possible.

  “Before you open up a car door and shove us into oncoming traffic, just hear me out,” Charlie tells Harley, leaning forward from the backseat to stick his head between us in the front when I’m back inside city limits and far enough away from Ryan’s house that I can slow my speed down. “When you guys were busy having your little moment back there instead of doing what we went there to do, and DJ drove away like a sissy, your brother and I went back over to Ryan’s house and found a window unlocked on the north side. I came running back to you guys to start the getaway vehicle as soon as the alarm sounded, while Davidson climbed inside to see what he could see as fast as possible.”

  “Piece of cake,” Davidson adds from behind my seat.

  “You are both idiots. What if Ryan or his sister had been home and caught you?” Harley argues, crossing her arms in front of her and staring out of the passenger window while I drive.

  “So what if they had been?” Charlie argues. “This Ryan character kidnapped otters and could be hopped up on goofballs.”

  Harley’s head slowly turns around to face him.

  “What are you, an old-timey detective? Who the hell says goofballs? You broke into a home, and police are now responding to that alarm. And you didn’t even find the damn otters!” Harley shouts.

  “Nope, but I did find this,” Davidson pipes up, leaning forward and pushing Charlie out of the way to hand a piece of paper to her. “Found that in Ryan’s bedroom on his desk.”

  “What is it?” I ask, taking my eyes off the road long enough to glance over and try to see what’s on the paper Harley is looking it.

  “It’s a list of reasons why Ryan hates you,” Harley tells me, angling the paper away from me, so she can see what’s on it from the glow of the streetlights we’re driving by before handing it back to Davidson.

  “Wow, that stings,” I mutter, putting on the blinker as I come to the next intersection.

  “While shitty, I’m pretty certain a list like that is not uncommon, considering the way Dax used to treat his employees,” Harley tells Davidson. “Every employee at The Backyard probably has one of those lists. I have one of those lists.”

  “Oh that’s nice,” I mutter, which makes Harley laugh.

  “I’m just saying; that list is not enough to prove Ryan had anything to do with taking Dax’s otters. Especially when you didn’t find them in the house or any sign that they were there.”

  “How about a very detailed daily schedule of the otter habitat for this entire month that specifically highlights every single time the otters are alone for more than thirty minutes every day, as well as a comprehensive map of the habitat, notating where every security camera is on the building, and in the surrounding areas facing the building,” Davidson rattles off, handing another piece of paper to Harley. “Found that in a drawer in his desk.”

  She looks it over then her face slowly turns to look at me when I come to a red light, a shocked expression on it that her brother might have actually managed to successfully break into a home and find us a very important piece of evidence. Even if he didn’t find my otters.

  Reaching back over my shoulder, Davidson bumps his fist against mine while Harley continues to stare at him in the back seat with her mouth dropped open.

  “See? I’m not completely useless. Can I get a raise now? What about some extra vacation time? Ten weeks should cover it.”

  Harley finally closes her shocked mouth, rolling her eyes at her brother as I grab her hand from resting on top of her thigh, and bring it up to my mouth to kiss the top of it.

  “They grow up so fast, don’t they?” I laugh. “Now we just need to figure out where Ryan is hiding my otters.”

  She snatches her hand out of mine, crossing her arms in front of her and glaring at me.

  “Don’t think you’re off the hook, just because I got in this car,” she warns me. “I still don’t like you very much right now.”

  Shit! I knew this would ruin my progress.

  CHAPTER 19

  Trash Panda

  Harley

  “No. Absolutely not.”

  My arm is straight out in front of me while I stand in my doorway, and my finger is pointed toward my driveway, where my dad just got out of his car.

  “It’s just one small raccoon!” he argues. “He looks like a cute little burglar with the built-in mask around his eyes! I thought Dax would get a kick out of it after the other night. Maybe use it as a centerpiece….” He trails off, standing by his open car door and hugging the raccoon to his chest. The stiff, taxidermy raccoon that has been frozen up on its hind legs, holding a deck of cards spread out between his hands.

  “You are not ruining Dax’s dinner party at my house by putting a raccoon corpse in the middle of the table. The fact that I’m even using the words ‘dinner party’ and ‘my house’ in the same sentence should tell you I’m already on edge enough,”
I remind him, still pointing at his car. “Put that thing back where it came from. I asked you to come over early, because I need some advice, not because I needed something else to stress about.”

  With a huff, he does as he’s told before walking across my yard and onto my front porch to join me in the doorway.

  “Bandit Von Trash Panda would be a welcome addition to any dinner party, and he even came ready for party games,” he complains when I step aside to let him enter. “Wow. Your house really does look like an adult lives here now.”

  Closing the door, I turn around to find my dad looking out into my open floor-plan ranch and through my living room that not only has a sectional instead of a futon but also two matching recliners. I even let Dax finally mount my flat screen television to the wall, instead of leaving it where I expertly positioned it when I moved in—resting on the floor against the wall. And he brought over a swanky, electric fireplace with a wooden mantle he had in his room upstairs at The Backyard to place right under the TV. There’s a scented candle on it. Something with sugar blossoms or some shit, and it smells heavenly. For some weird reason, it really pleased Dax that I loved the candle. He wouldn’t shut up about it for hours. The man also performed magic earlier by showing me that my four-person kitchen table pulls out to seat eight. Technically ten, when you add two chairs to each end.

  Because I guess tonight we’re having a dinner party for ten at my house. What the hell is my life right now?

  “Charlie, you’re early!” Dax shouts from the kitchen, waving to my father with one oven-mitt-covered hand. “The place cards for the table aren’t finished yet, so just grab a drink from the bar cart until I can figure out the seating chart, and the baked brie appetizer is ready.”

  Me and my dad stand in my entryway, watching Dax run around my kitchen, stirring things on the stove, pulling things out of the oven, rearranging flowers on the table, lighting more candles, and pulling up the dinner party playlist he made on his phone, letting the soft sounds of jazz play on a Bluetooth speaker on the counter.

  “How long did it take him to make those flower arrangements? Are those origami otters for the place card holders?” my dad asks, squinting his eyes to look across my house to the table that resembles something you’d see at an Oscar after party.

  “He was up until four this morning.” I sigh, taking a sip from the wineglass in my hand while we continue watching Dax prepare for this dinner party like he’s preparing to host the queen.

  He’s wearing black skinny jeans and a black fitted sweater with the sleeves pushed up to his elbows, and he’s walking around my house looking so damn hot it’s almost distracting me from the fact that I’ve been lying to him since yesterday. Almost.

  “So, he’s taking it pretty well that Ryan is now completely off the suspect list,” my dad muses with a laugh, both of us walking to the other side of the living room, where Dax moved the bar cart out of the entryway and against a far wall.

  Making up a story about how I was following up with a few employees, Ryan and his sister eagerly welcomed me into their home for coffee yesterday morning when I stopped by. And since his sister just remodeled a few rooms, I was treated to a full tour, including down in the basement and even out to a small shed in the backyard where they keep the lawnmower. I saw every nook and cranny and closet where two otters could hide. I’ve always had good instincts about people and their character. It’s what made me a good cop, an even better detective, and what’s helped me solve every single case for Claws and Effect. I knew within a minute of being in that home and talking to the two of them that Ryan didn’t take Chris and Lincoln. And even if he had, his sister would have ratted him out immediately. She didn’t put up with his shit any more than I put up with Davidson’s.

  Ever since I got back from meeting with Ryan and his sister yesterday morning and broke the news to Dax that he’s innocent—making up one teensy, tiny detail—Dax immediately went into party planner mode, and I haven’t been able to find his Off switch. He spent hours online drafting up a menu, made a guest list, sent out formal email invitations he designed in Photoshop, and went to five different craft stores for the table décor, on top of however many grocery stores he visited to make the seven-course meal he has planned.

  And I’ve let him do all of it, because it’s keeping him from freaking out about Chris and Lincoln, and because I’m a lying liar-face who shouldn’t be allowed to be in an adult relationship.

  “Be honest,” Dax says, joining us in the living room to set a fancy-ass charcuterie board down on a side table he put next to the bar cart. “I used the wrong font on the menu cards at each place, didn’t I? I knew I should have gone with Countryside. Funshop is too much.”

  “I think you hit too much about fifteen hours ago, when you called Italy about booze,” I remind him, pushing up on my toes to kiss his cheek and try to rein in his crazy.

  And suck up to him with displays of PDA, so he’ll remember how amazing I am, when he finds out I’ve been lying to him.

  “I called a wine sommelier I know to make sure I had the right pairing for the individual Beef Wellingtons. You act like that’s not normal.”

  I also heard him say the name Wolfgang on one of his calls. I’m pretty sure he was talking to the actual famous chef and not about him, and I had to remind myself the man I’m dating used to be a gajillionaire.

  I stare at him quietly for a few seconds until he finally nods, thinking about everything he’s done in the last twenty-four hours.

  “Okay, fine. That’s probably not normal when we’re just having friends and family over for a nice, casual dinner. I won’t bring out the ice sculpture,” Dax promises, grabbing my hand and bringing it up to his lips, something he does that always makes me melt.

  And in this moment, it makes me feel so guilty. Because he tells me he likes me all the time, and I can see it in his eyes he feels so much more than that for me. And I know he just wants me to admit I have some kind of real feelings for him, but I’m scared shitless.

  “It’s fine; bring out the ice sculpture. I love it! It’s super pretty!”

  Dax looks at me quizzically when I make the mistake of being way too excited about a block of ice. He lets go of my hand to press the back of his to my forehead.

  “Are you okay? Feeling feverish or anything? You didn’t roll your eyes at the origami, and now you’re encouraging the ice sculpture.”

  “Don’t question it, man,” my dad says in annoyance. “I wasn’t even allowed to bring my raccoon up on the porch. He was wearing tuxedo pants; it’s not like he was indecent or anything.”

  I swat Dax’s hand away, letting out a nervous laugh, not wanting him to know I’ve encouraged this dinner party from hell mostly out of guilt, but also because I have to do something behind his back that he is really not going to like when he finds out.

  I’m saved by a knock at the door, and Dax excuses himself by giving me a quick peck on the lips before going to answer it.

  “Are those new curtains?” my dad asks, pointing with the glass of whiskey he poured for himself to the draping fabric on either side of my big picture window.

  “I don’t know, probably.” I sigh. “They’re really nice, right? Every time I close my eyes, when I open them back up again, it’s like an interior decorator fairy visited me while I was sleeping, sprinkling pretty things all around my home. And I lied to Dax about the schedule and the map of the otter habitat, and I’m a horrible person who doesn’t deserve throw pillows and eight hundred thread-count sheets.”

  “Eight hundred?” My dad’s eyebrows raise up to his hairline.

  “So luxurious I want to die,” I groan.

  “Wait a minute. What do you mean you lied to Dax about the schedule and the map? How in the hell did Ryan explain those anyway?”

  I look over his shoulder to see Dax letting DJ in, followed by his wife, Phina.

  “I lied and told Dax that Ryan said they were from the old zoo he worked at before he came to The Backyard.�
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  “And he bought it? Didn’t he look at them?”

  I shake my head, watching Dax talk to his friends in the entryway, when there’s another knock at my front door.

  “I locked them in the file cabinet in the office on the way home that night while Dax waited in the car, remember? And then yesterday morning, I went right to Ryan’s house without going back to the office,” I explain, skipping over the part about how I didn’t have time to go back to the office, because I was busy getting my brains screwed out on the kitchen table after eating a pound of crepes. “I told Dax I looked them over after I met with Ryan, realized I was an idiot, and in the dark car the night before, I couldn’t see that everything Davidson found was actually information about another zoo. I told him I immediately destroyed them because of some bullshit zoo privacy reason and how it wasn’t safe for it to get into the wrong hands, blah, blah. And of course he believed me, because why would I lie to him?”

  It feels even worse saying it out loud a second time.

  I can feel tears sting my eyes, and I take a couple deep breaths to stop them from falling. There’s already enough crazy happening in my house right now. We don’t need to add guilt-ridden waterworks to the mix or Dax will really know something is up.

  “Okay, so why did you lie to him?”

  “Because Ryan really did draft up those things, and they really were for The Backyard and the otter habitat. When I realized Ryan was innocent, I started asking more questions, probing deeper. He finally brought up the map and the schedule on his own. Said he completely forgot about making them when I first interviewed him, because he was asked to do it the first week he started working there, and that was months ago. He got an email request—”

  I quickly clamp my mouth closed when Dax walks over to us with his arm around my mom’s shoulders, while my stepdad follows behind them.

  “Mom, why did you bring chairs with you? I told you I have furniture now.”

  She moves out from under Dax’s arm to kiss my cheek, before handing her folding lawn chair back to Casey, along with the one he’s already got in his hand.