to the outside of that building to spruce it up. Gray-painted cinderblock has no curb appeal and is not at all conducive to the ambiance he’s always tried to encourage from the people he rents to.”
Angelica didn’t comment.
They continued down the block, passing more and more denuded hanging baskets. “What we need is a ladder so we can look into the baskets to see if the blossoms have been broken off or cut.”
“Does it matter?” Tricia asked. “None of them have flowers.”
“I guess you’re right,” Angelica groused.
A few other people ambled down the sidewalk, and the sisters greeted them with smiles but didn’t bother with conversation. Tricia rather enjoyed the walk, and Sarge certainly did. However, Angelica was far too quiet.
They walked as far as the Antiques Emporium, crossed the street, and headed back south toward the town square. Every single hanging basket had been hit. “This kind of petty vandalism makes me so angry,” Angelica muttered.
“The police station is just ahead. Do you want to report it?”
“Yes, I do.” Angelica sped up, and Tricia and little Sarge had a hard time keeping up with her. “Do you think Grant is working late tonight?”
Tricia had seen his car parked in the municipal lot when they’d passed minutes earlier. “Probably. He doesn’t have much to do in the evenings, either.”
Arriving at the station door, Angelica grabbed Sarge, tucking him under her arm, and they entered.
Polly Burgess, the station’s elderly dispatcher and receptionist, was also working late. She eyed Sarge with disdain. “No dogs allowed. You’ll have to take
it
outside.”
“He’s a he, not an it—and he’s my service dog,” Angelica said.
“What kind of service can a dog that small perform?” Polly demanded.
“He’s my emotional support.”
“Where’s his service vest?”
“In the laundry. Now, we’d like to speak to the chief, please.”
“He’s off duty.”
“But he
is
here,” Tricia said.
“Yes.”
“Would you please tell him we’re here?” Tricia asked.
“We’d like to report a crime,” Angelica chimed in.
Polly looked at them with suspicion. “What kind of crime?”
“Vandalism.”
Polly sighed and pushed the intercom button. “Chief. There are a couple of citizens here who’d like to report vandalism.”
“I’ll be right there,” came Baker’s clipped voice.
Polly glared at the sisters.
Baker appeared from behind his office door, his eyes lighting up when he saw Tricia. “Hello. What’s this about vandalism?” he asked.
“Can we talk in your office?” Angelica asked as Baker reached out to pet Sarge, who growled. He pulled his hand back.
“Sure.”
The sisters followed him inside and took seats in front of his desk. Angelica set Sarge on the floor but kept him on a short leash.
“What’s this about vandalism?” Baker asked again.
“Someone has clipped every flower in the hanging baskets around the village.”
Baker frowned, as though that wasn’t his idea of a major crime. “Is that all?”
“Those baskets cost nearly fifty bucks apiece. If we have to replace them, it will be a substantial cost,” Angelica said.
Baker looked unimpressed. “Do you have any suspects?”
Angelica shook her head.
“Do you know when it happened?”
“No. Tricia noticed all the blossoms were gone just today.”
“Maybe someone’s got really bad allergies,” Baker suggested and laughed.
“They’ve been hanging for over two months,” Angelica pointed out.
Baker’s smile faded and he frowned. “The baskets are still up, aren’t they?”
“Yes.”
“They haven’t been smashed, right?”
“No.”
“Well, what do you want me to do about it?” he asked.
“I’m reporting a crime,” Angelica said. “I thought that’s what good citizens were supposed to do.”
“We’ve got more important matters taking up the bulk of our time just now,” Baker said.
“Have you made any headway on Pete Renquist’s
Angelica didn’t comment.
They continued down the block, passing more and more denuded hanging baskets. “What we need is a ladder so we can look into the baskets to see if the blossoms have been broken off or cut.”
“Does it matter?” Tricia asked. “None of them have flowers.”
“I guess you’re right,” Angelica groused.
A few other people ambled down the sidewalk, and the sisters greeted them with smiles but didn’t bother with conversation. Tricia rather enjoyed the walk, and Sarge certainly did. However, Angelica was far too quiet.
They walked as far as the Antiques Emporium, crossed the street, and headed back south toward the town square. Every single hanging basket had been hit. “This kind of petty vandalism makes me so angry,” Angelica muttered.
“The police station is just ahead. Do you want to report it?”
“Yes, I do.” Angelica sped up, and Tricia and little Sarge had a hard time keeping up with her. “Do you think Grant is working late tonight?”
Tricia had seen his car parked in the municipal lot when they’d passed minutes earlier. “Probably. He doesn’t have much to do in the evenings, either.”
Arriving at the station door, Angelica grabbed Sarge, tucking him under her arm, and they entered.
Polly Burgess, the station’s elderly dispatcher and receptionist, was also working late. She eyed Sarge with disdain. “No dogs allowed. You’ll have to take
it
outside.”
“He’s a he, not an it—and he’s my service dog,” Angelica said.
“What kind of service can a dog that small perform?” Polly demanded.
“He’s my emotional support.”
“Where’s his service vest?”
“In the laundry. Now, we’d like to speak to the chief, please.”
“He’s off duty.”
“But he
is
here,” Tricia said.
“Yes.”
“Would you please tell him we’re here?” Tricia asked.
“We’d like to report a crime,” Angelica chimed in.
Polly looked at them with suspicion. “What kind of crime?”
“Vandalism.”
Polly sighed and pushed the intercom button. “Chief. There are a couple of citizens here who’d like to report vandalism.”
“I’ll be right there,” came Baker’s clipped voice.
Polly glared at the sisters.
Baker appeared from behind his office door, his eyes lighting up when he saw Tricia. “Hello. What’s this about vandalism?” he asked.
“Can we talk in your office?” Angelica asked as Baker reached out to pet Sarge, who growled. He pulled his hand back.
“Sure.”
The sisters followed him inside and took seats in front of his desk. Angelica set Sarge on the floor but kept him on a short leash.
“What’s this about vandalism?” Baker asked again.
“Someone has clipped every flower in the hanging baskets around the village.”
Baker frowned, as though that wasn’t his idea of a major crime. “Is that all?”
“Those baskets cost nearly fifty bucks apiece. If we have to replace them, it will be a substantial cost,” Angelica said.
Baker looked unimpressed. “Do you have any suspects?”
Angelica shook her head.
“Do you know when it happened?”
“No. Tricia noticed all the blossoms were gone just today.”
“Maybe someone’s got really bad allergies,” Baker suggested and laughed.
“They’ve been hanging for over two months,” Angelica pointed out.
Baker’s smile faded and he frowned. “The baskets are still up, aren’t they?”
“Yes.”
“They haven’t been smashed, right?”
“No.”
“Well, what do you want me to do about it?” he asked.
“I’m reporting a crime,” Angelica said. “I thought that’s what good citizens were supposed to do.”
“We’ve got more important matters taking up the bulk of our time just now,” Baker said.
“Have you made any headway on Pete Renquist’s
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