To Catch a Treat (19 page)

“And the cops aren't following up by subpoenaing the delivery company or whatever?” Delma exclaimed. Fortunately the crowd noise was loud enough, with all the tables occupied around us, that I doubted anyone heard.

“I don't know what they're doing,” I said, much more softly.

“If anything,” Neal added.

“Well, someone should do something to find him,” Delma said. She'd gotten the message and her voice was lower, but still loud enough to hear.

I realized she was right. I also realized that I didn't have the skills or contacts or professionalism to do it myself.

I might never hear if Chief Loretta Jonas was doing anything with the information I'd provided her.

But I knew someone who could check—and do something about it if she hadn't. Much as I didn't relish the idea, I needed to contact PI Garvy, tell him what was going on, and let him follow up.

At least I knew he'd do it, since it was part of his current in-
vestigation.

twenty-nine

I felt exhausted on
Monday morning as I prepared baked goods for that day for both shops. I assumed it was mostly because of staying out so late at the resort last night, but as my mind drifted while mixing and kneading several different doughs I realized that all the excitement and concern over Janelle and the lost dogs was taking its toll on me.

Well, maybe my decision to tell Garvy what I knew would result in quickly finding Tim, finally resolving Ada's murder, and locating the remainder of the missing dogs. I hoped taking care of all that would erase a lot of stress from my life, too.

And so, at the relatively decent time of nine o'clock, I called Garvy. I couldn't wait around until we got our dinner date arranged. “Can you meet me at Cuppa-Joe's today?” I asked him. “I want to bring you up to speed on some things I've found out.”

“You mean what's being alluded to on that local TV channel? KnobTV, isn't it?”

“Something like that.” That was what the announcers called it, at least.

“Yeah, I want to hear any insights you have on that. How does ten o'clock sound?”

He was obviously eager, too, since ten o'clock was just an hour away. I changed the time, though, to late afternoon, when it would be more convenient for me. Would I tell him everything, including about the appearance late yesterday of the bulldog at Mountaintop Rescue? Sure. He'd find out about it anyway if he stopped in to visit and check out the current residents.

I was glad that the TV news reports weren't entirely complete. They'd described some of the dognappings in LA and the possible link to someone here in Knobcone Heights. But they hadn't yet mentioned the drop-offs at the shelter. That appeared to be by design, at least according to Billi's theory. The cops seemed to want to make the thief sweat without connecting the news reports directly to Mountaintop Rescue or Billi … yet.

Janelle came in with Go, and I asked her to help out in the Barkery again until she had to leave to meet with the cops. Frida along with Dinah, who'd swapped hours with Vicky, were taking care of Icing. We'd had customers in both shops from the minute we'd opened, and I was glad I had three assistants there that day.

I remembered when I'd first opened my stores and sometimes had my two part-timers alternating, even on days when I had shifts at the veterinary clinic. My shops had not only survived but prospered, but the way I was able to handle things now was a whole lot better.

I flitted around, helping on both sides with talking to and serving customers, who were plentiful throughout the day. When the afternoon was nearly over I checked in with each of the assistants to make sure all was well from their perspectives, then leashed my pup and patted Go goodbye, and Biscuit and I headed to Cuppa-Joe's.

I purposely headed there a few minutes early. When I got to the coffee shop, I didn't hesitate to avoid the sprawling building and go through the gate to the main patio, my favorite. I didn't see Kit, but I asked the young girl I did see to let the Joes know I was here. She took my order for coffee with room for milk, too.

I sat down at one of the few empty tables but didn't have to wait long before both Joe and Irma sped through the coffee shop door onto the patio. They glanced around, saw me immediately, and came over.

I stood to hug them both. Irma was dressed nattily, in a silky tangerine blouse tucked into slender brown slacks. Her hair was perfectly styled, as always, framing her nearly wrinkle-free face.

That was in contrast to her dear husband. But Joe still looked great, even though he was showing his age.

He grinned at me now, stepping back after our hug. “So good to see you, Carrie.”

“Are you here alone?” Irma didn't wait for my answer before dragging an additional chair to my table and sitting down. Joe took the other one as I, too, settled on one of them.

Biscuit went from Irma to Joe for the pats and hugs she knew she'd get. Each fussed over my dog as if they hadn't seen her in ages. It had been only a few days, though.

“I've got someone joining me,” I said in response to Irma's question. “I came a little early to say hi, though, so I could warn you that it's the same guy I met with last time I was here. We're talking some business.” No need for them to know what that business was, at least not for now. “I'm still not sure where things are going with Reed, but he's the man I'm closest to now, not the one I'm meeting here. I just want you to know that.”

“Got it,” Irma said. “And I'm glad to hear things are going okay with Reed.”

The server brought my coffee, as well as cups for the Joes, but when I saw Garvy and waved for him to come over, they both stood. “We'll leave you to your meeting,” Joe said.

“Have a good one,” said Irma, and they both walked away.

“Hi,” Garvy said. “I hope I didn't interrupt something.”

“Not at all,” I said. “We're close friends, so they came over to chat while I waited for you. Have a seat.”

He chose the one that had been occupied by Irma, across the table from me. Today Garvy was dressed in his PI garb, a nice blue shirt tucked into trousers. This was going to be an official conversation, which was exactly how I'd planned it.

The server came over, and Garvy ordered a large coffee with no room for cream. He also asked for a chocolate scone. “Sorry,” he said. “I didn't have time to get to your Icing shop for a sweet this morning.”

“No problem,” I said, “as long as you give me a small piece.”

“Of course.” He cocked his head slightly as he looked at me. “So what's going on?” His green eyes stared encouragingly. “As much as I enjoy getting together with you, I got the impression you wanted to talk to me about something.”

“You're right.” I glanced around to make sure each table near us had more than one person there and that they appeared to be conversing. I didn't want any eavesdropping.

“We're good,” Garvy said. But he did put his elbows down on the metal table and leaned toward me, noticeably enough that Biscuit rose again and planted herself on the cement patio between us, sitting and looking from one of us to the other.

I smiled and reached down to pat her, then moved back. That had put me a little too close to Garvy.

“So tell me what's going on,” Garvy prompted. “The TV news suggested the local PD was on alert that some dogs stolen in the LA area could be around here and said they were checking it out. It's true, of course, but how did the media get that information—or do you know?”

“I do,” I said. “The thing is, I fed a little bit of information I came by to the police but wasn't sure they were following through. I asked a resource I have to throw it out to the media, hopefully to prod the cops to act on it. I've no idea if they are, but I figured it wouldn't hurt to let you know, too, in case it'll help you find the dogs.”

“Good girl,” he said, much too warmly. Fortunately, the server of the day came out just then with our coffee and Garvy's scone.

“Okay, here's the thing,” I said when she was gone. “This is a follow-up to some information I found before, but I'd thought it would be better and more efficient to tell the police than a private investigator. I've no idea whether the police are checking things out effectively or still ignoring it.”

He continued to watch me, taking a sip of coffee, but the warmth seemed to fade a bit from his gaze. I realized I was giving too much background without saying anything helpful.

“Here it is. When we spoke last week, I had some information about Tim Smith—or Thorine—that I didn't relate to you, but I followed up on it myself.” I then told him about extracting the address Tim had given the clinic, and the whole situation of finding a bunch of dogs nearby. “When I gave that information to the police, I hoped they'd act right away and rescue the dogs, but they didn't. Next time I went by there, no dogs were around. I talked to a neighbor, though.” I told him about the potential forwarding address that the dog food delivery company had been given—an address in Knobcone Heights. “I was stymied, but then figured the authorities could get a subpoena or something to get the address. But I've heard rumors that the address was simply a P.O. box at a private company, and it didn't lead to Tim. Not directly, anyway.” Billi had told me this in a phone call last night.

Garvy seemed all business as he pulled a small notepad and pen out of his side pocket. “Give me all the information about the address where the dogs were, and which delivery company the neighbor mentioned.”

“Then you can follow up as well as the police?”

“Maybe, but I won't tell you my methods.” His grin was wry, lighting up his face again, and I suspected that whatever he did wouldn't be within the constraints of what private detectives were allowed to do.

At this point, I didn't care. All I said was, “I'll tell you everything I know as long as you promise to keep me informed every step of the way—and actually do so.”

“All right. I promise.”

“Fine,” I said. I told him the details. I also realized, promise or not, that he'd do whatever he wanted as far as keeping me informed, even just about his progress.

I considered again whether to tell him about the dogs that had been dropped off at Mountaintop Rescue and decided it wouldn't hurt, especially since he'd probably stop by there himself again one of these days if he hadn't already. My plan, in any event, was to go there right after he and I were done here to see the dogs and talk to Billi and her staff about their arrival—when and how and if anyone had seen anything.

When I informed Garvy about the appearance of a couple of the dogs he was probably after, including the English bulldog, he looked even more excited. But he seemed to be very antsy after this part of our conversation. Oh, he still acted fun and even charming, giving me nearly half of his scone and talking about the pleasure he hoped to have in saving about a dozen still-missing dogs.

“Look,” he finally said, gazing right into my eyes. “I apologize, but my mind's focused on following up on this. I want to jump into using my resources right away. I hope you understand.”

“Sure,” I said.

He insisted on picking up the check, which I particularly didn't mind this time. He was, after all, being paid to find those dogs we'd discussed, and now, with luck, he'd actually find them and get paid by all the frantic owners waiting for his success.

And also, if he was successful, he'd find Tim and hopefully tell me so—and I could let the cops know and, if necessary, set them on Garvy to get the information. I would again ask Billi to have her media friends urge that the dog thief be investigated further in the murder of his associate.

Would it work? Who knew? But it'd be better than the way things stood now.

When the server came by for the payment, Garvy stood, and so did Biscuit and I. “Thanks,” I said. “And don't forget to let me know if that turns out to be helpful.”

“I will.” He leaned forward unexpectedly and planted a quick kiss on my lips—not sexy, but too friendly. “Talk to you soon.” And then he slipped around the crowd and through the door to the sidewalk outside.

I glanced around. Fortunately, I didn't see the Joes on the patio anywhere. Instead of going inside to say goodbye, I found the server who'd waited on us today and asked her to convey my farewell to my friends.

Then Biscuit and I left, too.

On the sidewalk, I hesitated, looking both ways up and down the not-very-busy street for Garvy. No sign of him. Good.

I started around the corner onto Pacific Street toward Hill Street, where Mountaintop Rescue was.

I wanted to see those new residents.

I took my time, though—partly because Biscuit wanted to sniff a lot and do what she needed to. That worked out fine since I used the lull to check my smart phone for the latest newscasts by KnobTV on the missing dog situation.

Interestingly, they hinted that there would soon be some more news about at least a few of the dogs, and the commentator implied that an arrest of whoever had stolen them—and now might be abusing them—could be imminent.

But the hints fortunately did not mention Mountaintop Rescue, or say that dogs had been dumped near a shelter a couple of times under similar circumstances, then brought inside to be kept safe.

Did Tim care?

Presumably so, since he apparently hadn't abandoned all the dogs—yet.

But with each news story, would he get flustered enough to leave more dogs at the shelter? Or would he be so worried that he would simply leave?

He had to be located. Fast. Preferably by the cops, but even Garvy would be better than having the dog thief get away, since who knew what he would do with his prisoners?

Biscuit soon did what she needed to, and I took care of it. Then we hurried the rest of the way to Mountaintop Rescue.

Billi wasn't there, but the receptionist Mimi was staffing the front office. “Hi,” she said. She looked young and eager, full of smiles and wearing a white T-shirt decorated with black silhouettes of dogs of every shape. “Billi told me you might be by to see the dogs that were dropped off yesterday. And guess what! Two more dogs showed up this afternoon, too, just a little while ago. Apparently no one saw how they got here either day.”

Good news and bad news. Good for these dogs, as it turned out, because now they were here, and they were okay.

But, unsurprisingly, no one had seen who'd dropped them off. I figured I knew who, though: Tim.

“What about the dogs who were abandoned here yesterday?” I asked. “Were they left in the same location as today's dogs?”

“We think so. At least, they were found at the back of the shelter, near the rear gate. Around the same time of day, too.”

Would there be more—or not? Soon—or not?