Malabar Island Detective Katherine Curtci spread her beach blanket, slipped off her robe, and exposed her bikini-clad, five-foot-ten-inch, sunscreened elegance to the Southwest Florida glare.
Her beeper turned her sigh of contentment into a groan of exasperation. She plunged in-to her beach tote and yanked out her cell phone.
“That you, Kat?” Sergeant Duckworth rasped.
“Moby, it’s Monday, my day off.”
“Wouldn’t call you, except I figured you’d be on your favorite south-end beach, and we just got a call from over there. Lost dog.”
“Lost — Did you say dog?” She pictured Duckworth, girth spilling over his belt, chuckling to himself.
“Yeah, lost dog. But it’s wearing an owner’s tag, same name as a missing person’s call that came in earlier this morning. A Beverly Bridger, white female, age twenty, from Clarks Summit, Pennsylvania. Dark hair, wearing navy shorts and a white top when last seen. She’s down here on vacation with a friend name of Lister. Sandra Lister. She’s the one called in the missing report.”
“Okay, Mobe. I’ll check out the dog, then I’ll interview Lister. Where’s she staying?”
“The Gulf Sands, just north of where you’re at. The dog’s on the beach the other way, toward the lighthouse. A snowbird has him.”
My punishment for finally getting a break, Kat fumed to herself. She yanked on her hibiscus-patterned robe, stuffed the blanket back in the tote, and plodded southward, barefoot on the hard sand at water’s edge.
The dog, on a leash looped to the arm of a beach chair, was small, black, and sprawled flat in the chair’s shadow. The chair’s occupant was large, pasty-white — and visibly delighted at the approach of a tall, raven-haired woman in a loosely sashed beach robe. He was still grinning after she officially introduced herself, complete with badge folder.
“M’God, cops are sure pretty in these parts.” His eyes roved. “In all parts.”
“To business, Mr.—?
“Davidson. Sam Davidson. From Norwalk, Connecticut. Down here to soak up the sun for a week.”
“Better take it in short increments, Mr. Davidson. You’re already medium rare around the shoulders. Tell me about the dog.”
“The missus went shopping and I came out here about half an hour back and found him groggy on the sand. Took him in for some water and cooling off, and called nine-one-one.”
“Maybe a vet would have been more—”
“No phone book in the unit.”
“Did you put that leash on him?”
“Nope. He came equipped.”
She crouched, let the dog sniff her hand, petted his head, and inspected the tags on his plaid collar. Rabies up to date. A Lackawanna County license. And a nametag: My name is Totoo. My owner is Beverly Bridger. Plus a phone number with a 570 area code.
The collar and the leash were encrusted with salt.
“You didn’t take him into the surf, Mr. Davidson?”
“Hell, no. He was nearly too weak to walk at all. I kept him inside for a while, then brought him back out to wait for you.” Davidson craned around in his chair. “Seems a lot better now. Not a bad-looking mutt.”
“He’s a cairn terrier.”
“A what?”
“A cairn. Scottish breed. Smart and determined.”
“You’re a dog lover?”
“Had a friend who owned one. I’ll take him now, sir. Thanks for—”
“Jeez, you had to call me ‘sir’? I’m not gray yet.”
“Thanks for your help, Sam. And either get yourself some major sunblock or you’d better go inside and watch TV.”
She carried the cairn back to her car in a public-access lot a quarter-mile north. Drove the few blocks to the Gulf Sands and led the dog to the motel office.
“Sandra Lister?” the short-cropped henna-rinsed manager repeated as she squinted at Kat’s badge then riffled through a box of file cards. “Okay, she’s in Unit Seven. She do something reprehensible?”
“Lost dog.”
“That little guy there? Thought that belonged to the roommate.”
“Have you seen the roommate today?”
“Nope. They usually don’t show their faces this early.”
Kat and swiftly recovering Totoo made it halfway to Unit 7 when its door burst open and a ponytailed blonde in orange halter and shorts flew out and rushed up to her.
“Ohmigod, you’ve found Totoo! But where’s Bev? It’s been hours since I called.”
“I’m sorry. We’re stretched pretty thin in-season. Why don’t we go back inside where we can talk?”
She and Bev were coworkers and close friends at a Scranton-based computer service company, Sandra said as, with hands trembling, she handed Kat a mug of instant coffee. They sat side by side on the unit’s small sofa. The two girls, both in their adventurous early twenties, had come to the island for a brief carefree vacation, though Sandra felt Bev’s dog had been something of a downsider.
“I’m not a dog person, but Bev loves the thing. Even has permission to take him to work.”
“He’s not a great vacationer?”
“He’s okay, I guess, but he’s a dog. Has to be taken out, walked, fed. Screws up a lot of potential, but she’s devoted to him.”
“How did she come up with a name like that?” Kat hoped their chatter would calm Sandra to a degree of reliability.
“ ‘Totoo’? He’s just like that dog Toto in The Wizard of Oz. First she called him Toto Two, then that turned into Totoo.”
“You reported Bev missing early this morning. When did you last see her?”
“She took Totoo out for a walk around eleven last night. I was worn out, and I went to bed. When I woke up at seven, she wasn’t here.” Sandra struggled to keep her voice steady. “Her bed hadn’t been slept in, and the dog wasn’t here, either. This isn’t like her at all. I called the cops and, surprise, I didn’t get that forty-eight hour waiting thing. A couple of hours, though. But here you are. I really appreciate it.”
“Has she been out all night before?”
“Not in the five days we’ve been here. Hasn’t even met anybody to be all night with, if that’s what you’re asking. I can’t imagine where she could be. What makes it worse is him.” She nodded at the dog. “She would never... just would never...”
“Did you two have an argument? Might she have gone back home in some sort of—”
“No! We’re like sisters. We’ve never even had a cross word.” Abruptly Sandra Lister broke into tears. “Oh God,” she gasped, “I just know something... something awful has happened.”
Kat slipped her arm around Sandra’s shoulders. “Why don’t you tell me whatever you can that might help. Do you know where she went on her walks?”
“At night, she liked to walk down that street across the road, the one with the boats at the bay end. She liked the view across the bay, the lights over there.”
“Do you think that’s where she went last night?”
“She always took Totoo there for his last time out. Is that where you found him?”
“Not exactly, but in this general vicinity.” She set her mug on the coffee table, stood, and smiled down at the tear-stained roommate. “There’s surely a logical reason for this, Sandra. Let’s give it a full twenty-four hours. Then, if she doesn’t turn up, we’d better apprise her family.”
“She has no family. Her mother died when Bev was born. Her father was killed in an industrial accident last year. Totoo — and I, sort of — are her family.” She sobbed, gulped. “I’m sorry. I’m a mess. What about the dog?”
“Looks like he’s in your care for the moment.”
“No, I can’t. I just can’t. I don’t know the first thing about dogs. Don’t the police have cages for lost dogs until their owners pick them up?”