Bulldogs & Bullets: A Dog Town USA Cozy Mystery

by Meg Muldoon

  I let out a long sigh and then pulled myself up slowly into a sitting position.

  Mugs continued sleeping like a rock, oblivious to the movement. But Buddy, a seasoned professional at maximizing the most out of his owners’ waking hours, got up, stretched, then proceeded to stomp all over my legs with his heavy paws.

  He gazed at me with a pleading expression.

  “Meooowww?!”

  I glanced at the alarm clock on the nightstand.

  It was just after three in the morning. I had fed the big orange cat only a few hours ago, right before bed.

  “Buddy, you can’t possibly be hungry after that Surf ‘n’ Turf feast you had a few hours ago,” I muttered, pulling my legs gently out from underneath him.

  But obviously, I was the one who was in the wrong.

  “Meooowww!” he cried – this time loud enough to cause Mugs to roll over on his side and lift one eyelid, revealing a bleary, tired eye.

  The hour at which he was fed never seemed to matter much to the big orange cat. Buddy was always hungry for more. And he wasn’t afraid to announce it to the whole world, either.

  I let out another sigh.

  “All right, all right,” I said, my voice scratchy with exhaustion. “On one condition – you don’t go to Lou in a few hours when she gets up and act like nobody fed you just now. Okay?”

  Buddy looked up with a sweet expression, as if he was agreeing to the deal.

  But I would have put money down that come sun-up, the big cat would be carrying on again, tricking Lou into giving him another can of food.

  The feline had the two of us figured out pretty dang well: neither one of us could find it in our hearts to say no to those sweet little eyes of his.

  I stood up, my legs feeling prickly as the blood started flowing again. I headed down the hallway.

  Eight paws scrambled across the wood floor and followed me downstairs.

  Chapter 35

  There was a lot on my mind lately.

  But the thing that had woken me up didn’t have anything to do with Mindy’s disappearance.

  It had to do with that black Kia following me.

  And that note pasted to my windshield earlier that day.

  Back the Hell Off.

  I’d stuffed the note in the glove compartment of my car in case I needed it down the line. But despite it being hidden from view, the image of the threatening, jagged scrawl had haunted my dreams.

  I shivered, pulling the soft fleece blanket tighter around my shoulders, watching my breath escape in foggy wisps into the air in front of me. I rocked back and forth silently in the old chair on the front porch, and took another sip of my Sleepytime Extra tea, hoping the spearmint valerian mixture would finally summon the Sandman to my door.

  In the meantime, though, I gazed out into the misty, drippy night, thinking about that note.

  And the fact that it was becoming more and more evident that the stalker who’d written it wasn’t going to go away on his own.

  After finding the note on my car windshield the afternoon before, I had called Sam right away to tell him I’d seen the car again. He’d taken all the information down, and assured me that he was going to find who the car was registered to. Even if it meant checking through all the people in the state who owned a newer model black Kia Sedona.

  I knew Sam would be able to figure out who was stalking me.

  But it didn’t stop me from feeling a desperate, creeping sense of dread when I thought about it.

  Who was following me? What did that note mean?

  And most concerning of all – what were they planning?

  Buddy, as if sensing my unease, leapt from the porch railing he’d been sitting on and onto my lap. He curled up into a ball and started purring as I stroked his soft fur.

  It made me feel a little better.

  But it didn’t stop my mind from running wild.

  Did the black car have something to do with Mindy somehow? Normally, that would have been the logical connection. Only that black Kia had started following me some weeks before I ever got a call from Mindy about covering her dog code violators story.

  It didn’t make much sense.

  I took a sip of my tea and then gave Buddy a few good strokes. I watched as banks of atmosphere drifted down the street, winding around streetlights and houses and cars like they were rocks in the middle of a white river—

  My breath caught in my throat as I saw movement from behind the misty veil that obscured the opposite side of the street.

  Someone was out there.

  The muffled sound of shoes scratching against concrete drifted out of the fog bank. I gripped the ceramic mug in my hands and held my breath, listening.

  Mugs, who had been resting at my feet, sound asleep, lifted his head suddenly. His ears pricked up.

  I set my mug down and quietly moved Buddy out of my lap. I stood up, letting the fleece blanket fall to the ground.

  The figure of a man came into view.

  And as the fog bank slid by, I saw that he was walking toward our house.

  On a mission, it would seem.

  The last photo in the pile of Mindy’s stakeout pictures flashed in my mind. Those sharp eyes gazing at the camera, full of anger and malice.

  And for the second time that night, my heart nearly came to a stop in my chest.

  Chapter 36

  Mugs growled angrily at the man standing at the bottom of my porch steps.

  The pup had good sense when it came to people. Better than I had, sometimes.

  “What the hell are you doing here—”

  “Just hear me out.”

  Mugs growled louder when he spoke, and the pup leaned back in a ready-to-pounce stance.

  Part of me was tempted to not intervene. To let the dog do his worst to the photographer. But after a moment of playing out that fantasy in my head, I decided that letting Mugs take a bite out of Jimmy Brewer might not be the soundest decision.

  After all, he could sue me for something like that. No matter how much he might deserve to be mauled.

  I grabbed Mugs’ collar and pulled him in the house, shutting the screen door to keep him inside. Then I turned back around, my face turning red with anger.

  The man had some nerve showing up to my house in the middle of the night.

  “Jimmy, I’m not in the mood to hear more of your bulls—” I started rasping, but I was interrupted.

  “I couldn’t sleep, all right?” he said. “I couldn’t sleep.”

  He placed a foot on the first step and looked off into the distance.

  “Kathryn and I had a big fight tonight,” he said. “A bad one.”

  He let out a sigh.

  “One of just many bad ones lately,” he said, looking back and meeting my eyes.

  “Well, my couch isn’t available,” I said, not moving from my stance on the porch. “Now please leave. Anything you want to talk about, we can talk about tomorrow at the office—”

  “I never lied to you, Freddie,” he said, cutting me off. “You know how you said earlier that I lied about my feelings for you last year when we were together? You’re wrong about that. I did love you. I might have hurt you then. But I always loved you.”

  My breath caught in my throat and I suddenly had nothing smart to say.

  “I just… I thought you should know, Red,” he continued after pausing for a second. “Because you’re right about those other things – about me being a jerk to you later on. I can’t defend myself there. All I can do now is tell you that I’m sorry. And tell you that by treating you the way I did, I ended up ruining the best friendship I ever had. And maybe I ended up ruining something more than that, too.”

  He dug his hands deeper into the pockets of his jacket and looked down like a beaten dog.

  “I’m really sorry, Red,” he said, his voice coming out weak and unsteady.

  He cleared his throat.

  “Okay, that’s all.”

  He looked up, and for a split s
econd, our eyes locked.

  Before I could say anything in response, Jimmy Brewer turned around and walked away, disappearing into the foggy evening like a ghost.

  The sandman never did arrive at my door that night.

  Chapter 37

  The newsroom was deader than an ice cream parlor in January.

  It was Saturday morning. The rest of the newsroom workers were back at home, sleeping in or making pancakes or getting ready to take their kids to the pumpkin patch later that day.

  But I had too much on my mind to sit around the house watching cartoons and mixing up batter.

  I flipped through the copies of Mindy’s photographs – the ones Sam had dropped off at the house earlier this morning. I’d already looked through them at least a dozen times and had nothing to show for it. And this time was no different.

  After striking out again, I tossed the photo copies down on the far edge of my desk in frustration.

  I exhaled, took a sip of hot coffee, and stared out the window, watching streaks of rain pepper the window pane.

  There was a volunteer-organized search of the woods surrounding Lassie Lane going on right now. The search party, which was being overseen by Sam, was mostly comprised of Mindy’s co-workers and friends from the school. I’d heard on the news that it was being organized by Lacey Winston, Mindy’s student teacher.

  I had considered helping and meeting the search party this morning on Lassie Lane. But after thinking it through, I opted not to go. Sam had it covered, and I knew that a lot of times, searches like that accomplished very little in terms of finding anything important. I figured I might get farther by working the evidence on my own and—

  “I thought you might be here.”

  I spun around in my chair quickly, jarred by the deep voice.

  But instead of finding Kobritz or Scott or Jimmy or one of the copy desk editors standing there, I found someone who looked as out of place in a newsroom as a dirty politician might.

  “Greg? What are you doing here?”

  I felt my stomach drop.

  “Is everything okay with Lou?” I asked. “I thought she was at The Barkery this morning—”

  “Oh, no,” he said, smiling, dropping his hands into the pockets of his expensive-looking wool jacket. “Don’t worry. Everything’s fine with your sister. In fact, I just saw her at the bakery. She’s busy, but just fine.”

  I let out a short sigh of relief.

  Lou’s boyfriend looked just how I thought a successful real estate developer might look on the weekend. He was dressed in relaxed khakis, a long-sleeve polo, a wool jacket, and loafers that gave him the air like he’d just come from the golf course – though that must have been impossible, considering the rainy weather. His dusty blond hair fell around his face in a carefree manner as he smiled a charming, slick grin.

  I smiled back at him politely, though I was still puzzled about what Greg Terwilliger was doing in the newsroom.

  He seemed to read my mind.

  “I know you must be wondering why I’m here,” he said. “But I was just on my way back from my latest development project out on Pomeranian Drive, and I thought I’d stop by and talk to you. I had a hunch you might be here. Your sister’s always telling me what a hard worker you are.”

  It still didn’t explain what he was doing here.

  “Well, uh, that’s nice of you,” I mumbled.

  Though he had been dating my sister for a little over two months now, I still felt as though I didn’t really know Greg very well at all. I knew what Lou told me about him, and I occasionally saw him at The Barkery every now and then. But it suddenly struck me how few times we’d actually spoken to each other.

  Though I figured that was as much my fault as it was his. It wasn’t like I had a lot of free time to chit chat lately. And with the way his job was, I was sure he had even less.

  “Listen, Freddie,” he said. “I know you must be busy, so I’ll get to the point. You see, I came here to let you in on a little secret: This big development project I’m working on? Well, it’s coming to an end this month and I’ve got some time off coming my way.”

  He smiled, his pearly white teeth shining.

  “You see, I’m trying to surprise your sister. I’ve booked a romantic trip to the Bahamas for the two of us without her knowing it.”

  I felt my eyes grow wide and my mouth drop open slightly.

  A self-satisfied expression crossed his face at that.

  “The reason I’m telling you this is because it’d be very helpful if you could pack a bag for Louise for the trip. I’d like to make it as big of a surprise as I can. I’m not going to tell her until the very last minute when we’re headed to the airport.”

  Jeez. Lou had really hit the jackpot.

  Pete had never done anything like this. Ever.

  “Uh…Wow…” I stuttered. “That’s, uh, that’s really a special thing to do.”

  “Well, your sister’s a very special girl,” he said. “She deserves the good things in life. And I want to show her that I can give them to her.”

  He ran a hand through his hair.

  I couldn’t help but notice the huge Rolex on his wrist when he did.

  I didn’t realize that anybody under the age of 40 still wore watches. But I supposed if you had enough money to buy a Rolex, you just might.

  “So what do you say, Freddie. Think you can help me out? I think she’ll just need a bathing suit and a sun hat, and not much else, hopefully. But I trust your judgement.”

  “I can help, no problem,” I said. “When are you guys going?”

  “We’re leaving the 28th,” he said. “And we’re getting back the 15th of November.”

  My mouth dropped open for a second time.

  “Wow… that’s, uh, that’s a long trip.”

  He shrugged.

  “Like I said, I had some vacation time coming my way,” he said. “It’s the first time I’ve gotten this much time off in five years.”

  I nodded, wondering if I should say anything.

  I was sure that Lou would not only be flattered by Greg’s thoughtfulness, but that she’d also be completely swept off her feet by the prospect of being whisked away to a tropical island for two weeks.

  But knowing Lou as well as I did, I also knew that this trip might cause a couple of problems for her. First – her being on vacation meant that the annual Howl-O-Ween fundraiser – the Halloween-themed Humane Society benefit she was set to host at The Barkery – would have to be cancelled. And second – Lou was practically a workaholic. That was one of the reasons The Barkery did so well. And I knew that a surprise two-week-plus vacation during the bakery’s busiest season might not be something she could swing too easily.

  Greg’s heart was in the right place. But he obviously had a few things to learn about my sister if he thought she was just any woman who he could carry off to the Caribbean at the last minute.

  “There’s, uh, there’s just one thing, Greg,” I said.

  He raised his eyebrows.

  “Do you know about the Halloween Humane Society Fundraiser Lou’s hosting at The Barkery the 31st?”

  He puckered his lips together and tilted his head.

  “Well, yeah,” he said. “I know about it. But I just assumed someone else could take over the planning. I mean, it’s a small little deal, isn’t it? How hard could it be for Pete to run it?”

  Greg obviously had a few things to learn about Pete as well. Namely that he wilted like a flower in Death Valley under any sort of pressure.

  “Well, Lou takes it pretty seriously,” I said.

  Greg might have thought it was a little deal. But to Lou, the Howl-O-Ween Humane Society Fundraiser was important. Both the charity aspect, and because it was her way of saying thank you to all of her employees every year. Not to mention the fact that it always created good publicity for her business.

  He knit his eyebrows together, rubbing his square chin for a long moment, deep in thought.

 
“I just thought maybe I should give you a heads-up,” I said.

  “Of course, of course,” he said. “But I’m sure once she hears about swimming in a bioluminescent bay under a blanket of stars, she’ll forget all about the fundraiser.”

  He flashed me another slick smile.

  “Yeah, but—”

  “Sorry to cut this short, Freddie, but I’ve really got to be going now,” he said, interrupting me. “You’re not the only one working this weekend. But, uh, thanks a million for doing this for me and Lou. You’re a good sister.”

  He tapped the partition wall of my cubicle, and before I could say anything, he was walking away down the hall toward the front doors of the building.

  Leaving me with no chance to tell him that other very important fact:

  That Lou was scared to death of swimming in the ocean.

  Chapter 38

  After making zero headway with Mindy’s stakeout photos, I’d spent the rest of the morning driving around Dog Mountain, tracking down anyone who had even a minor connection to the missing elementary school teacher.

  I talked to her co-workers at Errol Tabor Elementary. To neighbors. To friends of hers from high school and college. I even tracked down some of her students in a continuing education photography class she taught at Dog Mountain Community College on the weekends.

  None of it yielded much at all other than polite and in some cases not-so-polite “I’m trying to enjoy my Saturday, can we wrap this up?” tones.

  People always liked to pretend that they were horrified or shocked when something like this happened. But when it came down to them actually lifting a finger to help anybody, they suddenly had more important things to do.

  By early-afternoon, I was all tapped out. I’d written down pages and pages of useless notes from my interviews, and though I tried to keep upbeat about it all, I couldn’t deny that I was beginning to feel the first bitter inklings of discouragement.