Dog Days

by Jill S. Behe

  “Of course you are.”

  We both laughed, and I got out, grabbing my To-Go bag. “Thanks for the ride, and the help. Give Josh a hug, and a peck on the cheek for Ed.”

  “Oh, I’ll give Ed more than that, but since it’s from you….”

  “You’re so bad.”

  “Night, Maggie.”

  “Safe trip home, Dandelion Jones.”

  Still smiling, she backed out of the drive and, with a wave, headed up the street.

  I trudged up the walk thinking about hair, crime rates, and my hungry man—who stood waiting in the open doorway.

  It wasn’t until I was almost asleep that it dawned on me. The 29th was when the girls and I were going dress shopping. I’d have to remember to let Wyatt know I definitely wouldn’t be alone that day.

  Chapter 7

  … TUESDAY…

  * * *

  … August 18th

  THE FRONT DOOR of our temporary office slammed open, rattling the windows in their frames.

  “Oops.”

  “Miss Maggie!”

  “Sorry.”

  I was standing now, thinking the worst. “What’s wrong?”

  Josh Jones, Blake Russell, and Luke Blanchard came barreling up to my desk. “We found something.”

  “Okay.”

  The three glanced at each other. Josh became the senior spokesman. “We were on a treasure hunt, and—”

  “A treasure hunt?” Wyatt joined us, arms folded, hip leaned against my desk. “Sounds like fun, but you boys look a little worse for wear.”

  They were covered with brambles, scratches, and grime. Luke held onto a sack that (probably) had once been a pillowcase. Whatever was in it, looked to be heavy.

  Blake poked Josh. “I told you she’d be mad.”

  “I’m not, but it’s early yet.”

  Wyatt hitched a seat on the corner of my desk. “Cough it up.”

  “And I told you we shoulda just took it home.” This from the reverend’s son!

  “Sir?” Blake addressed the police chief, but Court, Paul, and Rick looked on from their respective desks.

  Wyatt seemed as suspicious of the kid’s formal address as I was. “Josh, is this something your parents were aware you were doing?”

  “Uh, sorta.” Three faces went red, but Blake plodded gamely forward. “Okay, no, sir. But, mostly, as long as we’re not in their hair, or under their feet, they don’t much pay attention.”

  Paul, from the other side of the room, had a sudden coughing fit, and then moseyed closer.

  “I see.” Wyatt was having trouble keep a straight face, too. “Well, then. Proceed.”

  “Huh?”

  They were only eleven years old. Big words (bigger words) go over their heads, still, mostly.

  “Tell us your tale.”

  “Okay.” The boy glanced at his partners-in-crime. “Well, we figured, since the water from the flood went down that we’d go out along the crick bank and see if any good stuff got hung up, or left there. Ya know, from when the water was high.”

  “And did you?”

  “Oh, yeah.” Josh grinned. “There was lots of neat stuff. You should see some of the—”

  Luke elbowed his friend so hard the kid lost his breath.

  Blake, flashing a warning at both, continued, “Well, sir. We found something that looked different than the rest of the stuff—only because it doesn’t look like it belonged.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Um, it looks … antique.”

  “Antique?”

  “Yeah, like, real old.”

  “Okay.”

  “And it was buried. All we could see was a nose sticking out, and that was only after Luke tripped over it.”

  Said boy groused. “Banged up my knee, too.”

  “A nose?”

  “Yeah well, we had to dig it out, and it was hella … uh, I mean, it was really heavy.”

  “Blake?”

  Eyes moseyed up to meet mine. “Yes, Ma’am?”

  “Didn’t we talk about your language some months ago?”

  “Yes, Ma’am.” He rubbed his nose. “I’m sorry.”

  “You just keep piling on the blackmail material, kid.”

  He hesitated, not fearful, just holy crap. “Don’t tell Grams. Please? She’ll—”

  Wyatt stood and made for the pillowcase Luke had slung over his shoulder. “Mind if I have a look?”

  Blake held his breath.

  Josh looked to be deciding whether to stay or abandon ship.

  Luke shook his head. “It’s why we’re here.”

  Wyatt took the bag, hefted it. “You’re right, Blake. It’s pretty heavy.” After he saw what was inside, he looked at me, then motioned for Rick to take it.

  Rick pulled on gloves, and reached in. “Well, well. What have we here?”

  Lifting it, the cloth fell away, revealing a chubby—badly damaged—bronze cupid. “You found this where?”

  Blake swallowed. “Crick bank.”

  “Be more specific.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Where, exactly?”

  Six small sneakers did an uh-oh shuffle.

  Wyatt rubbed his chin, and looked at Court. “We got any open cells?”

  Luke sucked in a breath, eyes wide.

  I got concerned at Josh’s sudden pale sweaty face.

  Blake swallowed visibly and stared, shaking his head at Court.

  “No, sir, Chief.” The officer answered, just as serious. “We’re full up at the moment.”

  A collective sigh escaped the three.

  “We could throw ’em in with somebody.”

  Luke was turning green.

  “Nah. That’d be too traumatic for the inmates.”

  I heard a snort from the back of the room.

  “Yeah. You’re probably right. Woulda been interesting, though.”

  “No doubt about it.”

  Luke stepped up, eyes still bugged out, but I was impressed with his bravado. “We were pretty close to the Bullet Bridge, the one that goes to Jenson City.”

  Ah ha. That’s why they were reluctant to say exactly where they’d been. I knew for a fact Dandy had threatened to ground them—well, Josh for sure, which meant all three. Rarely did one kid venture out without the other two—if they didn’t stay within half a mile of the Inn, and those three knew exactly where the boundary was. The Bullet Bridge is about two miles out of their zone.

  Wyatt perched, again. “Let’s make a deal, shall we?”

  Three nods.

  “Let’s keep this find just between us, okay? We have reason to believe that the item you found might be valuable for more reasons than one. Miss Lavender will be grateful to have it back, of course, since someone took it out of her store without paying for it; even if it is in pretty bad shape.”

  “Um, z’at mean all this is a secret?”

  “Not really.”

  “Does it mean my Grams won’t know where we got it?”

  “Blake, your grandmother won’t know you even found it, not from us, but whatever else y’all collected might need some explaining.”

  “Gosh, thanks, Chief Madison. She’d be real pis— Um, upset if—”

  “Then maybe you should obey her rules, so you don’t get in trouble in the first place.”

  “Shoot,” he grumbled. “She won’t let me go anywhere.”

  I leaned forward. “Are you grounded, again?”

  “Well, no. Not right— Um, no. But we can’t even go over to our favorite fishin’ place, cause of what happened the last time we went there.”

  “Mom won’t let me, either.”

  “Yeah,” Blake agreed. “And that place had the best fish.”

  “You know they worry.”

  Josh shoved his hands into the pockets of his grimy jeans. “Well sure, I know that. But geez. She’s taking all the fun out of summer, and we don’t have much of it left.”

  “Yeah, Grams worries, too.” Blake again. �
�But we hafta go back early, cause of all those snow days we had last year.”

  “You know, Josh, maybe if you asked her … nicely,” Wyatt suggested. “She’d let you. There’s nothing going on over there, now. Blake, same goes for you. And I’m sure the Reverend hasn’t been too keen on letting you go over there, either. Right, Luke?”

  Josh looked at his cohorts.

  Luke shrugged, and nodded.

  Blake punched his arm. “Can’t hurt, can it?”

  “No. S’pose not.”

  Luke was suddenly antsy. “Chief Madison, do you need us for anything else?”

  Wyatt hesitated, but then shook his head. “Nah. Go on. Get out of here.”

  With a war whoop, the trio escaped.

  “Well.” Rick set the piece on his desk. “Looks like we found the murder weapon.”

  “Or, at least, the missing bronze from Hidden Treasures.”

  “We’ll have to get Lavender to verify it’s her missing piece, but it sure looks like that’s what we’ve got. Doubt there’s any prints left, but we should … (sigh) … add it to the pile at County.”

  Chapter 8

  … WEDNESDAY MORNING…

  * * *

  … August 19th…

  THE OFFICE WAS empty at the moment, except for Wyatt and me. The others were doing follow-ups, or out on calls. Just past 10 there was a knock on the front door. As no one ever knocks before entering, I frowned and went to find out why someone was. Maybe it was locked, although I couldn’t imagine why.

  Or, maybe I could.

  As I mentioned before, the building we were in used to be the public library. The front entrance sports a double door, the top half of each being a window. I could see there was no one waiting to be let in. As I stood there, Gus’s car pulled into the lot. She parked and made her way up the ten stone steps. She waited, looking askance, as I was blocking her entry.

  I opened the door, and she pointed to her feet. A long white box, like one a florist would send, sat on the welcome mat.

  Gus stooped, and slid the card from under the black ribbon, handing it to me before picking up the box. “Careful, I think it’s from your number one fan.”

  God. Not again. A cold shudder went through me. To: Beth Donovan. The letters were neatly printed in blue ink.

  “Gives me the creeps.” Gus rolled her shoulders. “You going to stand there long? It’s hot as Hades out here.”

  “Sorry. Sorry.” And stepped backward. “You didn’t see anyone when you pulled in, did you?”

  “Thanks. And no. No one close. There was a kid on a bike about two blocks over, though.” She headed inside and down the short hallway.

  Passing my desk, she set the box in the middle and continued on to her area.

  Mad and terrified at the same time, I made it as far as the water fountain before curious dread forced me to open the small envelop.

  Vaguely aware that the other members of our team were arriving, I read the card:

  * * *

  The roses are black,

  The violets wilted,

  Your honey got dead,

  ’Cause somebody kilt ’im.

  Shock unbalanced me, but the cold, stone wall kept me upright.

  My lungs fought for intake.

  Wyatt!

  I ran like a crazy woman …

  … and his office was empty.

  “Oh, God!”

  There was no volume to my voice.

  Sensing movement, I grabbed an arm—it was Paul—as he passed.

  Poor guy hissed.

  I think I punctured his bicep with my fingernails. “Where’s Wyatt? Have you seen Wyatt?”

  He shrugged. “Just walked in the door.” Then I guess he saw my face. “What’s wrong?”

  Not gently, he shoved me onto one of the folding chairs outside Wyatt’s office forcing my head between my knees.

  “Breathe damn it!” He sounded … concerned, but in control. “Becca! Water!”

  Glad someone was.

  Have you ever tried to breathe when you’re hanging upside down? But I could feel the dizzy, lightheadedness lifting.

  The heavy tread of Doc Martens moved rapidly toward us.

  “Here. What’s going on?”

  There was a hand—comforting—on my thigh, and Paul’s voice was in my ear. “Open your eyes.” I obeyed, but didn’t try to sit up. “Drink this.”

  My head turned until he was in focus. “Um, that might pose a problem in my current position. Don’t think I’ve ever tried to drink something from this angle before.”

  His smile was sheepish. “Ah, sorry. Sure, but go slow. I don’t want you passing out on us.”

  Huh. Neither did I, in point of fact.

  This much was bad enough.

  How humiliating.

  I sat up slowly, and noticed the small crowd of onlookers. Terrific. The room wasn’t swaying anymore, and I managed a weak smile.

  Paul still knelt in front of me with the water bottle.

  Becca crouched next to him, fidgety.

  The others … milled about.

  Paul nudged the bottle into my hand.

  “Thanks. I’ll explain in a sec’.” I unscrewed the cap, and took a healthy swig. It felt great going down. “Just give me a minute.”

  Court, Gus, Becca, Declan, and Paul watched. The silent concern flowing off them was almost tangible.

  I counted it a blessing that Ricky hadn’t made it in, yet.

  With one more deep breath, in and out, I stood, waving off helpful hands. “I’m good. Where’s the card?”

  “Card?”

  “That came with the box of flowers.”

  “Flowers?”

  “I keep hearing an echo. I had a card and envelope in my hand a second ago. What happened to it?”

  Becca’s eyes narrowed. “I don’t see any flowers.”

  I looked, too. Where the hell was the box?

  Oh right. My desk, but….

  “When you were out by the fountain?” Declan’s voice penetrated, and I nodded. He disappeared from in front of me—to go look for it, I think.

  “If we knew what we were looking for, we could help … better.”

  “Court?”

  “Uh…. Yes, Ma’am?”

  Wow. Did I sound that bad?

  Gus interrupted. “I put the box on your desk, remember?”

  “Court, I got a delivery. A long white florist’s box. Yes, Gus, I do remember. Is it still there? And where’s Wyatt?”

  Court blinked. “Um—”

  “As you’re now in the hallway,” Becca sounded like she was explaining something to a three year old. It was irritating, knowing she was talking to me. “And your desk is out in the … lobby, could be why you don’t see it.”

  Yes, that was a point.

  Declan returned with the thing.

  “Hang on.” Gus left the circle, too, and came back some seconds later carrying the other thing. “Got ’em.”

  Paul grabbed the card from Declan and read it. “Holy shit, Maggie. No wonder you were hyperventilating.”

  Frowning, Becca snatched it from him. Her eyes went wide as saucers. (I know. Cliché. But they did ... seemed to. Besides, it’s not like I’ve never used a cliché before.) “Oh my god. This is sick.”

  Gus, box under her arm, went down the hall a few steps to Wyatt’s office. “He’s not in there.”

  I knew that, but had to sit down again.

  Took another drink.

  Wyatt where are you? Please, God, let him be okay.

  “He didn’t tell me he was leaving. I didn’t see him leave.”

  “Him who?”

  All eyes turned north.

  “WYATT!”

  One second I was seated, the next, my body was plastered against his.

  He hugged me back, but it was probably a defensive move to keep us both from ending up on the floor. “What’s going on?”

  Becca handed him the card. He read it over my shoulder, then squashed me closer.


  Paul gestured with his chin. “What’s in the box, Gus?”

  “The idiot can’t seem to get her name right, either.” She opened it, and gasped. “Damn. Just what the card says. Black roses and dead violets.”

  Court was leaning against the wall, arms folded. “So much for fingerprints.”

  Crap. My grip on Wyatt loosened. “I didn’t even think of it.”

  The man gave me one last squeeze. “Still, it can’t hurt.” By the edges, he handed the card to Court. “Send it up. Don’t forget the envelope it came in.”

  Court took it from him, just as carefully. “Roger that, boss. What about the box?”

  “Might as well send that, too. Declan, take a body with you to Posies by Pam. Find out if these came from her shop. If so, who sent them, and when.”

  “Roger that, boss. Gus?”

  “Right behind you. But just for the record. That would be way too easy.”

  “I agree. Come on.”

  Wyatt slung an arm around my shoulders. “Y’all got work to do?”

  “Wait.”

  “What?”

  I looked at our new tribe, my heart as full and (almost) overflowing as my eyes. “Thank you. All of you.”

  With various nods and waves, the little crowd dispersed.

  Wyatt pulled me into his office and shut the door.

  “I’m so sorry, Wyatt. That was totally unprofessional of me, but—”

  “Maggie—”

  “I was just so worried, and …”

  “Maggie—”

  “… nobody knew where you were, and I—”

  He shut me up with a kiss.

  “Mmm. That wasn’t very professional, either, but thanks, I needed it.”

  He dragged a hand through his hair. “Me, too.”

  A sudden thought had my eyes going wide, and I made a mad dash out to my desk for my cell.

  “Dawson? Sweetie? Are you okay? Everything all right?” At his positive assurance, my sigh was audible, then it hitched. “Can’t talk now. Gotta call Gage.” I almost hung up. “What? He’s there with you? Oh.” Hot tears welled and spilled down my cheeks. “Oh, that’s wonderful. I love you both so much. Thank you.” My boys were safe. I wanted to blubber for a minute or two, but had an audience.