Chapter 3

I have to admit I was a little embarrassed, even though there was really nobody around to see it. This woman, who I'd thought would be such an easy touch, was turning out to have more on the ball than I had expected. That she'd just call the cops like that, even though I KNEW she had dope in the house, suggested she was either crazy or had an in with the department somehow. I'd seen stuff like that before. More than one bad cop has stolen "product" during a bust, and then turned around and sold it himself.

But besides being embarrassed—or maybe because of it—I was pissed off too. I wasn't about to go back to that sweet, dangerous-looking woman in Chicago with the half crew cut and half dog ears hairdo, and tell her that her mother was smarter than I was. I was beginning to get a glimmer of why Ronnie had that dangerous, smart aura about her. She might not like her mother, but she was a product of the woman's genes.

So I opted for plan C.

I was tempted to give it a day or two. I mean she HAD called the cops and all, and sometimes they had this bad habit of actually keeping an eye on someone who made a complaint like she had made. I had no idea what cockamamie story she'd cook up to tell them when they answered the 911 call, but I didn't need any extra vigilance on their part when I executed plan C.

On the other hand, she might actually give them a description of me. I'm burly, and that face full of hair isn't the cutesy little goatee that most men who sport facial hair have these days. I'm more the Grizzly Adams type, and fairly recognizable, even sitting in a car. The last thing I needed was a run-in with the law where I didn't have any friends.

I could just see it in my mind:

"Hello officer. I'm confused about why you stopped me. I know I wasn't speeding."

"Driver's license and registration, please."

"Do you mind if I ask why you stopped me?"

"You match the description of a man alleged to be impersonating a police officer and threatening people."

"Hahaha. That's a rich one. Here you go, officer. I'm just Joe Average. I'm not a threat to anybody.

"I see, Mr. Holmes, that you're from Chicago. You mind me asking what you're doing in Dayton?

I couldn't lie to him. They have ways of checking these things. I thought about saying I was a consultant in the information sector. That's a little like calling a janitor an Environmental Sanitary Engineer, but sometimes it makes people nod, like they know what that means, 'cause they don't want to look stupid. I didn't think that would work with a cop who was already suspicious.

"Well, I'm a private investigator, and I'm on a case," I'd have to admit.

"What kind of case, Mr. Holmes?"

"I'm trying to recover some very valuable property for a client."

"What kind of property, Mr. Holmes?"

"Uhhh ... actually ... it's a pair of roller skates."

"Step out of the car, Mr. Holmes. Keep your hands where I can see them!

I was pretty sure it would go something like that so, instead of hanging around Dayton, waiting for said scenario to play out, I went shopping for what I'd need for plan C.

I waited until an hour after I saw the last lights go off in the house and then eased out of the car, not closing the door completely. I'd already taken the bulb out of the dome light. The breezeway that separated the garage from the house was enclosed. There was a storm door that led into it and, once you were through that, you could turn left to go into the house, or right to go into the garage.

I wasn't surprised to hear Muttley stirring around in the breezeway when I approached. Some people leave a dog in all night. For those people the dog is just part of the family. But I suspected any woman who'd kick her own dog just for doing his job wasn't going to be that type, and would put the animal out so it couldn't bother her during the night. I was prepared for that eventuality, though, as long as I could keep the dog from barking too much initially.

Muttley had given out two nervous barks before I opened the storm door and tossed in $11.56 worth of beef chuck blade roast which, besides having nice red meat on it, had a bone, to keep Rover happy after his snack. The light from the street lamps was good enough that I could see Muttley happily go for it. I slipped in and went for the garage door immediately, while he was celebrating his good fortune.

I didn't want to draw any attention from the neighbors by turning on the lights, so I used my flashlight to begin my search. I understood immediately why the car was parked outside.

If you've lived in your house for four or five years, take a look around. See all that junk you've accumulated? Now, multiply it by four. This woman had lived here for twenty years or more and the place was crammed with lawnmowers, a garden tiller, and ... of course ... stacks and stacks of overflowing boxes. Still, I didn't have to worry about making a mess. Who'd notice in this clutter? I just had to make that mess quietly.

I dumped one box and started transferring stuff from a second into the empty one. I was on my fourth box when Muttley started barking. I hurried to the door and opened it just enough to speak to the dog in a whisper.

"What's wrong, boy?" I said in my best pet-friendly voice.

He was standing over that bone, which had been cleaned up nicely and fairly shone, white in the dim light. He looked at the bone and then back up at me, and barked some more.

"Eat the bone, you stupid dog!" I urged him in baby talk.

The furry fucker actually dipped his head and moved the bone with his nose, before looking back up at me and barking some more. Apparently Muttley wasn't interested in bones. He wanted more meat. He barked some more. It was dog language for "You didn't think you could buy me off with that paltry offering did you?"