Free Red Sole Clues by Liliana Hart Page A

shoulders plowing right along. Miraculously, people moved out of his way. Even in his weekend wear of jeans and a pullover, he had that way about him. All six-feet-plus of commanding, in-charge muscle.
    Oh, yes, O’Hottie. You will be mine.
    At the end of the corridor, a beige-shirted security guard stood in front of a velvet rope—as if that would keep anyone out.
    “Afternoon,” he said. “This area is restricted. Open viewing starts in thirty minutes.”
    Lucie waved. “Hi. We’re friends of Otis Lutz. They’re expecting us.”
    “Lutz?”
    “Yepper. He’s the bulldog with the Hawaiian print shirt.”
    The guard pointed two fingers. “ That guy. He’s a pip.”
    “Sure is.”
    “I’m sorry, though. I can’t let you in. Not without the owner’s permission.”
    “Woohoo!”
    Lucie went up on tiptoes and peered over the guard’s shoulder to where Mrs. Lutz stood in a doorway not twenty feet away.
    “That’s her,” Lucie said.
    The guard stepped behind the rope line, walked to Mrs. Lutz, checked her badge, and said something while gesturing to Lucie and Tim.
    Wow. Tight security. A good thing Lucie supposed.
    “You’re all set,” the guard said when he returned. He unclipped the rope and waved them through.
    Tim grabbed Lucie’s hand again— love that —and they strolled toward Mrs. Lutz. Being the wife of an investment banker, she had an I-have-money look about her, evident in the black silk blouse and designer slacks she wore. And with her shoulder length, poker-straight blond hair, she exuded elegance and poise.
    At a dog show.
    “Hi, Mrs. L.,” Lucie said. “This is Tim.”
    Tim slid free from Lucie’s grasp and shook hands with Mrs. L. Wow, first time introducing Tim to a friend outside of Ro. Getting serious now.
    After the two exchanged the normal nice-to-meet-you routine, Lucie held up two hands. “Otis did awesome!”
    Mrs. L. beamed. “I know. I’m so proud of him. Come inside and see my baby.”
    Today’s event, including the talent show, had drawn hundreds of dogs, all of them housed in this auxiliary gym for the day. Inside the gym stood rows of partitioned, bright yellow stalls. The only sound in the room belonged to chattering people.
    No barking.
    In a room filled with dogs.
    Whatever training method these people used, Lucie needed it. But, hey, she never claimed to be a dog whisperer. She was just a girl trying to make ends meet by walking dogs while growing her accessory business.
    She and Tim followed Mrs. L. past a few rows of stalls. Benched shows, like this one, required all dogs to stay inside the building while not competing. Unless, of course, nature called. Otherwise, the dogs were crated and in stalls containing a bench—thus a bench show. This allowed spectators to meet the owners, view the dogs, and discuss all things amazing about them.
    Miraculously, some of the dogs slept while others simply sat watching the onlookers.
    “Wow,” Lucie said. “Well-behaved dogs.”
    Mrs. Lutz nodded. “The talent show dogs are all together in one row. My baby is right over here.”
    She angled around a man leading a miniature pinscher toward the far exit and then turned left into the last row.
    In the middle of the row, Mrs. Lutz halted, her arms extending to the side. Lucie jerked to a stop, watching as Mrs. L.’s mouth slow-oh-oh-ly eased open.
    Lucie followed Mrs. L.’s gaze and stared down at the crate’s door.
    The very open door.
    Mrs. L. whipped around, squatted and ping-ponged left and right, dodging people in the row trying to see through the crowd.
    “Mrs. L.?”
    Behind Lucie, Tim leaned forward, cocking his head.
    “Otis?” Mrs. L. called. “Come, boy. Here, boy.”
    “He got out,” Tim said.
    Mrs. L. spun back, gripped both of Lucie’s arms. “Help me. Please. The crate was secure. I made sure before I left him.”
    “Okay,” Tim said, ever the experienced and unruffled detective. “Don’t panic. You were only gone a minute. He has to be