I tried the door and found it to be locked. Cursing under my breath, I peered in through the windows, but the blinds were closed, obscuring my vision. Even if I could see through them clearly, the crashes sounded as if they were coming from farther into the house, likely from upstairs, if I was hearing right.
“The back,” I muttered, as I hurried around the side of the house to the back door. Fearing it was going to be locked like the front, I tried it, and was relieved to find the door unlocked. I stepped inside as another series of barks and yips came from upstairs. It was followed by a thud I hoped wasn’t someone throwing heavy objects at the dog.
I started toward the stairs—which were situated between the dining room and living room—but paused halfway through the kitchen. I took a quick look around, and then spotting the knife block, I grabbed the butcher’s knife. Thusly armed, I headed for the stairs.
Since Timothy’s house was an old farmhouse built sometime in the early 1900s, if not before, it creaked with every subtle shift of weight, making my ascent sound like a chorus of groans and squeaks. Thankfully, the intruder was making even more noise, and with Stewie now barking at a near constant clip, I probably could have run up the stairs unnoticed.
The stairwell was hot and suffocating, the stairs themselves thin and weathered. There was no railing, just two walls that felt far too close together, making the stairwell narrow and claustrophobic. My left shoulder rubbed against the faded wallpaper as I tried to peer up the stairs and discern where the noises were coming from.
The distinct sound of a drawer opening and closing clued me in. The intruder was in the far back room, which would be behind me as I reached the top of the stairs. I hurried up the last three steps, and spun, knife held out before me. I was trembling, mentally cursing myself for not calling Detective Cavanaugh before entering the house. I wasn’t a fighter. If I was about to face off with Timothy Fuller’s killer, I was going to be in some serious trouble.
A bathroom was off to my left. A small storage room to my right. Both rooms were a disaster, their contents tossed on the floor. Straight ahead was the slightly open door. A shadow passed before it, and then vanished. Stewie let loose with another set of yips.
I crept down the hall, wincing at every creaking step. A cascade of thumps masked my progress. It sounded like someone had dumped a full shelf of books onto the floor.
I sidled up to the door, back pressed against the wall so that if whoever was inside the room were to look, they wouldn’t see me. Using my free hand, I reached out and gently pushed open the door, just enough so I could see inside.
Stewie was standing in the corner, facing a bed that probably hadn’t been slept in for years. Drawers from the dresser were tossed in a pile, their contents spilled out in a heap. A board had been pulled from the wall, exposing the slats beneath. Beside that was a bookshelf, now void of books. They were currently scattered across the floor in a jumbled mess of bent pages and torn covers.
And kneeling, arm reaching beneath the bed, was Timothy Jr.
“What are you doing?” I demanded, stepping into the room. The knife was clutched with both hands now, just in case he came at me. I doubted I could bring myself to use it, but I hoped the threat of it would keep him at bay if the thought crossed his mind.
Junior jerked, smacking his head on the bottom of the bed. His hand immediately went up to rub at the spot, but instead, he cracked his knuckles on the wall, right above the gap he’d made. He cursed, crawled backward, and then got to his feet. The glare he gave me could have curdled milk.
“You,” he spat. And then, to Stewie, who was yapping up a storm. “Shut up!”
“Don’t talk to him like that.”
“I’ll do what I want.” Junior rubbed at his head. “And what I want to do, is call the cops.”
“I was thinking the same thing,” I said, lowering the knife, but only a little. I still didn’t trust the man, though he wasn’t making any move toward me.
Stewie lunged toward the distracted Junior, who scuttled out of the way as if he were being attacked by a Doberman. Stewie didn’t bite him. Instead, he let loose a series of threatening barks, bouncing on his little legs with each one.
Junior made a frustrated sound. He looked angry enough to kick, so, taking my chances, I dropped the knife and went over to pick up the enraged Pomeranian. Stewie snapped at me once in surprise, and then let me pick him up. As soon as the dog was in my arms, I took two quick strides away from Junior.
“Take him,” he said, waving a dismissive hand at me. “The damned thing is useless.”
“You were scaring him,” I said, looking around the room. It was completely trashed. The closet was hanging open, the clothes having been pulled from it and thrown into a pile. Everything had been removed, every box or door opened. Nothing was left untouched.
“I was trying to find . . .” He glanced at me and glowered. “Never you mind what I was looking for.”
“Your dad’s money?” I asked, petting the dog to calm him. Stewie’s eyes never left Junior. I could feel the tension running through him. Every muscle was tense, and he trembled ever so slightly.
Junior’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know about that?”
“Everyone in town does,” I said. “Is that why you came to Grey Falls? To look for your father’s money? You should be ashamed of yourself.”
“I deserve it,” Junior said, sitting heavily on the bed as if exhausted. He kicked at a pile of Timothy’s things. “I put up with that man all my life, and what do I have to show for it? An old house with a bunch of junk I’ll be lucky to sell for more than scraps? What a waste.”
Stewie calmed as soon as Junior sat, though the tension was still there. I had a feeling if I were to set him down, he’d bolt from the room and hide.
“What makes you think the money is here?” I asked. “He might have hidden it somewhere else.” I remembered what Evelyn had said about walking in on Timothy hiding the money all those years ago. It seemed likely he’d be more careful about where he hid it after getting caught once before.
“Where else would it be?” Junior said. “He rarely left the house. And when he did, he had that nurse of his with him, so it wasn’t like he’d have an opportunity to hide it anywhere else.”
Which was all true, though I did wonder how Junior knew that. Had he been keeping a close watch on his dad, hoping the old man would slip and reveal his hiding place? I wouldn’t put it past him. “He might not have hidden anything at all,” I said. “He could have spent it years ago.”
Junior came up off the bed, startling both me and Stewie. The dog instantly started barking, and I took two quick steps back toward the door, kicking the knife with my heel in the process. It slid out into the hall, where it bounced off the wall, to come to rest near the stairs.
“He hid it all right,” he said. “And I’m going to find it. Unless . . .” He strode toward me, eyes dangerous slits. “Did you take it? You were the one who broke in here, weren’t you?”
“Of course, I didn’t,” I said, backing out of the room. Stewie was struggling to be put down, but I refused to release him. Maybe if Junior came at me, I would set him free. The Pomeranian might be small, but his teeth were sharp.
“The nurse, then,” Junior said. He looked wildly around the room, like Meredith might be hiding somewhere inside it. He looked unhinged. “She had to have known about it.” He strode forward, past me, toward the stairs. He stepped over the knife like he didn’t even see it.
“Where are you going?” I asked, hurrying after him.
“I’m going to find her and make her tell me what she did with the money.” Junior started down the stairs. “You can have the dog. It didn’t know.”
“Didn’t know what?” I asked. He descended quickly, while I went down them slowly. Not only did I have a squirming dog in my arms, but I wasn’t used to the steep decline. He’d already reached the bottom before I was two steps down. “Junior, wait!”
Surprisingly, he
did. He spun around, ran his fingers through his hair. His eyes were wild, unfocused. I wondered if he’d been sleeping, or if the stress of everything was getting to him. “I thought the dog would recognize the spot,” he said. “So, I brought him to sniff out the cash. All he did was bark and bark and bark. Useless!”
“Maybe he didn’t know what you wanted,” I said, though I wasn’t sure why I was feeding into the delusion. Even if Stewie knew where Timothy had hidden his money, how was he to know that Junior brought him over to find it? Or even, what to do if he did know. Dogs were smart, but not that smart.
Junior merely smiled, baring his teeth in a wolf’s grin. “Sure, he didn’t. The mutt is just like the old man.”
“Is that why you wanted him?” I asked, finally reaching the bottom of the stairs. “To find the money for you?”
“Not at first,” Junior said. “But Alexis told me about a story she read where a dog helped find its missing owner. She thought Dad’s dog could do something similar and help us find the money.”
That’s insane, I thought, but wisely kept it to myself. Maybe with training, Stewie could have helped. “The money will pop up,” I said. “You don’t need to use a dog for that.” Or tear the house down, but I kept that to myself too.
“I won’t,” Junior said, sneering. “Take him. Give him to someone who cares.” He spun away.
“Wait!” I said, but this time, he kept walking. “You can’t go after Meredith.”
He glanced back. “And why not?”
“Do you really think she’d tell you if she took the money?”
That caused him to come to an abrupt stop. I very nearly walked into him.
“She’d have to,” he said, but he didn’t sound convinced.
“If she took it, she’s probably already hidden it somewhere. And if she did take it,” I said, stressing the words, “she has to know that the police might think she killed your dad for it. She won’t tell anyone, not even you.”
Junior’s jaw tightened. “So, what? I let her have it?”
“No,” I said. “But you wait it out. If you go pounding on her door now, you might spook her. She could pack her things, grab the money, and leave town. If she does that, you’ll never see her, or the money, again.”
He huffed and clenched his fist as if he might punch the wall. Thankfully, he just stood there, scowling. “Maybe it was that son of yours,” he said, but without conviction.
“Ben had nothing to do with your dad’s death. He didn’t steal the money either. He never had the chance.”
Junior closed his eyes, seemed to center himself. When he looked at me again, he looked less crazed. “Fine. I’ll leave her be for now. But don’t think I won’t be telling the cops about my suspicions.”
“Go right ahead,” I said. “If she did kill your dad, or stole the money, then she should be caught.” And if it helped exonerate Ben of the crime, all the better.
I was also considering calling the cops to let them know what I saw here today. I wasn’t above pointing Detective Cavanaugh Junior’s way. With the way Stewie looked at him, I could tell the dog hated him with a passion.
I kept thinking back to what Ray had said about how Stewie was protective of Timothy. If he saw who killed his owner, didn’t it make sense that he’d want to go after them? So far, Junior was the only person Stewie seemed to genuinely hate. Coincidence? Or did the Pomeranian’s wrath point to the killer?
Junior walked over to the sink and grabbed a plastic cup from the counter next to it. He filled it halfway, and then downed the water in one swallow. He turned back to me, wiping his chin.
“Why are you still here?” he asked.
I edged toward the back door, dog in hand. “So, there’s nothing else?” I asked, even though he hadn’t asked me in. I was just glad he wasn’t going to call the cops. Yet.
“No. Go.” He waved a dismissive hand. “And take the mutt. He’s only given me a migraine.”
I didn’t hesitate. Afraid Junior might change his mind about the dog, I hurried out the back door.
Junior followed me out, locking the door behind him. I hoped it meant he was done searching for the day, not that he planned on ignoring my advice and was going to go after Meredith.
I was almost to the edge of the house when curiosity got the better of me. I turned to find Junior walking past the barn, toward the alley, where I assumed he’d parked.
“Did you check the barn for the money?” I asked him.
He never broke stride, nor did he answer. I, for all intents and purposes, could have been invisible.
I returned to my van, which was still in Selena’s driveway, wondering why he hadn’t parked out front. Unless he’d walked from wherever he was staying, it appeared Junior had parked out back, car hidden by the barn where hardly anyone could see it. Just like the person Selena had seen last night.
I settled the Pomeranian into a carrier, gave him a few treats to calm him, and then jumped into the driver’s seat. Junior was acting erratic, secretive. I wasn’t sure that made him a killer, but it didn’t do him any favors.
As I started the engine, a car pulled into the driveway beside me. Jason Maxwell got out, brow furrowed, as he watched me back out. I pretended not to see him, lest I lay into him for unwittingly hurting Ben.
I’ll have to face the Selena situation eventually. But not right now.
“Let’s get you checked out,” I said, glancing back toward Stewie.
He gave a yap in what I took for assent, and then, we were on our way.
21
“Aww! Who’s our little friend?” Trinity asked, coming around the counter, a big grin on her face.
“Stewie,” I said. The Pomeranian was leashed, and looked nervous, which wasn’t much of a surprise considering where we were. He knew what happened at a vet’s office. “He was Timothy Fuller’s dog.”
Trinity’s eyes went soft. “The man who died?” When I nodded, she dropped to her knees. “You poor thing.” She rubbed behind Stewie’s ears. The dog, of course, soaked it in.
“Is Manny free?” I asked, smiling. Sometimes, I was a bit cynical when it came to Trinity and her good looks, but she was good with the animals. Take away the snapping gum and phone addiction, and she might make a great veterinary assistant someday.
“He’s finishing up with Ms. Keller’s pooch,” Trinity said, not taking her eyes off Stewie. The dog was butter in her hand. “He shouldn’t be much longer.”
“Thanks, Trinity.”
I left Stewie in Trinity’s capable hands and walked past the exam room doors. It appeared Manny was the only one currently with an animal. Ray was likely in the back somewhere, running tests or cleaning up. I didn’t think any animals were currently being housed overnight, but that could have changed.
Manny was in exam room two. I waved through the window when he glanced up from Cathy Keller’s miniature poodle, Winnie. He returned the gesture, and shot me a smile, which caused Cathy to glance back. When she saw me, she practically beamed, before leaving both Winnie and Manny, to join me.
“Liz!” she said, giving me a quick hug. “It’s so good to see you.”
“Cathy. How’s retirement treating you?”
Cathy patted at her curly white hair. “I should have done it much earlier, if that tells you anything.” Cathy had been an elementary school teacher since I could remember. She was in her eighties, but moved and acted like a woman half that. I’m not sure if it was her diet, or hanging around all those little kids, but she seemed to have found the fountain of youth.
“I think we can all agree with the sentiment,” I said.
She laughed. “How are Ben and Amelia? I haven’t seen either of them in ages.”
“Amelia’s good,” I said, deflating. “Ben is, well . . .” How do you explain to someone’s old elementary school teacher that their favorite student was now in jail for a crime they didn’t commit?
“I hope it’s nothing serious,” Cathy said, noting my hesitation. “Ben wa
s such a good boy. Why, I remember that time when he glued his hand to his desk and panicked because he thought he’d be stuck there forever.” She laughed, a full-bodied laugh, that shook her entire frame.
“He’ll be okay,” I said, not wanting to bring her down with tales of murder and money. I was actually surprised she didn’t know, considering it was likely all over the news by now. “Just a little bit of trouble.”
“Oh, dear. Is there anything I can do to help?”
Before I could answer, the door to exam room two opened.
“Mrs. Keller, Winnie’s ready to go,” Manny said, poking his head through the doorway.
“Oh! Thank you, dear.” She turned back to me. “It was good seeing you, Liz. We should all get together sometime and catch up.”
“I’d like that,” I said, and I meant it.
She went back into the exam room, gathered up Winnie, and then with an animated wave goodbye, she left.
While Manny cleaned up after the poodle, I retrieved Stewie from Trinity. She was practically lying on the floor by now, playing with the old dog, who was eating up the attention. When she saw me coming, she groaned, and kissed the Pomeranian on his head.
“See you soon,” she promised him, before returning to her spot behind the desk.
I took Stewie to exam room two. Manny had just finished wiping down the table with a disinfecting wipe. He glanced up when we entered.
“Who do we have here?” he asked. When he saw the Pomeranian, his eyes widened. “Is this who I think it is?”
“It is,” I said, setting Stewie down carefully on the table. “Ray said Stewie has been here before, so you should have his records on file.”
“Fantastic,” Manny said, stroking the dog to earn his trust, while looking into his eyes, likely checking for signs of disease. “So, you managed to get him after all.”
“I did, though it wasn’t easy.” I gave him a quick rundown of what had happened, including why Junior had been so keen on keeping the dog around.
“That’s crazy,” Manny said. “He’s not trained for that sort of thing.”
The Pomeranian Always Barks Twice Page 18