Chapter Twelve
“Why don’t we start from the beginning,” Sam suggested. What had started as a waste of time might actually get them their first lead. “When did you first see the stranger?”
Leptic leaned forward in the chair. He was a skinny guy with big hands and a crappy haircut that he probably did himself with a Tupperware bowl and a straight razor. But he was obviously intelligent and would make a good witness in court if his tip proved useful.
“Well, I had a wedding to go to last Sunday so I left Saturday. My cousin lives in Claire so I was spending the night there. I was loading my suitcase into the car when I saw someone briskly walking south through the church parking lot heading toward Oak.”
“I’m sure that isn’t unusual,” Sam said. “The church parking lot had to be full for the wedding. A guest could have parked along the street.”
“True,” Leptic said. “But the person was dressed all in black with his hood up and carrying a duffel bag. He didn’t look like your regular wedding guest.”
Schooled to not show emotion during interviews, Sam didn’t twitch. Jess had no such training. Her eyes lit up.
“What did he look like?” she said. If they had a good description, they could get a sketch out to the media.
Leptic closed his eyes. “Let’s see. He was about five-seven, thin up top and kind of thick on the bottom, and had a pointed chin. That was all I could see of his face. He was walking hunched over and moving quickly. Oh, and he was white. Or Hispanic.”
“And you’re sure it was a man?” Sam said.
The philatelist opened his eyes. “I believe so. But now that you mention it, the person could have been female. If so, she had her figure disguised. He did not have noticeable breasts.”
Sam put down male with a question mark. Although most snipers were male, they’d need confirmation. “Did you see him get into a car?”
“No. Once he got past the Fords’ house, he was out of sight.” Leptic sighed. “I wish I could be more help.”
“You’ve been a great help,” Jess said and turned to Sam. “We could get a sketch artist to draw up what Mr. Leptic saw, right? Even without a full face, it’s something.”
“I’d be open to that,” Leptic said.
A hooded figure carrying a duffel was hardly the best lead, but maybe someone would recognize him. Stranger things have happened. “I’ll set it up.” He took down Leptic’s information and they left.
“Too bad our sniper hid his face.” Jess puffed out a breath. “We could close the case before dinner.”
Sam was only half listening to her. Where was the dog? He approached the SUV and peered through the smoked window with a cupped hand on the glass. The dog had a corner of the cover in his mouth and was enthusiastically gnawing a hole in black mesh.
“Are you kidding me?” He pulled the door open. Still attached to the seat cover with his teeth, the dog looked up innocently, like destroying things was no big deal. He thumped his tail and smiled. At least Sam thought so.
Jess snickered behind him as she peered around his shoulder. “Bad boy, Spike.”
The scold had no bite when said with humor. The dog jerked his head and ripped the hole wider. Sam growled and stepped back, sending Jess scrambling onto the curb, and slammed the door. He climbed into the driver’s seat and said a few choice words about disrespectful dogs and their owners. When she was inside and buckled in, he glanced back at the still-chewing dog and then to Jess.
“I don’t know who the bigger menace is. You or the dog.”
She grinned. “Me. For sure.”
* * *
Biting back a grin, Jess said nothing else as they drove first to a pet store for supplies and then to his house to see Spike settled. There was no strange car at the curb and no sign of Calvin. That seemed to settle Wheeler a little. Spike was enough to deal with for now.
Jess took the dog through the kitchen to do his business, while Wheeler carried in a fifty-pound bag of dog food. His muscles bunched as he hoisted the bag over one shoulder.
Yum.
Before she got caught gawking, she opened the back door and led the dog into the yard. For the first time she had a twinge of adoption regret. Spike didn’t do anything on the small side. A shovel would have to replace the pooper-scooper she’d insisted on buying at the store. It annoyed her that Wheeler had been right about that. Once he finished, they returned inside.
“Come on, boy,” she said in an excited voice. They ran back onto the deck and into the house. She unsnapped the leash and the dog raced around, sniffing everything.
She went to help Wheeler unpack. Maybe she should start calling him Sam? Nah. What fun was that?
He’d already put the oversized doggie bed in a corner of the living room. It could normally hold two good-sized dogs. Or a horse. Spike gave it an appreciative sniff.
“Should I get the shovel out of the shed?” Wheeler asked without looking up from the bed.
“Smug isn’t attractive,” she said. “And yes. I’ll need the shovel.” She reached into the paper bag and pulled out a rawhide chew bone that was almost two feet long. “I’ll also need a second job to feed him.”
“Horses are expensive.”
“Funny.” The click of toenails sounded on the stairs. “You have to admit that the sniper will think twice about messing with me with Spike around.” She pulled a spiked black collar out of the bag. Spike wasn’t vicious, but she wanted him to look the part of a guard dog. The pink collar he had on—the pound had run out of blue—didn’t fit the ferocious image.
“I’m afraid of what he’ll do to my grass.”
She walked over and put the bone next to the bed. “Are you always so humorless? Smiling won’t kill you.”
She had seen him smile once, she thought, but not recently. He preferred grumbling. “If you plan to be the Grinch all the time, I’m packing up my dog and finding a new home.”
Once he seemed satisfied with the position of the dog bed, Wheeler turned his head and offered up a smile that was more snarling wolf than human happy grin. “Better?”
“Not even close.” She remembered a joke she’d heard on TV. Maybe that would help. “Why don’t cannibals eat clowns?” He shook his head. “Because they taste funny!”
His mouth twitched. “What, are you twelve?”
“You thought it was funny.”
This time, he showed teeth. “It wasn’t funny.”
“Lies, lies.” She pulled the store tag off the collar. “At least I know that you have all your teeth. I won’t have to cut your food into little bits.” Noticing that the house had gone quiet, she called out, “Spike!” and whistled. No response. “Spike!”
A silent dog was like a quiet child. Not a good thing. That’s when they were getting into mischief.
“The last time I heard him, he was heading upstairs,” she said and took off. If he’d chewed up something, she wouldn’t have to move out. Wheeler would kick them out.
Unfortunately, Wheeler must have had the same thought. He followed her, boots thumping on the wooden stairs.
“Spike?” There were two bedrooms and an office upstairs as Jess tamped down her concern and peeked in the rooms. “Spike?”
When they got to Wheeler’s bedroom, the door was half open. Jess braced herself for the worst. In the center of his big bed, lay a sprawled out Spike with his head on a pillow, snoring and twitching like he was chasing dream squirrels across a sunny meadow. The bedspread was bunched up beside him like a body pillow. He was in doggie heaven.
The picture was cute but not good. There was drool on the pillowcase. Wheeler tensed behind her.
Jess lost the fight against a smile. “Now that’s funny,” she said as Wheeler swore. The man knew more curse words than a truck-driving sailor. “Isn’t he adorable?”
“Just precious.”
Then the bunched-up comforter moved.