Pineapple Puppies Page 3

  Mariska was going to freak out.

  Maybe I should invite myself in for that interview.

  “I think Mariska has a crate she used to train Izzy. I’ll head in there with you.”

  Without responding one way or the other, Frank walked to Mariska’s door and knocked while she jerked the puppy box out of the cruiser. One of the puppies had curled up for a nap. The other two stared up at her with sleepy eyes. It had been a lot of wrestling and a busy day for three babies.

  Charlotte carried the box to Mariska’s door. She’d fallen too far behind, and by the time she’d found a way to open the door and cart the box inside unassisted, Frank had already delivered his news. She entered the kitchen in time to see Mariska slap her counter, her face flush with emotion.

  “Absolutely not!”

  “Thanks for the help with the door,” muttered Charlotte.

  Frank turned to look at her. “Huh?”

  “Nothing.”

  Frank turned back to Mariska and held out both hands, palms up, in mea culpa. “You cook a lot. People who cook a lot like to put their own spin on things, don’t they?”

  Charlotte set down the box. Mariska’s chubby white mutt, Miss Izzy, who’d joyfully jogged towards her, propelled by her wagging tail, peeked into the box. Her expression soured. She sniffed the pups and looked up with the eyes of a jilted lover, seemingly disgusted someone would bring puppies into her house. Walking past Mariska into the living room, Izzy threw herself down and looked away from the puppy box, only her bouncing eyebrows betraying the occasional glance each time one of the puppies made a noise.

  Charlotte suffered a pang of guilt before turning her attention to Mariska. “We know it isn’t your fault if you added nuts—”

  “But I didn’t. I’d tell you if I did.” Mariska’s gaze dropped to the box. “Are those puppies?”

  “No. They’re aliens. They’ve chosen to take the forms of puppies.”

  Mariska’s eyes narrowed. “Okay smartie-pants. I know they’re puppies. I mean where did they come from?”

  “We don’t know. Someone left them on the doorsteps of three people in the neighborhood, including Alice.”

  “Then that’s who killed her,” Mariska snapped, her index finger poking into the sky.

  Frank shook his head. “We’ll look into that. But I don’t think so.”

  “So you still think I did it?”

  “We don’t think you did it,” said Charlotte. She glanced at Frank. “Did you forget to mention that?”

  Frank shrugged.

  Charlotte turned back to Mariska. “Is there any way you might have added some nuts and then forgotten?”

  Mariska jerked back her head as if she’d been slapped. “I’d remember if I changed her recipe. I’m not senile. And why would I anyway? She’d been perfecting it for decades.”

  “Maybe someone else added them at the end? Were they sprinkled on top? Did you see any nuts?”

  “No. Did you?” Mariska asked Frank.

  The sheriff slipped his fingers under a plastic-wrapped crumb cake and stole a chunk. “Nah. Though when we bagged things I wasn’t exactly looking for nuts either.” He dropped the cake into his mouth and chewed, nodding his head in approval.

  Mariska squinted at him. “Do you really want to eat my crumb cake? You’re not worried it’s poisoned?”

  Trapped in the middle of swallowing, Frank suffered a little cough and cleared his throat.

  “No.”

  Looking exasperated, Mariska stooped to pick up the box of puppies and carted them to her sofa. She gently tilted the box to let them slide onto the cushions and then flopped beside them as if exhausted. Izzy, who had lifted her head to watch, dropped her chin to the ground, banging it on the tile floor.

  “You’re breaking Izzy’s heart,” mumbled Charlotte.

  “I just wanted to hold them for a minute,” said Mariska. “They won’t let me have puppies in prison.”

  Frank huffed. “You’re not going to prison. It’s my duty to come ask you these things. We have to investigate every possibility.”

  Mariska dropped her head into her hands, until a puppy slammed itself into the elbow she’d been using as support and it slipped from her thigh. “This is terrible. Do you really think someone killed Alice? Who would do that?”

  Frank shrugged. “We still have Crystal to look into.”

  Mariska grabbed a puppy about to leap from the edge of the cushion. “I forgot about that horrible granddaughter of hers. Do you think—”

  Frank held up a hand. “We’ll be talking to her.”

  Mariska frowned. “I’d certainly be talking to her before you start accusing me—”

  “I didn’t accuse you. I asked you a question about a possible honest mistake.” Frank ran his hands over his balding pate. “I swear, I don’t know how many more years I can deal with all you crazy people.”

  Charlotte chuckled as she retrieved the puppy box and handed it to him. “You’d die without something to do.”

  “And retirement would mean twenty-four-seven with Darla.” Frank affected a shudder before glancing at the combined boxes. “You don’t need these?”

  “I can get them across the street without it.”

  He nodded and moved for the door.

  “I’m going. Don’t leave the country, Mariska.”

  Mariska blanched. “That isn’t funny, Frank.”

  He left, chuckling to himself.

  The moment he was gone, Mariska’s gaze shot to Charlotte, her expression a map of worry. “I didn’t do it. I swear I didn’t add any nuts to the recipe.”

  “I believe you. Everyone believes you. We just have to eliminate all the possibilities.”

  One of the puppies had burrowed its head under a throw pillow and apparently fallen asleep. Mariska picked up another and kissed it on the nose. “Do you think Crystal could have done it? She’s a horrid girl but I can’t imagine anyone killing their own grandmother.”

  “I don’t really know her. Not much of a charmer, but it’s been a rough day.”

  Mariska clucked her tongue. “If you’d tried to run in her crowd, I would have locked you in a closet until you were thirty.”

  Charlotte opened a cabinet to get a bowl. She needed to make sure the puppies drank and ate some food. There was no way of telling the last time they’d been fed. “She’s, like, seven years younger than me. If I’d been running in her crowd it would have been weird.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  Mariska stood and began lowering puppies to the floor. Together they herded them towards the bowl. Izzy stood and moved farther away to flop down anew with an indignant grunt. When one of the puppies bounded towards her, she growled, but did nothing as the peewee bumped into her and then bounced in the other direction.

  Mariska shook her head. “She’s never going to forgive you for bringing them here.”

  Chapter Six

  Charlotte’s boyfriend, Declan, rapped on her front door and entered without waiting for a response beyond the sound of Abby’s toenails galloping across the tiles. The soft-coated Wheaton seemed more desperate than usual for attention, throwing herself against his legs and figure-eighting through them until Charlotte worried his leg hair might catch fire.

  Abby hadn’t taken the arrival of the puppies any better than Miss Izzy had.

  Jealousy, thy name is dog.

  Sometimes Declan swung by on his way to open his pawn shop, the Hock o’Bell, and he’d called to say this was one of those mornings. Charlotte had joked she considered his visits good practice should they ever end up married, so he was prepped on what she looked like without makeup and her hair pulled into a sloppy clip at the back of her head. There would be no surprises.

  “Good morning,” she said, giving him a kiss. He’d missed a tiny spot shaving beneath his bottom lip and it scratched at her own. Something about the curve of his mouth made that spot the arch-nemesis of his shaving routine, but she liked the curve of his mouth just
fine. “Here’s your coffee.”

  “Here’s your paper,” he said, handing her the plastic-sheathed bundle. Abby jumped to grab it so Charlotte snatched it from him and pulled off the plastic. Abby immediately lost interest.

  “Thank you. You have to de-fun it or you’ll lose it.”

  He cocked his head in Abby’s direction. “Is it me or is Abby a little needy today?”

  “It isn’t you.”

  “And you look a little more tired than usual today.”

  “Thanks for pointing that out.”

  Declan chuckled. “You’re still gorgeous, don’t get me wrong.”

  “Oh of course.” Charlotte flashed a model’s duck-face for him. “Thanks. And yes, those two things are related. The things that kept me from sleeping are the same things that have Abby worried her world is coming to an end.” She moved to the box sitting in her living room and tipped it over. Three squirming puppies bounded out, tripping over each other as they ran at Abby, who jumped to her feet and skittered away from them as if they were howling wolves. The Wheaton knew from experience that remaining low to the ground where the pups could nibble on her ears was a bad idea.

  Declan’s eyes popped wide. “You bought puppies?”

  “Didn’t buy. Temporarily inherited. Someone left them on people’s doorsteps last night.”

  “What people?”

  “Seemingly random Pineapple Portians.”

  Declan picked up a pup and held it above him as it tried to attack his face. “Gosh, they’re so cute. Who would do that?”

  “No idea.” Charlotte removed the soiled towel she’d used as a liner for the box and tossed it into her laundry room. “Though, after listening to them cry all night I sort of get it. Can you keep an eye on them for a second while I get a new towel?”

  “Um...” One puppy in hand, Declan stared at another. Charlotte followed his gaze to the one now squatting on her rug.

  “Great. Whole room is tile and it picks the rug to poop on. Why do they always do that?”

  The puppy finished its business before Charlotte could get to it with a paper towel. She was about to pick up the droppings when she noticed something odd and squinted at the small brown blob.

  Declan frowned. “Don’t tell me you see worms. This one just licked my whole face.”

  “No, something shiny.” Pinching the chunk with one end of the paper towel, she used the other end to pluck out the object of her fascination.

  “Ew,” said Declan. It wasn’t a helpful thing to say but he clearly couldn’t help himself.

  With the paper towel Charlotte gave the remaining poop a squeeze to make sure nothing else lay hidden in it, balled the mess up and threw it out. The shiny bit she rinsed clean beneath the tap.

  “It’s an earring,” she announced.

  “Really?” Declan tucked the puppy under his arm and joined her at the sink.

  Clasped between her fingers she held up a tiny, round silver ball with a post attached to the back.

  “That just came out of the dog?”

  “Yep.”

  “Is it yours?”

  “Nope.”

  They turned from the sink as a comically high-pitched growling began behind them. Two of the puppies were trying to pull a blanket off the arm of a chair. Abby stared at them dolefully.

  She didn’t approve.

  Charlotte huffed and ran from the room to return with a towel. Folding it inside the puppy box, she gathered up the three furry clowns and returned them to their cardboard prison. They immediately began to whine.

  “What are you going to do with them?” asked Declan, seeming to drink his coffee a little faster than usual.

  She shrugged. “I guess I’ll take them to the no-kill shelter, assuming Frank is done with them.”

  “Frank? What’s he have to do with them?”

  “A lady in the neighborhood died yesterday and she had one of the puppies. Frank wanted a little time to make sure the puppies and her death weren’t related and at some point I volunteered to hold on to the little furball. Next thing I know, two more people are handing me more.”

  Declan put down his mug. “Hm. Well, I’m off to work.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Bolting out of here before I give you a puppy.”

  He grinned and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “Maybe.”

  She wiped at her face with exaggerated drama. “Hey. Didn’t you just say your face is covered in puppy germs?”

  He grinned. “I’ll wash it at the store.”

  “You’d better. You’re a carrier now, Typhoid Declan.”

  She watched him walk to his car and waved goodbye before heading back inside, half-expecting to find Abby carting the puppies to the toilet one-by-one to flush away her competition.

  Nope. Abby had found a perch on the sofa to mope and the puppies had launched into a whole new level of whining.

  Charlotte hefted the box and took it outside to dump the puppies into the grass, with Abby tagging along behind. Charlotte herded the pups like a cattle dog to keep them on her little patch of green, begging them to do their business. They looked identical and she’d lost track of which one had already relieved itself of the earring.

  Eventually, another did its business, which was earring-free. When the last one followed suit with no more evidence of jewelry, Charlotte came to terms with the fact she wouldn’t end up with the complete pair.

  Just as well.

  “What about you?” she asked Abby.

  The Wheaten stared back at her, evidently refusing to go unless she had a proper walk. Charlotte rolled her eyes. “Fine, but we aren’t going far.” She scooped the puppies back into the box and clipped Abby’s leash to her collar. Abby perked up and began trotting.

  “Slow down, I can only go so fast holding a box of puppies.”

  Charlotte steered the dog down Alice’s street. Trash bags lined the front yard like a phalanx of stocky soldiers. Judging from the bits spilling from the top of the half-tied bags and bins, it appeared as if someone—Crystal, no doubt—had thrown away everything unsellable that Alice had ever owned. Old clothes, wall hangings, shoes, even a chair for sitting in the shower with a broken arm rest.

  Charlotte felt her pocket for her phone and called Frank’s cell.

  “Hello?” said a sleepy voice.

  “Frank?”

  There was a pause. “Charlotte? It’s not even eight o’clock in the morning. What’s wrong?”

  “I’m standing in front of Alice’s house and the yard is filled with her things.”

  She heard Frank grunting as if he were shifting in his bed. “What? Like a tornado hit the house?”

  “No, it’s in trash bags but—”

  “Oh crap. It’s trash day. I forgot to take it out last night. Hold on.” More grunting.

  “I’m saying it looks like Crystal is emptying the place.”

  “You called me this early to tell me Crystal is housecleaning?”

  “Doesn’t she seem a little eager to move on?”

  “People deal with grief in different ways. I had a lady once acting hysterical after hearing her husband had been in a car accident. And by hysterical I mean she was laughing her head off. Her emotions had short-circuited.”

  “Or he was a terrible husband.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Anyway, I’m only saying because she’s moving awfully fast. Maybe she did kill Alice.”

  “I don’t know what to tell you. We don’t have enough proof of wrong-doing to charge her for anything. We can’t arrest people for being ungrateful granddaughters.”

  Charlotte frowned and shifted the box to her other arm and the phone to her other ear.

  Stupid course of justice. So slow.

  “Did you find out anything new?”

  “Yeah, hold on.” She heard Frank’s automatic garage door opening. “They confirmed the cake had nuts in it.”

  “Sprinkled on top or inside?”

  “Almond flour baked inside. If Crystal did it,
she didn’t just push a peanut in there or something.”

  “No. It had to have been added before the stollen was baked. But Mariska said—”

  “I know what Mariska said.”

  “Maybe Crystal made another stollen, one with nuts. An imposter stollen. An impostollen.”

  “Maybe. We’ll be looking into it. Damn it—”

  Charlotte heard a cabinet bang and the rustling of plastic bags. While waiting for Frank to finish wrestling with his trash, she looked at the houses surrounding Alice’s with renewed interest.

  “Maybe someone saw Crystal up that night, baking the spare stolen?”

  “Charlotte, look, I have to go catch this trash truck…” His voice grew muffled but she could hear him talking to someone else. “It’s Charlotte. Crystal’s got all Alice’s stuff on the curb.”

  “Did you wake up Darla?”

  Frank’s voice returned louder as he barked a laugh. “Did I wake up Darla? Don’t you mean did you wake up Darla? And yes. You did. She woke up long enough to call Crystal a name I won’t repeat and now she’s off to bed again before I can ask her to help with this damn trash. Good-bye.”

  “But wait, what do you want me to do with the pup—”

  Charlotte heard the line die and slipped her phone back into her pocket. Maybe if she hurried back she could catch him dragging his cans to the curb.

  She gave Alice’s house one last glance and spotted a pale face staring at her from the front window.

  Crystal.

  Charlotte gave Abby a tug and walked on.

  Chapter Seven

  Charlotte sat in a chair beside Pineapple Port’s Olympic-sized pool with Darla and Mariska, the box of puppies perched on a large round table beneath a shady umbrella. Two Yorkies were curled up in the box and one slept on Darla’s lap. Charlotte had let them run around the house for an hour after walking Abby and the little things were pooped. Literally and figuratively. She’d never been so happy to not have wall-to-wall carpeting.

  She yawned wondering if she could steal a nap in the sun to make up for her rough evening and prepare for the next. Frank had refused to answer his phone since their morning conversation, so she still didn’t know if she needed to keep the puppies another day. Another night with them and she’d be like one of the walking dead.