She looked at the cup and shuddered. “I’d rather drink a raw egg and kale smoothie.” She pushed the cup away. “Have the investigators discovered the reason for the fire?”
“Nothing firm. They do think it was deliberately set.” He wondered how much he should dump on her all at once. She did look back to fighting form so he went on, “There were no batteries in the smoke detector.”
“Bastard.” Anger flashed across her face as she headed out of the kitchen to collect her duffel bag.
Sam went for his keys. “The strange part was that the fire was started on top of the window air conditioner like the arsonist wanted to keep it contained.”
Puzzlement darkened her expression. “Like he didn’t mean to kill me, just to smoke me out?”
“Something like that.” Sam collected his jacket off the coat rack by the door. “Sparks from the fire appeared to have lit the old wooden siding and caused the fire to spread.”
They walked out and he locked the door behind them.
“I’m seriously confused here,” she said, and started down the porch steps. “Why would a sniper/arsonist play these games?”
Sam skipped the sidewalk and crossed the lawn to the driveway. He paused by the driver’s side door. “That’s what we’re here for. To find out.
That didn’t seem to satisfy Jess. Her eyes narrowed. “Whatever his motive is doesn’t really matter. When we find this guy, I’m going to make him wish his parents had never met.”
* * *
Wheeler drove her home and they both walked around the garage. The small building was a complete loss. The only item still recognizable was the old couch she’d purchased at a garage sale—the frame anyway—and the kitchen appliances. Her anger grew. She’d been saving for a house, so her stuff was inexpensive odds and ends she’d picked up here and there. But it was her stuff and her temporary home. Now it was all gone.
Done with tears, she closed her fists and took strength from the setback. “The sniper is going to prison for a long time.”
“He is,” Wheeler agreed. “We’ll get him.”
The detective left and she walked to her SUV. After heading to the mall, she picked up enough items to get her through the week: clothes and shoes, bras and panties, and a new pair of killer boots to replace the ones she’d lost. Taryn and Summer teased her about wearing heels on the job, but she liked this brand and they were comfortable. Besides, they could serve as weapons in a fight.
Just in case, she also bought a halter sundress off the end of summer clearance rack and a sweater to go with it, in case she had to dress up for some reason. She still had an old profile up on an online dating site and several men looked interesting. Maybe one of them would ask her out.
Even if she did have sex with Wheeler, he didn’t appear to be the settling down type, so she’d keep her options open.
Dropping her purchases in the back of the SUV, her conversation with Taryn came to mind and tangled with her current situation. Maybe Wheeler and her friend were right. She did need to protect herself. A gun was lethal force. A Taser could bring a perp down. But both only worked if she had time to reach for them. This psycho liked sneak attacks.
Something small hit her in the back. Damn! She spun around, looking for a clue to the reason. All she saw were parked cars and a woman in the aisle over pushing a stroller, with a small girl holding her free hand.
Was she losing her mind? Did she have some sort of nerve condition that left her with phantom pains?
Whatever was happening was not about to be solved today. She didn’t have time to see a doctor, and she didn’t know enough about nerve disorders to rule those in or out as her issue. But there was one thing she could do to keep the sniper at bay.
Rather than head to work, she got on US 23 and headed north. She had a stop to make.
Chapter Eleven
Jess was halfway back to Ann Arbor with her newest purchase in the back of her SUV and supplies to go with his care when her phone played the James Bond theme song. Wheeler.
“Hey.” She stopped at a stop sign and looked over her shoulder. Smirking, she drove on. Wheeler would pop a gasket when he saw this. Maybe he wouldn’t be so intent on them co-mingling in his house. That had to be a good thing.
“Where are you?” he said, curtly.
“Driving toward Ann Arbor.”
“How fast can you get back?”
Whatever had changed his mood since this morning had been big. He was uptight. “Ten-ish minutes,” she said. “Why? Did Calvin come back?”
“I haven’t seen him. But we have a lead.” He sounded like he was typing. “There was a witness to the church shooting. A man thinks he saw the sniper running away from the parking lot as he was heading out of town for a family reunion.”
Jess glanced in her rearview mirror. Maybe she’d been a bit impulsive, but what was done was done. “I don’t think I can make it. I need to talk to Irving about a place to rent.”
“You’re staying with me.”
“That’s not a good idea.” What wasn’t a great plan to begin with was impossible to change now. Events of the last hour had changed their circumstances. Wheeler would never go for two roommates. “Irving knows people.”
“I’m not arguing with you. I know you can protect yourself and take down bad guys without breaking a nail, but this isn’t an argument you’ll win. Even if the fire was not intended to be lethal, you could have died last night.”
He did have a point. “Fine. But remember I tried to change your mind.” She agreed to meet him at Brash.
When she pulled up beside him, he was on the phone. She pulled open the back door and loaded her stuff into the backseat of his SUV.
“Give me the address,” he said, completely engrossed in his conversation. “Right. And tell Bosco to check on the cameras.”
The poor guy was about to bust a gasket and was clueless.
“Good job,” she whispered and grinned like a lotto winner. She may have had some misgivings with this plan. Now she was looking forward to his reaction.
Hurrying into the front seat, she slid in as he was ending the call. “Anything wrong?” she asked sweetly.
“Nope. Just some follow-up.” He glanced over at her, froze, and turned his eyes toward the back seat. “Shit!”
“Wheeler, meet Spike. Spike, Wheeler.”
“You have a pet? When did you get a pet?” He watched the ginormous brown and cream dog lick the window, smearing slobber all over the once-clear glass. “Get that beast out of my SUV.”
“Spike is a dog, not a beast. The pound employees think he’s a cross between French Mastiff and a Great Dane.” She widened her eyes. “I recall quite vividly that you said I needed protection. Calvin is out and Spike is my new bodyguard.”
* * *
There was no way this was a just a dog. He had to have bear or moose or water buffalo in him somewhere. He was huge. At least one-fifty was his guess. “You can’t have that mutt in here. He’s slobbering on my seats.”
Jess reached back her hand. The dog licked it. “See, he loves me already. I’m not taking him back.”
With a flat brown muzzle that looked like it had been hit in the face by a truck, his jowls shook as he happily slobbered all over her hand with his oversized pink tongue. Gross.
Her eyes widened as she looked up at him like he’d just kicked her dog. “I thought you wanted me safe?”
Damnit! He just been manipulated, and by a master. If he said no to the beast, she’d find somewhere else to live and he couldn’t look out for her. If he said yes, he’d have to take her, dog and all.
The damn PI was a pro.
Without responding, he angrily headed for the nearest auto parts store. He stomped inside, made a purchase and headed out.
“Get the dog out.” She took Spike’s leash. Its head was almost to Sam’s armpit. “Did he come with a saddle?”
Jess chuckled.
Sam
bit open the package and shook out the black seat cover while she cooed and scratched the dog. He handed her the wrapper and climbed inside. “If the damn dog is riding shotgun, he isn’t ruining my seat.”
There was already slobber on the fabric, but it wasn’t enough to keep him from covering it over. A little slobber was better than a shitload of it. And the dog had a serious drooling problem.
By the time he had the cover smoothed out, Spike had taken care of business on his tire.
Wheeler looked at the wet spot and frowned. “He’d better be housebroken or he’s wearing a diaper.”
Jess shrugged non-committally and nuzzled the bison-sized head. The mutt smelled of fruity doggie shampoo.
“Although I’d initially wanted a smaller dog, one look at his big dopey face and I was in love.” Jess rubbed the sides of his head. “You are the cutest boy. Yes, you are.” She loaded him into the SUV and snapped in his harness. “His owner moved overseas and couldn’t take him. Aren’t we lucky for that?”
Wheeler grunted and climbed behind the wheel. “If he pisses on my refinished hardwood floors, he’s moving into the garage.”
That did it. She twisted on the seat and faced him. “Do you hate dogs in general or just mine?”
“I don’t hate dogs. That isn’t a dog. It’s a giant shedding flea breeder.” They left in a squawk of tires. “And it’s not sleeping on the furniture.”
* * *
If it came down to Wheeler or Spike, there was no contest. She and Spike would find somewhere else to live. The arrangement hadn’t been her choice anyway. She’d been arm-twisted into it.
Taryn had offered her shelter, but she had two kittens that would freak over Spike. Brash had a couple of sparsely furnished rooms for unexpected overnighters. Irving would be okay calling the fire an emergency and letting her crash there. But Spike might be an issue. Still, there had to be rentals that took dogs.
Glancing into the back seat, her confidence took a hit. He was a really, really big dog. What would a landlord think?
“Spike does not have fleas and I plan to get a dog pillow before I head over to your house.” He was such a loveable dog. And he was hers. “He will be an excellent guest. You’ll see.”
With Wheeler still unhappy, the ride to the interview was quiet, except for the sounds of Spike vigorously scratching himself and licking the window.
A row of six houses lined the side street behind the church and faced the parking lot. They were all similar 50s brick ranches, though one owner had added a second floor. The yards were neat and the plants and trees carefully tended.
“Interviews were conducted after the shooting but Mr. Leptic hadn’t been home when we canvassed the area,” Wheeler explained when he finally decided to talk to her. “He didn’t hear about the incident until last night and called in.”
The Leptic house was red brick with white trim and a narrow cement porch lined with a wrought iron railing. His bushes were neatly trimmed and there was no sign of flowers to pretty up the plain exterior. Wheeler knocked on the white metal door.
The middle aged Mr. Magoo figure with thick bottle glasses who appeared when the door opened left Jess certain Mr. Leptic couldn’t see his hand in front of his face, much less be a good witness to a crime. Darn.
“Mr. Leptic?” Wheeler’s expression remained neutral but he had to be disappointed to lose their first lead. “I’m Detective Wheeler. We came to talk to you about a tip you called in last night about the church shooting on Saturday.”
“Of course, of course. Come on in.” He stepped back to let them pass. The inside of the house lacked any kind of decoration to liven up the interior. Plain furniture, plain white walls, and a TV from the eighties perched on a particle board stand sat in the corner, covered with dust. Jess speculated whether or not it worked.
Leptic indicated the couch and sat on a chair nearby. “When I heard the news from Mrs. Fishman next door, I realized I might have seen the shooter. At least, I think I did.”
Wheeler pulled out his notebook. He stared at Leptic with cop patience. The eyes behind the strange-looking glasses were magnified and distorted.
“Excuse me for saying this, Mr. Leptic,” Wheeler said and indicated the glasses by pointing to his own eyes. “But how much could you actually see of the shooter?”
Leptic frowned, then grinned. “Oh, right.” He pulled off the glasses. “Sorry about that. I’m a philatelist and use these for my work.” At their puzzled expressions, he added, “I collect stamps. As a hobby. My eyes are perfect. Now let me tell you about your sniper.”
Chapter Twelve
“Why don’t we start from the beginning,” Sam suggested. What had started as a waste of time might actually get them their first lead. “When did you first see the stranger?”
Leptic leaned forward in the chair. He was a skinny guy with big hands and a crappy haircut that he probably did himself with a Tupperware bowl and a straight razor. But he was obviously intelligent and would make a good witness in court if his tip proved useful.
“Well, I had a wedding to go to last Sunday so I left Saturday. My cousin lives in Claire so I was spending the night there. I was loading my suitcase into the car when I saw someone briskly walking south through the church parking lot heading toward Oak.”
“I’m sure that isn’t unusual,” Sam said. “The church parking lot had to be full for the wedding. A guest could have parked along the street.”
“True,” Leptic said. “But the person was dressed all in black with his hood up and carrying a duffel bag. He didn’t look like your regular wedding guest.”
Schooled to not show emotion during interviews, Sam didn’t twitch. Jess had no such training. Her eyes lit up.
“What did he look like?” she said. If they had a good description, they could get a sketch out to the media.
Leptic closed his eyes. “Let’s see. He was about five-seven, thin up top and kind of thick on the bottom, and had a pointed chin. That was all I could see of his face. He was walking hunched over and moving quickly. Oh, and he was white. Or Hispanic.”
“And you’re sure it was a man?” Sam said.
The philatelist opened his eyes. “I believe so. But now that you mention it, the person could have been female. If so, she had her figure disguised. He did not have noticeable breasts.”
Sam put down male with a question mark. Although most snipers were male, they’d need confirmation. “Did you see him get into a car?”
“No. Once he got past the Fords’ house, he was out of sight.” Leptic sighed. “I wish I could be more help.”
“You’ve been a great help,” Jess said and turned to Sam. “We could get a sketch artist to draw up what Mr. Leptic saw, right? Even without a full face, it’s something.”
“I’d be open to that,” Leptic said.
A hooded figure carrying a duffel was hardly the best lead, but maybe someone would recognize him. Stranger things have happened. “I’ll set it up.” He took down Leptic’s information and they left.
“Too bad our sniper hid his face.” Jess puffed out a breath. “We could close the case before dinner.”
Sam was only half listening to her. Where was the dog? He approached the SUV and peered through the smoked window with a cupped hand on the glass. The dog had a corner of the cover in his mouth and was enthusiastically gnawing a hole in black mesh.
“Are you kidding me?” He pulled the door open. Still attached to the seat cover with his teeth, the dog looked up innocently, like destroying things was no big deal. He thumped his tail and smiled. At least Sam thought so.
Jess snickered behind him as she peered around his shoulder. “Bad boy, Spike.”
The scold had no bite when said with humor. The dog jerked his head and ripped the hole wider. Sam growled and stepped back, sending Jess scrambling onto the curb, and slammed the door. He climbed into the driver’s seat and said a few choice words about disrespectful dogs and their owners. W
hen she was inside and buckled in, he glanced back at the still-chewing dog and then to Jess.
“I don’t know who the bigger menace is. You or the dog.”
She grinned. “Me. For sure.”
* * *
Biting back a grin, Jess said nothing else as they drove first to a pet store for supplies and then to his house to see Spike settled. There was no strange car at the curb and no sign of Calvin. That seemed to settle Wheeler a little. Spike was enough to deal with for now.
Jess took the dog through the kitchen to do his business, while Wheeler carried in a fifty-pound bag of dog food. His muscles bunched as he hoisted the bag over one shoulder.
Yum.
Before she got caught gawking, she opened the back door and led the dog into the yard. For the first time she had a twinge of adoption regret. Spike didn’t do anything on the small side. A shovel would have to replace the pooper-scooper she’d insisted on buying at the store. It annoyed her that Wheeler had been right about that. Once he finished, they returned inside.
“Come on, boy,” she said in an excited voice. They ran back onto the deck and into the house. She unsnapped the leash and the dog raced around, sniffing everything.
She went to help Wheeler unpack. Maybe she should start calling him Sam? Nah. What fun was that?
He’d already put the oversized doggie bed in a corner of the living room. It could normally hold two good-sized dogs. Or a horse. Spike gave it an appreciative sniff.
“Should I get the shovel out of the shed?” Wheeler asked without looking up from the bed.
“Smug isn’t attractive,” she said. “And yes. I’ll need the shovel.” She reached into the paper bag and pulled out a rawhide chew bone that was almost two feet long. “I’ll also need a second job to feed him.”
“Horses are expensive.”
“Funny.” The click of toenails sounded on the stairs. “You have to admit that the sniper will think twice about messing with me with Spike around.” She pulled a spiked black collar out of the bag. Spike wasn’t vicious, but she wanted him to look the part of a guard dog. The pink collar he had on—the pound had run out of blue—didn’t fit the ferocious image.
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