Murder of a Cranky Catnapper (18 page)

“We ain't donatin' to Goodwill either.” Glenda scowled at Yolanda. “All this la-di-dah stuff is your doin'. You're a bad influence.”

From her stiletto-heeled gold sandals to her knockoff Paris Hilton blond wig, Glenda was the quintessence of Red Ragger womanhood. And Red Raggers did not help their fellow man. They helped themselves to their fellow man's property and considered it a good deed.

“But . . .” Trixie struggled to explain, looking at Skye, who shrugged. Finally Trixie said, “Remember the rubber duck race? The club organized it to save the no-kill animal shelter. Our members didn't give anything but their time and the kids had fun.”

“See, honey pie,” Earl, beaming like the proud owner of a blue ribbon hog, rushed over to her and put an arm around her waist. “It didn't cost us nothin' and Bambi's takin' a real likin' to the club.”

Glenda stared at Earl. “When did you start carin' what the kids liked?'”

“In the olden days daddies jest worked and provided
for their family.” Earl lifted his nonexistent chin. “But now they neuter their kids, too.”

Skye's eyes widened until she translated. Earl had to mean “nurtured.”

“What are you talkin' about?” Glenda growled.

Earl looked down and mumbled, “Now, baby cakes, yous knows I love the young'uns.”

Glenda cuffed him on the side of the head. “You tryin' to make me look bad?” Her blowup-doll-size bust heaved and her fake lashes fluttered.

Earl, taking his life in his own hands, said, “You're doin' a mighty good job of that without my help.” He straightened his scrawny shoulders. “Bambi and Yolanda ain't like the rest of us, but they're still kin.”

Skye and Trixie gasped. Glenda had the personality of a wolverine and Earl had just offered his throat to her razor-sharp teeth.

Glenda glared at her husband and screamed, “If you know what's good for you, Earl Doozier—”

Once again thrusting himself into the lion's den, he cut her off. “Accordin' to you, I ain't never before, so why should I start now?”

Trixie whispered in Skye's ear, “When did Earl grow a pair of—”

Skye shushed her and turned her attention back to the quarreling couple.

“It's a good thing for you that I don't wanna break a nail, or I'd teach you to sass me.” Glenda waved the red talons on the end of her fingertips. “I'm goin' to take a bubble bath.” Glenda crushed out her cigarette in an overflowing ashtray on the kitchen table. “And when I'm through, you better have your skinny butt ready to make this all up to me. You hear?”

“Get along with you.” Earl had a stubborn expression on his usually slack-jawed face. “Miz Skye and Miz Trixie is our guests and you ain't bein' polite to 'em. I'm
goin' fetch 'em a beer and we's goin' conversate about Bambi and how first-rate she's doin' at school.”

Glenda grabbed Earl by the shirt. “You're lucky I'm in a good mood.” She tugged at the crotch of her spandex shorts, her halter top exposing a large expanse of chalk white skin. “But these two better be outta my house by the time I get through with my bath.”

Earl looked from his wife to Skye and back. “You gots a deal.”

The cat who frightens the mice away is as good as the cat who eats them.

—GERMAN PROVERB

S
kye and Trixie took a seat at the kitchen table, but refused Earl's offer of refreshment. Earl seemed puzzled when Skye said she couldn't have a beer because of the baby. And when she tried to explain, Trixie elbowed her in the ribs and shook her head. Skye clamped her lips shut. Her friend was right. What was the point?

Yolanda and Earl pulled up chairs and joined Skye and Trixie, but when they all looked in AJ's direction, he muttered something about needing to check in with his clinic and slammed out the door.

Earl narrowed his beady eyes and said, “That guy is more full of shit than a Porta-Potty after the Chokeberry Days chili-eatin' contest.”

Yolanda's face turned an alarming shade of purple and Trixie quickly spoke to Earl. She went over how his daughter had earned the service club's award, then handed him a sheet of paper with the time and place of the meeting where Bambi would be honored.

Finished with the purported reason for their visit, Skye knew she had only one or two questions left before their presence would become questionable. And
no one wanted to outstay their welcome at the Dooziers. Not even someone they considered a friend.

Pasting a casual smile on her face, she turned to Earl and said, “By the way, that pal of yours who fixes cars, what's his name?”

“Cooter somethin' or other?” Earl lifted his cap and thoughtfully scratched his head. “I don't rightly recollect the rest.”

“Why do you want to know?” Yolanda asked, suspicion shining from her eyes.

Skye thought fast and said, “Wally and I are thinking of getting a new car before the baby comes and I want to have a few dents and scratches fixed on my Bel Air before we try to sell it.”

“If Cooter ever returns AJ's Porsche, I'll ask him to call you.” Yolanda's smirk told Skye that she didn't believe her story.

Earl immediately started to whine, “Cooter's real reliable-like. He'll get 'er done soon. I don't know why AJ is so upset. It weren't more than a little scrape.”

“Right,” Yolanda snorted, then poked her brother in the arm. “Speaking of the accident, what exactly was that thing you were driving?”

“My Doozier Dozer,” Earl said, puffing out his chest. “I made it myself.”

“Why do you need an armor-plated bulldozer?” Yolanda demanded.

“I'm gettin' ready for the end of the world.” Earl took off his hat, revealing muddy brown hair that formed a horseshoe around a bald spot the size of a bocce ball. “Haven't you been watchin' TV? Lots of folks are goin' to be turned into zombies any day, and when they attack, they'll chew through any kind of regular vehikkle.”

“Last time you brought out the Doozier Dozer, didn't you say that Reverend Alphonse told you that
godless hordes from the Middle East were about to appear?” Skye asked.

“Well, yeah.” Earl rubbed the dense tattoos covering his arms. “But they never showed up soes I put the dozer away. Then when I heard about the zombies, I fired her up again and she still runs just fine.”

“I see.” Skye had long ago given up attempting to make any sense of Earl's reasoning. Changing the subject, she said, “So you still had Cooter's number Sunday night when you phoned him for help with your Buick?”

“I must have.” Earl blew his lips in and out for several seconds before finally adding, “Hows else could I have called him?”

He had a point. Skye abandoned that line of questioning and asked what she really wanted to know. “When did AJ get home from the Legion?”

“Let's see. The bar closed down and kicked everyone out at twelve thirty, and once we realized the Buick wouldn't start, it took us a bit to find a ride so it was pretnear one by the time we got back here.” Earl furrowed his brow. “I musta passed out before Prince AJ got back.”

“AJ got home about half an hour or so later.” Yolanda smiled thinly. “You may fool my brother, but I heard about the break-in at the Legion and even you aren't crazy enough to think a successful plastic surgeon would risk going to prison for a measly thirty-two thousand dollars.”

Skye opened her mouth to reply but Yolanda held up her hand. “That kind of money is chump change to a man like AJ. A drop in the bucket.” She spread her arms wide. “He makes more than that on one boob job.”

Earl had been silent while the women talked, but now he scratched his crotch and said, “Miz Skye, if I remembers Cooter's number, I'll call you.”

At that, Glenda charged into the kitchen and whacked
Earl on the head with a hairbrush. “You best not be callin' any females but me.”

Skye said quickly, “Glenda, you don't have to worry about—”

“You better pray that's the truth.” Glenda bared her teeth.

Skye's lips quirked as she tried to hide her grin. Maybe the Dooziers were more religious than she thought. Or more likely, the Red Ragger Queen had gotten off the crazy train a few stops short of her intended destination.

Grabbing her husband's ear, Glenda pulled him out of his chair and screeched, “I keep tellin' you to stay away from that woman.”

Skye stood up and said, “Thanks for taking the time to talk to us.” As the Kenny Rogers song advised, it was time to fold 'em. “Have a good evening.”

“See you at the awards ceremony.” Trixie rose to her feet and followed Skye to the door. “Bring the whole family. Afterwards, we're serving punch, and Orlando from Tales and Treats is baking his famous shortbread cookies. They are scrumptious.”

As the two women drove away, Skye looked at her friend and said, “You do realize just how many Doozier kin there are, right?”

“Oops!” Trixie grinned. “I better ask Orlando to double the cookies.”

“More like triple it,” Skye muttered, then smiled. “At least the Dooziers are clear for the Legion break-in. I knew that wasn't their style.”

“How about Yolanda's fiancé? You said the break-in was around two a.m.,” Trixie asked as she turned into the school parking lot and pulled next to Skye's car. “His alibi is shaky.”

“I'll certainly tell Wally about him,” Skye said, getting out of the Honda. “But Yolanda's right. Why would
a successful doctor attempt burglary? To him that amount of money would be peanuts.”

Trixie shrugged, waved good-bye, and drove away. Settling behind the wheel of her Bel Air, Skye dug out her phone and checked to see if she'd missed a message from Wally as to whether he had anyone at the police station that he wanted her help in interviewing.

Shoot!
It was still on vibrate. She'd forgotten to turn on the sound after work. Although the new district policy allowed staff to use cell phones, they had to be muted during the school day. Sighing, she scrolled through her texts. There was one from Wally saying he was on his way to Dr. Quillen's veterinary clinic and asked her to meet him there.

She checked the time and saw he'd left the message only a few minutes ago. Fastening her seatbelt, Skye fired up the Chevy, pulled out of the lot, and headed south of town to join her husband.

Skye pulled into Dr. Quillen's lot and parked next to the squad car. Getting out of the Bel Air, she stepped toward the cruiser and felt its hood. It was still warm. Wally couldn't have arrived too long ago.

When she walked through the double glass doors, the waiting room was empty, but a few seconds later a huge man with acne-scarred skin and a crew cut lumbered into sight. He wore jeans and a T-shirt with the clinic's name and logo printed across his massive chest. His muscular arms were decorated with tattoos and his ear was pierced.

He marched behind the front counter and growled, “We're closed.”

“I don't need your professional services,” Skye said, indicating her lack of pet. “My husband, Chief Boyd, asked me to meet him here.”

“He's with Dr. Q.” The guy jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Follow that hallway.”

“Okay.” Skye held out her hand. “By the way, I'm Skye Denison-Boyd.”

The man eyed her palm as if it were holding a live grenade, but finally gripped her fingers for a nanosecond and muttered, “Name's Cal.”

“Are you Dr. Quillen's assistant?” Skye didn't recall seeing him when she'd brought Bingo for his yearly checkup a few months ago.

“Doc hired me to keep an eye on the place.” Cal crossed his gigantic arms.

“After the catnapping?” Skye asked, and when the man nodded, she said, “I bet Dr. Quillen feels much better about his animals' safety with you around. Do you work for a security company?”

“Freelance,” Cal answered, then pointing to the corridor he'd already indicated, he repeated, “Your husband and Doc are that way.”

Recognizing a dismissal when she heard one, Skye thanked the taciturn man and followed the passageway to the back of the building until it ended at an alarmed exit. To her right was a closed door marked
DOGS
and on her other side was one marked
CATS
.

Hmm
. Cal hadn't said which kennel area Wally and Dr. Quillen were in, but since Belle had been the one taken, Skye went left.

Dr. Quillen and Wally were standing in the center of the aisle. On either side were six-by-six-foot rooms with sliding glass gates. All of the spaces had a cushion, water bowl, and food dish on the floor. And behind a privacy screen, Skye could just make out a litter box. Felines of every size and color occupied the luxurious quarters.

As Skye walked toward the men, Wally turned and smiled at her. Taking her hand, he said, “How did your visit to the Dooziers go?”

“Interesting.” She squeezed his fingers. “I'll give
you the scoop later.” Gesturing around her, Skye said, “Dr. Q, this is quite a setup.”

“I had it remodeled when I bought the practice.” The vet frowned. “The old cattery consisted of three levels of stacked cages.” He grimaced. “No animal in my care would live like that.”

“I take it the dog kennel got a similar makeover?” Skye asked.

“Of course.” Dr. Quillen beamed. “Would you like to see it?”

Skye looked at Wally, and when he nodded, she said, “Sure. Lead the way.”

After they crossed the hallway and Skye admired the clinic's canine accommodations, she asked, “I don't think I ever heard. In addition to Belle, was anything else stolen during the break-in?”

“We were just discussing that before you arrived,” Wally said.

“Yes.” Dr. Quillen wrinkled his brow. “Nothing else was disturbed. I've had drugs stolen before so I keep the pharmaceuticals on a mobile cart that I secure in a walk-in safe.”

“It would seem that the bad guy's sole intent was to take an animal to use for coercion purposes,” Wally said. “You were only contacted by the catnapper that one time, right, Dr. Quillen?”

Wally had his cell phone out and Skye peeked at the screen. He'd brought up information on ketamine, but from her angle she couldn't read the small print.

“Correct.” The vet nodded. “He or she demanded five hundred bottles of liquid ketamine or Belle would be delivered to me in pieces. The extortionist said something about his usual supplier being permanently unavailable.”

“What size bottles?” Wally asked, tapping the screen of his cell to bring up the calculator app.

“Five hundred milligrams.”

Wally whistled. “Street value on that would be half a million dollars.”

“Oh. My. God!” Skye gasped. “Why is a veterinarian drug so valuable?”

As a school psychologist she was certainly familiar with marijuana, cocaine, methamphetamine, even heroin, which were the drugs of choice for the kids in Scumble River, but beyond knowing that ketamine was referred to as Special K, she was in the dark.

“The physical effects of ketamine are similar to PCP crossed with LSD, but the trip lasts an hour or less,” Wally answered. “Lower-dose experiences are reported to be smooth and very colorful. But higher doses often cause a near-death-like experience.”

“Don't forget,” Dr. Quillen added, “due to ketamine's dissociative effect, it's also become popular as a date-rape drug.”

“Just what the world needs,” Skye muttered. “Another way to sexually assault women.” She frowned.

Hmm.
Was Palmer intending to use the ketamine on Virginia to ensure her participation in his bondage games? But then why would he need so much?

“I know the street price is a thousand dollars a bottle, but what would a bottle cost you?” Wally asked the veterinarian.

“Usually around eight bucks,” Dr. Quillen answered. “But requesting that quantity would have set off red flags. I don't have a track record of doing enough procedures to warrant that large an order.”

“What was your plan?” Skye asked. “I know you weren't going to just let them mutilate Belle, so you must have had something in mind.”

“I ordered as much as I could without arousing suspicions.” Dr. Quillen shrugged. “I was going to give
the catnapper what I could get and hope it would be enough.”

Skye moved closer to the vet and patted his slumped shoulder, but the smell of the disinfectant Dr. Quillen used caused her to feel queasy and she swayed.

He immediately gripped her elbow and suggested, “Why don't we sit in my office?”

“Good idea.” Wally put his arm around Skye's waist and pulled her away from the vet.

Once the three of them were seated at a table, Dr. Quillen, a look of concern on his handsome face, asked, “Skye, would you like some ginger ale? Or maybe some tea?”

“No thanks.” She smiled at him. “I'm already feeling better. I think it must have been whatever you use to wash your hands. I've read that during pregnancy strong odors can bring on transitory nausea.”

“It's no trouble at all to get you a drink,” he persisted.