Free Red Sole Clues by Liliana Hart Page B

here.”
    Lucie slid out of Mrs. L.’s death grip and squeezed her hand. “We’ll find him. He’s such a rascal, he probably slid the bolt open.”
    Mrs. L. nodded.
    “Let’s split up,” Tim said. “Luce, you cover this side of the room. Mrs. Lutz, you take the middle and I’ll take the other end.” He hopped up on Otis’s bench and scanned the room. “The three other doors are closed. Chances are, he’s still in here.”
    He let out an ear-pulverizing whistle that quieted the humans but sent the dogs into a howling frenzy that should have made the walls crumble.
    Lucie stuck her fingers in her ears and stared up at her hunky detective. “Guess that backfired on you, fella.”
    Tim waited a few seconds for the noise to subside and cupped his hands around his mouth. “Folks! We have a missing dog. Please look around you. His name is Otis. Otis! A bulldog wearing a Hawaiian print shirt. Grab him if you see him.”
    He hopped down, his big body moving easily.
    “Thank you,” Mrs. Lutz said.
    “No problem. Now, ladies, let’s go find a dog.”
    *     *     *
    Tim hauled ass to the far side of the room. As usual, a date with Lucie proved interesting. Only she could take him to a dog show with literally hundreds of dogs and her client winds up being the troublemaker.
    As much as he knew he should run screaming from Lucie Rizzo and her mobbed up family, he couldn’t do it. Couldn’t pull himself away. Something about the petite powerhouse with a Notre Dame MBA and a desire to be more than Joe Rizzo’s kid did him in.
    In a big way.
    Which meant getting caught up in her fiascos.
    Concentrate .
    Otis. Couldn’t be far. He reached the wall and made a right into the row, checking crates and getting strange looks from people as he went.
    “Are you looking for that dog?” an older woman resembling Cruella Deville asked.
    “Yes,” Tim said. “Otis. The bulldog in the Hawaiian shirt.”
    The woman huffed. “I cannot believe he’s loose.”
    Great. Dog show snooty. “Well, by loose if you mean he’s not in his crate, yeah, he’s loose.”
    The woman turned to the man beside her. “Amateurs.”
    Okay, Cruella. Let’s dial it back a notch. Tim checked himself. Locked his jaw for a solid five seconds. As a detective he saw all kinds of crap, and people with crummy attitudes ranked right up there on the most-commonly-seen list.
    He gave Cruella the famous O’Brien I’m-going-to-be-nice-but-you-are-pond-scum look. “Ma’am, have you seen him?”
    “You people should keep control of your animals.”
    You people? What the hell? They had a missing dog and this woman, a dog lover, he presumed, wanted to pass judgment rather than help.
    Go to guns. As much as he hated doing it, not to mention he couldn’t get answers, he’d fast track this thing. Keeping his gaze on the snooty woman, he reached into his pocket, the woman’s eyes tracking his movements as he pulled out his wallet.
    And badged her.
    The woman’s eyes bulged.
    Yeah. Much better.
    “Lady,” he said, “you are wasting my time. I’m looking for an eighty-five pound bulldog wearing a Hawaiian shirt. How hard can it be for you to tell me that yes, you have seen him or no, you have not?”
    “No,” the man beside her blurted. “I’m sorry.”
    “Thank you.”
    Tim moved on, stopping to check each crate, asking folks if they’d seen Otis, but nada. No Otis sightings.
    Where the hell had the dog gone? And worse, they were losing time. Tim checked his watch. Ten minutes blown getting through the row. Who knew where Otis could be by now?
    But all the damned doors were closed. He had to be here. Had to be.
    Tim’s phone alerted a text. Lucie’s ringtone. Still moving, he snatched the phone from his pocket and checked her message. No Otis on her end either.
    That left the middle. Mrs. Lutz’s search area.
    He doubled back and found Lucie waiting by Otis’s still-empty crate with Mrs. Lutz.
    Mrs. Lutz’s dark eyes were wild with a