Seth stepped forward and held out the dog. “I thought you might like this.”
The girl smiled behind the clear mask and reached out her arms to take the dog. “Thank you,” she said, the mask muffling her words.
Seth motioned for me to step up beside him. “My girlfriend brought you some things, too.”
Girlfriend?
That was news, too. Maybe not front-page stuff, but nonetheless worthy of an inch or two on page seven next to an ad for a tire sale.
Is that how Seth thinks of me? As his girlfriend?
I supposed it was possible. After all, he'd come to me last night when he'd needed emotional support, which was one of the assorted services a girlfriend provided.
My heart wriggled again, but this time like a happy kitten on its back in the sunshine streaming through a window. The wriggling stopped abruptly a moment later when I realized that calling me his girlfriend was probably just the simplest way of identifying me. I still had no real sense of what Seth wanted from me, where he wanted our relationship to go, or if he even wanted it to go anywhere at all. It seemed like he wanted me to be like a doctor on call, available if and when he needed or wanted me for companionship or support, but not on regular duty. Though that thought wasn't exactly flattering, I realized I wasn't exactly sure what I wanted from him, either. As much as I thought I could develop real feelings for the guy, I wouldn't be willing to agree to full-time status untilâ
and unless
âhe let me know who Seth Rutledge really was and proved to me that he wasn't going to flake out again.
I handed the pad of Mad Libs and the jewelry-making kit to Savannah. She offered another smile behind the mask before her eyes blinked three times and slowly drifted closed. It was probably a good thing they'd doped her up. Maybe she could sleep through some of the pain.
“We should probably be going now,” Seth said to both Savannah's parents and the nurse, who stood watch at the door. “She looks like she could use some sleep. Thanks for letting us see her.”
“No, thank
you
!” said Savannah's mother, grabbing both of Seth's hands in hers and giving them a squeeze. “And I promise, we will never let our tree get so dry again. We're going to buy an artificial one next Christmas.”
*Â Â Â *Â Â Â *
Though Seth was clearly relieved to see that the little girl he'd rescued would survive, it was obvious from his tight grip on his steering wheel that something still had him upset. He glanced my way a couple of times as if assessing me. “How about a late lunch?” he asked.
“Sounds good.”
Seth had stayed at my place until after four in the morning. I'd let Brigit out to relieve herself when he left, so she'd been gracious enough to let me sleep in this morning. I'd dragged my butt out of bed around ten and had a bowl of granola, but it hadn't held me over long.
He drove to Spiral Diner, which was only a couple of miles from the hospital. The hostess seated us at a booth along the back wall. A waiter with a nose ring and the letters P-E-A-C-E tattooed across his knuckles swung by with brunch menus.
Seth continued to eye me over his menu, though he said nothing.
Finally, I could take it no longer and stared back at him for a moment. “Is there something you want to say to me?”
“No.” He turned his gaze downward to his menu. An instant later, though, he tossed the menu onto the table and gave me a pointed look. “Who is he?”
My first instinct was to play it coy and say
Who? I don't know who you're talking about
But I'd never been one for games. “He's a deputy who's been working the stock show.”
Seth's jaw flexed. “You've been seeing him?”
“We went for drinks after our shifts last night. That's the first time we've seen each other outside work.”
The waiter came back to take our order. I ordered the Sunshine Sandwich. Seth went for the Lumberjack.
When the waiter had gone, Seth eyed me again. “You going to see him again?”
I shrugged. “I don't know. Maybe.”
He looked past me, out the window, evidently looking at the lightpost on the sidewalk. “Don't.”
“Why not?”
Is it simply because you're jealous? Or is it because you actually care for me?
“'Cause it makes me want to punch something. Him, mostly.”
A laugh escaped my mouth. I supposed Seth admitting that seeing me with another man made him want to punch something was an indirect admission that he had feelings for me. I supposed him being upset shouldn't have made me as happy as it did, but what can I say? It was nice to know he cared.
“What about our deal?” I said. “We're free to see other people, remember?”
“Maybe I want to renegotiate.”
The conversation hung in the air, waiting for one of us to pick it up and continue. But I knew how negotiations worked. The first to speak often got the worst part of the bargain.
Finally, Seth broke the silence. “Have you kissed him yet?”
It wouldn't be fair to lie to Seth. I wouldn't want him lying to me. “Yes.”
“He as good at it as me?”
“No.”
Seth exhaled loudly and sat back against the booth. “So you're interested in him?”
“Maybe.” I
was
interested in Clint, but more because he was a fun guy than because I thought he could be my soul mate. He was a little too flirty to take seriously, though he was a fun distraction. I sent an intent look Seth's way. “I'm more interested in you, though. By a three percent margin.”
Once he'd processed my words, his shoulders relaxed. He grinned and cocked his head. “I'll take those odds. I bet I can work that number up to a hundred, push that deputy right out of the picture.”
My cheeks warmed with a blush. It was nice to feel wanted, desired. And, perhaps it was wrong of me, but after the way he'd ended things before, I enjoyed having the upper hand on Seth for a change. And, now that he'd been properly motivated, I looked forward to seeing just how he planned to play those numbers.
Â
Brigit
Blast had come over to play! Brigit was thrilled to see him. They sniffed each other's butts and naughty bits, shared a bowl of kibble, and wrangled on the carpet for fun.
When they ran out of things to do, Brigit led Blast to the closet. Megan had added a second sliding bolt to the door the day she'd come home with the sausage rolls and found the closet door ajar. Brigit hadn't yet gotten to any of the shoes, which was probably a good thing. She had a feeling Megan might not have given her a sausage roll if Brigit had chewed up another pair of shoes.
Still, those stilettos called to her like a siren, those boots beckoned. Such soft, supple leather. Really, how could she be expected to resist? You didn't leave meth with an addict, did you? It was pure common sense. Really, if anything happened to those shoes, Megan could only blame herself.
While Blast watched, his forehead crinkled in concentration, Brigit nudged the lower bolt upward with her nose, then over. It slid open with a click.
The other sliding bolt would be more problematic. Megan had placed it five feet high, near the top of the door. When she stood on her hind legs, Brigit's nose came just shy of it. She'd need Blast's help to get it open. With the two of them taking turns leaping at it, maybe, just maybe, they could get it open.
Then those shoes and boots will be all ours
 â¦
Â
Robin Hood
On her drive into work Monday morning, she made another stop for coffee. She parked in the lot of a business a full block down, well out of range of any security cameras the Starbucks store might have. The doughnut shop didn't appear to have any cameras, but even if it did she doubted anyone would take the time to view the footage in an attempt to track her down. The cops didn't have that kind of time, and, besides, they'd start with the closer businesses, the McDonald's and the dry cleaner and the tire store.
She waited in line a good ten minutes. Looked like everyone needed a little extra boost this Monday.
When it was her turn, she stepped up to the counter. “I'll have a Venti caramel latte.”
“Name?” the young woman at the register asked, her marker poised over the cup.
“Kate,” she said. It was the first name that came to mind, probably because she'd been reading all about Kate Middleton's latest doings in
People
magazine last night. She handed the gift card to the clerk.
The clerk ran the card through the scanner and frowned. Pushing a button on her screen, she ran the card a second time. The frown deepened. She pushed the button once more and ran the card a third time. She looked up at Robin Hood. “I'm sorry. There's some kind of problem with this card.”
“But it has over forty-five dollars left on it,” she protested. “See?” She pulled the receipt from her last coffee purchase from her wallet and showed the cashier.
“Want me to call customer service?” the girl asked.
No,
she did
not
want the girl to call customer service. Mainly because they'd probably tell the girl the card had been reported stolen and had thus been canceled, but also because she could feel the heated glares from the long line of people behind her who wanted their coffee
now.
“That's okay. I'll just pay cash.”
Damn.
Coffee tastes so much better when someone else pays for it.
Â
Megan
Though I officially had Monday off, I was at work nonetheless, giving that aforementioned 110 percent.
At 1:30 in the afternoon, I met Lisa, the earlier purse-snatching victim, on the porch of a house in the Fairmount neighborhood. Lisa was a Realtor and had planned to meet a painting crew there to let them into the house.
While the painters tossed clear sheets of plastic over the furniture and floors in the living room and bedrooms, Lisa and I huddled at the kitchen table.
I pulled out Cheyenne's and Mia's mug shots and driver's license photos and laid them on the table in front of Lisa. “Could either of these women be the thief?”
Lisa leaned in and took a long look at the photos. She picked up the pages and eyed them from various angles. Her brow furrowed. “I wish I could say for sure, but I can't. Everything happened so fast.”
“Take a look at this.” I took the pages from her and exchanged them for the printouts from the boot stores. I'd dog-eared pages depicting boots that fit the description Lisa and Dominique had given me. Black boots with a turquoise or light green upper. “Can you identify the boots the woman on crutches was wearing?”
“Maybe.” She began to flip through the pages.
“Did the boots have pointed, square, or round toes?” I asked, attempting to narrow down the possibilities.
“I'm leaning toward square,” she said, flipping another page.
Personally, I'd always thought boots with squared-off toes looked a little odd. You know, like maybe the wearer had their toes hacked off with an axe. Who the heck had toes that were all the same length?
After a few more pages, she stopped on a pair of Justin boots, a black soft calf model with green cowhide on the upper. She put a finger on the page and looked up at me. “I can't swear to it, but I'm pretty sure this was them.”
I made a note on my pad.
She flipped to another page and pointed at another pair. “If it wasn't that first pair, this would be my second choice.” She indicated a pair sold at Cavender's, a model identified as the Ariat Women's Black Deertan with Turquoise Top. “Or these.” She turned back a few pages to a nearly identical pair, the only difference being the height of the shank.
“That gives me something to go on.” I stood from the table. “Thanks.”
She walked me to the door. “By the way, I got in touch with the woman at my office who handles the birthday collections. She was able to send me a photo of the receipt from when she bought the gift card. I called Starbucks to cancel it and get a replacement, but they told me part of it had already been used late Friday night at the store on I-35 and Western Center.”
Another potential lead. If the boot trail ran cold, maybe the coffee lead would be hot.
“How much had been spent?” I asked.
“A little over five dollars.”
Hmm.
That figure was only enough to buy one large cup. What did that mean? That the girl with the crutches and cute boots wasn't in cahoots with the purse snatcher after all? You'd think the thief would at least buy her accomplices a coffee for their help. Then again, was there any honor among thieves? Maybe the thief had decided the gift card should be all hers and to hell with her aiders and abettors.
“Can you send the photo to my phone?” I pulled out my cell and rattled off the number so Lisa could text it to me. A few seconds later my phone bleeped with the incoming photo. “Got it.”
Lisa walked me to the door.
“As soon as I know anything,” I told her, “I'll be in touch.”
Before visiting Dominique, I headed north of the city to the Starbucks. I explained the reason for my visit to the manager. He waved me back into his small office and offered me a seat. I showed him the photo of the gift card receipt, which included the gift card's identifying number.
“I can use the gift card number to trace the transaction,” the manager said, turning to his computer to input the data.
“Any chance she used the drive-through?”
If so, all I'd have to do was take a look at the video surveillance recording, get her license plate, and bring down the hammer.
BAM!