Explosive Forces (K-9 Rescue #5)
D. D. Ayres
CHAPTER ONE
“Hello? Hello? Carly?”
Carly Harrington-Reese shifted her cell phone back to her ear. “I’m here, Aunt Fredda. I thought I heard a dog barking next door. But I don’t hear anything now.”
“Humph.” That was Aunt Fredda’s famous sound that, when emitted from the judicial bench where she was a juvenile court judge, stood for unimpressed, doubtful, or dissatisfied. “Didn’t I just say it’s not a good idea for a young woman to be working alone late at night?”
“I’m about done anyway.” Carly put her aunt on speaker before reaching for the sterling silver bell necklace on her front display table. It was the reason she’d popped back into her store tonight. She hadn’t meant to leave the signature piece of her first jewelry collection behind when she locked up. “Besides, the space next door is empty.”
“Now I don’t like the sound of that one bit. Empty spaces are just begging for trouble to walk in.”
“It won’t be vacant long. The landlord has had interest in turning it into a cupcake shop. I’m thinking people who like to buy individual sweets might also want one-of-a-kind items from my boutique.”
“I know that’s right. Flawless is going to be a hit. How can it not, with my little supermodel niece large and in charge? I saw the grand opening banner when I drove by this morning.”
“You came by?” Carly frowned and laid the necklace on the counter. Whimpering sounds again. Was it a dog? Or her imagination working overtime? “Why didn’t you come in?”
“Grand-nephew Frye. He just got his driver’s permit and talked me into letting him drive around. I told him if he scratches my Mercedes it’s coming out of his future college tuition money. Carly? You’re not listening to me, are you? Carly?”
“Now that was a dog. I’m sure of it. Right on the other side of this wall.” Carly had moved in between the racks of handmade scarves loomed in Ethiopia and the raffia-weave document cases made in Madagascar to press her ear to the eco-friendly wallpaper of the wall she shared with the shop next door.
There were faint noises coming from the other side, all right. Sounds like scratching.
“What are you doing? Is that a door I hear opening? Carly?” Aunt Fredda’s husky voice had climbed half an octave. “You’re not going over there? Don’t be crazy.”
“Sorry, Aunt Fredda. I’ll call you back in five.” Carly pocketed her phone and hurried out her front door.
Four of the five one-floor redbrick storefronts that made up the historically restored building strip at the corner of Lipscomb and Magnolia were dark. Only the large plate glass windows of her corner shop door spilled light onto the sidewalk.
Turning her head, she glanced right and left. It was past eleven o’clock on a Thursday night in March. A couple of cars rolled leisurely down Magnolia Avenue. All the slots in the public bike rental rack on the corner were full. The trendy bars in the next block in either direction were closed. The weekend would be different. But for now only one couple walked arm-in-arm on the other side of the street. No dog in sight anywhere.
Then she was sure she heard sounds again, coming from the store on her left. It was like that faint whimper her dog Cooper used to make when he got into trouble. An enthusiastic but uncoordinated mix of curiosity and poor choices, Cooper had height issues. He would climb up without hesitation onto beds, picnic tables, even the flatbed of a truck. But anything higher than the sofa had him crying for assistance to get down.
She couldn’t stand the idea of anything in trouble, especially an animal. “I should just mind my own business.” But she wasn’t going to.
She never minded her own business when someone or thing was in trouble. Her mother called it her “Good Samaritan Habit” formed at the age of three. That was after she found Carly in their back yard with a garden snake that had half-swallowed a frog. Holding on to both creatures, Carly was trying to pull them apart. Sadly, the frog was a goner. Carly’s instinct to help the vulnerable was still very much alive.
Moving in front of one of the dark windows of the shop next door, she pressed her forehead to the cool plate glass and framed her face with her hands to block the streetlight. But there was nothing to see. The windows were covered in paper from the inside.
She moved to try the door handle. It was locked.
She knocked. “Hello! Anybody in there?”
Silence. Not even a whimper this time.
The phone rang in her pocket.
“Tell me you aren’t out on the street alone.”
“I’m okay, Aunt Fredda.”
“Did you find the dog?”