How to Kennel a Killer

by Cat Clayton

And perform she did.

  Gertie pranced around in Mama’s old boots and leather pants, belting out the lyrics to “Why You’d Come in Here Lookin’ Like That.” All the cowboys in the house hooted and hollered. Near the end of the song, Gertie whipped out something long and red from inside her right boot. I couldn’t make out exactly what it was until she ripped off the tip and struck it. Fire blazed from one end.

  “Oh, shit,” Jackson said.

  “Look out she’s gonna burn the place down!” someone shouted from the room.

  “Is that what I think it is?” I asked.

  “Yep, a road flare,” he replied.

  She whirled and twirled and sang, waving the flare around. If I had to use one word to describe the entire establishment, it would be shock. Nobody acted, so Gertie finished her song, filling the place up with smoke. A look of worry appeared on her face even though her ear-to-ear smile never faltered. She backed up, holding the flare steady.

  Jackson stood. “She has no way to put it out,” he said. “I’ll go get it and take it outside.”

  “Good idea!” I said above the roaring crowd.

  But before he could fight his way through the horde of people, I witnessed Stacia Peacock give Gertie a hard shove. Surprised, Gertie stumbled to the left, lost her footing, and teetered at the edge of the stage. I thought for a few seconds she’d recover, but I was wrong. With an ungraceful twirl and still clutching the lit flare, she fell off the stage, taking wax Dolly down with her.

  “Dolly!” I heard Little Bob roar from back behind the bar as his precious waxed Dolly melted.

  Uh oh, Chiquita!

  You said it, little buddy. I hopped down from my stool to see if I could make my way to the stage, but the patrons lined up elbow to elbow. The dense crowd made it impossible. I climbed back onto the stool on my knees and watched in horror.

  Cuff had crawled out of my bag and stood on the table, barking at all the excitement. What is happening, Chiquita? I cannot see!

  “Gertie’s burning Dolly,” I yelled to him. “This won’t end well!”

  By the time Jackson reached her, Gertie had fought her way off the burning statue. Jackson grabbed the flare and someone’s pitcher of beer, took them to the empty corner behind the stage, and shoved the flare into the amber liquid.

  “Excitement’s over,” Jackson hollered above the crowd. He helped Gertie to her feet.

  “You owe me a pitcher of beer, dude!” someone yelled.

  Buddy tried to calm the room down and announced he’d be back in fifteen minutes. He ushered the other ladies off the opposite side of the stage.

  Little Bob pushed his way through the people and made his way over to Jackson and Gertie. The crowd hushed as Little Bob and Jackson pushed the Dolly statue upright.

  Oh jeez, I thought. The wax blonde hair fared well, but not the face. Unrecognizable, her face was an ooey-gooey mess. Wax Dolly also received melting wounds to the neck, her waist had warped, and one boob appeared flat as a board.

  There were lots of ooohs and aaahs from the room.

  I think Dolly is dead.

  I sighed. “I think you are right, Cuff. You better hop back into my bag in case we have to make a run for it.”

  He did as asked, and for once, with no backtalk.

  Jackson and Little Bob exchanged conversation. I watched as the three of them headed back toward the bar. I carefully slung my bag over my shoulder and made my way back to meet Gertie and Jackson.

  Pouting, Gertie sat on one of the swivel black leather stools. Jackson and Little Bob had their heads together, talking.

  “You okay?” I asked her, patting her shoulder.

  She shrugged. “Do you think I still have a chance to win?”

  “Gertie, you melted Dolly.” I tried not to sound too harsh. “From the way Little Bob is acting, I’m sure he treasured it. We’ll be lucky if he doesn’t have you arrested.” Not your average crime, but you never know in small towns.

  “Other than my little mishap, what did you think of my surprise?” She flashed a smile. Her faded denim blues twinkled. “Snazzy, huh?”

  Seriously? It was as if she had no remorse for ruining someone else’s property. I didn’t know what to think or how to handle Gertie’s lack of empathy. But I knew arguing about it right now wouldn’t help the situation.

  “I thought you did a great job. The singing put you over the top, for sure.” I didn’t mention the flare sent her over the proverbial edge.

  “I thought so, too,” she said. “If it wasn’t for the little Peacock twit, I could have won the contest.” She grabbed a handful of pretzels from a bowl on the counter. “Can I have another beer?”

  During the unfortunate melting of Dolly, I’d forgotten about the shove on stage.

  “Not tonight. I think we’re leaving soon. Gertie, why did Stacia shove you?”

  Brace yourself, Chiquita. This ought to be good.

  “She said the flare was stupid and dangerous. So, I told her to go to hell,” she said with no shame in her game. “And she shoved me.”

  I knew it would be a waste of breath to tell her she owed the swear jar. I couldn’t stand Stacia Peacock for several reasons, but I agreed with her on one thing. The flare had been stupid and dangerous.

  Jackson glanced in our direction and nodded his head toward the front door, his face expressionless. I dragged Gertie toward the door.

  “We’re leaving.”

  “But I won’t get to dance with Jackson,” she said, whining.

  I tugged on her arm. “C’mon. Not kicking up your heels is the least of your worries.”

  I SAFELY TUCKED GERTIE onto the fold-out couch bed, turned on the TV for her, and joined Jackson on the balcony. He’d stopped by to pick up his Yorkie, Taffy. Cuff, Virgil, and Taffy all lounged on the wood floor in the dining room, Cuff’s thoughts whispering in the back of my mind.

  They all wore big, blonde wigs. Lots of makeup. Big boobs. But our Gertie was the best until she caught the fake Dolly on fire. I do not know who this Dolly Parton is, but she must be quite a character.

  “What’re you thinking?” Jackson asked, nudging my arm.

  Actually, I’m listening. But I couldn’t very well admit to hearing my dog’s thoughts. If he only knew. I played it off.

  “You have to ask?” I hoped it didn’t come out as sarcastic as it did in my head. “Tonight. Gertie. And the fact she could’ve ended up in jail for destroying property.” I sighed. “Thanks for keeping her out of trouble. My Pop would’ve killed me.”

  “It was an accident. She didn’t mean to ruin it. I told Little Bob she’d bus tables for him on the weekends to make up for damages,” he said.

  I narrowed my eyes at him. “You didn’t.”

  He fought a grin. “Actually, I did. But Little Bob said not no, but hell no.”

  We both attempted to keep our laughter down so Gertie wouldn’t hear.

  “I can’t believe she took a flare from your dad’s closet,” he said in amazement.

  He didn’t know Gertie very well. “There’s the problem. She doesn’t think.” Ugh. I sounded like Nick. He used to say that about me. “Never mind.”

  Jackson’s fingers grazed my arm. “Hey, it’s okay. I get it,” he said. “But take it from someone who doesn’t have any living grandparents. Treasure her while you still can.”

  Ouch. I couldn’t imagine my life without Gertie. She’d always been there. Sure, she did and said outrageous things, but then again, so did I.

  “You’re right,” I said.

  The late October night was cool, and I shivered when a strong wind whipped around the corner of the building. I hadn’t dressed warm enough to sit out here.

  Jackson scooted his fold-out lawn chair closer to mine. “Cold?” he asked, putting one arm around my shoulders. He pulled me toward him and wrapped his other arm around the front of me.

  “Not anymore.” I nestled against him, inhaling his intoxicating scent. Warm, earthy, with a hint of cinnamon. I turned to f
ace him.

  Dark eyes danced under the moonlight. His lips folded into a sexy grin as he moved in for a kiss. A kiss I felt all the way into my toes. A hand in my hair crushed my lips into his, a tiny moan escaping my throat. My entire body responded to him.

  “Hey, kissy-faces, I’m starving. Y’all never fed me dinner.”

  Gertie’s voice came from behind and I pulled away from Jackson.

  She had terrible timing.

  “Still want to treasure her?” I asked him in a hushed voice.

  He chuckled.

  With raging hormones and flushed cheeks, I jumped up and scurried into the kitchen.

  “What do you feel like eating?” I asked her, enjoying the slight burning sensation on my top lip from Jackson’s scruffy face. He kept his face smooth, but by this time of the day, he already needed a shave again.

  Gertie grinned. “A bacon double cheeseburger from the Burger Palace.” Her yellow duck slippers matched her jammy pants.

  “Can’t you decide on something here?” I grabbed my gray hoodie from the back of one of the dining chairs and pulled it over my head. The open balcony door had brought the temperature of the room down. I shivered.

  “I’ve already looked. All you have are those salty packages of noodles, three cans of ravioli, one box of granola bars, half a package of Oreos, and one sleeve of saltine crackers,” she said, folding her arms over her chest. “You eat like a teenager.”

  She had a point. My pantry needed help. “Did you check the fridge?”

  “Two bottles of kombooka, a head of iceberg lettuce, and half a gallon of milk. And before you ask, there are three pints of Blue Bell ice-cream in the freezer and a bag of frozen corn,” she said. “If we get burgers tonight, I’ll run to the food store and cook tomorrow evening. Deal?”

  I sighed. “It’s called kombucha. And fine. But you have to change. You’re not wearing your pajamas.”

  Jackson sauntered into the kitchen. “What’s kombucha?”

  “It’s an organic-type fizzy drink, and apparently, we’re going for burgers. Gertie’s hungry.”

  “Good with me. I could use some food myself,” Jackson said. “I’ll drive.” He dug his Camaro keys from the front pocket of his jeans.

  “Shotgun!” Gertie yelled, still sporting her yellow ducky pants and slippers.

  WE GRABBED OUR BURGERS, fries, and shakes to-go and headed for the door. At this hour, the Burger Palace swarmed with boisterous teenagers and young adults.

  “Hey, isn’t she the old lady who melted Dolly?” one of them said.

  “From Dolly to duckies,” another one chimed in.

  Everyone at the table snickered.

  Before I knew what happened, Gertie marched right over in her yellow duck slippers. “Y’all have something to say about my performance earlier?”

  I cringed. “Gertie, c’mon.” I motioned for her to follow. She paid me no mind.

  “In some places, the burning of Dolly would be sacrilegious,” one of the table hecklers said.

  “I put it on YouTube,” another one said.

  “I love Dolly Parton. She’s beautiful and talented. I didn’t mean to do it! And, you youngins’ should learn some manners,” Gertie said, setting her hands on her hips.

  “Hey, aren’t you the one who grooms dogs?” one girl asked.

  I nodded, keeping my engagement to a bare minimum. “Gertie, Jackson’s waiting.”

  One hand on the exit door, the other holding a bag of food, Jackson overheard the commotion and turned around. Where some men would be irritated or possibly humiliated, he held his composure and came to the rescue.

  “Yeah, she’s the one who caught the bank robber! With a dog leash!” one said. “She leashed a thief!”

  The whole table and a few kids nearby erupted in laughter.

  My face burned with embarrassment.

  “Quit being assholes,” Jackson said to them. “Let’s go, Gertie. Steely.”

  “Watch who you’re calling an asshole, dude. I’m the mayor’s son,” one guy said.

  Jackson sauntered over to the table, took out his wallet, and flashed them his badge. “Then, I recommend you act like the mayor’s son, dude, and show some respect to your elders, or the first thing I do Monday morning is call your father and give him a full report of your behavior. Now, I suggest you apologize to Mrs. Lamarr.” He loomed over the table. I couldn’t see his face, but I’m certain it wasn’t pleasant.

  Ten pairs of eyes blinked up at him. With reluctance, the one who claimed to be the mayor’s son apologized to Gertie.

  I nudged her. “What do you say?”

  “Eat my ...”

  “Gertie!” I said, nearly swallowing my tongue.

  “I was gonna say shorts. Gosh,” she said.

  Jackson slowly turned around, and I could see he fought back a dimpled grin. He lowered his eyes at her and pointed to the table.

  “What do you say, Gertrude?”

  She tapped a slippered-foot and folded her arms over her chest. “Fine. I accept your apology.” She twirled around in her ducky pants and waddled over to the door. “Y’all comin’? Those burgers and fries won’t eat themselves.”

  Later, while Gertie snored on the couch bed, I walked Jackson downstairs and out to his car.

  Jackson opened the driver’s side of the black Camaro and Taffy hopped in the passenger seat. His cell phone dinged, and he retrieved it from his front pocket. He swiped it open and appeared to be reading a text message. His dark eyebrows knitted together as he scrolled his thumb on the screen, a flash of anger in his eyes. He swiped it closed and shoved the phone back into his pocket, a fierceness radiated in his expression.

  I guessed the message probably had something to do with Petunia’s murder investigation, although he remained quiet.

  He sank into the front seat and peered up at me. He looked exhausted.

  “Try to get some rest,” I said.

  “Okay, thanks. I will,” he said. “I have an early shift tomorrow.” He pulled his seat belt across his chest and clicked it in.

  “Okay, well, good night.” I offered him a smile.

  “Night,” he said and pulled his car door shut.

  I stood there while he drove out of the back lot, watching his taillights illuminate the darkness in a red glow. After he’d read the text message, his demeanor had changed drastically, like how a Texas fall day can drop from eighty degrees to fifty in a matter of seconds when a cold front blows in.

  I had the distinct feeling Jackson had received bad news. But what?

  Chapter 7

  Sunday mornings are for hitting the snooze button. Except for today. I heard the kitchen commotion and rolled over, moaning. An early riser, Gertie perked a pot of coffee before the sun rose.

  Chiquita? You awake?

  “Unfortunately.” I squeezed my burning eyes shut.

  Gotta pee. Cuff pawed my shoulder. You know if you put in a doggy door in the back, I can let myself in and out.

  “Not safe. Can’t you wait?”

  It is not like I will run away. And no. I cannot wait.

  “Okay, okay. I’m getting up.” I threw back the teal duvet. I dangled my legs off the side of the bed and gathered my wits. “Give me five minutes.”

  Cuff curled up on my pillow. I think I can hold it.

  I took care of my own necessities in the bathroom and pulled on a plum hoodie and a pair of skinny jeans and stumbled into the kitchen. Cuff trotted behind me and sat down next to a pair of my tennis shoes by the downstairs door.

  “Good mornin’, Sunshine!” Gertie tweeted from the breakfast nook.

  I loved the hexagon windows in the room, the cushioned seating adding the perfect touch.

  “Morning.” I yawned. “How is it possible you can be so chipper at the crack of dawn?” I grabbed a coffee mug from the cabinet and poured myself a brewed dose of motivation. It smelled divine. Snickerdoodle, my favorite.

  “Virgil had to go out early.” She snorted. “Besides, I
wasn’t up late last night smooching on a hot guy. I went to bed at a decent hour,” she said, peering at me over her blue-framed readers. She wore a fluffy yellow robe tied around her waist. The Pleasant Hills Banner, Sunday edition, laid spread out in front of her on the dinette table. She glanced at me, then the paper, and snatched it off the table. She folded it closed and set it on the counter.

  Odd.

  “Want pancakes?” she asked, grinning.

  I never turned down pancakes. “After I take Cuff out for a walk.”

  “Hurry, I’m starving,” Gertie said as I jogged down the steps.

  Cuff and I had walked two blocks and were on our way back to the shop when my cell phone rang. It was a Houston area code number.

  “Hello?”

  “Steels, it’s me,” Pop said, his tone urgent.

  “Where are you calling from?”

  Cuff lifted his leg on a lamppost. Aaahh... this is how I spell relief.

  “My hotel room,” he said. “I wanted to let you know we found her.”

  Stoney? “Oh, my God.” I stopped in my tracks, holding the phone to my ear. “Where? Is she okay?”

  Pop sniffled. I could tell he was crying.

  “Pop?”

  “She’s in the hospital getting checked out. Physically, she’s fine. But,” his voice trailed off. “I’m in a state of shock. I really thought I’d come out here, and we’d hit a brick wall. I never thought we’d find her.” His voice cracked on the last part.

  Although fearful of his answer, I needed more information. “You said she’s physically okay. What did you mean?” I spotted a wooden bench and sat down. I put the phone on speaker and set it on my lap.

  “I don’t know where to begin,” Pop said.

  Cuff wandered over, peered up at me, cocking his head. What is it, Chiquita?

  I stared at the phone, waiting for Pop to continue.

  “We found her in an apartment building on the southeast side of Houston. There were others, mostly younger females living there, too. It um... it appears she’s been through a lot. I could tell she recognized me, but she had no big reaction to seeing me. She just stood there, motionless, confused. She didn’t want to leave. It broke my heart,” he said.