High Stakes, a Hetty Fox Short: a Hetty Fox Short Story (Hetty Fox Cozy Mysteries Book 3) by Anna Drake Page A

destination when Hugh spotted me.
    “Grandma,” he cried. His arms waved wildly. Then, dropping his packet of food onto the grass, he rushed across the yard, crashed into my legs, and wrapped his arms tightly about me.
    I bent over and hugged him back, relishing the scent of his freshly shampooed hair. “Don’t you worry,” I told him. “We’ll find that little stinker of yours.”
    Hugh backed up, his dark eyes catching and holding mine. “Chaos is not a stinker. He’s my best friend.”
    I stifled a laugh. “I’m sorry. Of course he is. Now, hadn’t we better get on with the search?”
    Hugh nodded and hand in hand we walked toward Megan. Even involved in a desperate search for a missing pet, my daughter managed to look lovely. But then my deceased husband’s height and his rich chestnut-colored hair, both of which she’d inherited, might have had something to do with that.
    When we reached the spot where Hugh had been dropping food, he let go of my hand and returned to his efforts. I bent over and kissed Jeremy on the top of his head. Then, I strode on to my daughter. “Where should I start?”
    She smiled, but looked worried. “I think we’ve got our yard covered. Why don’t you check the lawn next door? I’m sure Mrs. Rasmussen won’t mind. The only problem is that the thing is so fast he could be halfway to Mars by now. You may have to expand your search.”
    “No problem,” I said. “And keep the faith. He’ll turn up.”
    She nodded and offered up another smile. “Thank you for coming.”
    Mrs. Rasmussen maintained a large flower garden at the front of her house. The heads of zinnias and Shasta daisies and a few daylilies bobbed gently on the light, morning breeze. The colors were gay, the sight welcome. A bee buzzed among the blossoms briefly in his hunt for pollen. He busily stuck his nose into a bloom or two before speeding off. I shuffled forward and started feeling my way through the mass of plants.
    After several unsatisfactory minutes of pushing flowers first one way and then the other, I spotted a small stick lying in the grass near me. After grabbing it up, I began shoving it into the bed and beating the ground. I hoped to frighten anything hiding there out onto the grass. But for all my effort, I came up empty handed.
    I next poked the stick under several yews along the home’s front foundation. Failing with that effort, I turned my attention to a small rose bush at the corner of the house. But I had no better luck there, either.
    Straightening, I glanced around me. Front lawns stretched away on either side. I sighed. It would take a mass of people to cover all this ground. But seeing no further possible hiding places on Mrs. Rasmussen’s place, I moved on to the next yard.
    This lawn belonged to Lester and Sadie Potter. If Mrs. Rasmussen’s lawn was gay with bright, colorful flowers, this lot was free of nearly any place for a gerbil to hide. I’d just poked my stick into a lone forsythia bush, when the front door of the house swung open to reveal Mr. Potter.
    He was a tall, handsome man with graying hair, who stood inside his door in a blue dressing gown with suspicion written large on his face. “May I help you?” he asked.
    I smiled up at him. We’d met once. He obviously didn’t remember. But that was fair enough. Although I knew his name and that he was principal at the high school, I couldn’t recall other details about him. But then I’d met a lot of people over the course of the past few months.
    “I’m Hetty Fox,” I said. “Megan Langdon’s mother? I’m just tracking down an escaped gerbil. My grandson’s.”
    “Oh,” he said, a look of relief flooding his face. “That’s fine then. Carry on. And good luck to you.”
    He swung the door closed, and since his yard contained nothing more interesting than the bush I’d already searched, I shifted my efforts over to the next lawn. This one belonged to people I’d never met, so a part of me hoped they