Never Steal a Cockatiel (Leigh Koslow Mystery Series Book 9)

by Edie Claire

  Leigh did not doubt it. In the next instant the cockatoo struggled against Morgan’s hold and uttered a shriek that made Leigh’s eardrums vibrate.

  “You’re okay,” Morgan and Olan crooned simultaneously.

  “He would take a finger off, you know,” Olan said affectionately, rubbing his own finger along the back of the bird’s head. “You be good, and when we get home I’ll give you a juicy piece of fresh mango. Eh, boy?” Olan grinned at the girls. “He loves fresh mango. He’ll sing the Macarena for it.”

  Olan’s smile faded suddenly, and his face reddened. “I would die if I lost Zeus, Doc,” he said soberly. “I mean it. I would just die. You have to help the police find this fiend!”

  Randall met his eye. “I’ll do what I can.”

  Morgan smiled sweetly at Olan. “So if you died, who’d get your birds?”

  Chapter 10

  Leigh walked out the front door of the clinic and turned towards her van, savoring dreams of home and bed. But before her feet hit the sidewalk, she noticed a dog limping up the street. The medium-sized, spotted black and white mutt was unaccompanied by a human and wore no collar. A green nylon leash was loosely lassoed around the dog’s neck, while the hand loop dragged along the pavement. Puzzled, Leigh turned and approached the dog, expecting to see its owner sprinting along somewhere behind it. But although she could see all the way down to the Ohio River Boulevard, there were no pedestrians in sight.

  “Where’d you come from, fella?” she asked. The dog wagged its tail and ducked its head submissively, and she squatted down to pet it. Very gingerly, it lifted a front foot, and Leigh was disturbed to see a smear of blood on its toes. The poor thing had worn its nails to the quick, and one was still actively bleeding. The pads of the paw were rubbed raw. Leigh didn’t need to lift the dog’s other paws to know that they were likely in the same condition. She had seen such paws many times before — whenever a house pet suddenly found itself running for miles on hard pavement.

  “Well, you came to the right place, didn’t you?” she praised. “What a smart boy! Follow me.” She picked up the lead and led the dog the last few feet into the clinic. “I have a drop-in,” she announced. “A runaway with some seriously sore paws. Anybody recognize him?”

  Amy was sitting behind the reception desk, and Paige was standing beside it writing something on a chart. The only client in the waiting room was Mrs. Gregg, a staple of the environment who brought in her giant Maine coon cat, Rocky, on a near-daily basis. Randall insisted there was never anything wrong with the cat, and the general consensus of the staff was that the middle-aged widow was simply lonely and liked hanging out at the clinic. This explanation was buttressed by the fact that she routinely waved any number of other clients ahead of her while she waited, and often showed up without either an appointment or the cat.

  “Aww,” Amy’s freckled face cooed. “What a cutie!”

  “Do you know who he belongs to?” Leigh asked.

  Amy shook her head. “No, but he’s a cutie, isn’t he?”

  “I know that dog,” Paige said speculatively, tapping her pen on her chart as she stared at him. “He was here not too long ago.” Today the tall and lanky veterinary assistant was wearing turquoise nail polish with pale pink lipstick, a typical fashion choice. She topped it off with dangly red earrings that were already tangled up in her frizzy blond curls. Leigh had suspected Phyllis Diller aspirations until she mentioned the name and the thirty-something Paige had no idea who she was talking about.

  “Isn’t he Mrs. Ledbetter’s dog?” Paige asked, directing the question at Mrs. Gregg, who lived nearby and seemed to know everyone in Avalon. “Lucky?”

  The dog perked its ears and turned its head toward Paige.

  “Ginny Ledbetter?” Mrs. Gregg said. “Yes, I think you’re right.”

  “Let me double check with the doc,” Paige suggested, taking the end of the leash from Leigh. She led the dog around the corner into the exam rooms.

  “Ginny adores that dog,” Mrs. Gregg said in a frightened whisper. “I can’t imagine she’d let him get away from her. What could have happened?” She cuddled her Maine coon closer. “What if somebody tried to snatch him, too? What is this world coming to?”

  “To hell in a handbasket,” Amy answered cheerfully. “That’s what my grandmother always used to say. To hell in a handbasket! Of course, Grandma said lots of other things, too. She had a million sayings. Like: ‘Stupid is as stupid does.’ She said that even before Forrest Gump came out!”

  Leigh’s mind wandered, as it inevitably did whenever Amy opened her mouth. Mrs. Gregg, on the other hand, seemed fascinated to hear about every saying Amy’s grandmother had ever uttered, both the first and second times Amy told her about it.

  Leigh was relieved when Paige reappeared with the black and white mutt in tow. The dog wagged its tail happily. “I put some styptic on the nail that was bleeding,” Paige reported. “But those paws are going to be sore for a while. Doc wanted to know if you could walk him home before you go, Leigh. Mrs. Ledbetter is just up the street — he said to tell you she’s two houses down before your friend Maura’s.”

  Leigh sighed a little as the vision of her soft bed at home withdrew further into the future. “I’ll just pop him in the van and drive him up,” she agreed, taking the lead.

  “No!” Paige said quickly, startling her. “You can’t pick him up. He’s a total sweetheart most of the time, but he hates being held tight or having his belly touched. You pick him up without a muzzle and he’ll take your face off.”

  Leigh looked down at the angelic appearing canine, who was straining on the lead toward the exit. He doggie-smiled up at her, wagging his tail eagerly and whimpering in anticipation. “Oo-kay,” she said skeptically, heading for the door. “Think you can make it just a little farther, boy?” she asked.

  The dog practically sprang up and down.

  It was Lucky who did the leading as Leigh found herself pulled up the cobblestone street. Randall needn’t have bothered giving Leigh directions, as the dog knew exactly where it belonged. The mutt trotted nearly to Maura’s house before turning up the sidewalk of a similar duplex, then bounding up onto the porch. It scratched at the door with both front feet — sore as they were — and gave an impatient woof.

  The door burst open within seconds. An elderly woman gave out a strangled cry, then fell to her knees to envelop the squirming, whimpering dog. “Lucky!” she cried. “Oh, you came back!”

  Only some time later, after the dog made clear that the reunion was over by skirting past Ginny and on inside the house, did the woman bother to look up at her other visitor. “Who are you?” she asked, her voice wary.

  “I’m Dr. Koslow’s daughter, Leigh,” she explained. “I found Lucky outside the clinic and they told me he lived here.”

  Ginny’s eyes, which were already puffy from crying, began to water. She faltered a bit as she stood.

  “Maybe you should sit down,” Leigh suggested.

  Ginny nodded and gestured for Leigh to come inside. They settled on a worn couch with Lucky curled up between them. The dog was excited and restless, dropping his head in and out of his owner’s lap and whimpering periodically.

  “I was afraid I’d never see him again,” Ginny said tightly.

  Leigh was assaulted by a sudden sick feeling. This was no simple runaway. “Did someone take him?” she asked gently.

  Ginny nodded. One large tear dripped off the side of her nose and fell into her lap. “This morning. I put him out at first light, like I always do. He does his business in the yard and then naps on the porch till breakfast. But when I went to let him in, he wasn’t there. And I found this.” Her hand trembled as she reached out to her cluttered coffee table and picked up a folded piece of plain white paper. “Read it.”

  Leigh unfolded the note. It was written in pencil, in a nearly illegible scrawl of print letters.

  If u want dog back alive you put $300 cash in yellow bucket in woods behind Avalon par
k batting cage sunset TONITE with THIS NOTE. Tell anyone - dog dies. Tell cops - dog dies slowly painfully! Now or ever or I’ll come get him again!

  In the bottom corner of the note was a scribbled signature — in the form of a drawing. It was a skull with a knife handle sticking out of one eye socket.

  Leigh felt even sicker. She folded the note back up again. She put out a hand and stroked the dog’s furry neck. “I wonder how he got away.”

  Ginny shook her head. “I don’t know how they got him in the first place. Unless they lured him with food. He’d follow anyone for bacon, that’s for sure. But they couldn’t pick him up! He’d take their face off!”

  Leigh withdrew her hand. If there was a story behind that claim, she didn’t want to hear it. “It doesn’t matter now,” she said firmly. “Lucky’s home and he’s safe. And thanks to his escape and your saving this note, the police may finally be able to catch this devil!”

  Ginny’s composure wilted. Her hands clutched at her dog. “The note says not to.”

  “Well, of course it does,” Leigh argued. “Because the petnapper knows that if the police get involved, he’s going to get caught. But it’s the only way to stop him.”

  Ginny thought a minute, then slowly nodded her head. “He’s got to be stopped. I can’t let anyone else go through this.” Her gaze drifted to her coffee table, and Leigh’s eyes followed.

  Sitting amidst the clutter, in a neat stack with a rubber band, was a thick pile of twenty-dollar bills.

  “I would have paid it,” Ginny whispered hoarsely. “I would have paid anything.”

  “I know,” Leigh commiserated, imaging her own Chewie or Mao Tse in the clutches of skull-and-knife. Would she contact the police, or would she be too afraid of what would happen to her pets? She wasn’t sure. All she knew was that after she caught up with said villain, the homicide squad would be looking for her.

  “I’ll take him to my sister’s house for a while,” Ginny announced, straightening with determination. “She lives all the way over in West Mifflin, and she has a Jack Russell and a nice fenced yard. We’ll just visit a while. Until they catch this monster.” She raised her red-rimmed eyes to Leigh’s. “They will catch him, won’t they?”

  Leigh smiled. “With this note and your help? Absolutely.” She rose. “With your permission, I’ll walk this piece of paper straight over to Detective Polanski and let her know what’s happened. She’ll take it from there. Just keep Lucky safe inside until you hear from her. Okay?”

  Ginny nodded and bent over again to bury her face in the ruff of her dog’s neck. “Don’t you worry about that,” she said tearfully. “He’s never leaving my sight again!”

  Leigh left the happy couple to each other’s company and hastened down the street to Maura’s house. Remembering the baby, she rapped gently rather than ringing the bell. The detective answered the door almost immediately.

  “Koslow?” Maura greeted uneasily, studying her. “I know that look. Is this going to upset me?”

  “Most likely,” Leigh answered. “Can I come in?”

  Maura swung open the door. “Keep your voice down,” she ordered. “Eddie just went to sleep, and he had us up half the night. What’s going on?”

  They settled into chairs. Maura looked as exhausted as Leigh felt. The county detective was obviously unaware of the Koslow family’s overnight adventures with the Ross Township police, which was not surprising. Bellevue and Avalon had their own small police forces, but on either side of those two municipalities, West View was policed by Ross Township and Ben Avon by Ohio Township. Maura’s county department covered the whole area, but only for homicides and other higher-level crimes. The smattering of break-ins and pet thefts Leigh had the misfortune to be associated with were split over four PDs that might or might not be talking to each other. Looking at the bags under Maura’s eyes, Leigh decided it was just as well the new mother didn’t know about the Koslow’s unwelcome visitor. One crisis at a time.

  “I just found Ginny Ledbetter’s dog wandering up the street by the clinic with its paws all torn up,” Leigh explained. “I took him home, and Ginny told me he disappeared early this morning. After which, she found this.” She extended the paper.

  “Lucky?” Maura asked with surprise, leaning forward.

  Leigh nodded.

  “Just set it down there,” Maura instructed, nodding at her coffee table.

  Oh, right. Fingerprints. Shoot!

  Leigh did as instructed, and Maura read the note. Then she swore. “I can’t believe anyone would have the gall to snatch a dog just two doors down from me! Who do they think lives here, a couple of nannies? Of all the—” She uttered a few more choice words, then rose and picked up her phone. “Who else knows that the dog came back?”

  “People at the clinic,” Leigh answered. “I took him inside first.”

  “Call your dad,” Maura ordered. “Have him tell everyone who saw the dog that they need to keep quiet about it, at least for twenty-four hours. If we’re lucky, our dognapper won’t realize that Mr. Lucky found his own way home.”

  Of course, Leigh thought with a smile. It wouldn’t matter to the petnapper if he had the dog, all that mattered was that Ginny thought he did. Unless he knew for a fact that Lucky had made it home, he would still check for his money tonight, wouldn’t he?

  “I’ll call Ginny,” Maura announced. “We don’t want her spreading the word either, and she’ll have to keep the dog out of sight. The Avalon PD will take it from here.”

  Leigh completed her assigned phone call and waited for Maura to finish hers. When the detective hung up, her face was flushed and shiny.

  “I still can’t believe it. The nerve of those—” Maura cast a glance toward the nursery, then cut herself off. “Sorry. I’ve got to start watching my mouth now, don’t I? Crap, that’s going to be hard.”

  Leigh started to chuckle, but Maura’s face had turned grim.

  The detective dropped back into her chair. “There’s something I need to ask you, Koslow.”

  The look in her eyes made Leigh’s pulse race. “Tell me this isn’t about Mason,” she begged.

  “Sorry,” Maura returned. “Have you heard from him?”

  Leigh explained about the missed call and the voice mail. “But I left him another message this morning,” she finished.

  Maura looked thoughtful. “A Miami area code, you say? Can I see the number?”

  Leigh hesitated. She hated being wedged in between Mason Dublin and the law. She knew Maura wasn’t out to get the man, but she also knew that if push came to shove, Maura wouldn’t protect him, either. For that matter, should Leigh? And why was she so worried in the first place? Did she really believe that Mason would risk everything now?

  She didn’t think so. But was she sure?

  Her jaws clenched. She pulled out her phone, looked up the number, and read it out. Maura punched the numbers into her own phone, punched in something else, then waited. After a moment, her brow creased.

  “Well?” Leigh asked anxiously.

  Maura put her phone away again. “I’m going to keep trying to contact him,” she announced, avoiding the question. “What I need to know is — are you aware of his doing any gambling lately?”

  “Gambling?” Leigh repeated, taken aback. She thought of Mason’s spiffy outfit, covert new apartment, and mysterious flight to Miami. “Not that I’ve heard,” she answered honestly.

  Maura exhaled. She flashed a look at Leigh that was pure sympathy. “The man really needs to start returning his calls. Soon.”

  Leigh gulped. Being yelled at, threatened, or ordered around by one Maura Polanski was all in a day’s friendship. But when the detective started looking sympathetic?

  That was when you worried.

  Chapter 11

  Leigh intended to pull down her shades and crawl straight into bed. But her bedroom was Mao Tse’s sanctuary, off-limits to Chewie. And the bored corgi was so pathetically happy to see a human that he dogged her every step,
twice now hovering so close that her heel clipped his chin. Leigh looked down at him with a sigh. The dog’s mournful brown eyes could make a sociopath feel guilty. “All right!” she conceded. “Fine. I’ll nap on the couch.”

  She collapsed and kicked her shoes off, and the corgi settled contently beside her. “I know you miss Ethan,” she said with a yawn, scratching the dog’s giant ears. “He’d take you with him if he could, but we both know how much you love the clinic.”

  Chewie’s eyes held hers. Feed me.

  “Don’t give me that,” Leigh admonished, rolling over. “You’ve had three treats since breakfast. Just take a snooze with me.” She closed her eyes.

  Three minutes later, her cell phone rang. She flung a hand out and groped around on the floor where she had left it, then pulled it in front of her tired eyes.

  It was from the area code in Miami. She sat up quickly and tapped to answer. “Mason? Where the hell are you?”

  She heard nothing for a moment. “Somewhere I’d rather be doing things other than answering the phone,” he remarked dryly. “But apparently I’m a popular guy. I’ve got another message from you, two from Maura Polanski, and one from the Pennsylvania State Police. What gives? Should I be worried, here?”

  Leigh let out the breath she’d been holding. He didn’t sound like he felt guilty. “Have you called Maura yet?”

  “No,” he answered. “I only just got all these. Checking my phone every frickin’ hour wasn’t part of my getaway plan.”

  Leigh knew he was joking, but under the circumstances, his word choice was poor. “You need to talk to the police, Mason,” she insisted.

  “Nothing I’d rather do than shoot the breeze with a copper, as you well know,” he said sarcastically. “But I’m not talking to anybody until you give me a heads up about whatever it is that’s going on there. And make it fast, because this call is costing me an arm and a leg.”

  Leigh made a mental note not to let him off the phone until he answered an equal number of her own questions. “It has something to do with your neighbor Kyle. He’s disappeared, and the state police are looking for him. Maura says they don’t think you’re involved necessarily, but that your leaving town when you did looks suspicious. They want to ask you something about Kyle, obviously.”