“Then I would think you’d want to help locate the stolen puppies. The ones the mayor told me about and then buried.” She caught herself. “I mean he buried the issue, not the puppies. At least, I hope.”
Kinney turned quickly and caught the blur of Evie’s smirk through the binoculars. “That wasn’t fair. You know I can’t unhear that.”
Evie shrugged and stared out the window. “Dogs before all, right?”
“Honestly. What happened to freedom of choice?”
“You gave that up when you bought into the whole idea of Dog Town.”
“Are you telling me the truth?” Kinney was still staring at Evie through the binoculars, but it was just a blur. “That the mayor himself told you about stolen puppies?”
“Of course I’m telling you the truth. It happened when he was offering me the job as his chief of staff. But by the time I recovered from my concussion, dealt with Runaway Farm and then started poking around, the problem had disappeared without a trace.”
“Stolen puppies are not the kind of problem that would solve itself.”
“Exactly. I don’t believe it was solved. I believe it was covered up.” Evie reached over and pressed the binoculars down. “You’re creeping me out with those. And in the meantime, you’re missing the guy creeping around with the shovel.”
Dropping the binoculars, Kinney reached for the door latch. “That’s it, I’m going in. Stay here, and don’t you dare use that camera, Evie.”
Chapter 2
Kinney’s plan had been simply to observe, but the discussion with Evie had riled her up and propelled her out of the car at the first sign of trouble. She hurried along the sidewalk, trying to pull in as many details as she could about the drama that was unfolding. The sun was down but the streetlights flickered on just before she reached the two people arguing on a front lawn.
“This is my property,” a woman said. Her voice was so strident that Kinney wanted to turn around and go back to her original plan.
“And I’ve got more of your property,” a man said. “I’m returning it to you.”
“You have no evidence that’s mine.” The strident woman aimed a flashlight and revealed a man holding out a shovel. “Go, before I take matters into my own hands.”
“Take this into your own hands,” he said. “Please.”
Sarcasm was the wrong approach to take with someone who was obviously ready to combust with the merest spark. Maybe he wanted her to combust. Some people just liked watching a fire.
There was metallic clatter as the woman moved closer. “I’m warning you, mister. Get off my property.”
“I’m on my property. That’s the whole point. And your property is on my property, so I’m returning it to you. Like a good neighbor.”
“Good neighbor? You and your family have been nothing but trouble since you moved in last month. And I’ve had it, so I’m calling the cops.”
Now they were in a circle of light under a street lamp, like a small theater production. Kinney chose that moment to join the play. “Good evening,” she said. “The cops have arrived.”
The woman appeared to be in her 60s, with wispy grey hair dyed mauve. She held the flashlight in one hand and a garden hoe in the other. Her eyes scanned Kinney and landed on the badge on her tan City uniform.
“I meant real cops,” she said. “Not Bill Bradshaw’s dog police. You guys are just puppets in his stupid game.”
Kinney swallowed hard. Sometimes that was exactly how she felt, but her paycheck depended on taking her role seriously. “Unless I’m much mistaken, ma’am, this is a dog-related matter.”
“It’s bigger than that. This man intends to violate my property.”
Kinney turned to the man. He was probably in his mid-30s and slight, with thinning hair, wire-rimmed glasses and a pale face. His weapon of choice was a shovel, which he held out like an offering.
“Do you see this?” he asked Kinney, brandishing the shovel with its full load.
“I see it, and more importantly, I smell it.” She switched instantly to mouth breathing, a dog cop’s greatest asset. “Why are you carrying excrement onto this woman’s property?”
“I’m simply putting it where it rightfully belongs. She lets her dog crap on my property every day.”
Turning back, Kinney asked, “Is this true?”
The woman let her red-framed glasses slide down her nose and stared over them at Kinney. “It most certainly is not, Officer Puppet. My dog defecates on her own property. She’s leashed at all times, so I know exactly where and when it happens. But this doofus—who abandons his own dog all day—likes to bring over his own dog’s dung and dump it here.”
One key to good police work, Kinney had found, was not to follow the crap down the rabbit hole. She had plenty of experience dealing with poop infractions, especially now that she was on Cliff’s bad side. It was always about more than the poop.
“All right,” she said. “Sounds like there’s more at stake than a random dog dump. Sir, can you assure me this poop came from her dog? It must be a very large breed.”
He tipped his head toward her house. “She’s got a horse in there.”
“I have a wolfhound. Your dog is very large, too.”
“My dog’s a shepherd. His poop is half the size and dry as chalk, because we feed him raw.” He waved the shovel around, making even the mauve-haired lady quail from the stink. “You’re clearly using some sort of grocery store junk to get this much output.”
“What would you know about proper dog care?” she said. “You leave your dog alone all day. My dog has constant company.”
“Constant company with a lunatic. How is that better?”
“Young man, you’re the one about to put dog poop in my new mailbox. How is that sane?”
Kinney stepped forward and faced the man with the shovel. “Were you going to put poop in her mailbox?”
His thin lips pursed before he spoke. “Technically not.”
“Explain the technicality,” she said.
He nodded to the mailbox, which appeared to be freshly installed given that the dirt was light and dusty at its base. Plastic flowers and dog figurines were glued to the silver metal box, which read, “Myrtle McCabe.”
“She installed it last week on my side of the property line. Clearly the work of a lunatic.”
“I see,” Kinney said. “So what’s really at stake is the property line.”
“We had the land assessed recently so that we could build a new fence,” he said. “Tall fences make good neighbors, right?”
“So I’ve heard.” Kinney smiled for the first time, but the second she let her guard down, the smell crept in. It was certainly a foul load, and she’d sniffed a lot of them.
“But Mrs. McCabe disputed the assessment. She planted a garden on my side years ago and doesn’t want to lose it.”
“I don’t want to lose it because it’s mine,” Mrs. McCabe said. “You must have bought off Bill Bradshaw’s lackeys to redraw property lines that have existed for sixty years.”
“I didn’t buy off anyone,” he said. “This is my land, fair and square, and you can’t park your stupid mailbox on it or let your dog crap over here.”
“And you can’t dig up my flowers and dump them on the lawn to die.” Mrs. McCabe gestured to a row of unearthed plants sitting outside the circle of light. “I got those calla lilies from my grandmother. They’re Dorset Hills heritage plants.”
Kinney positioned herself directly between the shovel and the hoe. “Did you dump her plants?”
“I asked her to dig them up herself. We’re getting the yard fenced later this week. When she didn’t answer I figured I was doing her a favor.”
The truth was usually somewhere in the middle, just as Kinney was now. “I’ve got an idea. How about you both put your weapons down and we’ll go inside to discuss this calmly? The neighbors are watching.”
“What else is new?” the man said. “They’ve been spying on me and reporting to
Lady McCabe.”
“It’s just our Neighborhood Pooch Patrol. We all watch out for each other,” she said. “And everyone’s worried about how you treat your dog, Dan Barber.”
Dan cursed and pulled the full shovel back, preparing to swing. Mrs. McCabe swung her hoe back, too. Kinney decided a second too late to move and what happened next was a blur. She was hit once, twice, three times and fell onto the grass. Rolling onto her back, she found herself staring into Evie Springdale’s camera.
The camera tipped up and swivelled. “Back off. Everyone. You’re currently being filmed for an episode of The Princess and the Pig. I suggest you get yourselves—and that dog—inside pronto or risk national ridicule.”
There was a shuffle in the darkness and then silence. Evie lowered the camera and offered her hand to Kinney. Shaking her head, Kinney got up on her own. “Don’t touch me. I’m covered in dog crap.”
“Believe it or not, I’ve smelled and touched worse,” Evie said. “Shooting at Runaway Farm is no bed of roses. Are you hurt?”
Kinney shook herself off. “Nothing serious. Hit me in the hip with the shovel and my shin with the hoe.” Picking up a stick, she scraped off some of the stinky residue. “He’s not wrong about inferior poop quality. It makes a good case for raw feeding.”
Evie pulled out her phone and turned on the flashlight. “Kinney, your arm’s bleeding.”
“It is?” Kinney looked at her wrist. “It looks like a bite. Did you mention a dog?”
Evie nodded. “Looked like a shepherd.”
“Damn. I was hoping it was the wolfhound, so I could fine our lady of the crazy mailbox.”
“I bet you can find another reason to fine her,” Evie said. “Let’s go interview them.”
Kinney looked down at her filthy uniform and shook her head. “Rule number one of mediation is wait till cooler heads prevail. Mine and theirs.”
“Rule number one of reality shows: strike while the iron is hot, and light a fire if you need to keep it that way.”
“Evie. You can’t use that footage.”
She shrugged. “We know that, but they don’t. I guarantee neither of them wants this stupidity to air so they’ll be motivated tonight to cooperate. Wait till tomorrow and they’ll figure out I need waivers.”
“Okay.” Kinney straightened her shoulders and walked toward Dan Barber’s house. “But this is a crazy way to do business.”
“This is crazy business, period. There were no duels over poop with garden equipment before Bill Bradshaw took office. What we have here is a clash of the old guard and the new. Mailbox Myrtle gave that away with her Officer Puppet comment, which is actually pretty clever.”
Glancing over her shoulder, Kinney said, “I take it you completely ignored my order to stay in the car.”
“I saw a chance to get the real poop on Dog Town politics.”
“This is bigger than poop now, Evie. Much bigger. I got bitten, and there’s zero tolerance for that even with dog court suspended.”
Evie nodded. “It’s no laughing matter, I get it. But you’d better stop saying ‘poop’ if you want them to take you seriously.”
“What do you prefer? Dung? Manure?” Kinney rubbed her hip as they went up Dan Barber’s stairs. It wasn’t the worst case she’d handled—not by far—but she had a sick feeling in her stomach that only partly came from the stench.
“Try shizzle,” Evie suggested. “It has pizzazz.”
“Right, because that’s what I’m looking for here: pizzazz.”
“It never hurts, Kinney. You really need to kick up those work boots more often.”
“Maybe when I recover from my injuries. In the meantime, follow my lead.”
Evie was already several steps ahead of her. “Got it.”
Chapter 3
The door opened even before they knocked and a tired-looking woman welcomed them inside. “I’m so sorry,” she said. “I’m Ginny Barber, and you met my husband, Dan. I’m afraid things came to a head with Mrs. McCabe tonight. Dan would like to apologize for—” She covered her nose and averted her eyes. “Everything.”
Dan came out of the kitchen, looking more defiant than contrite. “I am sorry,” he said. “For hitting you with the load of crap and not Lunatic McCabe. Waste of good ammo. But no doubt she’ll leave more tomorrow. Her dog’s a producer.”
“Dan!” His wife gave him a reproachful look and then gestured to the floor. A boy of about eight was sitting cross-legged with a beautiful German shepherd beside him, its long black nose resting on his leg.
The dog looked familiar, but Kinney supposed most shepherds looked more or less the same. This one had beautiful, intense eyes, but a thin crescent of white showed, as if he were frightened. There was no visible threat but the house pulsated with enough energy to raise the hair on her arms. Something felt wrong here, and it was about more than a crazy mailbox.
“Are you going to report us?” Ginny asked. “I’m sure there are worse issues than a disagreement over dog poop.”
“Much worse,” Kinney said. There was something likeable about the woman, and the kid looked sweet. “I’m sure we can sort that out among ourselves. What I’m more concerned about is this.”
She lifted her sleeve and showed the twin punctures on either side of her forearm.
“Oh my god,” Ginny said. “Did Whiskey do that?”
Her husband stepped forward for a closer look and then shook his head. “That was McCabe’s hoe.”
Kinney stared at him. “Dan, these marks would fit Whiskey’s fangs like Cinderella’s slipper.”
He shrugged. “Take the dog, then. He’s more trouble than he’s worth.”
“No, Daddy!” The little boy hugged the dog, which huddled in closer. “I love Whiskey.”
“It’s okay, Liam,” Ginny said. “Daddy doesn’t mean it.”
Dan flung himself into a battered leather chair. “You agreed to take the dog while your sister’s on tour, Ginny. I didn’t. The dog was fine when he got here but lately he’s jumpy as hell and now he’s bitten a dog cop. This is more dog than we can handle. Let Jacinda handle this.”
“Jacinda Allen?” Kinney said. “I met her back in January, when she was leaving on a road trip with the dog.”
Ginny’s face brightened. “You know my sister? That’s amazing. Her music took off and she got a chance to open for a band on a European tour. She was going to leave Whiskey with her mother-in-law but when that fell through, I offered to do it. Jacinda’s married now, you know. A stop in Vegas took care of that.”
“How wonderful,” Kinney said, smiling. “And your son obviously loves Whiskey.”
“That makes one of us,” Dan piped up. “Old Lady McCabe isn’t wrong about the dog being alone too long when we’re working.”
“That’s why we put in the dog door,” Ginny said. “He can go in and out when he wants. Jacinda said he did just fine for nine hours on his own.”
Kinney eyed Dan, wondering if he was the source of the bad energy in the house. Whiskey had had plenty of upheaval this year, leaving home on a road trip with his owner and then getting offloaded here. Now there was tension with the neighbor on top of everything.
“I know this is a good dog,” Kinney said. “I’d like to give him a second chance, even though it goes against CCD policy.”
“Thank you,” Ginny said, Liam’s higher voice overlapping hers.
“But you’re going to have to end the battle with Mrs. McCabe,” she said.
Dan glowered. “It’s my property. I have the survey to prove it.”
“But she thought it was hers for decades. Give her a chance to adjust without throwing her plants all over. They’re probably like pets to her. I’m sure you can understand that.”
“Not really,” Dan said, crossing his arms. “She’s nuts.”
Evie stepped around Kinney with her camera. “I’m just a bystander, but I can’t help saying you came off looking worse than she did. Most people learn not to throw poop as kids.”<
br />
“Evie,” Kinney said.
“Hey, you’re in that show,” Ginny said. “The Princess and the Pig. I love it!”
“Why, thank you.” Evie grinned at Kinney. “You guys should come out to Runaway Farm one day. It would be good for Dan to watch the goats play. Very therapeutic.”
“I don’t think so,” Dan said, over Liam’s eager clamor. He got up from his chair and opened the door. “You’ll want to get over to Old Lady McCabe’s before lights out at nine.”
As they walked across the lawn, Kinney said, “You promised to keep quiet.”
“That’s before I knew Dan was a complete jerk. He needed a dose of public shaming. I worry about his kid.”
“I worry about Whiskey,” Kinney said. “That dog was perfectly sound when I met him in January. If he’s biting, something has gone far wrong.”
She hadn’t expected a crowd, but Mrs. McCabe had summoned three neighbors during the time they were with the Barbers.
“Ladies, come in,” she said, pleasantly. “I hope you don’t mind but the Neighborhood Pooch Patrol wanted to meet you. I’ve made tea and Gertie Oakley brought over some cookies.”
“That’s so nice,” Kinney said. “Dog cops don’t get that kind of welcome often.” She glanced at Evie and smirked. “Oh wait, it’s your camera they want to meet.”
Mrs. McCabe waved the comment away. “Don’t be silly. We got off to a rocky start, that’s all. I’m sure you see that Dan Barber is bad news. I’m not the only neighbor he’s turned against.”
“She’s right,” said Addie Linton, a small, round woman with mild blue eyes and platinum curls. “He’s always complaining about something. These newcomers to Dorset Hills want to be coddled.”
Liza Northcott, a tall woman with her hair in a silver bun nodded agreement. “They act so entitled, when really we’re all in this together. It’s about being good dog owners and neighbors. How difficult is that?”
A shaggy wolfhound on a massive dog bed in the corner lifted its head to look at them as if in agreement.
“I’d like to hear more,” Kinney said, “but do you mind if I wash my hands, first?”
Bold and Blue in Dog Town: (Dog Town 9) Page 2