Let Sleeping Dogs Lie by Suzann Ledbetter Page B

weekend.
     
     
Consideration was given a two-birds-with-one-stone idea. Evidently, Dina the groomer was called in to remedy a dog unfamiliar with a skunk's defense mechanism, not for a full day's work. Waiting around in the parking lot, then buying her a cup of coffee could be edifying in more ways than one.
     
     
All in good time, he decided. A casual remark afterward in the wrong ear about her delightful, spur-of-the-moment repartee with Butch's temporary custodian could be a tip-off. Jack using his real name wasn't particularly risky, unless the Calendar Burglar walked his fingers through the phone directory.
     
     
"Business before pleasure," he said, with a sigh. "Damn it."
     
     
    * * *
There wasn't enough scotch in Scotland—neat, on the rocks, sucked out a barrel's bung hole with a straw—to blot out the lowlights of the next twenty-four hours.
     
     
Not once, but twice during Jack's overnight campout in his car, a minuscule Chevy with a cretin at the wheel rolled by the cul-de-sac's entrance. Moby Dickhead had burned the decoy house's address for future reference as effectively as gasoline and a match. Jack stayed put, though, entertaining himself with fantasies of felony assault and battery.
     
     
Then just after dawn, while his head was burrowed under the pillow and his mind was deeply involved in an entirely different fantasy and costar, Home Away called to inform him that Butch had jumped a pit bull in the outdoor exercise yard.
     
     
The pit bull emerged unscathed, naturally. The idiot sheltie's emergency animal clinic's bill was $422.73. Luckily, Angie Meadows's hobby was hooking, not wind sprints. When he dropped off the bandaged sheltie, she did chase Jack for two blocks, screaming explicit details about the amputations she'd perform if she caught him.
     
     
The bar where Angie worked was off-limits for the forseeable future. Finding another second-favorite watering hole wasn't a fraction as worrisome as Gerry Abramson's retainer dissolving in record time.
     
     
Provided the Calendar Burglar was identified and stopped, the insurance agent wouldn't freak about Jack's expenses—apart from maybe the veterinary clinic bill for Butch. And if, of course, it was Jack's hunch that led to the thief's apprehension.
     
     
And then there was the increasing possibility that he was loonier than Brett Dean Blankenship. Being wrong about the kennel connection wasn't the issue. He had, however, speculated that the burglar might be a customer, not an employee. TLC's and Home Away's log sheets were both kept in plain view. The thief dropping off his dog just as Jack was dropping off loaners failed to amuse him.
     
     
Merry Hills was next and the last on the list. Jack refused to quit two-thirds through the rotation. Come up empty again, and he'd contact kennel owners for a confidential look at their files. As if they'd allow it then, any more than they would have at the outset. Therefore, Jack McPhee, state animal facility inspector—or something equally official sounding—would make unannounced visits.
     
     
In the meantime, a new decoy address was a must. A new dog to allegedly reside at that address was crucial. The first grin in recent memory broke across Jack's face. "Belle has a dog."
     
     
He sobered immediately. "She also has a husband who thinks you're a bottom-feeder and he's probably at home on a Sunday morning."
     
     
Flipping through the Rolodex, Jack called ex-girlfriends, friends, acquaintances and bar buddies he had to describe himself to. Realizing he was visually fitting a dog suit on the one-eared tomcat that roamed the apartment complex, he gave up and dialed his ex-wife's number.
     
     
"You want to borrow my dog," Belle repeated. Her tone was normally associated with unsecured loans of large sums of cash.
     
     
"Just overnight. You know I wouldn't ask, if I really didn't need your help."
     
     
"Everybody else you've asked turned you down flat, huh?" She laughed. "Two problems,