Loose Screw (Dusty Deals Mystery) (22 page)

Rhonda was fed up with my lack of initiative. She’d given me another nudge downstairs as we walked out of the last conference room within three feet of Blake. When Gary left for the bar with Angie, Rhonda threw a dramatic sigh my direction. “What are you doing? Or should I say
not
doing? Are you going to let Gary get away too?”

I hadn’t realized I had Gary hooked to start with, and who said I was letting him get away? And what was this
too
business? If she meant Blake, I didn’t see it so much as letting him get away as throwing him back.

I opened my mouth to defend myself just as one of the fish in question touched my arm.

“Lucy, I need to talk to you for a minute.” Peter Blake looked at me intently.

I could see Rhonda grinning behind his back.

I followed Blake into the hall. “What’s up?”

“Who knew you were coming here tonight?”

Okay
, not what I’d expected. “I don’t know. What’s it matter? Is there some law about letting people know where I’m going?”

Blake put his hands on his hips and looked at me like I was an obstinate four-year-old who refused to pick up her toys. “Your shop was broken into tonight. I just got a call.“ He touched the cell phone attached to his belt.

“Broken into. Where’s Kiska? Is he okay?” I grabbed the front of Blake’s shirt with both fists.

He calmly put his hands on my wrists and pulled my fingers away. “They didn’t mention your dog. I’m sure if he’d been hurt, they would have said something.”

“But is he still there?” My voice cracked. “They didn’t mention him at all? I have to get down there.”

Blake still held both of my hands in his. “Calm down, Lucy. I’ll take you. I don’t think you should be driving anyway.”

Gary and Angie appeared at the top of the stairs. “Lucy, is there a problem?” Gary asked.

I stood there mutely as Blake explained what had happened.

“I’ll go with you,” Gary replied.

“No, I’ll take Lucy. The last thing we need is a photographer getting in the way,” Blake gave Gary the same look I had seen him use on Malone earlier in the week.

Gary started to argue, but I intervened. “It’s okay. You stay here. I’ll be fine. I just want to get to the shop and see Kiska.”

I left Gary, Angie, and Blake in the hall while I went to explain to Rhonda what had happened and to get my things. I found my purse, but my coat had gotten lost in the mess of people. I left without it. 

Chapter 21

I made it into Blake’s huge 4x4 in pretty much the same way I had exited the Honda earlier—with my skirt yanked up four inches higher than propriety allowed. I was too worried about Kiska to care though, and if Blake noticed, he didn’t make any comments.

The alley behind Dusty Deals was again crawling with police. An officer in uniform stopped us before we could enter. “Looks like an amateur job.” The officer pointed to my backdoor where marks from some kind of prying tool were obvious.

I interrupted him. “Is my dog here?”

“The husky? Yeah, he’s here. I think they shut him in your office.”

I didn’t take the time to explain that Kiska was a malamute or the differences between malamutes and huskies—which are numerous. I pushed past him and ran to my office. Blake grabbed my arm before I could open the door.

“Lucy, you can’t just run in here. This is a crime scene. You might destroy evidence.”

I gave him a look that didn’t leave room for argument.

“Okay, I know you’re worried. At least let me open the door.” He pulled a pair of gloves out of nowhere and put them on. Standing to one side of the door, so I could dash in, he opened it.

Kiska greeted me with a grin and wagging tail. He’d had some excitement tonight and was none the worse for it. He had the same look he had when the Jehovah Witnesses scaled our fence. Kiska had looked them over a few times and given them an experimental growl. To his delight, they ran. Filled with pride, he had pranced around for hours.

I dropped to both knees and buried my face in the ruff of hair around his neck. Kiska was too busy trying to see around me to return my affection.

“He looks fine to me,” Blake stated, his arms crossed over his chest.

I stood up. “I don’t know what I would have done if he had been missing or…” I couldn’t bring myself to finish the sentence.

“Does he always shed like that?” Blake pointed to my beaded dress, which now looked more like mohair.

“Only twice a year.” I tried unsuccessfully to brush the white fuzz off my front.

“You aren’t going to get it like that.” Blake stepped around me and pulled a long strip of tape off the roll setting on my desk. He wrapped it around his palm and began patting my dress. In less than three pats, it was too full of fur to be of much use, but the action took my attention away from my immediate situation. Or maybe it turned my attention to a more immediate situation.

“
Ahem
.” The uniformed police officer had returned. Blake shoved the furry tape into my hand and stepped out into the shop to talk with him. I sat at my desk and stared into space.

Who broke into my shop? Blake asked who knew I was going to the jazz festival. Did he suspect someone in particular? Surely, the most likely scenario was just some kid looking for cash, not anyone I knew.

Blake stuck his head back in my office. “Lucy, can you walk around and tell us if anything is out of place?”

I spent the next half hour walking around looking for anything missing. Nothing was. The shop looked a little messier than when I had left, but I didn’t notice anything broken or gone.

Another officer explained what had happened. “About nine o’clock, a couple was walking down the Gulch. They were on their way to their car after leaving the Rose. Anyway, the woman noticed a light bouncing around inside your shop. They stopped to look at it. As they were discussing what they should do, they heard a racket inside, like someone tripping over something. They tried the front door, but it was locked. By the time they got back to the Rose, called us, and we got here, the burglar was gone. We think whoever it was found your dog in the office and got scared. He, or she, must have tripped over something and knocked those books onto that silver set.” He pointed to the stack of books I had given Betty earlier. She had set them on a table outside my office door for me to store until they sold online. Now they were scattered on the floor along with a silver Victorian tea set. “That was probably the noise they heard. What I don’t understand is why they didn’t hear your dog.” He looked at me.

I just shrugged. Kiska was not a watchdog, what could I say? A growl here or there in good fun, okay, but bark? Bite? Too much effort.

Since nothing was taken, the police didn’t stay much longer. Blake waited until I was ready to lock up. “I’ll come back and nail up your door.” He pushed the door shut and used my horse anchor to keep it closed.

“I couldn’t ask you to do that.”

“You didn’t ask me. I told you.”

I was too tired to fight. I nodded my thanks and picked up Kiska’s rear end to help him into the Cherokee. Blake watched with one eyebrow lifted.

“You have an interesting way of doing things.” He pushed the Cherokee’s door shut and leaned in the open window. “Drive safe. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Peter.” I paused for a moment. It felt strange using his first name. “You asked who knew I would be at the jazz festival. Do you think someone I know did this?”

“We don’t get many break-ins, and you did just find a dead body out here.” He motioned toward the Dumpster. “Let’s just say I’m considering all options.”

“But it’s an antique shop. Don’t you think some kid probably just broke in looking for cash, or jewelry, or something?”

“Could be, but he didn’t take much then, did he?”

Chapter 22

Kiska and I woke up early the next morning. I’m not sure I was ever asleep. I spent most of the night listening to him grunt and grumble. Guess he was having some interesting dreams. Once, when he was quiet, I got up to make sure he was still there and breathing. You never knew, the burglar could have slipped him something. My foot didn’t even hit the floor before he was awake and staring at me. Feeling silly, I pretended to need a potty break, but an hour or so later, I gave up all pretenses and rolled out of bed.

I had mixed feelings about going into Dusty Deals. I wanted to see everything in the daylight, see if I’d missed anything last night, but Blake’s final comments haunted me. Someone I knew might have broken into my shop. Why and who could it be? Who knew I was going to the jazz festival?

I ran through the possibilities. Obviously, everyone I made plans with: Rhonda, Betty, Gary, and Silas. People we ran into: Angie, plus Dean and Lynn from the
News
. Who else had I told or seen? Bill Russell, I had mentioned it to him on the phone, and I’d told Darrell Deere at Cuppa Joe’s that morning.

Did any of these people have a reason to break into Dusty Deals?

I didn’t think any of them would pry open my backdoor for estate jewelry or cash. The only other possibility was the weasel—it did have ties to Crandall. But everyone seemed to agree the weasel had little monetary value.

While I considered this, I finished de-furring my borrowed dress. With it clean and hanging in my bathroom to dry, I took care of getting myself ready for the day.

There was no way around it. I needed to get into the shop and straighten things out, both in my head and at Dusty Deals. I loaded Kiska and my ancient vacuum cleaner into the Cherokee. If I had to spend the morning cleaning up, I might as well go the whole way.

Blake had kept his word. The backdoor was securely nailed shut. It was a concrete reminder that someone had broken into my shop last night. Hairs on the back of my neck began to rise. Glancing at Kiska, I gave him a quick hug, and we walked around to the front, dragging my Hoover behind us.

Dusty Deals looked almost normal, a little messier than usual, but there was no dark, ominous cloud filling the space. After my reaction to the nailed door, I expected to walk through the front and feel the violation burglary victims always talk about. I didn’t.

Maybe it was because it wasn’t my home. Maybe it was because nothing was taken. Or maybe it was because Kiska was pressed reassuringly against my leg. Whatever the reason, I felt comfortable being there. I picked up the few things that were knocked over and plugged in the vacuum.

I roared along, dodging Kiska who barked and jumped toward my Hoover every time I made a pass. Vacuum hunting was one of his favorite sports. The big loud machine was no match for him. It came on strong but always retreated and inevitably gave up the battle to his superior might. With all the noise, I didn’t notice anyone had come in until I felt a tap on my shoulder.

I jumped about a foot.

The locksmith from earlier in the week peeked at Kiska and me from behind the cow horn chair. “Peter Blake said you needed a locksmith?”

I did, but I hadn’t given it any thought. Surprised that Blake had, I nodded and explained my problem. The locksmith went back out to pry the nails out of my door and replace the lock. I put Kiska in my office to speed up my vacuuming.

Finished with the main shop, I dragged the Hoover into the small space with Kiska. “Go out into the store. There isn’t room for you to attack the vacuum in here.” I herded him out of my office. It was knee deep in malamute fluff, especially around the walls.

The fur tended to form big tumbleweeds that rolled around until they hit a wall or piece of furniture. I took the nozzle off the vacuum and used just the hose to suck up fur piles. I was cleaning the area around Kiska’s bed when a loud slurp announced the nozzle was clogged. I tipped it up and looked inside.

Lodged into the end was a torn, white cloth. I yanked it out and looked for identifying marks. There were none. I could tell from its wrinkled shape that Kiska had held it between his paws while he worked on destroying it, but nothing indicated what it was from.

Whatever it was, it wasn’t of much use now. It was even too thin and torn up to use as a rag. I threw it into the trash.

When the locksmith finished with the door, I wrote him a check and thanked him for the early Saturday morning visit. Like the two hundred bucks I gave him wasn’t thanks enough. I was stowing the vacuum in my Cherokee when Rhonda walked in the front door.

“What’s going on? Where are you, Lucy?” she called.

I picked up my horse anchor and carried it to the front of the shop.

“There you are. How is everything? I see Kiska’s fine. I’d have called last night, but it looked like you were in good hands.” I could see Rhonda was having a hard time deciding whether she was more concerned about the break-in or nosy about Blake. Nosy won out.

“So how was Blake? Did he take care of you?” She gave me a conspiratorial smile.

 I opened the front door and positioned the horse anchor to hold it ajar. “Actually, he did. He was surprisingly helpful.” I refused to play. “Nothing was taken.”

Rhonda gave up on matchmaking with a sigh. “Well, that’s good. Do they think it was kids or what?”

I told her what the uniformed officer had said the night before. “They weren’t after cash. The register wasn’t even touched. They also didn’t take any of the obvious things, like the silver or jewelry.” I pointed to a display case near the front that held a selection of estate brooches and rings. “Blake seems to think it might be someone who knew I was going to the jazz festival.”

“Really? Why would someone you know break in?” Rhonda looked as confused as I felt.

“I don’t think they would.” Worrying over the question myself, I twisted my lips. “I think he’s just thinking that because nothing was taken.”

Rhonda nodded. “Makes sense. Kids would have taken
something
, even if it was just the first thing they grabbed.”

I didn’t like the direction her thoughts were going, but her logic made sense. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard of a break-in on the Gulch before,” I replied, hoping she would jump forward with a list of 20.