by Ellen Riggs
When the chairs were out of the way, Keats sniffed the brick wall closely. Percy slid under the dog’s belly and did the same through Keats’ white front paws. This time the dog didn’t complain.
I knelt and directed my phone light at the wall, just as Percy reached out and scratched at a brick.
“Huh. That’s odd. The mortar’s eroded here.” I considered taking off my gloves to pry out the brick but remembered the jackknife in the pocket of my overalls. A farmer was rarely without one.
The blade would have done the trick just fine without help from two paws, white and orange, but the boys were enthusiastic. One brick, two, three, four.
I leaned over, aimed my light in behind them and saw a small compartment lined with plywood.
“No way!” I started to reach in and realized my gloves were meant for barn chores, not fine motor skills. Instead, I pulled out two more bricks and snapped several photos of the contents using the flash. “Should I take them? I can’t just leave them here. What if someone else gets to them first?”
Neither pet had time to weigh in before we heard a noise overhead. The click of the back door of the salon, perhaps?
Keats, Percy and I all froze, six eyes staring up at the rafters. Just as I started to wonder if I’d imagined the sound, there was the squelch of footsteps. Rubber-soled shoes, I figured.
Never had my gloved fingers worked so fast as I replaced the bricks. My breath came in ragged gasps and the task was all the more difficult with orange paws apparently trying to “help.” Finally, Keats grabbed Percy by the scruff and moved him out of the way. The cat went limp instantly, but the moment the dog released him, he sprang to life again. By that time the last brick was in place and I was scrabbling backward over the concrete. Still, Percy pawed at the bricks, as if double-checking my work.
I retreated to the only hiding spot available: under the stairs. Percy dove in ahead of me, and Keats behind. I crawled on my hands and knees until I’d practically folded in on myself under the lowest few stairs. It was the best I could do, but anyone stooping with a strategic beam would see four eyes looking back. Percy had worked his way headfirst into a corner that only had room for air. His orange fluffy tail was the last thing I saw before turning out the light. Meanwhile Keats squirmed into my lap and folded himself up, too. Normally his claws would bother me but I found them reassuring under the circumstances.
“What do we do?” I thought. Or maybe I whispered it aloud because Keats pawed my knee gently as if to shush me.
I wrapped my arms around him and pressed my head into his neck as the door creaked open above us. Keats’ fur smelled of hay with a hint of manure. Safety. We’d survived worse. We would be okay.
Probably.
Suddenly, there was another click upstairs, and this one ended with a louder sound. A thud? Did the intruder have backup? I lifted my head just a little. There was enough light from the basement door to show dust motes floating in the air.
Then more rapid, squelching footsteps overhead, and the heavier thud of bigger feet. Work boots probably.
The overhead lights came on, and work boots thumped down the stairs. Every thud forced my heart further into my throat.
Before they reached the bottom, someone called, “Ivy?”
At the same moment, Keats lunged out of my lap, gouging my legs and making me scream.
Chapter Seventeen
I recognized the voice over my pounding heart at about the same moment I noticed Keats going for the pant cuffs. He grabbed a mouthful and worried it like a puppy with a stuffed toy, complete with mock growling.
“Let go of my uniform you tuxedoed terror, or you’ll spend the night in lockup with your owner.”
I crawled out on my hands and knees, expecting Kellan to offer me a hand up. Instead he was hopping away and swatting at the dog, trying to serve and protect his uniform.
“Keats, leave it,” I said, scrambling to my feet. “We’re in enough trouble as it is.”
“You most certainly are.” Kellan straightened and conked his head on the rafters. I hadn’t realized quite how low the ceiling was until that moment. I wondered how many tall cops had bruised heads from the recent investigation.
“What are you doing here?” I asked. “It’s three a.m.”
He almost straightened again and stopped himself. “Someone called in a suspicious person report and when I heard the description, I decided to come out myself. The caller very specifically said it was a heavyset man in a big yellow car with a black-and-white dog.” He stooped and aimed his phone light under the stairs. “And an orange cat.”
Percy backed out of the corner, shook himself all over and then began what was likely to be a thorough bath.
“A heavyset man?” I said. “The nerve!”
Kellan actually grinned. “The parka adds bulk. I’m surprised you fit under the stairs.”
“Very funny.” I glanced up the stairs. “Or maybe your caller meant another tall, heavyset man. There were footsteps just before you came in. Did you see anyone else?”
The smile left his face. “Stay right here. All of you.”
Keats ignored that and followed Kellan up the stairs, passing him midway. Percy, on the other hand, continued his personal grooming. It was a common sight but rarely with such intensity.
“We’re fine, Percy,” I said. “Thanks for your help.”
The cat left his paw hanging and blinked at me once before continuing his ablutions.
Kellan clomped back in a moment, with Keats literally on his heels. If the dog weren’t careful, he’d get himself kicked and I doubted Kellan would apologize for it.
“The door to the alley was open,” he said. “Did you come in that way?”
I shook my head and he pressed his lips together for a moment. “Ivy, do you know how close you came to… something?”
“Well, yeah, Kellan. Another minute like that and one of us would have had an accident. And it wouldn’t have been Keats or Percy.”
Backing away, he sat down hard on the third stair from the bottom. “You can’t keep breaking into crime scenes in the middle of the night. If you don’t care about your own safety, care about your pets’.”
“It was their idea,” I said, wishing that sounded a little more… sane.
“Their idea,” he repeated. “And which one of them had this brainwave?”
“Probably Keats, but the decision was taken before they woke me. Basically, I’m just the one with prehensile thumbs and car keys.”
He put his head in his hands and then shook it slightly. “Honestly. Do you know how that sounds?”
“Of course I know how that sounds. Do you think I wanted to get out of my nice warm bed and crawl around in a cold basement?”
He looked up at me through splayed fingers. “Yes. Yes, I do.”
“Well, you’re wrong. Do I want to help get to the bottom of Portia’s murder? Yes. Do I want my mom’s reputation cleared and the salon reopened? Again, yes. But hiding under the stairs in a creepy dark basement is a definite no.”
Leaning back, he said, “And what did Keats think he would find here? Or did he say?”
“Not in so many words. I just got the impression that he knew about a clue you might have missed.”
He sighed. “We didn’t miss any clues. An entire team patted this place down top to bottom.”
“I see.” I put my hands on my well-padded hips. “So you were just going to leave the treasure for squeaky shoes to collect tonight? Or was that a setup?”
Getting up quickly, he nearly hit his head again. “What treasure? And squeaky who?”
“Squeaky shoes. Rubber soles. He or she was planning to come downstairs and I can only guess it was to collect the treasure in the hidey-hole. I assume Portia either dropped it off or came looking for it on the night of her demise.”
I pointed to the spot on the brick wall where the folding chairs used to be, and then showed him the photos on my phone.
“What is that stuff?” h
e asked. “Kids’ toys?”
“Rare antiques, unless I’m much mistaken. And I believe they once belonged to Aaron Bingham.”
“Hazel Bingham’s brother? The one who disappeared?”
I nodded. “Tonight she said she’d sold off his collection to keep up the manor. Looks like some are still floating around.”
“Show me,” he said.
I motioned for Keats and Percy to do the honors since it was their discovery. Keats seemed happy enough to stand back and stare at Kellan while Percy pawed at the location of the loose bricks. I leaned over and used my knife to poke out the first one. My hand trembled and it was harder than ever to maneuver in my gloves. My fingers had cramped around the knife in case I’d needed to use it for much worse.
Kellan pulled latex gloves out of his pocket, put them on and then knelt with his flashlight. As he reached inside, Keats took the opportunity to lick his face.
“Don’t, Keats,” I said. “Remember how you felt earlier when Percy took liberties?”
There was a merging of grumbles from both Keats and Kellan, but neither sounded terribly disgruntled.
Pulling out the first object, Kellan held it out to me. “Careful.”
I used both hands to cradle a glass figurine of a swan. “It’s an original handblown Batoli, I think.” Placing it on top of the boxes of beauty supplies, I shook a warning finger at Percy. “Be careful.”
Meanwhile, Kellan pulled out several more objects, three of which looked like Russian nesting dolls. Two were in the shape of cats and the last a hippopotamus.
“Those are valuable?” Kellan asked. “They look like stuff from a junk store.”
“Collectibles. But possibly also stuff you’d see in a junk store. One man’s trash…”
“But why are they hidden in the basement of your mom’s salon?”
I shrugged. “Maybe Portia stole them or stashed them here for safekeeping. Maybe she wanted to get them back for Hazel because she knew how upsetting it was to part with her brother’s art. Hopefully Hazel can enlighten us.”
He smirked a little. “Keats can’t fill you in?”
“I wish, but his magic only goes so far, it seems. I’m guessing Portia managed to get a key to the place when she used to cat-sit for Robbi Ford.”
“Portia didn’t have a key the night we found her here, yet there was no sign of forced entry.”
“Too bad Mom didn’t change the locks when she took possession. It seemed safe enough with Robbi out of the picture but who knows what company she kept?”
Kellan moved the figures off the cardboard box of beauty supplies and then emptied one. There was just enough bubble wrap to give the collectibles a little protection during transport.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said, at last. “This place is giving even me the creeps.”
“You don’t have to ask me twice,” I said, following him up the stairs.
At the top he turned. “But I do have to ask you twice or maybe even three times not to run over to Sunny Acres tomorrow to share the big news with Hazel Bingham.”
“Can I at least be there when you tell her?” I said. “She’ll be thrilled, I know it.”
“When you graduate from the police academy, you let me know,” he said. “By then I might even be hiring.”
“That’s unfair! We’re the ones who—”
“Ivy, don’t push your luck. I admit I’m glad your animals found this stuff, don’t get me wrong. But there were other, safer ways to handle the situation.”
He let us out of the salon, handed me the box, and locked the door behind us. The police SUV was parked right in front. He put the box in the hatch and then opened the rear passenger door and gestured for Keats and Percy to get in.
Keats didn’t wait a beat but Percy had to be encouraged with a gentle nudge from my boot.
“Where are we going?” I asked.
“Back to Buttercup. Then you’ll tail me to the farm. Got it?”
“Like no one will notice that,” I said, jumping into the front seat before he had a chance to suggest getting in the back with the animals.
“I have no problem being seen with a heavyset man in a sweet yellow ride,” he said, making a wide U turn on Main and swinging around the corner a little too fast.
“Careful,” I said. “You’ve got precious cargo.”
“Right. Those figurines look like they’d break if you sneezed on them.”
“True, but I meant my pets.”
He shook his head as he pulled up beside Buttercup. “Follow me closely now. Any diversions and you’re all going into the station for a night behind bars. That’ll make the basement seem like a palace.”
Scowling, I got out and let Percy into Buttercup. Keats, on the other hand, stayed where he was and actually looked away. He was refusing to leave the police car.
“Let him be,” Kellan said. “If he wants a ride-along, he can have it.”
“But—”
“Ivy,” Kellan said. “Do you trust me?”
“Yes.” The word blew away on the chill breeze. “With my life, actually.”
“But not your dog?”
“Let’s just say I don’t trust myself—or the world—without him.”
He leaned over so he could see me better. “This is his decision. He clearly wants a word with me, man to man.”
I sighed. “Fine. Keats, you’d better have a very good reason for this.”
Finally the dog looked at me and the eerie blue eye blinked once for yes.
I followed the police car closely, but instead of going back to the farm, Kellan turned down the lane to Clover Grove Gardens.
“Why are we here?” I asked, getting out of the car.
Keats jumped out and greeted me with joyful jumping, as if we’d been apart far longer than 10 minutes.
“Keats wanted to come,” Kellan said. There was a grin on his face as he joined me.
“It’s almost four a.m. and the place is locked. Where’s the fun for him here?” I wrapped my fingers around the cold iron fence. “Although we have climbed in and out before. Does Chief Harper do that?”
“He does not,” Kellan said. He jingled his key ring. “But he does accept keys to public parks and use them occasionally. Checking for perps, human and otherwise.”
“Okay,” I said. “But we won’t last long in this cold.”
“Oh come on. There’s enough down in that parka for all of us.”
“Percy is taking a pass,” I said, as the cat curled up in a ball on the back seat. Keats charged ahead to the gate, always up for a new adventure.
Leaning back into the police car, Kellan pulled out a tall thermos and slipped it under his arm. Then he unlocked the gate, took my gloved hand and led me to our favorite bench.
My disgruntlement faded away as he offered me the first sip of sweet, warm coffee. There was nothing much to be seen in the garden at that hour, so I looked up at the stars instead.
“Can I ask you a question?” Kellan said, after we’d emptied the first cup of coffee and started on the second.
A chill went down my back that wasn’t from the late autumn breeze. As with all our interactions these days, it could go either way.
“Sure.” I took off my left glove just to feel the warmth of the cup he handed me.
“You said Keats was magic earlier. Do you really believe that?”
Ah. So that’s where this was going. He probably wondered if I had a screw or two loose. My stomach clenched and almost pushed the coffee back up the chute. I didn’t want Kellan to think I was crazy. But I always had to be true to myself, and to Keats.
The dog jumped up on the bench on the other side of me, and I wrapped my right arm around him.
“If you mean magic as in fairy dust and potions, then no,” I said. “But I believe he knows more than a normal dog should. How that works is a mystery to me. He’s obviously a high-performer in a brilliant breed. Border collies are bred to observe closely and be endlessly curious. Plus he�
�s got a great nose. I guess that could look like magic when it’s beyond our capabilities.”
“But sometimes it seems like you’re actually communicating with him on another level. I’ve seen it.”
I thought about this carefully before answering. “After my head injury, I feel like I perceive things differently. Sometimes I see or hear things I wouldn’t have noticed before and other times it’s the reverse. Mostly I think it works to my advantage, but not always.”
He sipped the coffee in silence before saying, “Some of my best police work comes from hunches I can’t really explain. I assume it’s my unconscious mind sorting out all the facts I take in and making connections beyond my awareness. But I don’t believe in magic.”
“Me either, although sometimes this dog has me questioning what I know about the world.” I shivered and Kellan dropped his arm over my shoulder. It was reassuring that he didn’t think I was completely nuts. “As for the treasure hunt tonight, it may have looked woo-woo, but I would imagine Keats just used his nose. On the night of the murder, he followed you downstairs, remember? He would have known what Portia touched. What’s really amazing about this dog is his memory. I honestly think he wanted to check to see if you’d found it.”
There was no need to share that Keats seemed to know that tonight was the time to get to the treasure before squeaky shoes found it. Kellan was already keeping an open mind about something many wouldn’t.
Two years ago, I’d have been rolling my eyes over someone claiming to communicate almost telepathically with her dog, so it must be a tough pill for a man of logic to swallow. But there was no question Keats and I had a special connection, even if it was just through the magic of understanding each other’s unspoken signals and body language. Maybe we were just hyperaware and more observant than most people and dogs.
What set me apart was my willingness to roll with it. To be open to the discoveries that came my way. I wondered if everyone could have this kind of bond with animals if they let down their defenses. Jilly and Keats now communicated directly quite often, with words and without. My mind no longer put up the barriers and boundaries that once defined me and felt necessary for survival. For that reason, odd as it seemed, I kind of hoped I’d never fully recover. I wouldn’t want to give up this connection to Keats for anything. I may not have been able to continue my HR career with the deficits I had, but in my new life, they were at worst minor hindrances and at best major assets.