“I will,” I promised. “You let me know the second you get Rosie back.”
“Okay,” she said, and we hung up.
I drove home to drop off the cameras and type up a few notes. As I came around the side of the building, I saw a petite blonde in sweats, gloves and ear muffs walking down the street.
“Hey, Willie,” I waved. Willie Rhoden, real name Wilhelmina, was my neighbor, and I’d been trying to woo her, with limited success, ever since she’s broken up with her boyfriend a while back. My career choice kept her from taking me too seriously, though. She’d seen me beaten up, bruised, and shot, and she worried for my safety. But still I tried.
“Hi, Reed.” Willie strolled across the street and up to me. She pointed at the cameras, then eyed my slightly disheveled appearance. “How’s the detective business? Chasing down bad guys?”
I shrugged. “Trying to.”
“Cheating husbands? Real estate shenanigans?” she threw me a playful smile, referring to some of my previous cases.
“Kidnapped dogs.”
“Aw.” She scrunched up her face. “In that case, go get ’em, Sherlock.”
“I was going to put these away and then go shoot some pool with Ace and Deuce. Care to join me?”
She winked. “That sounds more fun than watching a movie alone. I just finished my walk, so let me take a quick shower and change clothes. I’ll be back in a little bit.”
“I need to do the same, so take your time,” I said.
Willie disappeared into her house and then I went upstairs. I put the cameras in my office and was about to get in the shower when the phone rang.
“Reed, dear, how are you?” my mother said the second I put the phone to my ear.
“Hi, Mom, how are you?”
“I’m fine. You sound tired. I hope you’re taking care of yourself. Your detecting business is more than I can handle. What kind of danger are you in now? Oh, I don’t know why you don’t meet someone nice, get a good career, and settle down.”
“I’m perfectly safe, Mom.” I didn’t see the need to tell her I’d almost been run over a truck not once, but twice.
My dear mother’s greatest fear was that I would never marry, and thus never give her grandchildren. Running a close second was her fear that I was doing drugs, because she seemed to have a knack for calling me when I was tired or slightly addled under the influence of painkillers I’d taken after an on-the-job injury. And finally, she feared that I would die a horrible death while detecting. Mom and Dad wished I’d chosen another career, but a small inheritance left me financially well off, and so I could be a private investigator, even though the money wasn’t great.
“What’s new with you?” I asked, knowing that, besides checking on me, there was a purpose to her call.
“We’re getting a dog, dear. Isn’t that fantastic?”
“Oh dear Lord,” I said.
“What’s that? Well, never mind,” she said. “Your father and I are so excited.”
I heard a muffled voice in the background. That would be my father. I’m sure he was out on the deck of their south Florida beachfront condo, groaning because he wasn’t that excited to get a dog.
“We’re getting a teacup poodle. They’re so cute, just as tiny as can be.”
“I’m surrounded by dogs,” I murmured.
“You’re what?”
“Nothing,” I said. “I’m happy for you.” I paused. “It’s really late there. What are you doing up?”
“We just got back from playing bridge. That’s where we found out about the dog. Some friends of ours are moving and they can’t take Bitsy with them, so I said we’d be delighted to take her.”
“That’s nice of you.”
“Thank you, dear,” she said. “You know, if you don’t want a girlfriend, maybe you should get a dog to keep you company.”
I decided to leave that one alone. “You don’t need to worry about me,” I said. “I have an active social life.” I didn’t want to mention Willie just yet, or my mother would be calling me every day for an update, wondering when the wedding would be.
“Just as long as you’re not doing drugs.”
There it was. What would the conversation be without her worrying about that?
“I’m not doing drugs, but I do need to get going. I’m meeting Ace and Deuce to play some pool.”
“Oh, I’ll let you go then,” she said. “Tell the boys ‘hi’, and Reed, honey, take care.”
“I will, Mom.”
I hung up and rushed to change and clean up before Willie came over.
It was a little longer before Willie arrived, but well worth the wait. Her black jeans and low-cut blouse showed off her runners’ figure quite nicely.
“You look great,” I said when I answered the door. “Let me get my keys.”
As we walked to the garage, the sweet scent of her flowery perfume wafted through the air. I closed my eyes for a split second, enjoying it.
“What?” she asked, noticing my expression.
“Nothing,” I shrugged.
She punched me lightly on the shoulder. “Don’t get any fresh ideas. I told you, I’m not sure I want to date someone whose life is in constant danger.”
“It’s not constant,” I said. “It’s mostly boring. The danger part is just every once in a while.”
“Uh-huh.”
My cell phone rang. “Hang on,” I said.
“Reed, it’s Belinda. I’m getting Rosie back!”
“That’s great!” I said. “Where was she?”
“They tied her up outside a Denny’s near my house. Someone noticed her and called the number on the tag. I’m driving there right now.”
“What’s the address?” I asked.
She gave me the cross streets.
“I’ll stop by,” I said. “But I doubt we’ll find anything useful.”
“I’ll see you there,” Belinda said.
I hung up and turned to Willie. “Care to make a quick detour?”
“What happened?”
“My client got her dog back, and I want to see where the dognappers left the dog.”
“So you need to go look for clues,” Willie said.
“Yes.”
“Okay,” Willie sighed. “Since you’re trying to find dognappers, I can’t say no. What do you think you’ll find?”
“Probably nothing,” I said as we climbed in the 4-Runner.
Turns out I was right. The dognappers had tied Rosie up outside the restaurant, away from the parking lot, where no one would see them leaving her. I walked around the lot but couldn’t see anything that might be construed as a clue. Belinda was overjoyed to have Rosie back, but just as adamant that I find and stop the dognappers. As I patted Rosie on the head, I assured Belinda that I would continue to investigate.
Willie and I left and headed to B 52’s. We spent a pleasant evening playing pool with Ace and Deuce, but my mind was still puzzling over the case. I was glad that Rosie hadn’t been harmed, but I wasn’t so sure what might happen the next time. That was twice that I’d interfered with the dognappers’ ransom plans. They would be much more careful now. I needed to catch them in the act. And that meant I had to figure out how they picked their victims.
It was time to visit a dog show and scare up a dognapper.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Gail was true to her word and Friday I was with her at the Rocky Mountain Cluster Show. The only way I was going to catch the crooks was if they tried to nab another dog. And where would dognappers find valuable show dogs? At a dog show.
“The pictures you took last night in the alley weren’t helpful?” Gail asked as she got out of her car.
I had parked my 4-Runner next to Gail’s Honda at the National Western Complex, a large arena directly north of downtown Denver, and was helping her gather her things for the show. She didn’t show Fuji until later in the day, but I wanted time to walk around and see if I spotted anything that struck me as suspicious.
“No,” I said. “Both men wore ski masks, and they’d removed the license plates on the truck, so I don’t have any way to track them down.”
Gail picked up Fuji from the back seat and put him in a steel dog crate. “Wouldn’t the police stop the truck if it didn’t have license plates?”
“They probably stopped near the shopping mall and reattached the plates.”
“What do you hope to find here?” Gail asked as I followed her into the complex.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Anything unusual. It’s entirely possible that these dognappers are scoping out the shows, searching for the next dog to steal.”
Since the moment Gail had hired me, I’d been mulling over how these dognappers would know where to find show dogs to steal. I could come up with two ways. Someone either knew Gail and Belinda, and new about the value of their dogs. Another possibility was it someone who worked with the Rocky Mountain Cluster Show and had access to lists of competing or registered dogs, or it was someone who came to dog shows and somehow figured out where the pet owners lived. If it was the first option, I had little way of finding this person. If it was the second, I could poke around a show and hope to see the dognappers in action. Either option called for a lot of luck, but sometimes detective work is stirring the pot to see what rises, and hope that some luck falls your way.
“You can look around while you’re here,” Gail said. Her pink suit and high heels looked way too dressy for lugging a dog around in the crate. She’d instructed me to dress up, too, so I’d worn my best black slacks, a white shirt that was both clean and pressed, and my favorite wingtips. “We’ll be in a grooming area first.” That explained the large bag that she’s asked me to carry for her.
Gail checked in and received an identifier with a number on it. She wrapped the paper on her upper left arm and then trekked toward a huge open room. As I tagged along behind her, I felt like I was backstage at a beauty pageant. Men and women and dogs of all shapes and sizes rushed around, heading from one area of the complex to another. And everyone was dressed up, including the dogs. Most of the men wore business suits, and the women had on dresses or pant suits. I didn’t spot anyone in jeans. And the dogs! I’d never seen so many dogs with fur so shiny and sleek, and teased and bowed. And these dogs didn’t just walk, they strutted throughout the complex as if they knew that they were the center of attention.
“Here we are,” Gail said. She took Fuji out of his crate and put him on a leash. “Time to show him off a bit.”
We passed through the larger room and entered the grooming area. Rows and rows of dog crates of varying sizes crowded the space. Dogs of all breeds sat in or around their crates. A buzz of conversation filled the air as dog owners primped their pooches for competition.
A miniature Schnauzer pulled on his owner’s leash, trying to sniff Fuji’s rear end. Fuji then returned the greeting.
“Sorry,” Gail said to the dog’s owner, a stocky man with a Fu Manchu mustache. “That’s one habit I wish Fuji didn’t have.”
The Schnauzer’s owner smiled. “They run out of business cards so quickly.”
I cracked up. Gail blushed and said under her breath, “It wasn’t that funny.”
“Yeah it was,” I said.
I followed Gail between rows of crates until she found an open area. She set Fuji’s crate down and took the bag from me. She pulled a couple of blankets from the bag, folded them in half, and arranged them on top of the crate.
“This is where we get our dogs ready for showing,” she explained as she picked up Fuji and stood him on the blankets. She retrieved a comb from the bag and set to work on his fur.
I surveyed the room. Combs and brushes stroked fur, here and there the sounds of blow dryers cut through the conversation. Paws were checked and nails clipped. Eyelashes and eyebrows were curled or trimmed. Owners that had completed their grooming laughed and played with their dogs. Here and there an owner appeared very serious, nervous for what was to come. No one acted strangely, or more strange given the circumstances, or in a way that made me suspicious.
I had been prepared for a distinct dog odor in the room, but instead it smelled like shampoo with a hint of leather.
Like their human counterparts, the dogs ran the gamut of emotions. Some sat on top of their crates, excited expressions on their furry faces. Some gazed around the room in boredom. Many slept in blanket-covered crates, thus insulated from the chaos around them. There was a surprisingly lack of barking, given the number dogs in the room.
A moment later, Gail wrapped tissue paper around Fuji’s fur, up near his eyes. “What’s that for?” I asked.
“It’s to keep her teardrops and saliva from staining his fur.”
I shook my head. Who knew?
“You can walk around now,” Gail said. “I need to stay here with Fuji.”
“Sounds good,” I said.
I wandered off, leaving Gail chatting with a woman nearby.
An amazing variety of sizes and shapes of dogs were being walked through their paces; some were docile and obedient, others full of nervous energy. In the stadium, where I’d taken a seat, everyone appeared about the same. No one seemed like a dognapper, but then, I didn’t really know what that would look like. Later, in the Hall of Education, during a “Meet the Breeds” demonstration, owners paraded basset hounds around the room. Again, nothing out of the ordinary, so I moved on. It was fascinating to be at a dog show, but I wasn't accomplishing a thing as far as locating any suspicious dognapping types. So, after an uneventful stroll through a sea of dog-supply vendors, I finally returned to the grooming area. Gail perched on Fuji’s crate. Fuji slept in her lap.
“Notice anything?” she asked.
“No.”
“Maybe you’re barking up the wrong tree,” she grinned at me.
“Oh, very clever,” I shot back. “How about some lunch?”
Gail laughed. “I’ll take a hot dog.”
“Will the puns ever end?” I asked as I walked away.
I returned later with hot dogs and sodas, and we chatted while we ate. I learned more than I ever wanted to about show dogs and dog shows. And I still didn’t see anyone who looked like a dognapper.
“Time for a final once-over,” Gail announced after a while. She set Fuji on top of his crate and fussed with his fur again. She eyed him critically, adjusted his collar, took off the tissue paper, and nodded. “He’s as ready as he’ll ever be.” She fluffed his hair a bit while he watched me with uninterested eyes. Gail glanced at her watch every few seconds.
“All right, here we go,” she finally announced. She pulled a leash from her bag, attached it to Fuji’s collar, and headed down the aisle between crates. Fuji pranced beside her. “You can watch from the ring entrance or wait back here,” she called over her shoulder. “I’ll be back in a bit.”
“I’ll watch,” I said, catching up to her. “What’s ‘the ring’?”
“The dogs are shown in the ring. We take the dogs in there, walk them around the ring, and a judge evaluates us all.”
“Got it,” I said.
Gail reached the entrance and followed the other show dogs and owners into the ring. Applause rang out. Dogs and owners all walked to assigned places and waited. A rotund man, the judge, strolled around the ring carefully, eyeing all the dogs. Then he pointed at one. The owner ran the dog around the ring as the judge watched. Gail was fourth, so she had to wait while the first three dogs were taken through the motions.
While I waited for her turn, I glanced back into the grooming room. It seemed to be a hurry up and wait mentality. A lot of action to get your dog ready to show, then a lot of waiting for your turn. A tall bald man in a brown leather jacket slowly walked up one aisle and then down another. He meandered through the sea of dogs, people and crates, his head moving back and forth, as if he were looking for something. He didn’t have a dog with him, nor did he have an armband identifier indicating he was showing a dog. Who was he with?
He reached the end
of one aisle and started down another, his head swaying back and forth. Was he security? He paused near a smaller unoccupied crate.
Now curious, I headed down the aisle next to his. Partway down I stopped. A Rottweiler and his owner blocked my path.
“I’m sorry,” the dog’s heavyset owner said as he fiddled with the dog’s collar.
“No problem,” I said, wishing he’d hurry so I could get nearer to the man in the leather jacket. I turned and searched for another way through the throng of people and dogs.
Across the sea of crates and carriers I spotted the man again. He had moved on, and was leaning against one of the large crates. Then he reached down to a smaller crate next to him and fiddled with something. He stopped and glanced all around, as if making sure no one was watching him. I turned my head, but kept him in the corner of my eye.
Satisfied that no one had seen him, he put his arm down again.
I edged in his direction. He pulled a pen and paper from his jacket and jotted down something. He stuffed the pen and paper back in his pocket, waited a second and then casually strolled away.
I stayed out of his vision as I made my way over to the crate. Some paperwork rested on top of it, and in plain sight I read a dog’s name, his breed, and an address.
That’s how they were doing it! Find some paperwork associated with the dog that had an address on it and there you go. I looked around but the man was gone. I frantically scanned the room and spotted him as he neared the entrance to the ring. I checked the paperwork again and memorized the address. Then I dodged my way down the aisle and toward the man. I halted a few feet away and leaned against the wall. I peered past the man and into the ring.
After a few minutes, a stocky man wearing an old suit and bolo tie walked up to my guy.
“What took you so long, Jack?” the man in the bolo tie said.
“Trying to find the right one,” Jack said.
“A dog’s a dog. Let’s just pick one and go.”
They were talking softly. I strained to hear them.
“Marv, how many times do I have to tell you, we’re not cross-breeding.”
So, the man with the bolo tie was Marv. I memorized his face: dark features and a lip that curled in a permanent sneer. And the bald man was Jack.
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