Drop Dead on Recall Read Online Free PDF Page B

maybe 115 dripping wet. She was also twenty or so years younger. Her hair was brown, like my own, but unlike mine, her short do was tidy. She probably doesn’t have to fend off gray with monthly touch-ups, either. She wore navy slacks and a white broadcloth shirt, the cuffs folded neatly over the sleeve hems of a fine-gauge navy cardigan and hitched toward her elbows, baring strong, tan forearms. Her badge hung from a black cord around her neck, and a holster bulged against her right hip. I knew in a heartbeat that in a dicey situation, I’d want her on my side.
    Detective Stevens glanced at her colleague, a twitch playing along her lip. “Go clean up, Hutchinson.” Scribble Man shuffled off, muttering something about brand new pants and dangling his inky hand and notebook out to his right to dry.
    I introduced myself and explained about Pip. Giselle gave her name as well, and insisted again that she could and should take everything with her.
    Detective Stevens pulled a cell phone from a black leather holster and hit the speed dial. “Hold on,” she nodded at me, and walked away a few steps. Giselle schlumped over to her grooming table, the one bearing the Maltese I’d chatted with earlier, and lifted the crate and captive dog onto the floor. Still puffing, she began packing up the grooming table and other stuff scattered around her setup.
    I stepped closer to Tony Balthazar. “What’s going on?”
    Tony dabbed about a quart of sweat from his forehead with a wrinkled hanky, then wadded it up and stuck it back in his pocket. He looked like he needed to get back to sitting on his golf cart. “I don’t know. They didn’t really say. I guess they need to be sure nobody steals anything.” He cast a quick glance over his shoulder at the detectives, and lowered his voice to a near whisper. “I don’t like having all these cops around. It doesn’t look good.”
    And having someone drop dead at a dog show does? “No one knows they’re cops, Tony.”
    Before I could ask any more questions, Detective Stevens rejoined us. “Ms. MacPhail, my lieutenant checked with Mr. Dorn. You can take the dog with you.”
    Giselle piped up, “Did you tell him I could take the dog?”
    “Yes, ma’am. He said Ms. MacPhail should take the dog.” Giselle scrunched up her crimson face but didn’t say anything more, and the detective turned back to me. “I’ll need your name, address, and telephone number.” I fished a creased business card out of my jacket pocket, smoothed it as best I could, and handed it over. She jotted something on the card, slipped it into a notebook she carried in her breast pocket, and handed me her own card. “Okay, Ms. MacPhail, you can take the dog, but nothing else. We need to hold the decea …, uh, Ms. Dorn’s property until cause of death is determined.” Her face softened. “And I’m sorry for your loss.”
    That took me by surprise. I hadn’t thought of Abigail’s death as a personal loss, but realized that it was in an odd way.
    Stevens continued. “Don’t touch anything as you get the dog out.”
    I thought about that for a moment. “Nobody touched her, you know. She just sort of fell over.” She had an unwavering gaze that undoubtedly served her well in her line of work. It was all I could do not to confess to my one flirtation with larceny, nicking that Milky Way from the Waynedale Pharmacy when I was eleven. Instead, I squatted next to Pip’s crate and opened the door. Forty pounds of Border Collie bowled me over and straddled me as I lay on my back in the dirt, whole body wagging and tongue slurping at my face. By the time I got him off me, stood up, and brushed some of the dirt from my backside, I felt a whole lot better.
    Detective Stevens laughed and started to walk away, but turned back, glancing quickly at Giselle and then at me. “Ms. MacPhail, don’t let anyone else have that dog without my go-ahead.”
    I was halfway home when Detective Stevens’ directive to “take the