Scrapping Scarlett (Jane Delaney Mysteries, #8) by Pamela Burford

Author:Pamela Burford
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: humorous mysteries female sleuth, amateur sleuth, love triangle, romantic comedy mystery, female protagonist, dog mystery, humorous mystery series, amateur female sleuths romantic, humorous dog mysteries, small town mystery and humor, love triangle mystery series, cozy animal mystery series
Publisher: Radical Poodle Press
Published: 2023-01-31T00:00:00+00:00

13

Beware of Seven-Pound Poodle

We were driving westbound on the Long Island Expressway when I got the call. It was a clear, cold night, almost nine p.m. on Friday, the day after Thanksgiving, and Martin was behind the wheel of his 1966 candy-apple-red Mustang convertible. We were headed to Manhattan for a late dinner and show at a comedy club when my cell buzzed. I’d already silenced it so the entire audience wouldn’t be treated to the Latin-flavored tune “Tequila,” my custom ringtone, in the middle of the comic’s routine.

The caller’s name was displayed on the screen. I frowned. What could Elliott be calling about? We’d been on the road less than half an hour, having just left the teen with our dogs for his first pet-sitting gig with us.

Elliott had come by the house a few days earlier to meet the newest furry family member and for all of us to get better acquainted. By the end of the visit, the padre and I felt confident the boy was both capable and trustworthy. Since we’d be gone just a few hours and he had no school the next day (and was happy to have somewhere quiet to do his homework away from his three rowdy younger siblings), we all agreed he’d stay at our house the whole evening instead of doing a standard drop-in visit.

I answered the phone. “Elliott? What—”

“There’s been a break-in.” He sounded out of breath. “Someone pried open the window in the—the—that room in the corner, next to the laundry room.”

He was referring to my home office, originally intended by the architect as the maid’s room.

“Oh my God.” I put the phone on speaker as I demanded, somewhat louder than necessary, “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Elliott said. “So are SB and Layla.”

Martin’s voice was tight. “Tell me.”

I said, “Someone broke in.”

The padre immediately switched lanes so he could get off at the next exit and turn around. He said, “Elliott, listen to me. Are you still in the house? You need to get out, now.”

“The guy’s gone,” Elliott said.

“How can you be sure?”

“’Cause Layla and I chased him into the woods behind your place. But he got over the wall before we could catch—”

“You chased him?” I screeched. Yeah, I screeched. It’s been known to happen.

“I didn’t stop to think about it,” Elliott said. “It was just, like, instinct.”

The padre repeated my question. “And you definitely didn’t get hurt? The truth. This is not the time to suck it up.”

“Seriously, dude, I’m fine,” he said. “We all are. I called nine-one-one right away. I think I hear the sirens.”

Which explained why Layla and Sexy Beast had started howling in the background.

Martin said, “We’ll call the cops and tell them who you are and why you’re at the house. Be prepared to show ID.”

“Oh. Right,” Elliott said. “I didn’t think of that.”

Neither did I, I must admit. Of the three of us, Martin was the only one with, shall we say, hands-on experience when it came to breaking and entering.

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