Page 27 of Shenanigans

“Uh huh.” Dutch’s hand closed around an empty soda can, crushing it into an itty-bitty ball.

For a moment the feral glint in his eyes had me worried. A sigh of relief escaped me when Dutch dropped the crumpled can in the overflowing trash.

A trace of satisfaction flashed across Dutch’s face. “Where are the ownership documents for Tinkerbell?”

I handed them to him. “Her name is Tink.”

“Did you know the North Phoenix Animal Rescue has ties to radical animal rights activists?”

“Really? I find that surprising. The Maricopa County Sheriff’s office referred me to them.”

Dutch gave me a narrowed-eyed glare. “These animal activists are responsible for several deaths.”

If he was trying to get a reaction out of me, it wouldn’t work. Other than bee stings, no one had died or been hurt in our rescues. “How awful! I hope you lock them up and throw away the key.”

“Someone with your abilities would be an asset.” There was a note of censure in Dutch’s voice.

I gasped in outrage. “Do you really think I would work with someone who killed people?”

He stared at me for a long moment. “No, you’re not a killer.”

Hallefrickinlujah! He believed me. Now all I needed to do was get Dutch to focus on the murder not the activists or the Ninja Nun. “How did Maria die?”

“Gunshot wounds to the chest.”

“God, I hope she didn’t shoot herself.”

Dutch frowned. “Why would you say that?”

“Maria bought a .380 Ruger from a pawnshop. That idiot should never have sold a novice a gun with a hair trigger.”

“You saw the gun?”

I shuddered dramatically. “I sure did, right before she blew a hole in my floor. Missed my foot by an inch.”

“The bullet is still there?”

“No. I dug it out.”

Dutch let out a long-suffering sigh. “Please tell me you didn’t throw it away.”

“Of course not, I am a detective,” I huffed.

“Who finds lost animals and has no actual training in police work.”

“I’m working on my BA in criminal justice.” I reached into my purse and pulled out a clear plastic envelope with a smashed piece of lead inside. “Here. Happy now?”

Dutch took it. “Why are you helping me?”

“I want Maria’s killer found too.”

“When was the last time you saw or talked with Maria?”

“The day she hired me.”

“Is this your receipt?” Dutch held up an evidence bag with my blood-stained receipt in it.

Nausea rolled through me. “Yes.”

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