“So who was the woman that died?” asked Kingman.
“A Heather Gallop,” I said. “One of Dan’s visitors. She called him yesterday and told him she wanted to meet. She also sent him a text with the word ‘Gnomeo.’”
“Probably some kind of code,” said Buster with a grin.
“Code for what?” I asked.
Kingman and Buster shared a look. Clearly their minds were now both in the gutter.
“Naughty Dan,” said Kingman, proving that my assessment was right on the money. “First hanky-panky and then murder. And all this during office hours, huh? What a guy.”
“I’m sure it’s not like that,” I said, but I had a feeling my words fell on deaf ears. Soon the story would do the rounds that Dan had accidentally murdered his lady friend in some kind of sordid sex game gone terribly wrong. And it had involved a gnome.
“I wonder what he did with the gnome,” said Buster, sniggering delightedly.
“Or maybe it was her that handled the gnome,” said Kingman, snickering uncontrollably.
“Sticking it where it didn’t belong,” said Buster.
“Until he’d had enough and knocked her over the head with it.”
“I don’t think this is a laughing matter,” I said sternly.
“Yes, it is!” said Kingman, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes. “I’ve heard of a lot of things, but a garden gnome? Never!”
“Humans,” said Buster, shaking his head. “They never cease to amaze.”
“Endless source of entertainment,” Kingman agreed.
And as Buster and Kingman discussed the logistics of hanky-panky with the assistance of a garden gnome, I decided it was time for Dooley and me to take our leave.
“So we probably have to find the UPS guy, don’t we?” asked Dooley.
“Yes, we do,” I said. “He might be able to tell us if the victim was still alive when Dan left the building. And if she was dead already…”
I didn’t finish the sentence, as the prospect of Dan being locked up for murder was too horrible to contemplate.
Chapter 7
Harriet was sniffing around the backyard. She and Brutus had officially been recruited to join Gran’s neighborhood watch and she was a cat who took her responsibilities seriously.
“Anything?” asked Brutus.
“Nothing so far,” she said sadly.
Even though she possessed a keen sense of smell, and had hoped to pick up the trail of the culprit or culprits who’d dared invade the sanctity of Tex and Marge’s backyard and abscond with Tex’s treasured gnomes, so far she hadn’t picked up the scent yet.
“Maybe we should call in the dogs,” she suggested with a sigh. It was hard for her to admit, but it was true that dogs’ sense of smell was even better than cats’. And since Ted and Marcie next door had recently gotten a dog, it would be a cinch to enlist Rufus, who was a large and fluffy sheepdog.
“A dog?” Brutus cried. “Never!”
“But sweetie pie, dogs do have a superior sense of smell.”
“No, they don’t,” said Brutus. “Our sense of smell is just as good as Rufus’s, no doubt about it.”
“If you say so,” said Harriet with a sigh. That was the trouble with men: oftentimes ego trumped common sense, and when it did, it hindered rather than aided in their investigations.
“Did I hear my name?” suddenly asked a voice from across the fence.
Harriet smiled and trotted over. There was a small hole through which she could see Rufus’s friendly face. Even though she’d never been a big fan of dogs—most cats aren’t, and for good reason, too—she’d come to like and appreciate Rufus, who was one of those big kind-hearted dogs. The proverbial gentle giant.
“Hey, Rufus,” she said. “Maybe you can help us out here.” She ignored Brutus’s hissed, ‘Don’t!’ and proceeded to explain the situation to the big dog.
Rufus’s eyes narrowed as he took this in. “So you’re saying someone stole Tex’s garden gnomes last night? But that’s terrible! Who would do such a thing?!”
“He’s not happy about it. Tex loves those gnomes and he’s pretty upset.”
“I can only imagine,” said Rufus, nodding. “So how many gnomes were stolen?”
“All of them,” said Harriet. “And he must have had a dozen.”
She had no idea how it was even possible to love a garden gnome, of all things, but she’d long ago stopped being surprised about the strange and curious behavior of humans. How anyone could collect terra cotta lawn ornament figurines was frankly beyond her, but obviously plenty of people did, or else they wouldn’t have been stolen.
“Hey, Brutus,” said Rufus good-naturedly.
“Grmbl,” Brutus said in return, which elicited an eye roll from Harriet.
“You’ll have to forgive Brutus,” said Harriet. “He got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. So to speak.”
“Ha ha,” said Rufus at this quaint conceit. Then he frowned. “You guys have your own beds now?”
“It’s just a manner of speech,” Harriet said. “We usually sleep at the foot of our human’s bed.”
“Oh, nice,” said Rufus. “I sleep at the foot of the bed, too, though sometimes my humans kick me off. They say I’m too big to sleep there, but I don’t think so.”
Harriet could only imagine how much acreage the big dog would occupy, and mentally commended Ted and Marcie for their tolerance. “So you didn’t see anything last night?” she asked, returning to the topic under discussion.
“No, I’m sorry to say I didn’t,” said Rufus ruefully.
“Thought so,” Brutus grumbled.
“Maybe if you could sniff around you might be able to pick up the thieves’ scent?” Harriet suggested.
“Harriet!” Brutus cried, then added between clenched teeth, “We can’t allow dogs in OUR backyard!”
“Oh, I’d love to,” said Rufus, ignoring Brutus’s outburst, which he must have picked up loud and clear. Dogs not only have a superior sense of smell, their hearing is pretty solid, too. “Just give me a mo,” the big dog said, and as Harriet stood back, Rufus effortlessly jumped on top of the garden table, then on top of the fence, and straight into their backyard, much to Brutus’s horror.
“You’re not using my litter box!” the cat yelled.
“Oh, don’t worry, Brutus,” said Rufus with a pleasant smile. “I won’t.”
There had been a time when all the neighborhood dogs had started using cats’ litter boxes, but luckily that folly had been short-lived. Now they did their doo-doo on the sidewalk again, as before, with their humans picking up after them. It wasn’t ideal, but it was still preferable to having to share a litter box with every deserving canine.
“So let’s do this,” Rufus muttered, and began to sniff around to his heart’s content.
“I swear, if he so much as lifts his hind leg and pees…” Brutus said under his breath.
“Oh, don’t be such a grinch, Brutus,” said Harriet. “Rufus is helping us out, so you should be nice to him.”
“Grmbl,” was Brutus’s response.
“So weird,” said Rufus after having sniffed his way all around the backyard and returning to where Brutus and Harriet sat near the fence.
“What is?” she asked.
“Well, I’m picking up the same scent that I’ve been picking up in my own backyard the last couple of days. And I’ve been wondering where it comes from. I don’t recognize it as belonging to either Ted or Marcie or any of their friends. So it must be a stranger.”
“You mean someone’s been in your backyard, too?” asked Brutus, momentarily forgetting his antipathy at this startling revelation.
“Yeah, two distinct scents belonging to two distinct individuals. I picked them up for the first time about a week ago, and now again here.”
“These must be the thieves,” said Harriet slowly. “They must have passed through the Trappers’ backyard before jumping the fence and coming here to steal the gnomes.”