She wondered if Max and Dooley’s story was true. If it was, could it be that Uncle Alec had arrested the wrong people in Johnny and Jerry, just as they steadfastly claimed? Or maybe there was more than one gang of burglars active in their small town.
She thought it odd that Kurt would be the target of a burglary, though. He wasn’t exactly the kind of person brimming with unknown riches and chests full of gold and diamonds. Then again, Ida Baumgartner wasn’t known as a rich woman either, and still the thieves had found out about her Picasso.
Chase came ambling down the stairs, his muscular frame clad in stretchy lycra.
“Going for a run?” asked Odelia.
“Yeah, just a quick one. Wanna come?”
She hesitated. She knew she should join him on his morning run, but the temptation of a fresh cup of coffee and breakfast was too strong, so she shook her head. “Maybe tomorrow.”
“Sure thing,” he said. “I wouldn’t go for a run either, but I kinda need it, knowing the kind of day I’m heading into.”
“More insurance fraud hunting?”
“If your uncle wanted to punish me he couldn’t have done a better job than to hand me this particular assignment. I know white-collar crime is on the rise and all, but going through piles and piles of documents looking for traces of fraud is not my idea of fun.”
She smiled. “Who ever said being a detective was all fun and games?”
“No one, but I’d kinda hoped it was,” he said with a grin. He pointed to the coffee. “Save some for me, will you?”
And then he was out the door, braving the elements to keep himself in shape.
And as Odelia took her first cup of coffee of the day, she glanced out the window and saw Kurt Mayfield step into his backyard and call out for his dog. Usually Fifi immediately responded and came jumping and skipping up to her owner. This morning, though, there was no happy yapping and no equally happy Kurt playing around with his little Yorkie.
Frowning, Odelia opened the sliding glass door, then stepped out into her own backyard to take a closer look. And as she glanced across the fence and into her neighbor’s backyard, she was shocked to find Kurt leaning over the inert body of Fifi. The big guy, usually so aloof and grumpy, was sobbing like a small child. And when he looked up and saw Odelia, he cried, “She’s dead! My sweet baby is dead!”
Chapter 28
Attracted by sounds of anguish, Dooley and I stepped out of the house and found the door that led from our backyard into Kurt Mayfield’s backyard wide open.
It was a sight to behold, to be honest, for as far as I could tell that squeaky iron door had never been opened. It must have taken a strong hand to open it even now, as it was pretty rusty and covered with weeds on Kurt’s side—purposely so, I would have thought, to prevent nosy neighbors from entering his yard unannounced and uninvited.
We moved into Kurt’s domain with some trepidation, as Kurt is not exactly a friend of cats in general, or Dooley and myself in particular. He mostly disapproves of the impromptu singing sessions we sometimes engage in in the backyard in the middle of the night, when, having only just returned from cat choir, the muse strikes and we decide to sing a couple of bars.
Kurt is a retired music teacher, you see, and his musical sense is quite refined.
What we saw, though, when we passed across the threshold and into Kurt’s backyard, drove all thought of Kurt as some kind of ogre from our minds, as we watched the pensioner hunched over Fifi, thick tears sliding down his cheeks, as the little doggie lay motionless at his feet.
“Fifi!” I cried, and hurried to the scene.
“I’ve called Vena,” said Odelia. She’d placed a hand on her neighbor’s shaking back. “I’m sure she’ll know what to do.”
Normally the thought of Vena Aleman paying a house call fills me with dread. She’s our veterinarian, and in that capacity not exactly our favorite person in the world, armed as she usually comes with needles and poking fingers, but this time I hoped she would fly like the wind to save Fifi’s life.
“Is she… dead?” asked Dooley.
“She’s not dead,” said Odelia. “I think she was drugged, but that’s for Vena to decide.”
Just then, Chase returned from his morning run and came to see what all the fuss was about.
“I think the same people that your anonymous witness saw prowling around Kurt’s house last night must have drugged Fifi,” Odelia told her boyfriend.
“My Jackson Pollock,” sniffed Kurt. “It’s gone. When I woke up this morning I noticed it immediately. I’ve put it on my bedroom wall, behind the door. I saw this documentary once about a couple that stole a famous painting and kept it behind their bedroom door for years. So I figured I would do the same. Only this morning when I opened my eyes it was gone!” He gestured at Fifi. “But I don’t care about the painting. All I care about is my sweet baby. The sweetest dog in the world, and now look what they did. They killed her!”
“She’s still breathing, Kurt,” Odelia reminded him. “I’m sure she’ll be fine.”
She grimaced when she looked in our direction, though, so I knew she was just saying this to make Kurt feel better.
“Is it cancer, Max?” asked Dooley. “Is that what killed her?”
“She’s not dead, Dooley,” I said. “Probably the people who robbed Kurt’s house last night gave her something to drug her and keep her quiet. Which is why she didn’t bark.”
“Oh, that’s not very nice,” he said, eyes wide.
“No, that’s not very nice,” I agreed.
Fifi is our friend, and if there’s anything I dislike it is people hurting our friends.
Just then, Ted Trapper stuck his head over the fence—our fence. When he saw the commotion, he joined us in Kurt’s backyard. “What’s happened?” he asked. “I heard all the hullabaloo and I thought—ooh, my God the poor thing. Is she dead?”
Suddenly, Kurt reared up and roared, “You did this, you two-bit bean counter! You stole my painting and you killed my dog!”
Ted reeled back at this. “Wa-what?” he stuttered.
“I talked to you yesterday about Ida’s Picasso and Tex’s Metzgall and now my painting is gone. Admit it, Ted—you’re behind this whole thing!”
“But—no! I’m not a thief, Kurt. No way, José!”
“And here we go again,” I muttered. It wasn’t the first time that Ted was being accused of being a thief. Last time it was actually Tex who accused him, after a number of garden gnomes had mysteriously found their way into Ted’s possession—garden gnomes that had hitherto been in Tex’s possession. The entire thing turned out to be a big misunderstanding, and Ted was cleared of all suspicion.
“I don’t think Ted has anything to do with this, Kurt,” said Odelia, coming to her neighbor’s defense.
“And I’m sure he’s guilty. Just look at that face. It’s the face of a guilty person. And will you look at that smile? He’s proud of himself—proud that he got away with it!”
“I’m not smiling!” said Ted.
It was true. Ted just has one of those rosy smiley faces—he can’t help it.
“One of your neighbors says he saw two people get away with your painting,” said Chase, inserting his formidable frame between the two men. “They got into a black van and raced off. Now why would Ted make his getaway in a black van if he lives two doors down?”
“I don’t know. Probably to hide the loot in a warehouse somewhere, along with the other stuff he stole.”
“And what about his accomplice?” asked Odelia. “Just think, Kurt.”
“I am thinking, Odelia!” said Kurt, his customary belligerence reasserting itself in the wake of the tragedy that had befallen him. “And what I’m thinking is that Marcie must be the second burglar. Probably she poisoned my sweet Fifi.”