Buckingham Pet Palace may provide services fit for a four-legged king, but there’s no use crying over spilled kibble—not unless it leads to murder!
When a break-in at the Pet Palace robs Sue Patrick of more than her beauty sleep, she intends to tidy her ransacked doggy daycare and spa before making any rash decisions. But after Sue abandons her better instincts to rescue a petrified pug stranded at a lighthouse in the Delaware Bay later that morning, she’s lured off mainland Lewes long enough for a freshly murdered body to get dumped in her driveway . . .
Aided by Lady Anthea Fitzwalter, her practically royal business partner from across the pond, Sue sniffs out clues about the yappy pug with a complicated history and the old car spotted at both crime scenes in hopes of IDing the culprit. As the investigation leads them back to the bay, the ladies soon find themselves immersed in a case trickier than a canine agility course—and chasing after a well-groomed killer who will do anything to maintain a perfect reputation . . .
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Pet Palace Mysteries
Stay Calm and Collie On
Support Your Local Pug
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Support Your Local Pug
A Pet Palace Mystery
Lane Stone
LYRICAL PRESS
Kensington Publishing Corp.
www.kensingtonbooks.com
Copyright
Lyrical Press books are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp. 119 West 40th Street New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2018 by Lane Stone
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First Electronic Edition: August 2018
eISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0192-4
eISBN-10: 1-5161-0192-8
First Print Edition: August 2018
ISBN-13: 978-1-5161-0193-1
ISBN-10: 1-5161-0193-6
Printed in the United States of America
Dedication
This book is dedicated to all those who have grieved over the loss of a pet, with comforting thoughts and lots of love from our family to yours.
Chapter 1
I had been certain that it was the sound of barking dogs that had yanked me from a deep sleep, but I was wrong. I bolted upright in my bed and grabbed the ringing cell phone. I hit the button, and a man was saying, “We have an alarm going off at the Buckingham Pet Palace. The police department has been notified.” He was going for a reassuring tone, but it was way too late for that. I thought about my nighttime employees and the dogs in our care.
In a move somewhere between levitation and acrobatics I was out of bed and pulling on yoga pants and a sweatshirt over the t-shirt I’d slept in. “Call the police—oh, wait, you said you did. I’m on my way.”
“What is your password?” he asked.
I hung up without answering, because I had no idea what my password was, and shoved my feet into running shoes and crammed the laces into the sides. My business is at the entrance to the subdivision in Lewes, Delaware, where I live, and in half-formed thoughts I decided I could get there faster running than by getting the Jeep out of the garage and driving over. Abby, my pepper-and-salt Standard Schnauzer, opened her eyes. Her curiosity and intelligence had her tracking my frenetic movements. She would stay awake but saw no need to get excited. Her natural, that is not-cropped, ears were cocked at an angle that told me what she was thinking. Dogs can tell time and she knew three o’clock was too early for a go-out or for breakfast, but since hope springs eternal she was on the lookout for any hint that her bowl might be filled early. I sprinted out the door, shutting down that possibility.
I had my cell phone in my hand and it rang again as I raced down the street. It was one of my night part-time hostesses. Buckingham’s employed four of these young mothers, who job shared. They worked two at a time while their husbands were at home, saving babysitter costs, and they were back at home in time to get their kids on the school bus.
“Sue! Have the police called you? Do you know what’s happening here?” Taylor Dalton said in a panicked whisper, hardly audible over the high-pitched alarm I heard in the background. “We think he’s gone.”
“I’m almost there. Are you all right? You’re upstairs, aren’t you? Did you turn off the elevator?” I hadn’t given her time to answer any of the questions, but then I had asked for the most important information last. We had never had a burglary in our three years in business, but we had a plan for the night-timers to follow if someone did break in. Since they spent the night upstairs with the boarding dogs, they were to lock up the elevator, call 9-1-1 and stay put. The door to the back stairway was locked so they didn’t have to worry about that point of entry.
“Yeah…”
I didn’t hear the rest of what she said now that I was closer to the wailing of the alarm. From the glow of the Victorian-style streetlights, I saw a small car pull out of Buckingham’s parking lot on tires best described as insignificant, causing the bottom of the car to scrape the asphalt as it turned onto Village Main Boulevard. Exhaust fumes billowed out the back of it. For the sake of my health, I held my breath. Even with the alarm going off, I could hear its engine clank and complain.
That had to be the burglar.
Personally, I would have gone for more muscle in a getaway car, since the goal was to get away. He wasn’t traveling at much of a speed, but not for lack of trying. I could hear the old motor straining. I ended the call with Taylor, then held up my phone and aimed it at the clunker. If the gray cloud of the car’s vapors dissipated and if the streetlights and the stars filling the sky lit the night well enough, maybe I could photograph the license plate. Then I could blow the image up large enough to get a number. I meant to say, the Lewes police could do that.
The car chugged out of Villages of Five Points. “Oh, what the hell,” I said. First, I took a deep breath, knowing the air quality was only going to get worse the closer I got, and then I took off after the car.
In less than a minute, he was at the Savannah Road entrance to the community. That’s where I would catch him. Taylor had said “he.” Unfortunately, for me at least, the traffic light took pity on the rattletrap and favored it with a green arrow. After the car turned I couldn’t