at Kmart, or nine bucks at Trudy’s Good As New—stomped across her grass, crushing the life out of her lawn. Bobby glared at the man. Ass!
The shoes halted just short of the porch. “Good afternoon, ma’am. I’m Officer Stone. Metro.”
“Hello, Officer.”
“I’d like to ask you some questions about your neighbor. Did you see what happened?”
Bobby snickered. What kind of question is that? You see all kinds of stuff. Some of it happens, some of it doesn’t.
Helen focused on all the gear attached to the officer’s belt, wondering about their resale value. Was he trying to trick her with his did-you-see-what-happened shtick? “You mean over there?” She inclined her head toward the impromptu carnival surrounding Bebe’s house.
“Yes, ma’am.” He nodded, ignoring her husband.
How rude, she thought, but then most people ignored Bobby. She picked at a scab on her elbow, trying to focus on his question. “Well . . . there was a lot of noise.”
“You’re referring to her dogs.”
Bobby laughed. No, her sex life.
Helen gave the uniform a toe-to-head scan, and decided this one wouldn’t appreciate a sarcastic remark about Bebe’s career. “Her animals have been howling and barking for a while.”
The uniform leaned in close, as if wanting to say something confidential, caught a whiff of her aura and jerked back. Pansy. She wasn’t against taking a shower once in a while, but she wasn’t a fanatic about it. He backed up a couple of steps, trampling her fragile grass. “Ma’am, please look at me when I’m talking to you. Now, when did the dogs start barking?”
She stared at his shoes crushing her brittle lawn. “She only has one dog. The big one, Lupe, is a wolf.” She let her eyes flick up to his sunglasses. Forty-nine dollars at Big Five, but would go for fifteen at the swap meet.
“A wolf?” he repeated, his voice heavy with disbelief. “Right.”
Bobby moved around behind the uniform, mimicking the man’s tone. A wolf? No kidding? Ain’t they hard to housebreak?
Helen suppressed a laugh. “She looks like a big dog.”
“Did you see anyone go into your neighbor’s house this morning?”
Bobby nodded encouragement. Go ahead, tell him.
But she couldn’t, not until she was certain. “I don’t think so.”
“Are you sure?”
Was she? Maybe she had, but maybe she hadn’t. She shook her head.
Annoyingly persistent, the uniform had yet to move his toxic feet off her grass. “Do you know what time the dogs started barking?”
“Not exactly.”
“Please, ma’am, give it a little thought. Was it before breakfast?”
“No,” she answered, not appreciating his condescending tone.
“Was it after breakfast?”
Bobby rolled his eyes. Do these guys go to charm school?
“It was after breakfast.”
“Was it …around lunch?”
Does he think you’re an idiot?
The electricity in her skin might make her watch run a little fast, Helen thought, but she could still tell time. “Perhaps a little before”—she paused, waiting for the howling and barking to subside—“noon.”
The uniform frowned, turned his head and spoke into his shoulder radio. “Stone here, uh . . . listen. We’ll need Animal Control at the crime scene on Tsunami Avenue. We have a couple of dogs for impound.”
A woman’s unintelligible voice crackled back, but Bobby took a stab at translating. They’re on the way. Hide the cats!
The uniform kept yapping about time and dogs, pacing back and forth until he stepped on Bebe’s finger. He glanced down, turned it over with his shoe, then with Olympic agility leapt onto the porch.
Helen smiled to herself. Finally, his shoes were off the grass.
“God!” The uniform leaned forward and gagged.
Helen grabbed his arm, steering him to the stoop, then opened the spigot and filled a cup with water. He took a big gulp and immediately spit it onto the lawn. The cup, she realized, might have been a little gritty from digging up gladiolus bulbs.
Bobby sneered. Wimp.
Officer Stone took a deep breath and shuddered. “God damn!”
Sacrilege! She hated it when people took the Lord’s name in vain.
Other uniforms turned in their direction, and immediately an entire shoe department of footwear scuffed and trampled their way across the lawn.
I’ll bet they all have yard service, Bobby growled, and a variance for extra watering.
“Get off my grass!” Helen screamed. It was too much. She was a law-abiding homeowner. She stooped to collect Bebe’s finger and a gang of uniforms grabbed her.
“Calm down, lady.”
“Get her out of here.”
Angry at the interference, Helen tried to stiff-arm the uniforms away, but there were too many. Giving up, she turned toward her door, but before she could escape inside, one of the uniforms had cuffed her wrists.
“Look, lady, we’re just doing our job. We can’t have you interfering with evidence.”
Evidence! “This is my yard! Get off my grass!”
A pair of dust-gray Lucchese python boots, retailing for three hundred and fifty dollars, stepped between Helen’s high tops and the chorus line of black shoes. “Hey guys, lighten up. I checked around. This is the local cat lady—eccentric, but not a suspect.”
A pair of familiar cop shoes stepped forward. “I found a finger from the victim on her property, Detective. Very close to where she was sitting.”
“I appreciate your diligence, Officer Stone”—the cowboy boots moved closer, warm fingers closing around Helen’s arm—“but there are two things I look for in a suspect connected to this type of investigation: blood on the suspect’s clothing, or no blood on a freshly washed suspect. I gotta tell you, this woman doesn’t fit either description.”
The detective steered Helen into the backseat of a police cruiser and buckled her in. “You just sit tight, ma’am. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Helen leaned back, enjoying the feel of the upholstery and the cool breeze of the air-conditioning. She had forgotten how nice a new car could smell. Bobby drummed his hands against the mesh cage that separated
