Recalling her suspicion that the crafty beast was making nighttime forays, she cautiously replied, “He runs back and forth between the store and my apartment, but he’s an indoor cat. Or, at least, he’s supposed to be.”
“I dunno. It sure looked like your guy. Had to be around six, six thirty in the a.m. Scared the crap out of me. I thought it was a giant rat or something at first.”
Then he gave a wise nod. “Cat’s gotta be careful around a construction site. I seen a stray end up in a bucket of plaster someone left open one time. Wasn’t a pretty sight the next day when the tape-bed man showed up. Know what I mean?”
“I can imagine,” Darla replied with a reflexive shudder. “I’ll be sure to keep a good eye on him.” Then, eager to change the subject, she pointed to the nearby display table marked “Just Arrived.” “Since your special order isn’t in, what about some new true crime instead?”
She knew from previous purchases that both Curt and Barry were suckers for real-life blood and gore. But this time, Curt shook his head, his megawatt grin dimming.
“Actually, that whole crime thing is kind of why I’m here. Barry sent me over to warn you.”
“Warn me?” Darla echoed, a frisson of worry sweeping her at his dour tone. “About what?”
“Eh, those damn scrap thieves are back. We got hit last night. They made off with a roll of copper pipe we had chained to a joist. Hell, they used our own saw to cut the damn two-by-ten so they could steal it.”
“Curt, I’m so sorry.”
Her momentary panic was replaced by relief that his news was nothing disastrous, and then supplanted by a flash of anger on their behalf. “I can guess how maddening that has to be. I swear, I can’t believe they haven’t been caught yet.”
The “they” in question had been a scourge in the surrounding blocks for several weeks now. Working in the wee hours, the thieves’ usual targets were construction sites or vacant buildings, but they’d been bold enough to hit a few occupied places as well. Searching for copper or aluminum, or any other metal they could conceivably sell for scrap, they’d left an equal amount of damage in their wake. So far, the police had been unable to catch them in the act, even with stepped-up patrols. And, despite the reward offered by the neighborhood association, no one had come forward to identify any of the parties responsible.
“Rumor I hear, the cops think it’s a couple of kids looking for quick cash so they can party. They found candy bar and cupcake wrappers at a couple of the crime scenes, all that junk them kids like to eat. I’m considering staying overnight in the building for the next few days in case those punks come back again. I catch them trying to make off with anything, and I’ll introduce them to Mr. Crowbar,” Curt threatened, waving a phantom bludgeon for emphasis.
Darla gave a sympathetic nod, even as she hoped that he and Barry would leave the derring-do to the police. While chances were that the thieves weren’t armed with anything more dangerous than brass Spaldings, as Jake would put it, one never knew.
“And you’re not home free,” he added, shaking a thick finger in Darla’s direction. “You got some nice fixtures outside—them brass numbers, and that fancy new knob on your door. Them punks, they wouldn’t think twice about pryin’ them off even with you right here in the store.”
Before Darla could reply to that, she heard a sudden blast of cha-cha rhythm, and the lyrics of a late-1990s megahit emanated from the vicinity of Curt’s chest. “Gimme your heart, make it real. Or else forget about it . . .”
Darla suppressed a grin as she mentally sang along to the familiar lyrics—though, in Curt’s case, those last few words should probably be “fuhgeddaboudit.” “Smooth,” with Rob Thomas’s soulful vocals and Carlos Santana’s signature guitar wails and trills, had been one of her favorite songs during the tag-end of her misspent youth before her marriage. She suspected, however, that Curt had chosen that ring tone less in tribute to a special lady and more as a paean to himself.
He plucked the phone from his shirt pocket, frowned a little as he checked the caller ID, and then hit the “Ignore” button. “Now, back to what I was tellin’ you—”
“Don’t worry, Curt, I’ve got security cameras at the front and back doors. And