Family Matters (18 page)

When the kitchen door swung open, she caught her breath and almost dropped her towel.

The house was a mess. Chairs were tipped over, and papers were scattered. Mugs she had left in the sink lay shattered on the kitchen tile.

P
olice car lights flashed, and dogs barked furiously, while Gracie talked to Investigator Hotchkiss in the driveway. The investigator was standing a judicious distance away, asking questions in between coughing and frowning at her notepad. It was all fairly embarrassing. There was no doubt that Gracie stunk to high heaven. Her parents arrived right behind Jim, and they were greeted with the same force field of skunk power.

“What happened here?” Theresa demanded. “Did someone hit a skunk in the driveway or something?”

“No, Mom. It’s me. I managed to get sprayed and robbed all in one night.”

At least Gracie had been able to put on a pair of shorts and a T-shirt before the sheriff’s department arrived. Her laptop sitting on the coffee table and the MP3 player were gone. The TV in the living room hadn’t been touched, but then it was attached to the stereo system, with a web of wires only an engineer could untangle. It was one of Jim’s technology masterpieces. The laptop was a major problem. It held all her personal financial information, the scanned copies of Charlotte’s documents, and an archive of family pictures. She had backups of her financial information, but she hadn’t backed up the pictures. She’d been scanning them for her parents, but needed to purchase an external hard drive for complete storage.

Another encounter with Investigator Hotchkiss wasn’t high on her list, and unfortunately, Marc wasn’t on duty tonight. Gracie would have felt better if he were here to run interference for her. However, she didn’t smell very nice, so maybe it was just as well.

The house had been unlocked. She hadn’t even given it a thought. The robbery must have happened while she was in the cornfield. How would they have known unless they were watching her?  It was unnerving to think that criminals had actually been in and out of her house in such a short time. She was also hopping mad. How dare they come back and do this? Maybe they had been in the backyard when Haley started barking. Had they, him, or whoever set her barking?

“You really do stink.” Jim leaned backward in awe of her aura.

“I know. I used the Skunk Off, but it doesn’t seem to work very well.”

“How about not at all? You were sold a bill of goods there, Gracie.”

She could see her father holding a hand over his nose, pretending to rub his face. He was wisely not saying a word.

“Gracie, you must have some peroxide, baking soda, and dish soap,” her mother demanded.

“Yes, of course I do. It’s in the kitchen and bathroom.”

“I’ll be back in a minute with a bucket and a brush.” Theresa pushed up her sleeves and headed to the house.

She marched back with a bucket of sudsy solution, a towel, and a bath brush.

“Get yourself out back, and we’ll do this again the right way.”

“Mom, not now, I’ve got…”

“Please, Gracie your mother is right on this.” Jim covered his nose.

“Yes, go ahead, Mrs. Andersen. I can wait.” Investigator Hotchkiss put her notepad to her face. Was she laughing or what?

Gracie stomped off with Theresa leading the way.They reappeared 10 minutes later.

“It’s better.” Her father let his breath out audibly.

“It
is
better.” Jim sniffed tentatively.

“That solution works every time,” Theresa beamed.

“You should market it, Mrs. Clark.” Investigator Hotchkiss lowered her notepad and actually smiled.

“It’s an easy recipe.
A quart of peroxide, some baking soda, and two or three good squirts of dishwashing liquid. Cheap and effective. Remember Daisy? That dog loved skunks. I found this concoction early on, and it’s a good thing.”

“I thought tomato juice was the cure for skunk,” Investigator Hotchkiss said.

“No, that doesn’t work; it just makes you smell like tomato juice and skunk. Well, Gracie, you smell almost human again.”

“I
should
smell better. You probably scraped off most of my skin. I must be bleeding.”

“You’re fine, but there could be a slight alteration in your hair color.”

“What do you mean slight alteration?” She asked warily.

“Well, you could be a strawberry blonde or something like that by tomorrow.”

“You’re kidding! Mom, why did you do that to my hair?” Gracie knew she sounded like a whiny five-year-old and didn’t care.

“Do you want to stink for days, lose all your friends, and annoy your family?”

“Uh, excuse me, Mrs. Andersen, could we get back to a few more questions?”

Investigator Hotchkiss had her pencil warmed up again.

They decided that Jim would camp out at Gracie’s for the night. Eau de skunk lingered in the house, so Jim
opened the windows. Gracie took a raging hot shower and sprayed herself liberally with vanilla and lavender body spray. Now that she felt more human and wrapped in her soft blue terry bathrobe, she was wired and ready to talk about her fruitful detective work. Jim was already sound asleep in the recliner, his head tipped back, mouth open, and his long legs comfortably stretched out. Haley snored deeply, lying full length on the couch. What a pair! No stamina.

The copies of Charlotte’s diary pages that the robbers had scattered through the house had been put on the kitchen counter. She grabbed them and found her notebook under the coffee table. With papers stacked in front of her, Gracie sat cross-legged on the floor and began piecing together the conversations of the day.

Gracie groaned and tried to straighten up. She’d fallen asleep amid the papers sometime during her all-nighter, and slats of sunlight shot through the half-open blinds.
Her back was knotted and her legs stiff from camping out on the floor. Jim was gone, but Haley was on her back, still sleeping on the couch. She flipped over and jumped down to lick Gracie’s face as Gracie tried to stand.

“Okay, girl, let’s go out.”

She left the patio door open and started making some sturdy coffee, while Haley finished her morning constitutional. Gracie needed to hurry. It was 7:30, and the one pick-up time on Sunday was 8:00 to 8:30. No church today. She needed to call Marc and let him look over her notes. The pieces of the puzzle Uncle Stan had given her were just the frame. Yesterday’s wagonload of information was filling in the middle of the picture. Maybe with Marc’s help, she could get the last few pieces in place.

Stinky was happy and eating his breakfast. His stubby tail was wagging like a flag, and his appetite was good. There was no trace of the seizure from the night before. Three dogs were picked up before 8:30, and the pack scheduled for a morning play session was sufficiently tired out. Joe had cleaned all the runs and double-checked water dishes by 9:30. Jim had asked Joe to start putting up the fence posts for the agility course, so he’d be around until noon or so. Jim was taking the day off, transferring the evening feeding and afternoon play sessions to Gracie’s calendar, but, with any luck, she could meet Marc before Joe left.

She suddenly realized that she didn’t have Marc’s home number. She’d have to see if he was on duty. Gracie doubted the dispatcher would give her his personal number, but it couldn’t hurt to ask. She left a message with the dispatcher, who promised to pass it on to Marc. Now she’d have to sit around, waiting for his call. Since she needed to find the flash drive that held her backup information from the stolen laptop, she might as well look for it while she waited for the phone to ring. All the usual storage places yielded nothing, and her frustration was rising. She was checking the bathroom drawers in desperation when she caught a glimpse of her hair in the mirror over the sink.

“AGGGH! It’s pink! I’ve got a pink stripe! Are you kidding me?” A few other words came to mind as she glared at the thick ribbon of pink hair on the right side of her head.

“I look like a punk rocker or a Halloween reject.”

Haley whined and wagged her tail, banging it against the door.

“The customers must have thought I’d lost my mind this morning.
Just great!”

No amount of braiding or twisting hid the pink, so finally Gracie pulled it back in the clip as usual.

“Well, Haley, your adventure last night sure landed me in a fine mess. No more running after raccoons or other creatures of the night. Deal?”

Haley looked properly interested in Gracie’s admonition and then found her raggedy monkey toy, ready for a game of fetch.

“Sorry, girl, you’ll have to amuse yourself right now. I have to find that flash drive. My tote, that’s it. I took it with me to meet Matthew, and then we decided on the park instead of the parsonage.”

She dumped the contents on the bedroom floor, the green and black flash drive skittering across the hardwood floor and under the bed. Haley sniffed through the rest of the inventory, snatching a small piece of paper. She wagged her tail and trotted toward the living room.

“Hey, come back with that. I need all my stuff.”

It was probably a receipt she hadn’t dropped off in the office. Haley sat by the patio door, eager to play.

“Drop it, Haley. You’re not at the top of my favorites list today.”

Haley opened her mouth with the paper stuck to her long pink tongue.

“Yuck, why did you have to slime it?” Gracie pulled the strip off. It was certainly no receipt. It was a ticket. A ticket from Delicious Delights Theatre.

“How did
this
get in my tote? And who went to see
Wanda Does Albuquerque
?”

Further inspection gave her the date—the day Uncle Stan died. It was a four o’clock matinee. Gracie carefully laid it on the kitchen counter to dry. How did this end up in her stuff? The phone rang. It was Marc, and he was on his way to talk with her. It was about the robbery.

They sat at the dining room tabl
e
Marc, Gracie, and Investigator Hotchkiss. Marc was in uniform, looking fine, while the investigator was surprisingly casual with jeans and white golf shirt.

“We’ve got a pretty good idea of what’s been going on, but we need your help, Mrs. Andersen.” The investigator looked over her reading glasses at Gracie and glanced back at her notebook.

“OK, but I’m not sure how I can help.”

“Gracie, it looks like the kennel has been used to target individuals to rob.” Marc spoke quietly, watching Gracie’s face for a reaction.

“What do you mean? How could the kennel be used for that?”

“Well, the robberies escalated in the last couple of weeks, and all the victims were out of town at the time. We had a couple of them mention their dogs were at your kennel. Could we take a look at your records and see if there is some connection?”

Gracie could see that the investigator was letting Marc take the lead. Not only was she a suspect in her uncle’s death, but now she was somehow also involved in robbing houses.

“Am I being accused of something here?”

“No, Mrs. Andersen. We just want to see your records, if you don’t mind.” Investigator Hotchkiss attempted to sound almost friendly.

“All right.
Let’s get this over with.”

Gracie watched Joe pound a metal post in the soft ground on north side of the kennel. He looked up briefly and picked up another post.

“Who’s that?” the investigator questioned.

“That’s Joe Youngers, our kennel helper. We’re getting ready for a dog match in a few weeks.”

“He hasn’t worked here very long, has he?” Marc watched Joe with curiosity.

“No. He’s been here two or three weeks.”

“Any trouble with him?”

“No, although he’s on probation.
I wasn’t sure about him when we hired him, but he seems to be doing OK. Jim likes him. He’s willing to work anytime, which is a big help.”

Gracie pulled up the occupancy records on her office computer. Investigator Hotchkiss thumbed through her notebook, while Gracie printed off the last two weeks of kennel activity.

“Here you go.” She handed the stack of paper to the investigator.

“Thanks for your help, Mrs. Andersen. We’ll get back with you in a day or two.” Her eyes were steady and unsmiling. Why couldn’t this woman lighten up?

“No problem. I hope you catch these guys. I’d like my computer back, but I hope the kennel isn’t involved in this. We don’t need any more bad publicity. A connection could ruin us.” The implications of what they were suggesting hit Gracie like blizzard-force winds, chilling her even in the summer heat.

“I understand, Mrs. Andersen. But we’re trying to solve this case and stop any more robberies. We’re just following every lead.” Investigator Hotchkiss left Gracie and Marc standing in the driveway and climbed into her unmarked black sedan.

“This is a disaster, Marc. If people think the kennel is connected with these robberies, they’ll never leave their dogs here. We’ll be out of business in no time.”

“Sorry, Gracie, but we have to look into it. I’m not a big believer in coincidences. I think I’ll have a chat with Joe before I leave.”