Tracy’s hands clenched again. “I ain’t talking to you no more.”
Charlotte turned her attention to Lyndsey. “I see you changed your earrings.”
Lyndsey snorted a laugh. “The sheriff gave me back my missing one. He said you found it in puppy poop.”
“I did. You said you didn’t work with the puppies.”
“I don’t. But Mina lets them run around the kitchen. One of them must have found it there.”
Charlotte held up the paper in her hand.
“Do you recognize this mask?” she asked.
Frank took a step forward to get a better view of the paper. Printed on it was a screen grab of a person turning away from a door. Behind her a box sat on the door step. The person wore a dog mask, seemingly molded out of plastic. A poodle, if he had to guess, because it was pink with a tuft of curls at the top. For some reason cartoon poodles were always pink, though he’d never seen a pink poodle in real life.
Lyndsey stared at the printout and then dropped her head to rest in her hand, her elbow propped on her mother’s kitchen table.
“I want to talk to my lawyer.”
The corners of Tracy’s mouth dropped into an angry scowl.
Chapter Fifteen
Charlotte stepped out of her shower, towel-dried her hair and threw on a loose sleeveless, tropical cotton dress she liked to wear around the house. She was exhausted. She’d sat with the Griffin ladies until Sheriff Carter and his deputies had arrived and taken her and Lyndsey into custody. For fifteen minutes straight Tracy repeated how she’d done nothing wrong.
Once they’d been taken away, she’d lingered another fifteen minutes trying to download everything she’d learned from Mina and Payne into Frank’s brain. She told him Carter would need to talk to Mina again, that she was probably involved somehow, and that Payne could fill in some of the blanks if they could get her to come out of her teenage funk long enough to talk to them. She babbled until Frank told her to please stop talking and go home.
Declan had already told her he’d promised to help his uncle demo the apartment above Seamus’ new bar, The Anne Bonny, so maybe Seamus could finally move out of Declan’s house and into a place of his own. Seamus could have asked his nephew to build a new house and Declan would have done it if it meant getting his uncle out of his home. While he hadn’t minded offering Seamus a place to live when he rolled back into town, he hadn’t counted on him staying for months.
With Declan busy, Charlotte had an evening to herself, which sounded like heaven. She’d had a long day worrying about two cases that weren’t even paying her. All she wanted to do was vegetate in front of the television with Abby. She didn’t have to worry if Abby had forgiven her for the puppies. The soft-coated Wheaton was already maneuvering to jump on her lap before she had a chance to sit down.
The moment her tush hit the sofa cushions, Abby jumped up again as someone knocked on the door.
Charlotte closed her eyes.
You have got to be kidding me.
She looked at her watch. It was almost eight o’clock.
Most of the neighborhood was asleep by eight. Who could be at her door?
Abby jumped back down to play protector, stabbing her elbows into Charlotte’s thigh to better launch from the sofa.
“Ow.”
Charlotte followed the dog to the door and opened it to find Darla and Mariska on her stoop, both dressed in black. Darla’s eyes were puffy and rimmed with dark circles. Mariska wore capris, her fleshy ankles glowing against her inky outfit. Her cheap sneakers appeared smeary, as if they’d been white and she’d colored them with a black Sharpie pen.
“Got your picks?” asked Darla, holding up a small nylon case. She tried to smile but looked as though she might be sick.
Charlotte looked at the case and knew it to be filled with lock picks. One of Darla’s ex-husbands had been a thief, and he’d taught her how to pick locks—a talent she used at the slightest excuse. She’d taught Charlotte the skill, and even bought her professional lock-picking tools, which she’d dubbed My Very First Lock Picks, like Playskool toys for baby burglars.
Charlotte frowned. “Sweet baby corn, what are you two up to now?”
“What are you talking about? We’re sneaking into Alice’s house to clear my name,” said Mariska.
“Tonight?”
“That’s what I said,” muttered Darla. “My head is still pounding from the limoncello, but I can tell you now, you won’t talk her out of this.”
Charlotte took a step back to let the ladies inside. “We don’t even know if Crystal’s home or not.”
“She’s not. We checked,” said Mariska.
Charlotte frowned. “I guess Frank told you they found almond in all the loaves.”
“He told me, I told her,” said Darla, melting into a chair. She rubbed her temple. “I swear I’m going to sue Tilly. That stuff should come with a warning.”
Charlotte turned to Mariska. “When we were talking about sneaking in there I don’t know that I was serious.”
“I am. Serious as a heart attack,” said Mariska, setting her jaw to be sure she resembled her sentiment. “I need to clear my name. I know that girl is up to no good.”
“It might not be her. I met her boyfriend today. Talk about up to no good.”
“See? I know it wasn’t me. We just have to find out who it was.”
“Maybe it was just an accident,” said Darla, sounding as if she could barely find the energy to talk.
Mariska ignored her and started a frenetic tapping on Charlotte’s arm. “Go
