“Yeah,” I agreed. “Pick on someone your own size.”
The dogs started barking again.
Colt said, “So much for our nice, peaceful walk.” He apologized to people walking by for the noise and went to retrieve the dogs.
While he was leaning over the two dogs, fastening the leashes to their collars, I noticed something on the back of Colt's shirt. Dark spots, like dried blood spatter. It was exactly the kind of evidence that might be left in a hard-to-see spot following an angry altercation involving stab wounds. When the assailant raises the knife in between stabs, a stream of blood flies off the blade, flying to places where it might not be noticed.
“Hey, Colt,” I said, leaning forward to look at the dark spots. “How did you manage to...” I stopped myself from finishing the sentence.
I wasn't a homicide detective. I was a private investigator. My domain included weighing bags of garbage and serving summonses. Not tricking killers into making confessions—never mind that I'd been successful at that task before.
I had to think fast and figure out what to do. Shifting gears hurt my head as much as my heart. I didn't want to believe what I was seeing, but there it was.
If Colt Canuso was walking around town wearing evidence from Michael Sweet's homicide, it wasn't up to me to trick a confession out of him right now.
I had to be smart, no matter how I felt about Colt. If he was a killer, and he knew that I knew, I could be in danger.
Amidst some excited face-licking, he finally got the two dogs onto their leashes and under control. He glanced back at me and asked, “How did I manage to what?”
I put on a steady smile. “How did you manage to get such lovely dogs? Are they from the local rescue place, or did they come from a breeder?”
“Long story,” he said. “One of the tenants at a rental property we own couldn't make rent, so he gave me the dogs in lieu of payment.”
“That's not a long story.”
“He tried to give me his sister first.”
“Oh.” I forced a laugh. The truth was, I could barely follow the conversation, because my mind was screaming about blood spatter and chain of evidence.
He frowned at me. “Everything okay? You look like you're still freezing, even with my jacket on.”
“Low blood sugar,” I said, my mouth dry and gummy. “I'm wishing I had that root beer right about now.”
“Then we'll go back to the cafe and get another one. This time, we should actually drink it.” He raised a finger at me. “No take-backsies. You promised to share a root beer with me, and I'll be damned if I don't hold you to your promise.”
“Uh,” I said weakly. I didn't want to sit across from Colt Canuso, but if he drove me directly back to the gift shop, he'd be gone. He might even notice the stains on his shirt and get rid of the evidence before the police could track him down. I had to agree to going back to the cafe with him if I wanted to keep him in one place.
I pulled the borrowed jacket tighter around myself. As I did, I looked down at the cuffs of the jacket. Was that another dark blood spatter stain, near the cuff button?
Chapter 25
The waitress at the cafe, slots-loving Melody, found it funny we'd come back an hour later for more root beer, considering we hadn't touched our drink the first time.
“Let's splurge on two glasses this time,” Colt said, grinning. “With ice cream.”
“Two root beer floats,” Melody said. “Can I bring you something to eat, honey? We've got those curly fries you love.”
Colt rubbed his hands together and looked at me. “That walk in the park really fired up my appetite. Two orders of curly fries, and a burger for me, hold the pickle. How about you, Stormy?”
I didn't feel hungry at all, but I ordered the chicken strips anyway.
I heard little Sophie in my head, telling me chicken nuggets were practically vegetarian. Normally, it would have made me smile, but seeing as I was sitting across the table from the man who might have killed her father, it only turned my stomach.
I took off Colt's jacket, handed it back to him, and excused myself to use the washroom.
When I returned to the table, he'd already started eating his root beer float. He made a joke about how my own float would be in danger if I left the table again.
I forced a laugh and kept my hands folded on my lap so I didn't nervously rearrange the cutlery.
After a moment of silence, he said, “They need to follow the money.”
“Who? What money?”
He swished the air with one hand. “I can take a hint. If I keep talking about the Sweets, you'll say I'm gossipy.”
“You got my curiosity,” I said. “Finish the thought.”
“Samantha Sweet is about to come into a few bucks. Rumor is, a million dollars. It might not be the sort of cash that would go far in a big city, but this is Misty Falls. She's going to be set for life.”
“Are you talking about some sort of insurance policy? That seems a bit high to me.”
“Mikey valued himself highly.”
“That he did,” I said.
Colt's dark eyes practically blazed. “Can you keep a secret?” He gestured for me to lean in. I did, and he continued in a hushed tone. “That morning in the house, Samantha offered to split the cash with me if I took care of the old man. She was going to hire a professional, but she figured why not get someone who'd enjoy the job?”
I pulled back and crossed my arms. He had to be messing with me.
Colt laughed and smacked the table, open handed. “Gotcha! Oh, Stormy. The look on your face is priceless. I wish I'd taken a picture.”
“You shouldn't joke about stuff like that,” I said through gritted teeth.
“Or what? Are you going to have me arrested for making jokes in poor taste?” He looked out the window at the parking lot, where a marked police cruiser was pulling into a spot.
“Come on,” he said. “Would it kill you to lighten up? I've got a news flash for you about this whole business we call life. None of us is getting out of it alive.”
I reached for my root beer float. I could feel my hand trembling with nervousness, so I didn't dare lift the glass. I slid it toward myself, leaving a trail of condensation on the shiny table. I leaned forward, closed my eyes, and sipped the ice-cream-infused root beer.
When I opened my eyes, the police were there, asking Colt if he would cooperate with their investigation and provide them with the shirt he was wearing, as well as his suit jacket.
Colt gripped the edge of the table with both hands as though it might fly away. He gave me a bewildered look. “What should I do?”
“Give them what they want,” I said with a detached coolness.
The police officers who'd responded to my report were two men I wasn't very familiar with, which was somewhat of a relief. I didn't want to face Dempsey or Wiggles or especially Milano.
They asked Colt if he would come to the station to answer a few questions.
Again, he gave me a bewildered look. “Should I go? My lawyer told me not to talk to anyone.”
My stomach flip-flopped. He hadn't yet figured out that I'd been the one who called the police; I'd done so on my trip to the washroom.
“Call your lawyer on the way over,” I said.
“Okay.” He pulled his vehicle keys from his pocket and slid them to me across the table. “Would you be a pal and babysit my girls for as long as this takes?”
I wrapped my sweaty fingers around the keys, which were still warm from his pocket.
“Sure,” I said, my voice croaking.
The police started taking him away. Colt kept pulling back, fussing about paying for the meal, and worried about giving me instructions for what to feed the dogs.
I nodded and clenched my jaw through all of it.
“Everything's going to be okay,” I kept saying.
Melody and the rest of the staff at the restaurant watched from behind the bar counter with wide eyes.
I had to
keep reminding myself to breathe. I felt as though I'd been holding my breath since seeing the spots on Colt's shirt at the park.
After, once I'd paid for the uneaten meals and let myself into Colt's truck to get the dogs, I finally let go.
I put my face in my hands and cried.
Chapter 26
“Listen, I'm not happy about this situation, either.”
Jeffrey flattened his ears back against his head and hissed at me. I was on my tip-toes, trying to pry him out of the space he'd wedged himself into, which was the negligible area between the top of the refrigerator and the bottom of the upper cabinets. The more I tried to get him out, the further back he wedged his little gray body.
“They're nice dogs,” I said. “Very well behaved. I'm sure they wouldn't eat you.”
I turned and looked at Echo and Juno, whose names I had learned from the tags on their collars. The two huskies were sitting on the kitchen floor and watching the top of the fridge with a patience and focus that would make any vigilant private investigator jealous.
“They're probably just curious,” I said to Jeffrey. “Curious about what kind of squeak sound you'd make if they got hold of you. Get it? Because they think you're a squeakie toy.”
Jeffrey took a break from hissing at me to make a moaning sound straight out of a horror movie about exorcisms.
“Are you sure you want to stay up there? I could move you to the bedroom, or you could go skulk around in the basement for a while.”
More otherworldly moaning.
“Okay, buddy. I hear you. It's been a long day. Maybe you can make a getaway if I distract Echo and Juno by taking them for a walk.”
At the sound of me saying the word walk, both dogs let out happy whimpers.
That sealed the deal. I was taking the huskies for a walk, heading straight out again not ten minutes after getting home.
As I turned away from the fridge, I saw stars floating in my vision.
Dehydration, I realized. I'd been feeling shaky for hours, ever since I'd spotted the stains on Colt's shirt. That had been midafternoon, and now it was—I checked the time on the stove and then looked out the window, because I couldn't believe it—7:15 pm, twilight.
I poured a glass of water, downed it, and then another. The dogs were on high alert, watching every move I made. One of them walked over to the front door, whimpered, and gave me a heartbreaking look, complete with the saddest blue eyes. And here I thought Jeffrey was the master of the guilt trip. My cat had nothing on this fluffy dog with the heart-shaped white face.
I rummaged in the cupboard for something I could eat while walking. We were out of granola bars, but we did have crackers. I grabbed a three-quarters-full sleeve, tucked it under my armpit, and started putting the leashes back on the dogs.
Unfortunately for me, Echo and Juno knew a rookie when they saw one. When it came to dogs, I was a rookie. Echo moved toward me in what appeared to be an affectionate nuzzle, but then she deftly nosed the closed end of the sleeve of crackers. The plastic sleeve pushed through my armpit and fell. The other dog, Juno, snapped the bag from midair and then shook it like she was snapping a weasel's neck. Crushed bits of whole-wheat crackers sprayed everywhere.
But I didn't have to worry about sweeping up the crumbled mess, because the dogs lapped up every last crumb within seconds. And then they sat on their fluffy butts and quietly gazed up at me with the sweetest expressions, as if to say, more? Please?
“I would be mad if you weren't so cute,” I said. “Let's go for that walk, straight to the store to get you some dog food. Assuming you haven't been too spoiled by Jeffrey's tasty cat kibbles.”
Juno and Echo licked their lips. They'd been distracted by the cat food just long enough for Jeffrey to get himself on top of the fridge.
Juno kept glancing over at the dark space above the refrigerator, which had two shining eyes and moaned like an old ghost.
I shook my finger at the dogs. “No. I will not leave you alone in a room with Jeffrey on ground level,” I said. “Not after I saw what you did to those crackers. Jeffrey is not a squeaky toy.”
I finished getting their leashes on and scrawled a quick note for Jessica. She wasn't home yet, as she was working a late shift at the Olive Grove.
I wrote: I'm out walking two dogs. If you hear a moaning sound from the fridge, it's not broken. Jeffrey's hiding on top. If he comes out, please tell him I'm sorry.
With the dog leashes firmly in hand, I stepped outside with the girls.
I noticed there was a light on inside Logan's side of the duplex. My hopes rose and then sunk just as quickly. He wasn't home. He'd just left the light on inside his kitchen before leaving that morning. I hadn't seen him the night before, either, as he'd come home and gone straight to bed by the time Kyle drove me back after the movie.
I checked my phone again. My handsome lawyer boyfriend hadn't updated me since his last message, two hours ago, when he'd warned me he might be working late yet again on a last-minute brief.
He didn't know about my meeting with Colt earlier that day. I hadn't burdened him yet with the whole situation. Mostly because every time I tried to type out how terrible it had felt for me to turn in an old friend, the waterworks had started up anew. No wonder I was so dehydrated.
The dogs, however, knew nothing about what was going on. As far as they were concerned, their master was at an extra-long meditation class, getting in touch with his pacifistic feelings. The huskies tugged on the leash for me to walk faster, so I walked.
With each block, I felt my head becoming more clear. It wasn't that I had a better perspective on everything that had happened. It was more that it all seemed so distant and unimportant. Right now, there was a breeze, and so many smells in the air.
Whatever Colt Canuso did or didn't do, it was between him, the police, and his lawyers now.
I would carry on with my life.
I pushed away my worries and focused only on the dogs, who were enjoying the moment.
Dusk was approaching, and streetlamps were switching on overhead. I had to stop and check the street signs a few times so I didn't wind up lost. I wasn't far from the house where I'd lived for nearly a year, yet I didn't know this neighborhood very well.
I should get out and walk more, I thought.
The people I encountered kept smiling at me and waving hello to the dogs. A few people stopped to pet the girls and ask what breed they were.
People in Misty Falls are always friendly, but they'd never been as friendly as they were that night, when I was walking two adorable husky sisters.
I should get a dog, I thought. Or two.
My happy thoughts were shattered by a truck skidding to a stop on the street next to me. The driver's side door opened, and a petite woman with long, black hair pulled up in a ponytail jumped out.
“There you are,” she said angrily, and she started cursing me out. With every name in the book.
Oh, no.
Trigger Canuso.
I hadn't seen her since she was a young girl, but I recognized her by the twist of her crooked chin and nose. Trigger was Colt's baby sister, named after the palomino horse made famous in Western films starring Roy Rogers.
Trigger had been born with hemifacial microsomia, a genetic condition that caused tissue on one side of her face to develop more slowly. It gave her the appearance of scowling angrily, even when she wasn't.
However, based on the word choice she was now using to describe me, the scowl on her face was absolutely real.
The dogs greeted her with happy tail wags.
“Trigger, calm down,” I said.
She screeched back, “Why should I calm down?!”
Trigger had an excellent point. Her brother had been taken in for questioning on a homicide case. By now, he would have figured out I'd been the one to call in the report about the blood spots on his clothes. Then he must have told his sister. And now she was here to do grievous bodily harm to me.
Or not.
She was a tiny thing, barely five feet tall. She was, as the casino security guard had described her brother, a little dog who barks a lot.
“You're right,” I said. “Why be calm? This whole deal truly is messed up. All I can say is, I'm really sorry.”
“Why'd you send the cops after Colt? You know he wouldn't hurt nobody!”
“They just need to rule him out,” I said. “They have to be careful.”
The dogs stood between us, their tails wagging more slowly now as they looked from one of us to the other. They probably didn't know what to think. Trigger was their friend, but she was yelling. I was their new friend, since I'd given them crackers. Who were they more loyal to?
I could relate to the dogs, because I didn't know whose side I was on, either. Especially now that I saw the girl, and memories of her as a child came back to me. Trigger had been a pint-sized brat when I'd been in high school. She'd followed her big brother around town on the weekends like a puppy. I'd always enjoyed seeing her. She'd shaken me down to buy her a chocolate bar or a burger more than once.
Inside me, I had a rush of conflicting feelings. She was still the grubby-faced child I'd taken under my wing. She was in her twenties now, but she was still so small, and the memory of her as a kid persisted in my mind. I wanted to walk up to her and hug her, but I knew better. You don't hug a rattlesnake.
Instead, I said, “Trigger, I'm sorry.”
She spat on the ground. “Don't you dare say my name like you know me! You don't know me! You don't know my family!”
Juno whimpered, which made Echo whimper as well.
We both looked down at the dogs.
“They haven't had dinner yet,” I said. “They worked up an appetite chasing my cat onto the refrigerator.” I held out the leashes. “You did come here to get the dogs, right?”
“Yeah,” she said.
She took the leashes from my hand, still glaring at me. The huskies began licking her free hand, and I saw the rage drain out of her.
“This is so messed up,” she said, dropping in a few swear words as she patted the dogs.
“Your brother needs your support,” I said. “No matter what.”
Death of a Double Dipper Page 15