How to Kennel a Killer

by Cat Clayton

  I recovered without incident. It wouldn’t have been the first time he tripped me.

  “Hey, Donny!” I said.

  He pulled his bicycle to a stop on the sidewalk with a ring-ring of the metal bell.

  “Need more strawberries?” he asked, pointing to the wicker basket on the front of his bike. It overflowed with green plants, white blossoms, and bright red berries. His wispy white hair reminded me of “Doc” Brown, the inventor from Back to the Future. Donny Thomas dressed like a door-to-door salesman and he and his bike garden completed his eccentric appearance.

  Got any tacos or burgers in that basket? I would much prefer them over fruit. Cuff sat back and rowed his tiny front paws, begging.

  Donny and I weren’t on a chit-chat level, so I said yes to the strawberries. We exchanged berries for a buck and he started to pull away.

  “Wait. I wanted to ask if you went by the library yesterday?”

  His hazel eyes narrowed. “Yes. Why do you ask?” he said, peering over my shoulder.

  I glanced back and saw nothing significant. Is he nervous about something?

  So, it would seem, Chiquita.

  “I wondered if you asked Petunia about working at the library is all,” I said. If so, he would’ve been one of the last people to see her alive.

  Donny gave me a peculiar look. “I know you found her. Word travels fast in this town. So, why’re you asking me if I spoke to her?”

  I shrugged. “Only wondering is all.” I offered him a weak smile.

  “Yes, I did. And before you ask, yes, she was still alive and kickin’ when I rode away. The cops already asked me a bunch of questions. So, whatever your little brain is doing in that suspicious head of yours, stop. I had nothing to do with Petunia’s demise.”

  Wow.

  He just went there.

  “I only asked because I knew you were looking for work and she needed help,” I said, swallowing the lump in my throat. “And you are one of the last people to see her alive.”

  “Well, I don’t know if that’s true, but I spoke to her about a job,” he said. He folded his arms across his chest.

  Tread carefully, I told myself. “Did you see anyone else hanging around?”

  He shook his head. “Nope.”

  “Did she seem okay to you? Like physically?” I asked.

  “Yep,” he said.

  He wasn’t giving me much. I kept going.

  Chiquita, maybe you shouldn’t.

  “How long were you with her?”

  “Did you see anyone else around?” I pressed on.

  “Did she buy strawberries? I saw a pint spilled next to her.”

  “How were things between you two? I mean, did y’all have an argument about working for her?”

  He closed his eyes as if he were counting to ten and then opened them again, glaring at me. His lips formed a thin line and his chin trembled.

  Now you’ve done it, Chiquita.

  “I will not stand here and allow you to interrogate me as if I’m some kind of criminal,” he spat. “Good day to you.” He pushed off and steered down the sidewalk.

  “I wasn’t trying to insult you!” I called after him. “Jeez, he sure is defensive.” I observed him pedaling away.

  You think?

  But why? He was a member of the Citizens on the Watch program. He of all people should understand why I asked him those questions. Did he know anything? Had he seen something and been afraid to report it? Does he fear the killer will target him next if he talks?

  Chapter 4

  Pondering what had transpired between Donny Thomas and myself, Cuff and I stepped back inside the lobby. Mrs. Thibodaux stood at the counter while Daniel checked her out. Her white Malti-poo, Sally, stood next to her feet. A fluffy tail swished back and forth in a happy motion.

  Greetings and salutations, Sally. Cuff trotted by the Malti-poo and yipped.

  Sally wagged her tail with more excitement.

  Cuff followed me into my office. I found Gertie laid back on the couch, her feet propped up with throw pillows. Virgil snored on the floor underneath her.

  “I thought you were helping groom?” I asked.

  Her eyes were closed. “My feet are swollen. Must’ve been all the sodium in the package of noodles last night. Looks like I’m cooking tonight. I hope you have more in your pantry besides cans of soup and ramen packages.”

  Good luck with that. I sighed. I loved her dearly, but having her around proved to be more of a pain in the butt than help.

  “Fine. You rest. I’ll help,” I told her.

  “Cuff, you staying here or going with me?”

  I ate ramen, too. Are my legs swollen? He looked down at his tiny paws.

  Oh sheesh, I thought and left the three of them resting.

  Daniel and I finished up the remaining dogs in the groom room. By the time we checked out the last client, I no longer needed a shower. Gertie, Cuff, and Virgil were sawing logs inside my office. We spruced up our workspace, swept the lobby, and locked up the shop for the weekend.

  The front desk phone rang. I considered letting the answering machine pick up, but I hadn’t switched the computer down yet, so I picked up the portable phone and pushed the talk button.

  “Scrubadub, Three Pups in a Tub. Steely speaking.”

  “Hi, there! This is Honey Puckett,” the pleasant voice said.

  Honey and her husband, Big, owned a family farm outside of town. They had raised a household of five rambunctious boys, the two youngest were in their last two years of high school. It seemed as each son had graduated and moved out, the Pucketts took on a new species of animals. From honeybees to pigs to goats, the farm had a cheerful zoo-like quality about it.

  “Hi! What can I do for you?” I asked, hoping she didn’t want to come in today with her two fluffy Great Pyrenees. Daniel and I hadn’t had the hairy pleasure of grooming the farm guard duo, but I’d heard stories about them from Gertie. Their fur took hours to dry.

  “I’m calling about the pet costume contest. Is there a limit on how many pets a household can enter, and when you say pet, can it be something other than a dog or a cat?” she asked.

  Her questions threw me off guard. One, I hadn’t thought about the contest since finding Petunia yesterday, and two, did we have any limits?

  “Well, I hadn’t given it much thought. You’re the first one to ask,” I said, thinking back to the previous years when Gertie ran the shop. I didn’t recall her ever limiting the amount per household or the species of the animal. “There’s no limit. And you can enter any kind of pet you’d like.” Although now that I’d said it, dressing up a honeybee would be tricky.

  Daniel poked his head around the corner. “Who is it?”

  I covered the phone. “Mrs. Puckett,” I whispered.

  He gave me a thumbs up and plopped down on the stool next to me.

  “Oh fabulous!” she exclaimed over the phone. “I want to enter my goat Dewey, one of our dogs, Pooka, one of our hens, Mrs. Fancy Feet, our male Mallard duck, Fred, our barn cat, Gus, and Rowdy, our pot-bellied pig.”

  What? None of her bees? “Honey, I count six pets. You realize each pet entry is $25, and every pet needs a handler, right?” I didn’t want to discourage her from entering all her pets, but I needed to make sure I prepared her for the cost.

  Daniel’s eyes popped. He did the math on the desk calculator and showed me the total. $150.00.

  I shot him a thumbs up.

  “It’s no problem at all. We’d also like to donate an additional $50 to the rescue society,” she said. “And no worries on the number of people per pet. My two youngest have plenty of friends.”

  “Well, thank you so much for this. I know the rescue will be most appreciative of your $200 donation,” I told her.

  “Great. Can I bring in Dewey and Pooka on Monday for a groom? I can enter the animals and pay the fees then.”

  I quickly pulled up Monday’s schedule. “We can see them at 11:30 AM Monday. Will that time work for
you?”

  “Perfect! Have a nice weekend!” she said and disconnected.

  I returned the phone to its cradle and turned to Daniel. He held his hand up, and I gave him a high-five.

  “I didn’t realize the Pucketts were so generous,” I said, still in shock. Their entries gave me hope for the fundraiser’s success.

  Daniel shook his head. “I don’t know them very well, but I remember their oldest two boys. They went to high school at the same time we did. Two blond-headed hotties, one was in drama and the other played football.” He let out a little whistle through his teeth.

  My memory failed me because I had no recollection of attending school with them. “You would remember.” I play punched him in the arm.

  Daniel hopped down from his stool. “Speaking of a hottie, I have a date this evening with Benjamin. Remember the UPS delivery guy I met over the summer?”

  “Oh right. How’s it going?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “Eh. I like him. And he’s nice to look at, but I’m fairly certain he’s seeing other people,” he said, looking disappointed.

  I felt for him. Pleasant Hills limited his choices severely. As in, like, no other gay men in town. The UPS guy lived in College Station, a much larger town, with a good-sized LGBTQ community. “I’m sorry, friend. Why don’t you invite him to the parade? Maybe introducing him to us will help.”

  “I’ll think about it.” He bent down and planted a kiss on the top of my head. “It would be nice if he attempted to drive here instead of me always driving out there. We shall see.” He turned to go. “I’ll probably see y’all on Sunday!” he said and headed out the back door.

  I finished closing up shop and went back to rouse the three sleepyheads.

  AN HOUR LATER, GERTIE and I had the Bug’s sunroof open, both dogs loaded in the back seat, and we were meeting Jackson and Taffy at the city park. Cuff’s thoughts drifted up at me as he had a one-sided conversation with Virgil.

  The mama goose at the pond is scary.

  I am telling you she is the devil.

  I know Taffy is a hot tamale, but remember she is mine. I do not share.

  Maybe we could hook you up with Patches, or what about Princess?

  Just because we are in our seventies in dog years does not mean we are dead.

  Yes, friend, I am fixed too. We still are not dead.

  Chuckling to myself, I pulled up and parked next to the entrance gate and glanced back at the pups. Cuff panted up at his giant, fuzzy friend. Virgil drooled on the leather seat, his head cocked to the side.

  Jackson, in all his rugged, masculine glory, leaned against the wrought-iron fence surrounding the park. A sexy smile spread across his face when our eyes met through the windshield. My arms broke out in gooseflesh.

  Gertie fanned her face. “How do you contain yourself?”

  “Nicely put,” I said and switched off the ignition.

  She removed her seat belt and pulled the visor mirror down. “Well, what I meant to say was how do you keep from jumping his bones every time he’s near, but I’m trying to watch my mouth.”

  Oh, dear. I felt my cheeks flush. “You ready?”

  “Almost.” She fumbled in her purse and pulled out a tube of lipstick. As she spread scarlet red over her lips, I climbed out of the car.

  “Hey there,” I said to Jackson.

  Taffy raced toward my car, barking wildly. I flipped up the driver’s seat and let the boys out. I grabbed a quilt to sit on.

  My love!

  Plenty of sniffing occurred before the three dogs trotted toward the pond in search of adventure. Cuff led the pack, head in the clouds since he’d laid eyes on Taffy, mama goose a faded memory.

  “Ready!” Gertie said and clambered out of the car. Seeing her in a pair of my boot cut jeans, flip-flops, and one of my cute fitted plaid button-ups, reminded me we needed to stop by the house and pick up some of her things. The top stretched tight across her chest, the third button down challenging its thread.

  Jackson gave me a warm, scrumptious smile.

  My heart melted and my fingertips tingled.

  “Hey,” he said. His spicy, earthy scent wafted around me, teasing my senses.

  Gertie barged past me, booting me with her butt. “If you’re not gonna squeeze some lovin’ on this fella, I will!” she said, holding her hands out toward Jackson. “Well, you gonna just stand there or hug this old woman!”

  Jackson bent down and allowed Gertie to grab around his neck, and she gave him some lovin’.

  “You’re not old, Mrs. Lamarr,” he said over her head while she continued to squeeze his neck.

  “Well, I ain’t no spring chicken, for sure. But, if I was fifty years younger, I’d be all over you!” Gertie said and released him. Jackson’s tanned face blushed a bright plum.

  “Gertie!” I shrieked.

  She spun around, facing me. “What? Isn’t it what the younger generation is saying now? ‘I’m all over that.’ Like a pizza or a good book. Sheesh! You’re always so grumpy with me.”

  I mouthed sorry to Jackson. “Never mind,” I told Gertie.

  “I’m going down to the water, peace out,” she said and flip-flopped inside the fence and across the lawn. She puffed away like a chimney on her way to the water’s edge.

  “Ugh,” I said, letting out a huge exhale. “I don’t know what’s gotten into her lately. It’s like her filters are nonexistent.” I turned to watch her kick off the flops and roll up her pant legs. “I mean, seriously. It’s like she’s lost her ever-lovin’ mind.”

  He chuckled and took my hand, pulling me to face him. “Don’t be so hard on her. I think it’s funny.” His eyes twinkled.

  Jackson had this bad-boy, soldier thing going on most of the time. I could get lost in his dark mysterious eyes. One wink could buckle my knees.

  “Funny, huh?” I said.

  He nodded. “She reminds me of you.”

  I play-punched his arm. “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Nope. Spunky, adorable, and says exactly what’s on her mind,” he said.

  “I’ll claim the adorable part.” Now that I thought about it, Gertie and I did have a lot in common, but at least my filters were still intact. Mostly.

  “C’mon. I have some news about the librarian.” He led me through the park gate.

  News? My curiosity piqued.

  We picked a shady spot to throw the quilt down. Even though the October air was cool, sitting in the direct sun would be too warm since we were both wearing jeans. We sat side by side, stretching our legs out in front of us.

  The dogs and Gertie waded on the sandy shore.

  “So?” I said, nudging Jackson’s shoulder with mine.

  “So, what?” he said, a hint of a smile appearing.

  “You said you had something to tell me about Petunia Jinks,” I answered, anxious.

  He nodded. “Oh, right. Yeah. Remember yesterday when you told me to check the coffee mug, well, I ran it over to the Kolbeski lab, and you were right. Mitch found something.”

  “Don’t keep a lady in suspense. What?”

  “There was a small amount of coffee left in the mug. He ran a tox screen and found high amounts of opioids,” he said. “I ran the results by Chief Becker this morning. It seems they’ve had several cases of opioid-related deaths in the Texas hill country area. Travis County Medical Examiner’s Office, where they will perform Ms. Jinks’s autopsy, has dealt with eight cases in the past few months.”

  The opioid crisis had been in the news lately, but how and why did Petunia have it in her coffee? “I don’t understand. What’re you thinking?” I asked, stealing a glance at him.

  A foreboding expression appeared on his face. “Well, it means one of two things. Petunia Jinks was taking opioids or someone put some form of them in her coffee. We won’t know until her autopsy is complete whether it’s what killed her. For now, we’re calling it a suspicious death.”

  “Someone poisoned her,” I said, my voice trailing off. />
  But who on this planet would want to kill a sweet-spirited librarian?

  Chapter 5

  “There’s absolutely no way Petunia overdosed; she didn’t use drugs,” I said, feeling the need to defend her since she could no longer herself. This is beyond crazy.

  Jackson shrugged. “Well, I didn’t know the victim very well, so I’m not ruling anything out at this point.”

  “I did,” I said. “And she wouldn’t do that. You need to look at Vivienne Peacock, Donny Thomas, and Buzz McCoy. Trust me.”

  Serious eyes held me captive. “I trust you, but I’m a cop, Steely. I also trust the evidence. I trust my gut. And I trust the scene investigation, and the autopsy will provide us with the true story of what happened yesterday. I can’t go on a hunch someone poisoned her and I’m not pointing my finger at anyone. Yet.”

  “Well, I can. Someone murdered the poor woman. Pop says Buzz and Petunia had their differences regarding animals and hunting. At this point, he’d be the top of my suspect list. But then, there’s Vivienne Peacock. She started the stupid petition, and word on the street is she’s been gunning for the librarian position. Donny Thomas is a relatively nice guy and part of the COW. I can’t believe he’d have a reason to kill her, but he was there on the day she died. Maybe he saw something we could use.” I raised an eyebrow. “Or maybe he lost his cool and murdered her.”

  “Now, there’s something your grandmother would say.” One side of his mouth stretched into a half grin. “Deny it all you want, but you are definitely Gertrude Lamarr’s granddaughter.”

  “She would have used another word for cool,” I said. “But yes, I’m outspoken.”

  “And opinionated,” he added.

  “Being raised by two cops, I also feel I have good instincts, most of the time. So, what happened to the coffee mug and its contents?”

  “Good question. We sent it off to another lab in Austin for further screening. Mitch does a good job, but his lab has limited resources and equipment. We’ll get an accurate readout from the lab. They’ll also look for fingerprints and DNA. Although, I’m fairly certain whoever did this wore gloves. They’d be stupid not to. Maybe we’ll get something we can use.”