Читать книгу Support Your Local Pug - Lane Stone - Страница 13

Chapter 7

“Oh, no!” Dana cried when she heard my tale of the blood on the keypad of my garage door opener. We were huddled behind the reception desk at Buckingham’s.

“His fingerprints were on the top row of keys and he died or passed out or something before he could enter the last digit,” I explained.

Shelby jumped in to say, “Sue, first, make a list of everyone you’ve given that code to. Then you’ve got to change it. That guy was this close to breaking into your house.” She held her thumb and forefinger an inch apart. “Sure, he was probably trying to get away from his killer but still—”

“Wait, wait…” Dana tried again to get a word in.

“Why do I need to change it now? The person that had the passcode is dead.”

“He must have gotten it from somebody since obviously you didn’t give it to him,” Shelby answered.

“Listen to meeeeee!” Dana wailed.

Shelby and I turned to her. She was young and we had no business barreling ahead like we had been doing. “I apologize,” I said.

Dana took a deep breath. “Your passcode is 1-2-3-4, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” I said and looked around. “How did you know? Is it written down somewhere?”

“No, but half the people on the planet use that as a passcode. He was guessing,” she said. “That’s why only the top row of buttons had blood on them.”

“Ooooooh,” Shelby and I said at the same time and with equal sheepishness.

We turned when we heard the front door open. Mason came in carrying the Pug. They had been to Lewes 24-Hour Pet Care to see if the little guy had a chip.

“Brrr,” he said. “I think it’s colder in here than outside.”

“I have a call in to Class Glass,” Shelby said.

Shelby and I were wearing green Buckingham Pet Palace pullovers. Dana still had on her leather jacket. It was a bright and sunny day, but the cold air coming in through the wrecked doors meant we were chilly.

My cell phone rang and I waved a greeting at Mason and answered the call.

“What did you find out?” Shelby asked.

I turned to listen to my caller, not waiting to hear what Mason said since I assumed the answer was that there was no chip. The morning we were having wasn’t going to have a piece of good news pop up.

“I have the name of the deceased,” Chief Turner said. “I have someone tracking down his next of kin.”

“That’s progress. What’s his name?” I asked.

“Sue, you know I’m not allowed to say.”

“I told you, I already know him. I just don’t know his name.”

“If I tell you, will you let me know if you think of anything else about him or his associates?”

“Of course,” I promised.

“I don’t want this all over town, but his name is William Berger,” Chief Turner said, loud enough for everyone to hear.

“William Berger owned the Pug,” Mason said.

Why I was stunned to learn the dog belonged to the deceased man I couldn’t say. Was I thinking he didn’t look like someone who would pick a Pug for his pet? “I’ll call you back,” I said.

“Hey, your friend, Rick Ziegler, hasn’t reported his robbery yet,” he was saying as I hung up. I walked around the counter and reached my arms out for the dog. Rapid-fire looks were going from Dana to Shelby to Mason, then back again.

“But no one calls him that,” Shelby said. “Billy. Billy B. That’s the waiter-singer’s name, isn’t it? The dog belongs, uh, belonged to the man I found dead at your house?”

I nodded that it was true.

“They know him at the vet clinic. They have all his medical records,” Mason said, almost whispering.

“So they know the dog’s name?” Dana squealed. “Tell us!”

“It’s Wags,” he said.

Joey, our second groomer, came into the lobby from the hallway, and he and Mason made eye contact.

Mason cleared his throat and coughed, then went on. “He’s up-to-date on all his vaccinations except Bordetella.”

“If you take him back, can they give him that one? The last thing we need here is a dog with kennel cough,” I said.

“Yeah, I asked and they said they would but…” Mason’s voice trailed off.

“They want to be paid first?” I asked, with a chuckle. Buckingham’s was responsible for ending Dr. Walton’s boarding business because of our higher level of service. And last year he ran Lady Anthea and me off the road in a drunken rage for which he was sentenced a hundred hours of community service. I shifted Wags to one arm and took a few twenty-dollar bills out of the top drawer and handed them to Mason.

“Petty cash, literally?” Mason said. He pulled a note-size piece of paper out of his pocket. “Here’s the phone number and address that were stored on the chip.”

The phone on the desk rang and Shelby reached for it. “It’s Ass Glass,” she said after looking at the caller ID.

“I think it’s Class Glass,” I said.

She answered the call, described what needed to be replaced, and gave him the size of the doors. We watched and waited as she made faces at the phone. We didn’t know exactly what Mr. Class Glass was saying, but we were starting to feel sorry for him.

“No, no, no, no,” Shelby began. “There’s no need for plywood. Replace the glass. No, you do not need to measure the doors since I just gave you the measurements.” She pulled out the two words to show they had the same root. “Now when can we expect you and the new glass?”

This time his answer satisfied her and she hung up.

“Way to go, Shelby. You kicked his glass,” Dana said.

“His glass was grass,” Mason added.

I put Wags in Mason’s arms. “Joey, go with him.” The laugh over Class Glass helped but Mason was taking this hard, and it didn’t take a psychologist to know he would want to be with someone he cared for. Even if the two of them hadn’t been a couple, Joey was a gentle soul who could make anyone feel better.

I unfolded the note. “He lives in Lewes and has a local phone number. Shelby, neither Billy B. nor that dog has ever been here, right?” I asked, stuffing the note into a pocket.

She shook her head. “Nope, but to be on the safe side I’ll do a search of our database.”

“Can you guys give me a ride to school?” Dana said. Cape Henlopen High was about a mile down Savannah Road.

“Sure,” both Mason and Joey said.

As they were leaving they passed Rick Ziegler bringing in a cooler with our supply of raw dog food, and held the doors open for him. I’d hardly thought any more about the stolen dog food, other than to wonder if the thief was the dead man or his murderer. Shelby had inventoried what we had left. It was mostly puppy food that had been stolen.

His girlfriend, local pet photographer Dayle Thomas, was behind him.

“Look who I have helping me get caught up,” he said, beaming at her.

“In exchange for lunch,” Dayle said.

“The lunch is to celebrate your final chemo treatment,” Rick reminded her. She wore a maroon paisley scarf tied at the back of her neck.

“Rick, what she lacks in hair you make up for,” Shelby said. Rick’s long ponytail hung out the back of his baseball cap.

Rick and I transferred the dog food to the refrigerator in our storeroom, while Shelby told Dayle about Wags and the dead body in my driveway and how the two were connected. Rick headed back to his truck for a second cooler. “Wait, Shelby, you found a dead body?” Dayle shrieked.

Shelby nodded her head. “Sure did.”

“I’ve got to keep unloading. Dayle, honey, get all the details.”

“Did you know we had two employees here when we were robbed?” Shelby asked.

“No! That’s terrible.” Dayle said. “Was anyone hurt?”

“One of them is very dramatic and to hear her tell it they were almost asphyxiated by the fumes from his car. It was tiny, like a clown car and really old and—”

“Rick, that sounds exactly like your father’s car,” Dayle said. Then to Shelby, with a laugh, “Was the paint so rusted you couldn’t tell what color the car was?”

I saw Rick pause on his way to the door. He seemed to sway.

“What’s the matter, Rick?” Shelby had seen it, too.

“Uh, nothing,” he said and started walking again to the door.

I was standing in the hallway, outside the kitchen, listening to the exchange and watching Rick’s back as he went out the first set of doors then the outer pair. The bit of information my brain had been trying to retrieve was right there. Rick’s father was the owner of Mozart’s, the German deli where Billy B. had worked.

Rick’s father’s car had been involved in our theft. Had it been used to rob Raw-k & Roll? Several ugly thoughts raced around inside my head.

I saw someone standing outside talking to Rick, who was nodding. It was Chief Turner. I had to get to the reception desk before he came in.

“Don’t mention the car,” I whispered to Dayle.

She grabbed my arm. Hard. Those bony fingers were going to leave a mark. “Are you saying the dead man is Rick’s father?”

“No!” Shelby and I said at the same time.

“It was his employee,” I whispered.

I checked over my shoulder and Chief Turner was coming in.