Dog Days Page 2

  Made my Dawson act like a love-sick puppy the first time they met, and every time after that. Since he was too awestruck to ask her out, she asked him. Now I ask you, she’s been here how many months, and they just had their first date last week?

  Perhaps I should have a talk with my youngest.

  Paul (Ranger) Lovecchio is a transfer from New York City. Was headed for a burnout and wanted a change of pace. Can’t get much slower paced than here. He’s more serious minded, but that might have to do with him just decompressing, or that he’s older (a bit, not much) than the others. He’s intelligent, savvy, and says what’s on his mind, regardless of content.

  Hockey season will be interesting this year. He’s a diehard NHL fan, but his favorite team is the New York Rangers (thus the nickname). His black Lab goes by the name, Puck.

  I’m sure once Paul settles in and gets to know us better—and vice versa—he’ll be a good fit. Couple of the first questions he asked? Where’s the nearest gym, and where’s the best cup of coffee?

  “Dispatch, this is Unit four. Come in. Over.”

  He sounded kinda breathless.

  I scooted closer. “Go ahead, Unit four.”

  “Looks like your caller was right. Caucasian male, fifty to sixty years of age. Somebody bashed his head in. Body’s pretty beat up, too. No ID. Officer Barrows helped me fish him out. Over.”

  “Noted. I’ll call Doc Weston. What’s your location?”

  “Far side of Grover’s Bridge, heading out. Over.”

  “Roger that.”

  Wyatt came slowly (his normal gait at the moment) from his office. I still worry about him. I think he should be more healed than he seems to be, but then again, he did have a setback—pretty much had to start all over again. Still….

  “What’s up?” He’d obviously heard the transmission.

  “Body in the water.”

  “Where?”

  “You’re not supposed to—”

  “Where?”

  I exhaled. “Far side of Grover’s Bridge.”

  He nodded. “I’ll meet Doc out there.”

  “Ranger and Becca are on site.”

  “Good. Look, Maggie, I’m not going to do anything but observe. I promise.”

  I squinted at him. “You’re not supposed to drive, either.”

  He winked, donned his hat, and left.

  Teeth gritted, I sent little glare-y darts at him as I keyed the mic. “Unit four be advised, Unit one is on the way.”

  “Roger, dispatch. Out.”

  I contacted Doctor Weston, then typed out the initial forms the officers would need to finish filling in when they got back.

  I couldn’t fault Wyatt for wanting to keep in touch with what was going on in the department, but knew his need to participate and not being able to, was giving him fits. A plus, Doc Weston’s presence would help keep Wyatt from doing anything but observing, although I hoped he got a talking to for getting behind the wheel of a vehicle.

  Twenty minutes later, the phone rang.

  “Mossy Creek Pol—”

  “Maggie.”

  A two second pause. “Wyatt?” My heart skidded, and a million thoughts ricocheted through my mind. “Are you okay?”

  “We ID’d the body.”

  I didn’t want to know, and yet…. “Who?”

  “Tom Grayson.”

  When he first said the name, it didn’t click right away.

  And then it did.

  “Lavender’s Thomas?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Oh my God. What—? How—?”

  “It wasn’t an accident.”

  Oh, God. Tears bubbled, up and over, but I paid no attention. “Not—? How can that be? Who could—?” I didn’t really expect him to answer.

  “Doc’s taking the body. I’m going to notify Lavender. Would you—?”

  “Anything, if I can.”

  “Someone needs to be with her. One of her sisters, maybe? Or more than one? You’d know which one to call.”

  “Glad. Gladiola.”

  “Thanks, Maggie. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

  “I’ll be here.”

  I said a silent prayer for Wyatt, and for Lavender. It was going to be tough.

  Just as I hung up, Rick came in with Declan.

  “Maggie?” Rick was at my side, immediately. “What is it? Another stalker call?”

  I shook my head, swiping at eyes that continued to leak. “We had a report of a floater.”

  “Oh, man.” Declan leaned against my desk. “Those go from bad to worse, depending on how long they’ve been in the water.”

  “Yes, I would imagine so. Wyatt just called. It was Tom Grayson.”

  They both looked blank.

  “Lavender’s husband. Hidden Treasures?”

  Declan shrugged. He was too new to know about whom I was talking.

  Rick, though, was well acquainted. “No way. That can’t be right.” He sat, hard, as it sunk in. “It can’t be Tom. I just talked to him on Friday. He was helping plan Wyatt’s Binger night.”

  Declan’s head tilted. “What’s a binger?”

  “Um.” Rick rubbed his face. “Some of the men from town get together on occasion. He was one of the original members.”

  “Thank you?”

  Rick shook his head. “Sorry. I’ll explain it later. Maggie, what happened? Heart attack?”

  “Apparently it wasn’t an accident.”

  “Aw, come on. Murder? Dammit. How?”

  “As yet to be determined.”

  Declan straightened. “Wyatt’s doing the notification?”

  I nodded. “He’s on his way there now.”

  “I thought he was still on desk duty?”

  “No comment.” That reminded me. Crap.

  I dialed.

  “Hello?”

  “Gladiola, this is Maggie.”

  “Hi there, kid. What’s up?”

  My eyes closed.

  She sounded so chipper, and I was about to turn her life upside down.

  “Lavender’s going to need you; something’s happened to Thomas. Can you get to her house in the next few minutes?”

  She only paused for a second. “What the hell, Maggie? Of course I can get there, but— What’s happened? Can you tell me?”

  I could make her wait until she heard it from Wyatt, but (judgement call) she’d be better prepared with a heads up. “A couple of our officers pulled him out of Mossy Creek. Wyatt’s on his way to Lavender’s. We felt someone should be there with her when he gets there.”

  There was silence on the other end. I could only imagine what was going through her head.

  “Mother of God.” She cleared her throat, but her voice still sounded like ground up glass. “I’ll get us all there. Thanks for calling, Maggie. Thanks for the warning.”

  “I’m so so sorry, Glad. I figured you’d be best to rally the troops.”

  “You’d be right. Gotta go. I’ll try to get back to you as things progress.”

  “And I’ll try to keep you updated, as much as I can.”

  “I appreciate that.”

  We didn’t say good-bye. I just nodded and hung up, then grabbed my tissue box.

  “She’s on her way?”

  I nodded again. “She’s calling all of them.”

  The phone rang again.

  “For pity’s sake!” I blew my nose first, then answered with my standard greeting.

  “Um. Maggie? This is Betsy Peters.”

  “Hey, Betsy.”

  “I’m um, I’m in the back parking lot behind Hidden Treasures. I usually park here and go run my errands. The lot’s always empty on Mondays because Lavender’s closed on Mondays.”

  “Yes. Yes, she is.”

  “Well. The back door’s standing wide open.”

  My eyebrows rose and I stared at the two men in from of my desk. “Okay, Betsy. I’ll send someone over to have a look. Thanks for calling.”

  She wasn’t ready to hang up. “O
h, you’re welcome, Maggie. It wouldn’t do for somebody to just waltz on in there and take whatever they wanted. I was worried, ya know? She’s got a lot of nice things in there.”

  “I hope that isn’t the case. You were right to be concerned, Betsy. Thanks again, for calling.”

  “You want me to wait for them to get here?”

  “No. No. That’s fine. We just appreciate you letting us know.”

  “All right then. You’re welcome. Bye now.”

  “Bye.” I replaced the receiver, but took a moment to collect myself.

  Declan didn’t care to wait. “Now what?”

  “The back door to Hidden Treasures is standing open, and they’re closed on Mondays.”

  “Good God.”

  “Yeah.”

  “See if I’ve got this straight.” Declan rubbed his chin. “This Hidden Treasures place, the rear door of which is open, though not for business, is owned by Lavender Grayson, whose husband was fished out of the creek just moments ago.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Interesting.”

  “A conundrum, to be sure. I need you two to go over there. The door will need to be secured, at the very least. But take a look around. Maybe the non-accidental thing that happened to Thomas, happened there.”

  “Gotcha. Hawk-man, grab your detective hat. We’re going to investigate a suspicious event.”

  Declan nodded to me and followed Rick out.

  Dear Lord in Heaven.

  Was there a connection between Hidden Treasures’ open door and Tom’s demise? Seemed things were pointing in that direction. But what was the link?

  In the back of my mind a thought shifted, then faded. I tried to grab it, but….

  The radio crackled.

  “Dispatch, this is Unit three.”

  You know, if my desk was closer to the radio I wouldn’t have to keep rolling across the floor every time someone called in. It could be done, with a little muscle. And we’ve got a lot of that when they’re all together in the same room. Next time that happens, and there are a couple extra minutes, I’d make a suggestion. “Go ahead, Unit three.”

  “Anything going on?”

  Was there ever.

  “Are you headed in? Over.”

  “Yes, unless you need me to stop somewhere else.”

  “Nope. Come on ahead.”

  “10-4. Out.”

  Again the radio. “Dispatch. Unit seven here. Over.”

  A sigh. “Go ahead, Unit seven.”

  “Permission to go home and change?”

  Poor kid sounded tired and disgusted, but not mad. Probably fell in or something.

  Oh, come on, now. You know I call everybody a kid. Most of them are as old as my real ones, or younger, so….

  “Dispatch? Maggie?”

  “Permission granted, Unit seven. Return to base as soon as you can. Over.”

  “Roger. Out.”

  Five extra bodies to maneuver and stretch was fascinating, especially when there were a lot of calls coming in, like today. And okay, yes, it was a blast bossing them around. But I have to say, in the short amount of time they’ve been here, they are—all five—blending in really well. They care about this town, and the people in it, and wear their loyalty like a banner on their foreheads.

  Don’t get me started.

  Suffice it to say, I’m happy they’re here.

  We have bonded into a close-knit, family-tight group. But where I was more lenient with Rick (at times) when he was the only ‘gopher’ we had, I’ve been stricter—more strict?—with the new guys.

  Still a mother bear, but even grizzly mamas swat errant cubs when they need it.

  I glanced at the clock, surprised that it was already past two in the afternoon. Court had been on his way to Annetta’s before he’d been interrupted.

  News had dampened my appetite, but we hadn’t eaten all day and I was starting to get the shakes.

  Maybe I could catch him.

  “Unit seven, this is dispatch. Do you copy? Over.”

  “Go, dispatch. I just got to my place.”

  “Great. Could you, on your way back, stop by Annetta’s and pick up that lunch we didn’t get a chance to get earlier?”

  “Hallelujah! Roger that, dispatch. Unit seven will comply. Out.”

  This one does make me laugh.

  AT WYATT’S LATER that evening, we were quietly holding each other, with Harley snoozing, his head on my lap.

  Harley?

  I thought I told you about him. Sorry.

  Well, right after Wyatt woke up in the hospital, he decided I should have some added protection. Because of, you know, the deranged psycho-stalker thing. So, we decided to relieve Pansy Nash of her mystery mutt. The vet says he’s a cross between Shiba Inu and a poodle—a Pooshi or Shiba-Poo—and therefore his mutt-ness isn’t necessarily a bad thing. Either way, he’s a sweetheart, loving and protective, but smaller than I expected. And way cuter. Like a miniature Husky, only his fur is longer and it’s got this adorable wave to it.

  During his recovery, Wyatt sometimes fought boredom by training our beloved puppy. Harley learned his lessons well beyond our expectations. Such a smarty-pants. He stays, lays, sits, and heels on verbal command and by hand signal. He comes when we call him, too.

  Most importantly, he’s potty-trained. You know what I mean.

  Wyatt’s been trying to teach him to roll over, but that just seems so … demeaning. Apparently, I’m not the only one who thinks so, because Harley refuses to perform.

  Our genius pet even knows the boundaries of both my house, and Wyatt’s. The mailman, Brick Mason, is his friend. If someone different shows up—UPS, FedEx, or one of those others—as long as they’re in a uniform, Harley barks twice, then wags his tail. Which could become a bad thing when you think about it.

  Bicycles are the only vehicle he disobeys orders about following. Cyclists have brought him back to the house on a few occasions. He’s never tried to bite them, just likes to run alongside. Now squirrels, birds, or stray cats, sometimes even a loose dog, yeah, he’ll chase, but only to the end of the property, then he trots back to the porch.

  It took a while for the poor thing to understand that every time I went into the kitchen I wasn’t going to feed him. I tripped over him several times before he got the message. Now he still follows me, but goes right to his doggy bed, and watches—hoping I drop something.

  There are times, though rarely now, when that @#%! dog becomes a pain in the arse and I’d like to drop kick him into next week. (Ahem.) As I mentioned it’s rare, and I’ve never lifted a finger, or a rolled newspaper to him since he’s been here. Even when I am irritated, I can’t stay annoyed. He’s got that adorable puppy-stare down pat.

  Absently petting said pooch, I sighed. “I’m still unbalanced, ya know? It’s hard to get my mind around.”

  “I know what you mean. It’s a mystery how he ended up in the creek. Lavender says he left for the lake sometime Friday evening. Six, or there abouts. Kinda late to start out. She thought so, too. And, what about the open door at Hidden Treasures? Is there a connection between the two? Just a coincidence? Is it the original crime scene? Did he have an accident? Run off the road and into the creek?”

  “Lots of questions, for sure.”

  “Looked like signs of a struggle,” Declan said, “out on the showroom floor, but not back in the office area. Another oddity, no weapon, but there’s a small pool of blood, and drag marks.”

  “Maybe Tom saw something, or someone, in there on his way out of town, and stopped to see what was going on.”

  “Could be. Just between you and me, I think it started there. And if that’s the case, the vehicle used to transport the body had to’ve been pretty close to the back door.”

  “Agreed.”

  “So, that’s the hypothesis? That Tom was killed at Hidden Treasures, and his body transported—for whatever reason—to the creek and thrown in? Where’s the proof?”

  “Seems to make the mos
t sense in all this craziness. And there’s no proof, yet. Just … cop speculation.”

  “We should put it to the team, get their take on it.”

  “Yeah. Probably be a good idea. And I’d like to get a look at the scene myself. Think I’ll go over tomorrow—”

  “Wyatt, come on. Doc Weston told you—”

  “I know what Doc told me. I was there, wasn’t I? Walking the scene isn’t going to strain anything, or pull anything loose.”

  I blew out a breath. He was right, but that wasn’t the point. “There’s a reason he hasn’t signed off on your request to return to active duty. He’s probably just as stubbornly not going to sign it as you so stubbornly won’t follow the rules.”

  “Rules be hanged. I’m the chief of the … flippin’ police department. I have a job to do.”

  “So does he. But, if you keep making waves, the council might get involved and do something more drastic than keep you on desk duty. Then where would you be?”

  He rested his head against the back of the couch. “What could be worse?”

  “For Pete’s sake, Wyatt. They could suspend you, or select someone else to be chief.”

  “Acting Mayor Heckman wants this case closed fast. Tom was a good friend of his.”

  “Tom was a friend to a lot of people. And that’s … a change of subject.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Yes, I do know, sweetheart. And, I’m not trying to be a fishwife about it.” Really, I wasn’t. “Your frustration with this whole thing is understandable. I’m on edge myself about things; the one especially high on the list is the remodeling of our office. The library building is nice and all, but I miss our office. Our building.

  “It irks me royal that the borough council hired this out of town yahoo on the word of someone in Waynesburg, and that their best contractor in two counties isn’t living up to the hype. I highly doubt we’ll be moving back into our old digs by next weekend. The whole south wall is missing.”