Larceny at the Library

by Colleen Shogan

  I peeked around the door and immediately knew why Clarence had neglected his usual antics. Inside the living room, a large black Labrador sat directly opposite Clarence. Our mystery guest was Lisa’s police dog.

  “I see that Clarence has met Murphy,” I said.

  Doug smiled from our overstuffed armchair, wine glass in hand. “It’s not exactly a friendship made in heaven. At least yet.”

  Clarence was eying Murphy warily, especially as Sebastian rubbed the other dog’s neck. Clarence thought Sebastian was his special friend. I’m not sure how well Clarence understood the notion of sharing, particularly when it came to a favorite human’s attention.

  Lisa emerged from our kitchen, glass of wine also in hand. Her auburn hair remained in a ponytail, but she’d ditched the police uniform for boot cut jeans and a comfy grey cable knit sweater. Sebastian stood up and put his arm around Lisa’s slim waist.

  “Lisa tells me you ran into each other earlier today,” said my brother. “At the scene of a murder.”

  “I’m afraid so. Not exactly the ideal circumstances,” I said. “Maybe we should start over. You’ve already met Doug. I’m Kit, Sebastian’s older sister.” I extended my hand to Lisa, who accepted it and shook my hand lightly.

  “Pleased to meet you,” she said. “You met Murphy, but since he’s not working now, you can pet him all you want.”

  I reached down to pat Murphy’s head, aware of Clarence’s burning gaze. After a couple of scratches, Clarence had enough. He let out a soft whine and placed his paw on my hand.

  “Sorry, Clarence,” I said. “I should have greeted you first.” Upon hearing his name, Clarence sat up straight and gazed triumphantly at Murphy.

  “Everyone has a drink already,” said Doug. “And the pizzas are in the kitchen. We should sit down and eat while it’s hot.”

  “Where did you get the pizza from?” I asked.

  Sebastian grinned. “Pupatella. You’re in for a real treat.”

  A small restaurant a few miles away, Pupatella had won many accolades for its Neapolitan style pizza made fresh in an Italian oven filled with volcanic ash from Mount Vesuvius outside Naples. Due to its popularity, it was notoriously difficult to find a seat during the dinner rush. With no delivery service, takeout was usually the only option.

  Lisa listed off the pies. “We brought four different pizzas. Pepperoni, meatball, prosciutto, and Margherita.”

  “Lisa doesn’t eat meat,” said Sebastian. “So, we had to get one with just cheese.”

  We served ourselves slices from the various pies and sat down at our dining room table. “Lisa, how long have you been a police officer at the Capitol?” asked Doug.

  “Only a year,” she said. “I completed my criminal justice degree and worked as a patrol officer in Fairfax County for a few years.” She wiped the oozing buffalo mozzarella cheese from her mouth before continuing. “Then I earned my certification from the Police Canine Association to work as a K-9 officer. I started looking around for available positions and got the job with the Capitol Hill police force.”

  “You were teamed up with Murphy when you joined the Capitol Hill police team?” I asked.

  Lisa nodded, her mouth full of pizza. “Murphy is a scent dog focused on explosives. He’s perfect for work in government buildings. Any time there’s a threat, Murphy is there to make sure nothing smells dangerous.”

  “And Murphy stays with you at home?” I asked.

  Lisa smiled as she patted Murphy, who sat attentively next to her. I noticed he didn’t seem interested in the pizza. On the other side of the table, Doug was shoveling small pieces of pepperoni to Clarence so we’d avoid a scene. Clarence might be able to handle Sebastian petting another dog, but he drew the line at pepperoni.

  “Most K-9 officers keep their police dog partners at home,” she said. “When I searched for an apartment in Arlington, I only looked for dog-friendly rentals. It’s good for Murphy and me to spend as much time together as possible.”

  “Sebastian, I don’t think you ever told me how you and Lisa met,” I said. A tech guy for a non-profit and a left-wing political activist in his spare time, Sebastian didn’t exactly interact with law enforcement social circles on a daily basis. Unless the cops were threatening to arrest him at a protest.

  “We met online,” said Sebastian proudly. “There’s a new dating app for socially conscious singles.”

  I groaned inwardly but forced a smile. “How nice. And Lisa, you would classify yourself as socially conscious?”

  Lisa’s face brightened. “Of course. Mostly, I’m involved with rescue organizations for dogs. Murphy is a rescue dog. Police departments are starting to use shelter dogs more and more. It saves a lot of money and many of the dogs are highly trainable.”

  “Clarence is a rescue dog,” said Doug proudly. “Although I’m not sure he would have made it as a police dog. Maybe if the police department rewarded him with pepperoni.”

  Clarence heard his name and “pepperoni” in the same sentence. He issued an excited bark, and we all laughed.

  “Lisa and I were compatible on a wide variety of factors and measures,” said Sebastian. “Big data has really improved to increase the likelihood of success.”

  “Now you definitely sound like a techie,” I said.

  “I grew tired of getting set up by friends and hanging out at bars,” said Lisa. “Between my job and volunteering for dog rescue organizations, I don’t have a lot of time to spend on dates that lead nowhere.”

  “Well, it sounds like a very appropriate match,” said Doug. “Kit, can I ask if you found out anything this afternoon about Gustav’s murder and the theft?”

  I caught Doug, Sebastian, and Lisa up on the case, recounting my conversation with Miriam Dunlap, Sergeant O’Halloran, and Dorian Jones.

  “I’m still a suspect,” said Doug glumly.

  I reached over to pat his hand gently. “I’m afraid so, dear. But don’t worry. We’ll find whomever is responsible soon enough.”

  “I hope so.” Doug twisted his wedding ring nervously. “It wasn’t the best afternoon at work.”

  “What happened?” asked Sebastian as he helped himself to a slice of meatball pizza. I was partial to the prosciutto and pondered whether I should indulge in another piece. I did have to keep my strength up the next couple of days. Sleuthing was hard work. I snagged a slice and after one bite, I knew I’d made the right choice.

  “Everyone was looking at me funny,” said Doug. “Word travels fast. The staff knows the police are investigating and I’m a person of interest.”

  Doug was fairly new in his position. That couldn’t be a good sign.

  “I know the police are consulting with federal investigators,” said Lisa. “They tend to think a professional criminal might be behind this.”

  “Not someone affiliated with the Library of Congress?” I asked.

  “Perhaps someone on the inside helped by providing information,” said Lisa. “Either on purpose or unwittingly.”

  “I’m not sure that’s the right approach,” I said.

  “They’ll examine all the places where the stolen items could show up,” said Lisa. “And then work backwards from there.”

  “Would the thief really be that stupid to try to sell the contents of Lincoln’s pockets?” asked Sebastian. “You’re begging to get caught, even on the black market.”

  Lisa shrugged. “I don’t specialize in these types of thefts. But what I heard is that thieves often sell the stolen treasure at a fraction of its value, since the dealer buying it knows it’s stolen. But then after the item has changed hands several times, the price goes up.”

  “It seems like a risky proposition,” I said.

  “Yet, the theft of antiquities happens with some frequency,” said Doug. “And they don’t always catch the guilty parties. When I was growing up, everyone
knew about the theft at the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in Boston. Thieves dressed up like police officers and conned their way into the museum in the middle of the night. They tied up the security guards and walked out with five hundred million dollars worth of paintings. Those works of art are still at large.”

  “They must have found a buyer for them,” said Sebastian.

  “Or maybe the thieves just like art,” said Lisa. “You’d only get caught if you tried to sell the paintings.”

  I snapped my fingers. “That’s Congressman Henry Chang. He’s obsessed with Abraham Lincoln and has his own collection. I could see him keeping the stolen items and not trying to sell them.”

  “Sounds like someone worth investigating,” said Sebastian, in between bites.

  “The problem is that the police don’t want to touch him since he’s a member of Congress,” I said. “Too politically sensitive. But that’s where I come in.”

  Doug raised his eyebrows. “Be careful, Kit. I don’t want you risking your job to investigate.”

  I waved my hand. “Not to worry. I’ll check with Maeve Dixon tomorrow morning before doing anything.”

  Doug sighed. “I’d rather you didn’t have to spend your time running around Capitol Hill chasing a diabolical criminal. But every day that those items remain missing, I worry that it’s going to become harder and harder to recover them.”

  “Exactly,” I said. “Let’s not forget you’re a suspect until we find the person or persons responsible.”

  Our conversation was interrupted by a soft canine whimper. We swiveled our heads to the direction of the sound. Clarence was sitting next to his dog bed, currently occupied by Murphy, who had decided our conversation was sufficiently boring and laid down to take a nap. Clarence placed one of his paws on Murphy’s head in an apparent attempt to get him to move. Murphy completely ignored Clarence’s overture and continued to snooze happily.

  “Clarence is used to top billing around here,” I said. “Sharing isn’t in his vocabulary.”

  “No problem,” said Lisa. “Murphy, come!”

  Murphy instantly arose from his nap and ran to Lisa’s side, sitting next to her at attention.

  “Impressive!” exclaimed Doug. “Clarence would never move that fast.”

  Upon Murphy’s departure, Clarence assumed control of his doggie bed, curling up in a tight circle and sporting a smug look of canine triumph.

  “I’m not so sure about that, Doug,” I said.

  I reached over to the almost empty pizza box. Luckily, there was one slice left. I grabbed a piece of pepperoni off it.

  “You just need to know which words our dog understands. CLARENCE!” I yelled. “PEPPERONI! PEPPERONI OVER HERE!”

  In two seconds flat, Clarence was by my side, sitting at attention. I gave him his treat and he licked his lips.

  “Let that be a lesson to all of you,” I said.

  “And what lesson is that, Kit?” asked Sebastian.

  “With proper motivation, you can teach an old dog new tricks.”

  Everyone laughed. Thirty minutes later, our guests had departed. Doug and I stood side by side in our kitchen, placing dirty plates in the dishwasher and cleaning up any remnants of our delicious pizza feast.

  “I really like Lisa,” said Doug. “Your brother seems particularly happy.”

  I had to agree. The smile on Sebastian’s face hadn’t disappeared the entire evening. “He’s finally settling into Washington. He’s has a good job and now he has someone to share it with. Besides us, of course.”

  He chuckled. “We should not be the extent of your brother’s social circle.”

  I turned to face Doug. “How are you doing? After all, discovering a dead body is not pleasant.” I spoke from experience.

  Doug shivered. “I’m okay, I guess. I feel responsible for Gustav’s death.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked. “Please, Doug. Don’t say that to the police.”

  He sighed. “Of course not, Kit. I’m not stupid. But if I hadn’t been so eager to run off to my office last night, maybe Gustav wouldn’t be dead. Perhaps I would have deterred the thief.”

  “Or the thief would have decided to kill two people instead of just one!” I exclaimed. “Doug, you can’t hold yourself responsible. You didn’t kill anyone. The guilty party is the person who murdered Gaffney and stole the Library’s treasures.”

  Doug threw the dishtowel he was holding onto the counter. “I’d rather not talk about this anymore. Maybe the police will find the culprit tomorrow and all of this will be behind us.”

  “You heard Lisa. The feds have taken over the strategy on this one. They’re looking for an art or antiquities thief. I could be wrong, but I think they’re barking up the wrong tree.” I bent down and scratched Clarence’s head. “Right, buddy?” Clarence neither affirmed nor denied my proposition.

  “If that’s the case, then this investigation is going to drag out much longer than I’d like,” said Doug.

  “Not if I have anything to do about it.” I gave Doug a gentle kiss. “Remember, I’m your secret weapon.”

  “Just as long as you don’t become a target for the killer,” said Doug. “If this person was willing to murder a high-ranking government official to get his or her hands on Lincoln memorabilia, there won’t be any hesitation in hurting another person if she gets in the way.”

  I understood Doug’s point. I’d been in too many sticky situations. I couldn’t deny the risk involved with investigating nefarious business.

  “Don’t worry. That’s why I’m working with the police. I’ll turn any leads I have over to them.” I crossed my heart with my index finger.

  “Right, like I haven’t heard that before.” Doug’s phone, which was sitting on our small dining room table, buzzed. He walked out of the kitchen and picked it up. After reading the message, his face brightened.

  “That’s Jonathan,” he said with excitement in his voice.

  I clenched my jaw. Jonathan was our realtor. I liked him enough, but today’s events now occupied the bandwidth I reserved for house hunting.

  “He has a house he wants us to see this week,” said Doug. “A real steal in Falls Church. This is a new listing and it’s even better than the others he wanted us to see.”

  Falls Church was the affluent suburb next to Arlington. It was a fine place to live, except that it was more suburban than urban and increased the commute. However, it provided a steady supply of modestly sized single-family homes with correspondingly-sized, fenced-in backyards. In other words, Doug’s dream residence.

  Doug passed me his phone, and I scrolled through the photos from the listing Jonathan had sent. It was a 1970s style split entry with a garage. Be still my beating heart.

  “Really nice,” I lied, giving the phone back to him. “But given the murder and theft, don’t we have a lot on our plate right now? Maybe we should tell Jonathan we’ll get back in touch with him in a few weeks, when things have settled down.”

  “A house at this price in Falls Church is going to have offers this weekend, Kit. We can’t delay,” said Doug in a rushed tone.

  “Well, I really don’t know what tomorrow is going to bring, especially if I can speak to Representative Chang. I’ll have to rely on Maeve Dixon to set that up for me.” I was telling the truth. It was difficult to set up meetings with members of Congress, so I needed to keep my schedule open.

  “How about Friday?” asked Doug.

  I grabbed my phone and looked at my schedule. I’d had a lunch scheduled with a fellow chief of staff, but she’d canceled earlier in the week. “Noon on Friday is possible,” I said slowly. “It needs to be brief, though, so we can both return to work.”

  Doug gave me the “thumbs up” sign and grabbed his phone to text Jonathan. After exchanging a few messages, Doug grinned. “We’re all set for Friday!”


  Although I wasn’t sure about the house, agreeing to the viewing was worth the happy expression on Doug’s face. After all, he’d had a terrible day. “I’m glad that Jonathan can make you forget today’s unpleasantness. At least for a minute.”

  Doug’s smile vanished as quickly as it had appeared. “Do you really think I’m in trouble, Kit?”

  “The person who discovers the body usually comes under suspicion at first. The problem is that someone is planting seeds with the police about your conflict with the victim.”

  “You mean Gordon Endicott,” said Doug.

  “That’s my guess. When I talked with Sergeant O’Halloran before leaving the office for the day, he mentioned you were still under suspicion. Someone has to be fueling the rumors about your supposed dispute with Gaffney.”

  “I’ll try to see what I can find out tomorrow at work,” said Doug.

  “You should be careful.” I put my arms around his neck and pulled him closer. “If Endicott is behind this and he figures out you’re onto him, he won’t hesitate to eliminate you, too.”

  “Enough talk about murder,” said Doug, leading me down the hallway to our bedroom.

  For once, I agreed to the moratorium.

  Chapter Eight

  W

  I was slow to rise the next morning, the exhausting trials and tribulations of the previous day keeping me in bed for an extra thirty minutes. Finally, I threw off the covers and decided that despite the cold weather, a jog outdoors for Clarence might wake us both up. Clarence initially resisted the idea and buried his head underneath the blanket. But after I jingled his leash and harness, he changed his mind and ran to the door, his butt wiggling in excitement. Ten minutes later, we cruised along Fairfax Drive, moving at a good clip so that the heat from our bodies could overcome the outdoor chill.

  As we trotted past Central Library, I wondered if my days living in Arlington were numbered. A lull in the housing market had made it an auspicious time to buy. If we wanted to trade in our condo for something more spacious, this was the time to do it. Otherwise, we risked facing stiff competition, escalating purchase clauses, and inevitable disappointment.