Let Sleeping Dogs Lie by Suzann Ledbetter

pants to cost three sheep their livelihoods.
     
     
"Your burglary victims," he said into the phone. "You wouldn't happen to know if they have a dog, would you?"
     
     
"A dog?" A pause, then, "Now that you mention it, yes. One of those huge, jowly things that slobbers all the time." Another beat's worth of dead air. "Why do you ask?"
     
     
"No reason in particular." Jack feigned a chuckle. "Just be glad you pay me by the day, instead of by every weird question I come up with."
     
     
"Answers," Gerry shot back. "That's what I'm paying you for."
     
     
The click and a dial tone weren't surprising, given the insurance agent's frustration. No doubt Abramson was kicking himself for not bringing in outside help sooner. He hadn't expected results in under seventy-two hours. It didn't stop him from wanting them like yesterday.
     
     
So did Jack, though he wouldn't have bet a plug nickel the trap would work on the first try. Common sense just never quite dashed the hope for a little dumb luck. If it did, the only snake eyes rolled in Vegas would be attached to actual snakes.
     
     
The sheltie barked. Jack yelped and jolted backward in his chair. Obviously pleased with itself, the dog twirled and bounced on its front paws, like a demented fox subjected to way too many Rogaine treatments. And not nearly enough Ritalin.
     
     
Jack's heart gradually defibrillated. "Okay, all right already. One phone call, then we're outa here."
     
     
Skeptical it would keep its yap shut, he ripped a page from a legal pad, wadded it and threw it across the room. Forty-three fetches later, Abramson's latest claimant haughtily affirmed the impossibility of a noise complaint the previous Thursday night at her address. As she put it, her English bull mastiff was "off premises."
     
     
"I'm sorry, ma'am, but I need specifics to quash this complaint. Was your dog staying with a relative, a friend…?"
     
     
"Certainly not. Winston was kenneled, until early this morning."
     
     
Jack swallowed to drown any hint of elation. "And the name of the kennel, please?"
     
     
"Well, if you must know, it's—" A brief silence segued to murky muffles, as though she'd dunked the receiver in a bucket of oil. Gibberish, then, "He says he's—" A louder summons to "Officer Garble-garble" provided excellent cues for Jack to deep-six the call.
     
     
The sheltie gnashed the soggy sheet of paper into molecular confetti, while Jack plundered a desk drawer for the cubic zirconia jewelry he bought for a previous investigation.
     
     
Rubbing the fake diamonds on his pants leg restored their sparkly, pimplike luster. A gaudy, similarly encrusted watch replaced his faithful Casio. "Talking the talk isn't enough," he told the dog. "Gotta walk the walk, loud and clear."
     
     
The bling aglitter on Jack's pinkies and ring fingers wasn't overlooked by the employee presiding over the counter at Home Away. "Whoa, dude," he said. "Do you have to wear all that for your job? Or do you just, you know, like it?"
     
     
"The job." Jack lasered the clerks's grubby T-shirt. "Kinda like, you know, all the hair and puppy puke you're wearing for yours."
     
     
After the intake information was complete, Jack insisted on a tour of the facility. A potential flaw in his jewelry-salesman spiel had presented itself in about the fourth hour of surveilling the decoy house. Contact with one kennel employee and reliance on an upscale address might not be enough to pique the Calendar Burglar's interest.
     
     
Jack followed his slouching tour guide, waving and flashing his bejeweled knuckles like a prom queen at various kennel workers. A fog of dog smell slapped his sinuses the instant he stepped into a wide, concrete-floored exercise area flanked by gated pens. Individually, the aromas might be pleasant. Collectively, not so much.
     
     
Breeds of every size and description lunged against the chain-link gates, barking and yipping so loud, the roof should have separated from the ceiling