Page 84 of For the Birds

“So?” she said with a sneer.

“I’m not scared to stand up to Merv, and I’ll stand up to him for you. Just tell us what youknow.”

“He called me a liar! He thinks I’m working with some guy named Reynolds.” Tears filled her eyes. “He thinks I let that man take my Scooter.”

“What did hesay?”

She twisted the pocket knife around in her hand. “There’s no price tag onthis.”

“Jeanne,” I said. “What did Mervsay?”

She shook her head. “I can’t talk about thishere.”

“Can we talk to you when you get off?” I asked.

She pressed her lips together.

“Please?” I asked. “I know other people are hurtin’ over Scooter too. Skeeter. Bruce Wayne.”

She glanced up at Bruce Wayne’sname.

“He said Scooter has made some new friends that he doesn’t know. He thought you might be able to helpus.”

Hope filled her eyes, but it quickly fled. “How do I know I can trustyou?”

“I guess you don’t,” Neely Kate said. “But all three of us want to find Scooter, and none of us trust Merv. That last one alone should make me and Rose more trustworthy.”

She looked into Neely Kate’s eyes. “Okay.”

Neely Kate reached over and grabbed her hand. “We’ll help you. I promise.”

The two women exchanged glances for several seconds before Neely Kate released her and dug a card out of her purse. “I’m Neely Kate and this is my business card. Text me when you get off, and we’ll meet somewhere. Okay?”

Jeanne glanced down at the pink card in her hand and nodded. “Okay, NeelyKate.”

Pink? Our landscaping business cards were white with blue lettering, which meant she’d had her own cardsmade.

I shot a glare to my best friend. There was no way in Hades I was going with that name. Besides, we were supposed to be working under Kermit the Hermit. But then again, with this case we weren’t.

Jeanne waved the pocket knife. “I need to get a price check onthis.”

Neely Kate waved. “That’s okay. We don’t needit.”

“What? Yes, I do,” I said, practically lunging over the conveyor belt. “Get a price check!”

Jeanne looked less than thrilled, but she picked up her phone and called Sporting Goods.

Muffy was already agitated, and she saw her chance for escape when I leaned forward. She hopped onto the conveyor belt, which suddenly turned into a treadmill for my dog. Her little legs ran to keep up, and she looked at me with a desperate expression that clearly telegraphed Help! But my cart was in the way. I gave it a good shove, ramming it into the endcap in the process, and sent a hundred plastic bobble heads of President Bill Clinton and Governor Mike Huckabee, which had both been clearance-priced to forty-nine cents, flying all over the floor.

“Oh, my word!” I shouted as I scooped Muffy into my arms. “I’m so sorry!”

But Muffy wasn’t having any part of being cuddled. She released a huge stinker of a fart and took advantage of my gagging to try to wigglefree.

“No, Muffy!” I tried to put her back into my purse, but she’d had enough. She leapt out of my arms onto the floor and took off running, veering toward the next aisle.

Well, crappy doodles.

“Muffy!” I shimmied between the cart and the candy display and stood at the back of the aisle, looking left—the direction she’drun.

---