Lisa Peterson smiled a little too broadly as she held the Pomeranian named Wookie in her lap. “You can see he’s as good as new. And so much better behaved. We’ve been going to obedience classes.” Her gaze darted from Macayla to Oliver and back. “Is everything all right?”
“I’m not sure, Lisa.” Macayla tried to sound at ease because the woman had insisted on the informality when she’d let them into her home. “I’ve heard some disturbing rumors on the street and from the local police about dognappings taking place across the Tampa/St. Petersburg area. I wondered if you knew anything about that.”
“I don’t. Why would I?” She paused in stroking Wookie to dab at a bead of perspiration rolling down her forehead. They were seated on her patio though the day was swollen with humidity, and glassy bright, and the air-conditioned air that surrounded them when they walked through the house would have been more appreciated than the muggy garden view. The glasses of iced tea she served sat in puddles on the glass-topped wrought-iron table around which they sat.
Thinking ahead, they’d dropped Jackeroo off at Tampa/St. Pete Recon. Jefferina wasn’t in but Marcia offered to look after him. No leaving a dog for even a minute in a car in this heat.
“You told my employer that Wookie has disappeared several times in the past month.”
“That’s true. He has a habit of darting away when I take him to the dog park. Sometimes he gets out of the gate.”
“You don’t keep him on a leash?” This surprised Mac.
“I did, after the first time. Now we just don’t go there anymore.” She stroked Wookie lovingly. “I should have known better. But it won’t ever happen again, will it, sweetums?”
Macayla saw Oliver’s eye roll at the endearment. She was more interested in the “after the first time” part. “The police tell owners who refuse to pay the ransom to check with shelters and put up signs in their neighborhood and on lost-pet Internet sites because most often the dogs are simply released on the streets.”
“How awful.” Lisa took a sip of her tea, ignoring the drips from the glass falling on Wookie. “I can’t imagine not paying if Wookie were taken. I’d be frantic about him being hit by a car, or killed by wild animals.”
“I’d pay. The first time,” Oliver volunteered. “But if the little fella got snatched a second time, I’d think that paying the first time made me a target. And that it would happen a third time if I paid again.”
Lisa glanced at him and smiled the smile of a woman confronted with a gorgeous man. “I’m afraid I would pay a second time, too. It’s Wookie we’re talking about.”
“You wouldn’t call the police?” Macayla tried to make her voice as nonjudgmental as possible.
“Well, yes, I suppose I would do that, too. The second time.”
“Crikey, Lisa. If I’d paid the ransom the first time, I’d feel like the police might accuse me of having abetted a crime by not reporting it the first time.”
Lisa’s gaze fell before his. “Yes, there is that.”
“So you called Tampa/St. Pete Recon, instead.” Macayla smiled. “You aren’t the only one. I’ve talked to two other pet owners whose pets I recovered.” Neither of their dogs had been snatched, but that wouldn’t be helpful to say at the moment.
The woman didn’t reply.
“The problem is, Lisa, I’m now being accused of stealing the pets I’m paid to find and return. You know that isn’t true because you’ve dealt with the real culprits. I’m not asking you to go to the police.” Not yet anyway. “I just need to know all you can tell me about the real thieves so I can find them.”
“We can find them.” Oliver’s voice held the threat of bodily harm.
Lisa bent and kissed one of Wookie’s ears. “Two men. Young. Wearing hoodies. White, I think. They were hanging around the dog park. I noticed because neither of them had a dog. But they stayed on the outside of the fence. It was only when I realized Wookie was missing from the crowd of dogs he plays with that I noticed one of them had left. Of course, I was frantic. Wookie’s never left outside, not even in the yard, without supervision. I asked everyone if they’d seen him. Even the guy outside the fence.”
Her face tightened. “He pointed across the street to where his friend was holding Wookie. He demanded one hundred and fifty dollars. He said if I gave him the money right then, he’d have his friend bring Wookie back. All I had on me was the hundred-dollar bill I keep tucked away for emergencies. So I gave it to him. But he took off and the other one only dropped Wookie in the grass and ran. I ran to scoop Wookie up but he seemed to think the boys were playing a game and he ran after them and disappeared.”
“Feeling a little better?” Oliver smiled at Macayla as they walked back to his rental car a few minutes later. “That’s the first confirmation of the day.”
Macayla shook her head. “Second. The Boxer’s owner said a young man snatched her dog’s leash out of her hand as they walked in the park.”
“Remind you of anyone?”
“Massey’s grandson Woody’s buddies.” She slid into the passenger seat as he slid behind the wheel.
“Sounds like I need to do a follow-up.”
“Oh no you don’t. You can’t harass a witness. That’s all the police will need to scoop me up and sit my butt in jail until trial.”
He slanted a frown her way. “Since you didn’t commit a crime, he’s not a legitimate witness, so we’re doing nothing wrong. It’s definitely worth a trip to see what he knows. Someone put him up to this. Don’t think it was the old man.”
Macayla shook her head. “Later. This isn’t just about them. The thieves sound like opportunists. The kind Sam told me about. I’m involved in something bigger. Whoever planted that money in my house had the extra cash to spend setting me up. Let’s face it, if I had five hundred dollars, stolen or otherwise, I wouldn’t waste it trying to frame someone with it.”
“Fair point.” But she saw something in Oliver’s gaze change, as if he hadn’t thought about her dismal financial situation. How was that possible when he’d seen her former car, and now her home? But he didn’t say another word about that. “What kind of thief would be wealthy enough not to worry about losing that kind of money?”
Her eyes got big at the thought. “The dognappers of the greyhounds.”
“I was thinking the same thing. Dognapping in the park is a long way from breaking into a racetrack and stealing professional dogs. Have you ever been to the dog track?”
“No. I hate the whole idea of making dogs race. I’ve signed several petitions against it.”
He grinned at her. “The Boxer, Wookie, and the greyhounds. One of these things is not like the other. Let’s find out why.”
Derby Lane Greyhound Track was a racino, a combination racetrack and casino. The main building was white stucco with pinky-beige trim and a shutter-green crown. At the moment it baked like a birthday cake in the heat, a plume of white clouds rising like steam behind it. Nothing moved in the heat. It was as if all the oxygen had been sucked out of the air. At least that’s how it seemed to Macayla as she and Oliver walked toward it from the parking lot.
Oliver gave her a reassuring smile when they reached the entrance. “You go talk to the manager. See what he’s willing to tell you about what happened that night. I’m going to nose around the kennels and talk to the guys who really run the place. If there’s smut in the wind, they’ll have a sniff of it.”
The moment she entered the casino, the skin on Macayla’s arms puckered. It wasn’t just a reaction to the iceberg temperature freezing the sweat on her body, or the sudden switch from too-bright sun to the dim interior, or the weary worldliness of Frank Sinatra’s voice pervading the space, or the incessant mechanical sounds of slot machines churning above the murmuring voices of gamblers. By nighttime and weekend standards the place was nearly deserted now, at midday. It was the sense she was out of her depth.
Desperation was taking her down some very iffy roads to some very shaky destinations. What was she going to say to the manager? Hi. Do you know who stole those greyhounds because the police don’t have a clue? And, oh, by the way, did anybody from here leave five hundred dollars in my underwear drawer?
“May I help you?” A young woman in a formfitting navy business suit had paused before her. From her sassy ponytail to her red lips and spike heels, she looked both business-like and sexy. How did she do that? The length of her skirt, of course. It stopped halfway up her toned thighs.
Macayla licked her too-dry lips. “I’m Mac Burkett of Tampa/St. Pete Recon. I’d like to speak with the manager.”
The young woman gave her a cursory smile. “Follow me.”
Mac stepped onto the elevator feeling as if it were a rocket to the moon. If the casino itself was Vegas retread, the upper offices were Seattle modern: spare lines, grays and chrome.
The moment the doors opened on the mezzanine floor she spied the silver hair of Jarvis Henley. She thrust her arm into the gap, saying to her hostess. “Never mind. I see Jarvis. He’ll tell me what I need to know. Thanks.”
She stepped out and moved quickly toward her quarry, who was in a discussion with a man who wore chinos and a white golf shirt with the words HENLEY KENNELS embossed across the shoulders. No doubt who he worked for.
“Put the last three back in their crates. They’re not running well in this heat. Must be reacting to the pressure changes of the storm.”
“Mr. Henley?”
The man turned as Macayla approached. He squinted at her, eyes rising to the blue in her hair. “That’s right. But I don’t believe—” His bland expression switched to razor-sharp. “Wait. I do know you. Ms. Burkett, right?”
“That’s right. We met at that SAR banquet.” She shook his extended hand and felt her knuckles crunch under the pressure. At least she didn’t feel the terror of their last encounter. Yet he was a power player all the way. “Lucky thing, running into you. Do you have a moment?”
“Always for a good-looking woman.” He waved her toward the dining room. “I was just about to have a little lunch. Do you come here often? If so, then you’ll know how great the menu is.”
“No. I’ve never been here before. And sorry, but I can’t join you.”
He paused and assessed her again. Did he have a thing for biker shorts and oversized tees? “The way you say that I sense disapproval.”
“No disrespect but, yes, I think dog racing is unnecessarily cruel to the dogs.”
“I see.” He looked as if she’d punched him in the nose. “In that case, what brings you here?”
“Doing a little customer service review.” She wasn’t surprised to see his brows rise in skepticism. She was about to screw things up before she got to ask her first question. “And I seem to have forgotten myself. Never insult the customer. I gave you my personal opinion. Not that of my employer. I’d appreciate if you didn’t report how badly I messed up my first outing as a Tampa/St. Pete Recon representative.”
He didn’t smile. “Have you been with them long?”
“Less than a year. I actually came to say how sorry I am that we weren’t able to return your dogs to you in good health.”
“I suppose you did your best. Though it took a while to find them.”
“Actually, I ran them down less than twelve hours after being given the assignment. The police were in charge before that.”
He seemed surprised that she defended herself. “How did you find them so quickly when law enforcement couldn’t?”
She smiled. “Now I’ll have to plead PI–client privilege.”
“I’m the client.”
“PI–informant privilege then.” It felt as if she were dancing with a bear. “One hears things on the street.”
“And, being a pet detective, you have lots of ears on the street?”
“People who would never agree on religion or politics agree about animals, Mr. Henley. Everybody loves them, and wants to help protect them.”
“Except racing dog breeders.” He was daring her to cross him again. Money made some people bullies.
“Good one. I know you were honored for good works for local K-9 search-and-rescue teams. Perhaps you aren’t like other racing dog breeders.”
“Is there a point to this, Ms. Burkett?”
“Only that I hope you were satisfied with my diligence in your case. It came at great personal sacrifice.”
“What sacrifice would that be?”
It struck her then that maybe she’d said too much. The point was not to throw further suspicion on herself, but to fish for what he knew.
“A few cuts and bruises. But something about this case still bothers me. I wonder if you’ve had any more thoughts about on who might have stolen your dogs? As I came in, I noticed how professional the facilities are. It’s clear the track has good security. I’m told the dogs live on the premises.”
“Yes, at any given time there are between three and five hundred dogs on the grounds.”
“Whoa. I’m amazed you noticed two were missing.”
“They were a special pair, my wife’s dogs, favored to win a big race the next day.”
“How big?”
“The biggest purse since the famous Derby Lane Million.”
“Wow.” No one had mentioned that before. Her mind kicked into high gear. “That had to be a blow to you, financially.”
He smirked as if she’d made a joke. “One doesn’t own racers without the wherewithal to absorb the occasional disappointment at the track.”
Message received: Henley was stinkin’ rich. “But it might be enough so that someone might have wanted to fix the race.”
“The police have always looked at the case as an inside job.” He said this as though she was slow and needed to be told she was out of her league. “I really can’t discuss details with you because it is an ongoing matter with the police.”
“Because?” She had to try.
He just stared at her.
“That must be because they have a suspect, or suspects. Someone who works or worked here, I’d guess.”
No reply. He glanced at his watch. “I have an engagement coming up. If you’ll excuse me.” He was done being polite and walked away.
“Mr. Henley? Did you know that here’s a dognapping ring working in this area?”
He paused. “No. Why?”
“I was just thinking that the theft of your dogs couldn’t be connected. The guys in the local ring are amateurs. Anyone getting in here would have to know what they were doing and how things operate. That makes it a bigger job, one that would require more sophistication.”
She didn’t know why she was being deliberately provocative. Probably because he’d rubbed her face in his wealth while she knew too much about how miserably maintained racing dogs were. Hundreds of dogs in metal cages stacked several levels high for up to twenty hours a day. Without the benefit of heat or air-conditioning, rain or shine. He had the “wherewithal” to make their conditions better, but chose not to. That made him an asswipe in her book.
What the hell—she’d already been arrested. Once that became public knowledge, no one would talk to her. Maybe if she told Henley what had happened that night, he would talk about it among his friends, and that might flush out whoever was behind the attempt to frame her.
“It was a busy night in the neighborhood the night I found your dogs. The police were called to that block before I’d had a chance to call them myself.”
He looked surprised. “Why were they called?”
“Shots fired.”
“You were there when shots were fired?” He didn’t even blink. “That must have been frightening.”
“Terrifying.” She hesitated. Up until this moment, she’d been grateful no one knew she’d been there. Now it seemed a liability. Someone had committed a crime greater than the murder of those poor dogs. Someone had shot another human being.
“The police are holding back but you are the client, as you just reminded me. So I’ll tell you, I was able to video the shooting.”
This time he did blink. “What?”
“I was using an infrared camera at a location I’d been given to try to detect live activity—in this case, your dogs—without needing to enter the premises. That’s how I came to accidentally witness an altercation in which one man shot another.”
“If what you say is true, why haven’t the police arrested anyone?”
She shrugged. “I can’t say.” She wasn’t quite sure why she felt the need to hold back the detail about the recording being unclear. Maybe to see if it made him nervous, to help suss out what he did or didn’t know.
“That’s a very interesting story. But what does it have to do with my dogs being taken?” His expression remained cool, almost too cool.
“Nothing. Just wanted you to know how dedicated Tampa/St. Pete Recon is to doing a good job for you. Thanks for your time. Have a good day.”
She turned and hurried toward the elevator. Thankfully the wait wasn’t long and she sank back against the wall in relief. Holy crap!
Her brain was buzzing. She had never been more sure that the greyhound dognapping and the shooting were related. It once seemed so random. Not anymore.
The events of the night flashed through her mind like a PowerPoint presentation on fast forward. The details were surreal, seen through the lens of the infrared camera in splashes of neon colors. The shooting she’d witnessed had taken place next door to the house where the dogs were. Maybe they had talked there to throw off suspicion in case they were seen.
Maybe she had been seen. Professional hit. That was Sam’s opinion, when he’d believed her. Maybe she’d been tracked down.
No going back now. She’d told Mr. Henley enough to set in motion a series of events she wasn’t certain she could handle. But she had to try. To do that, she needed more information.
The police hadn’t shared information with her about who owned the house where the dogs were found, or where the shooting had taken place. Not her business. And it didn’t seem important. But she knew someone who could find out the answers to both those questions.
Fresh sweat squeezed out of her pores as she stepped outside. The day was a bright oven after the chill, dim enclosure of the racino building. She gnawed her lip, wondering whether she should go in search of Oliver when he appeared around a wall and waved at her. They needed to talk. But not out in the open where they might be overheard.
When they met, he slung a familiar arm about her shoulders as he steered her toward the parking lot. “How did it go?”
“I ran into Jarvis Henley. I don’t like him. You?”
“I had a conversation with several of the kennel hands.”
“Don’t say any more until we get to the car.”
He nodded. “You’re going to like what I have to say.”
You won’t, she thought as she slid into the passenger side.
Oliver got behind the wheel and turned on the engine, cranking up the air to full blast. “The trainers wouldn’t talk to me. But my bastard Spanish came in handy while the kennel hands argued among themselves about what they weren’t going to tell me, and why. One of them said that a guy named Nico, one of Jarvis Henley’s trainers, hasn’t been seen since the dogs disappeared. Mr. Henley says he fired him but they aren’t sure.”
Mac leaned into the air vent, grateful for the gust of refrigerated air hitting her face. “You think this Nico took the dogs?”
“Possibly. If it was an inside job, one of the trainers would be the likeliest suspect. He’d know the security, how to handle the dogs. For the right bribe, many people aren’t rigid about their loyalty.”
Mac thought about that a beat. “There’s something you should know. I kinda outed myself.” She went on to explain her conversation with Henley in detail.
Oliver was shaking his head by the end. “That was pretty stupid, Macayla.”
“Oh, thanks for the vote of confidence.”
He sent her a dark look. “I don’t like the idea of you making yourself a target.”
“I’m already a target. I’m just trying to figure out whose target. I needed to push Henley to see how he responded. Now I’m certain he knows more than he’s letting on.”
“What happened to not being brave and shit?”
She shrugged. “There’s something else. Henley lost a large purse on a major race the day after his dogs went missing.”
Oliver glanced at her sharply. “Who won?”
“Let’s see.” Macayla pulled out her phone and found the answer after a minute. “A long shot won, nearly four hundred thousand dollars. The rest was split seven ways from Sunday because of a multiple tie. No big day for anyone.”
“Except the persons who put a bet on the long shot. There was probably major off-track betting going on, too.”
Macayla eyed Oliver. “You know a lot about betting?”
“Not really. Me granddad liked to bet on the horses. He always went for the long shot. He didn’t win often. But when he did, he won big. Are you thinking someone took the dogs to throw the race?”
“I’m thinking Henley must have lost a bundle because his dogs were the favorite to win. Which is interesting, but it doesn’t help me with the dognapping charges.” She tapped her fingers. “Turn left here and head south. Maybe Jefferina will be able to make something out of what we’ve discovered.”