Larceny for Beginners: Dogwalker Mystery Series, #3

By Rene Roberts

Helping my neighbor Charlie has its complications...

I'm so excited to move my tiny home to my dog rescue build site near Junction Village just outside of Poet. The property is a dream come true.

At Kim's insistence, I walk over to introduce myself to one of my new neighbors, Charlie Brandt, right when Charlie's trying to convince the police his friend Collin, the man I bought my new property from, did NOT just commit suicide.

To appease ol' Charlie, the cops make a weak attempt to question the locals, including me. Apparently being a local for only 16 hours is not my "Get Out of Jail Free" card. To put Charlie's mind to rest, I agree to do a little sleuthing as I introduce myself to my new-to-me neighbors.

Well, isn't this little place just a beehive of intrigue?

It isn't long before I'm sure Charlie is right. Someone here at Junction Village is a killer.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pajama Therapy Books
• Release date: Jan 28, 2023
• ISBN: 9781989850381

Book preview

1

THE NEIGHBORLY VISIT

By the time I saw the squad car parked on the other side of the old farmhouse, it was far too late to turn around and creep back into the woods. Two uniformed cops and a bent old man dressed in faded clothes were facing one another on the sagging front porch, deep in conversation. The old man was first to spy me and my two dogs as we rounded the corner. His reaction was to call his own dog to his side, a black and white long-haired mix—maybe a bit collie, maybe a bit Australian herd dog? The dog obeyed—nice to see.

The cops on site? Not so much.

Dang—talk about bad timing! Why had I let Kim bully me into this Go meet your new neighbors visit?

The old guy, presumably the guy I was here to introduce myself to, waved us over with an unsteady gesture, the cops’ eyes smacking into me and the dogs and instantly brightening with an interest that absolutely could not be to my benefit. Oh boy. 

Uncertain what should be my next move, I called my two labs back to stand beside me. Leo, Finn. Come.

The taller of the two cops ambled down the few steps and covered the dusty yard between us in record time. Identification, please.

Seriously? You think I take my dogs out for a walk carrying my wallet?

Unruffled, he asked, Your name and reason to be on Mr. Brandt’s property?

My name is Nikki Lawry and I’m here to meet my new neighbor. Last I heard, it was considered a courtesy when you move into a new place—go meet the neighbours.

That’s why you’re here?

"I just said that’s why I’m here." Yes, I lead with my chin. What can I say—cops make me uneasy.

Where are you coming from? He glanced behind me at the trees. The forest was thick, with no obvious path, nor was there a fence.

I motioned toward my just-purchased forty acres of untamed, wooded land that stood between—Mr. Brandt’s, I presumed—farmhouse and my newly arrived tiny house. I just came through here, following an animal trail. Deer most likely.

He studied me for a moment. Come meet your neighbor, then we’ll drive you back to your place—next door, you say? I hadn’t said next door, but I nodded. He continued smoothly, Where you can produce your ID. 

Do I have a choice?

No.

Well, all right then. I clipped leashes onto the dogs’ collars, a sky-blue collar that looked good against Leo’s golden lab coloring and apple red for Finn’s glossy black. Being a dog behaviorist who earned money walking dogs for a living, these canine details made me happy. Dogs like looking their best too. Introduce me to Mr. Brandt. Wouldn’t want this to be a total waste of a pleasant morning walk.

The cop tightened his mouth for a fraction of a second, then turned to lead the way back to the porch. His restraint made me flush. I was behaving badly and knew it. Something about that uniform brought out the worst in me every time. I’d acquired this particular trait when my ex-cop father, currently languishing in prison, kidnapped me from my schoolyard when I was a child. Ah, childhood memories… 

Together we climbed the wide, worn steps. Brandt’s dog, an older farm dog I now saw, faded behind his master. Leo and Finn sat quietly on either side of me. The cop said, This lady claims she’s your new neighbor, come to introduce herself to you.

The old man’s gaze clicked to my face, to Leo, then Finn, and back to me. You buy the Lakeside? His clothes were faded, but they were clean and neatly pressed. His brown leather shoes glowed with polish.

That’s what it’s called around here? The Lakeside, I repeated, and couldn’t help a smile. I like it.

The old guy frowned. Ain’t much of a lake. Collin tended to exaggerate. He looked extremely upset about this fact. Odd.

He was right of course. The lake was so small, it might be a pond, but it was my pond. I did recognize the name, however. Collin was the first name of the guy who’d sold me the property I was now about to develop. It’s lake enough for me, I insisted, sounding more cheerful than I felt. Glancing up at the first cop, the one who’d corralled me—I saw the name on his shirt was Phillips, the other cop’s name, Buttle. I’m Nikki Lawry, your new neighbor. I’m building a dog rescue center on the property—

"How many dogs?" the old guy growled. 

As many as I can help, I replied with an unfailing smile on my face. It would take a lot more than a crabby neighbor to send me off course on this, my life’s dream of a rescue sanctuary for dogs. I’m sorry, but I didn’t catch your name.

Charlie Brandt.

Crabby Brandt I’d believe. That was okay—I’d butted up against worse than this guy. Don’t worry, I’m building the center ten acres in, with lots of woods between us. You won’t be disturbed.

"So you say."

Pressing my lips closed against a retort, I raised my eyebrows and smiled some more, glancing around the old place with feigned interest. Yup, this was just how I wanted my day to unfold.

Were you here last night? Phillips wanted to know, taking out his pad to record my answer.

"Not here here, if that’s what you’re asking. I was on my new property. I live in a mobile tiny house and moved it onto the property yesterday. When no one said anything, I added, I have water and electricity already set up. I’ll be on site when we start the build."

Can anyone vouch for your whereabouts last night?

Why? I need an alibi? What’s the problem?

There’s been a death in the area and we’re interviewing the locals. Phillips looked uneasily at Brandt.

Alarmed, I protested, But I’ve only been a local for maybe twenty hours.

Phillips smiled grimly. Exactly the time frame we’re investigating, Miss Lawry.

At least he addressed me by my name. I muttered, My friend came with me. Kim Washington—she’s a writer—you may have heard of her, she writes mysteries. The taller cop snorted. I was offended on Kim’s behalf but continued anyway. Heathen. She’s back at the property now. We’ve both been here since around noon yesterday.

Did you hear or see anything unusual? 

"I just got here. Everything’s unusual to me." His jaw tightened. Stop it, Nikki. He’s a cop yes, but—he is a cop, and you don’t need to make enemies of the local police the very first day you get here. I drew in a breath to recenter myself, opened my eyes inquiringly, and asked, What kind of unusual thing are you looking for, officer?

Buttle replied dully, his words plodding, Someone skulking around, someone out of place. Any loud noises. Gunshots.

Gunshots! Now he had my attention. No… but Kim and I were celebrating buying the property last night and killed a bottle of wine and an extra-large pizza between us. We heard nothing alarming. The dogs behaved normally. They’d have alerted us to someone around the house for sure. What’s happened?

Now the old guy, Mr. Brandt, spoke up, My neighbor on the other side died last night. He looked at me pointedly, like I should know the answer to this question, except there had been no question. When I blinked and raised my eyebrows in confusion, he said, You recently bought your property from him. Collin Draper?

Oh. The lake-exaggerating Collin. But he also lives on the other side of you? How did that happen? He owned both properties?

Yes. The majority of the Draper farm is all there. My small portion was annexed off years ago, as a favor to a friend who’d come home from the war and didn’t know what to do with his life.

You were that friend?

He nodded. I’ve got twenty years on Collin. I started out as his older brother Oliver’s buddy in the service. I served overseas with him. Me and Oliver kept one another alive… until Oliver stepped on an IED. At seeing my puzzled expression, he clarified. You might know it as a landmine. I escorted Oliver’s body home and Collin was… Anyway—Oliver always meant to farm this land when he came home but after—. He stopped, gave his head a shake. Brandt really was in the middle of his friend’s death. With a shrug, he concluded, With his brother gone, Collin’s heart wasn’t in it, so he decided to sell. He sold it to me, his big brother’s friend, minus the forest, of course. That he wanted for him and Cassie one day. His worn eyes dulled at some memory, I guessed, before he shook it away and continued, his voice thinner now, That dream went up in smoke too. And, through it all, Collin and I became friends. 

There was a history here, I just knew it. Did I even want to know? And now his friend was dead—an ominous beginning to my time here for sure.

 I heard a shot around one in the morning and then the sound of a truck tearing out of the driveway like the devil was after it. He narrowed his eyes. You drive a truck? he asked, his voice abruptly hardened.

Startled by his question, I blurted, An old VW bus. I can’t ‘tear outta’ anywhere, trust me.

He looked at the two cops disparagingly. These two gentlemen think I’m crazy. 

Phillips replied, his tone gentle now, You’ve got to admit, Charlie, you’ve reported more than a few strange happenings in the area over the last several months, all of which came to nothing. He widened his eyes significantly. And we’ve come out every time, Charlie. 

Oh. So, they’re indulging the old guy. And why exactly was I now stuck in the middle?

Phillips continued, Collin Draper committed suicide, plain and simple. I know he was your friend, and you don’t want to believe it but, the facts are the facts. Collin just didn’t want to be here anymore, for whatever reason.

"A reason he didn’t tell anyone? Charlie Brandt shot back, his whiskery chin wobbling, his eyes growing glossy. Why didn’t he tell me?" he repeated in a broken whisper.

My heart kind of melted. Nobody should lose a friend this way, much less a lifelong friend, which this situation likely was. 

Charlie stumbled back and collapsed more than sat into one of the worn chairs that lined the porch along the front of the house, his dog sticking with him like glue. I don’t buy it—not for a minute.

The coroner buys it, Charlie, and that’s what matters. Phillips snapped his notepad closed with a sigh of finality. Any warmth from the afternoon sun seemed to chill around us. Phillips glanced at me. Ready for a quick lift back to your place and that ID and alibi?

Alibi? But, you just said—

Phillips glanced significantly at Charlie and back again, his eyes boring into mine. Oh. This was for Charlie’s sake, demonstrating they were, in fact, taking steps to follow through, somewhat, and I’d just been drafted to play my part. 

Um, yes, of course, officer. I reached up with both hands, grabbed my ponytail from either side and tugged, tightening the elastic snug against my head. Grrr. How did I get myself into these pickles? 

Charlie Brandt’s dog let out a yelp and stumbled forward, falling across the deck.

What did you do? I demanded, falling to my knees before the prostrate dog.

N-nothing! Brandt blurted, reaching out his gnarled hands unsteadily. Shep! Shep?

The dog’s body stiffened, his back arched, and his black lips curled back, exposing sharp white teeth.

I said, He’s seizing. Move everything back so he doesn’t hurt himself. 

We dragged away the chairs and kicked aside the odd assortment of footwear neatly lined up by the doorway. Buttle and Phillips were on their knees beside me, raising my opinion of the pair at once. Buttle said, We should get hold of his tongue, so he doesn’t swallow—

That’s not true. You risk the dog unintentionally biting you. What time is it exactly?

Mystified, Phillips stared at me before he looked at his watch. Ten-twelve.

We count down how long—Shep, is it Shep?

Shep, Charlie confirmed, his voice tight.

—How long this lasts—over two minutes, we place cold wet towels in his armpits, groin, and paws to cool him down. 

Phillips was up and entering the farmhouse. Charlie called after him, There are towels stacked on the dryer in the back.

Shep’s body was vibrating now, his legs paddling wildly. Urine puddled on the deck; drool fell from his gaping mouth. I asked, Has Shep ever seized before?

Never.

How old is he?

Eight. No… nine this Christmas. Emily gave him to me as a Christmas present—the year we found out she… He stopped, collected himself, his emotions clearly close to the surface. She knew what was coming and, like always, was looking out for me. She wanted me to have a companion... Charlie’s words trailed off, the pain in his eyes overtaking him as he watched his dog struggle.

I asked gently, Has Shep had a head trauma?

No.

Any chance he might have gotten into chocolate or caffeine? Maybe mushrooms or any medications you are taking—?

No, none of that. I don’t take medicine. I don’t have chocolate, never liked mushrooms, I drink tea—Emily got me hooked on tea years ago. His eyes were clearer now, the memory of Emily and the puppy safely tucked away again. 

Phillips was back with dripping towels. I asked, How long has it been?

Too long, Charlie interjected.

Phillips answered, Over a minute, hunkering down with the towels.

Is there any ethanol or xylitol in the house?

I don’t even know what that stuff is.

Sugar replacement, used in diet food.

I ain’t on no diet, if that’s what you’re asking.

Shep stiffened again, this time his legs four rigid protrusions in the air from his stiff body. Charlie moaned in protest at what he was witnessing. Shep’s eyes rolled up into his head, and like melting snow, his legs kind of wilted and sank. His body softened and gently flattened on the deck—a black and white dog pancake. Shep was out cold.

How long? I asked again. We need to know.

That’s two minutes, twenty seconds, give or take, Phillips answered tersely.

Tuck the towels under his arms, into his groin, on his paws. We need to cool him quickly. The two cops complied, their actions swift but gentle. 

With a gruff croak, Charlie asked, H-how do you know all this?

I’m a dog walker.

He looked at me blankly.

And an Animal Behaviorist. I studied in Portland.

To walk dogs? He looked appalled at the very idea.

My heart went out to him. The things our brain obsesses over when we’re under stress is so random. Walking dogs earned the money to buy the land for the rescue center.

Buttle made a bark of recognition. "I know who you are now, he exclaimed excitedly. You’re Jimmy Lawry’s kid—"

I stopped him before he could get into the nitty gritty of my past. Let’s not muddy the waters, k? Charlie, do you have a vet? We should take him to a vet to be checked out.

I–I do. Doctor Westminster in the village. He’s mostly a large animal vet, but he does dogs too.

Want me to drive you there? You call and I’ll take you.

Charlie blinked at me, his expression confused. I don’t even know your name.

Nikki. I’m Nikki Lawry, your new neighbor?

Buttle got to his feet. I’ll call, see if they can get him in, Charlie. We can take you and Shep in.

Any negative feelings I might have formed about the two cops—and they didn’t deserve any, this was my issue, not theirs—was instantly swept away.

Belatedly, Charlie murmured, Oh… Okay, looking around the deck as if searching for something. Nothing there to find, I thought, watching him, maybe searching for a leg up in his jumbled feelings? I’d only known Charlie for maybe half an hour and already knew this had been a bad day for the old guy.

Drop me off at my place and I’ll follow and bring Charlie home, I told Phillips. You can check me out and I’ll tag along to the vets. If that’s okay with you, Charlie? You don’t want to be alone right now.

I… No, I don’t.

That’s a fine idea, Phillips replied, sending me a smile of thanks. These two cops really had a soft spot for ol’ Charlie here.

Look! Charlie’s voice was wondrous. He’s awake. Charlie was on his knees with the rest of us, the cracking sound of his protesting joints testament to the effort it took. Hey, little buddy, he crooned, you okay?

I cautioned, We won’t know how this has affected him. We’ll need to protect him for a bit. He may not navigate stairs, avoid sharp corners, things like that. I waved my hand near Shep’s face, happy to see his eyes follow the movement. He can see. That’s good news.

This can blind a dog? Buttle burst out.

Sometimes it affects their sight. This was a major brain event—why we don’t yet know—but we need to remember old Shep here just had a frightening experience and treat him with kindness.

I wouldn’t treat him any other way! Charlie protested, struggling to stand. Buttle hustled to his feet to give Charlie a hand up.

I’m sorry, Charlie. I didn’t mean to imply you would. I stroked Shep’s soft, furry flank. Just saying—this is a tough day for Shep, and we need to act accordingly. We stay calm and Shep will take his signal from us. His fears will fade much quicker. I leaned in close to the dog’s head and whispered, Right, Shep? 

The dog’s dark eyes rolled toward me, still filled with fear.

I whispered again, It’ll pass, I promise. I didn’t know that it would pass, but I’d do anything to help it along. 

Charlie shuffled into the farmhouse to get a blanket for Shep and his wallet. I tied Leo and Finn to the porch railing. I’ll send Kim back for you guys, I promised, giving them each a quick head rub. They weren’t impressed with this arrangement. Forming a hammock with the blanket, Buttle and Phillips gently lifted, carried, and slung Shep’s limp body onto Charlie's and my laps in the back of the squad car. 

We headed out Charlie's long driveway to the narrow winding highway that led first to my place, where Kim hastily handed me my wallet and agreed to go scoop the dogs, her eyes full of questions, before we moved onto Junction Village. Buttle was driving my VW van so not to disturb Shep laid out so quietly on Charlie’s and my laps in the back of the squad car.

The whole way into the village, Charlie’s shaking hand never stopped soothing old Shep. As for Shep, his eyes never left Charlie’s face, his faith in the man raw. I had to drag my eyes from the pair, or I’d be fighting tears at seeing the special bond they had. Please let this be an anomaly; a one-off, never to happen to Shep again. 

Blinking my eyes clear, I glanced away from my VW van just ahead of us to watch the pretty countryside we passed, where long stretches of farmland or unstructured forest lined the highway. We were almost there.

In my search for viable land in and around Poet, I’d passed through Junction Village—also known as JV—more than a few times though Junction Village wasn’t a village at all. It was a huddle of buildings at a highway crossroads about ten miles outside Poet’s city limits. The good news for Junction Village was its proximity to Swan Lake, a popular family getaway, which insured a steady stream of visitors on their way to the lake to hike, camp, fish or attend a seasonal event. 

Junction Village's main attraction was the gas station/restaurant combo called Junction Truck Stop, that bragged on providing both take-out and eat-in and came with a faded sign announcing Tuesday was Trivia and 2-4-1 Wing Night. To round out the clustered community was Junior’s, a delightful candy store and Sandy’s Ice Cream. There was a bright blue painted vet clinic, mostly for the large animals on the surrounding farms, like Charlie had explained, and a rambling stretch of brown