Chapter Nine Making Plans #2
“Well, if you ask me, I think you need to give him a huge hint.”
“Like what? Wrap my legs around his waist?” Madison asked sarcastically.
“That’s a good place to start!” Olivia snorted.
“I did pat him on his butt,” Madison confessed.
“Well, there you go!” Olivia said. “Then what happened?”
“He left.”
“What do you mean he left?”
“I patted him earlier. As he was leaving.” Madison blushed.
“Oh, sister! You’re supposed to pat him before he leaves. Preferably upon his arrival.” Olivia shook her head.
“Duly noted,” Madison said.
Viggo and Diogo took the dirt path that ran along the park. It was then he realized he left the beautiful suit at Madison’s. “Diogo. You were supposed to remind me!” The dog looked up at him as if to say, I’m not your private valet.
“You’re right,” Viggo responded to his pooch. “There’s a lot to process.”
Diogo woofed.
“Exactly, my friend.” He reached down and gave his dog an energetic scratch behind the ears. “I hope she doesn’t think I didn’t like it, and I am going to feel stupid to ask for it when I go over there later.”
Diogo gave him a dog’s version of a shrug: he shook his head, flapping his ears. Viggo looked at his pup and chuckled.
“You’re the best.”
The two continued to walk the five blocks to his house, and Viggo continued with their canine conversation. “You know, pal, I really like her.”
Diogo snorted.
“Is it that obvious?” Viggo asked his furry friend.
Diogo let out a woof.
Viggo chortled. “I am having a discussion with my dog. Funny thing, we know what we’re talking about.
” He shook his head. “I better shut up, or people will think I’m ‘helt texas,’” he said, using the Norwegian phrase for “crazy.” Norwegians had long been fascinated with American westerns, which they regarded as a wild era.
Diogo yapped in agreement.
After he showered and shaved, Viggo called Chief Burton. “Hey, Rob. Are you at the station?”
“Yep. Looking over the files. These incidents seem insignificant, but I know they’re not.”
“I agree. Can I help in any way?”
“If you’ve got a few free minutes and don’t mind stopping by, I want to show you something.”
“I’ll be there in an hour.”
When Viggo arrived at the station, Burton nodded to a photo array of partial footprints. “It appears they are part of the same sole, but I’m not sure. Take a look.” Burton slid two photos in front of Viggo.
Viggo leaned over the table and squinted. Rob handed him his reading glasses. “Happens to all of us. One day you can read mouse print, and the next, your arms aren’t long enough to hold the paper away in order to focus.”
Viggo tilted his head. “There’s no going back, is there?”
“Nope. Sorry, old chap!” Burton let out a long sigh. “After forty, things begin to mature in ways we’d rather they not.”
“Aren’t you a bucket of joy this morning,” Viggo said mockingly. He took the glasses from Burton’s hand and set them across his nose. “Whoa. I better get an eye exam. I wonder how long I’ve been straining to see.”
“How long have your arms been too short to read?”
Viggo thought for a moment. “Hard to pinpoint it, because it came on gradually.”
“Yep.” Burton picked up a magnifying glass. “These have always been a big help.” He began to point out the treads of the print. “We ran it through the NDB. Both are Caterpillar Second Shift. Odds are, they came from the same person.”
“And half the town wears them,” Viggo added.
“Yep. And we can’t have a Cinderella lineup for every dude in town who wears them.”
Viggo thought for a moment. “So, the sole should have remnants of glass, and maybe some of the pebbles in front of Pauline’s place.”
“Boots and pebbles. There’s no shortage of them around here,” Burton mused.
A thought occurred to Viggo. When he saw Arlo at the diner, his legs were splayed across his chair, with his legs and feet stretched out on each side of his seat. “You know, Crusty insists it’s the Farrell brothers, and I can’t say I disagree with him.”
“Me either, to be honest,” Burton replied.
“So how do we get a shot at the bottom of his boots?” Viggo asked.
“You might have to go on a dive with him.”
“How so?” Viggo was curious about the suggestion.
“You go over to the shop early. Arlo will be changing into his gear. You notice his boots on the floor and ask him what brand they are?”
“Oh, come on. That is never going to fly,” Viggo retorted. “Guys don’t talk fashion.”
“It was worth a shot.” Burton grinned.
The word fashion led Viggo to think of Madison, who insisted people take off their shoes in her apartment.
“You think your idea was a long shot? How about this?” Viggo described how Madison required shoes to be removed in her entry, and the slippers she provided her guests.
“What if Madison calls Arlo and asks him to stop by her house because she has some kind of relic she wants him to look at?”
Burton was beginning to envision the scheme. “So, Madison makes him take off his boots?” He paused. “But she didn’t do that with us when we had dinner at the house.”
“No. According to Madison, we don’t have sidewalk crud, so she doesn’t do it here. But Arlo doesn’t know that.”
“Madison will go along with this?” Burton knew the answer.
“I’m fairly sure she will. It’s all about her uncle.”
“But what if it’s Mikey’s boot?” Burton said thoughtfully.
“Nothing ventured, nothing gained.” Viggo raised his eyebrows.
Burton nodded. “By the way, how do you know Madison makes people take off their shoes?” He looked at Viggo curiously.
“She invited me to a dinner her magazine was hosting. Victor and Joel were there.”
“Those two are real characters.” Burton snickered. “Did you have a good time?”
“Yes, actually. It was at Mezze on the River.”
“Oh, fancy.” Burton grinned.
“Yes. Quite.” Viggo stuck out his chin. He did not want to leave anything to speculation. Not that Burton was a gossip, but Viggo felt he had to protect Madison’s privacy. “It was nice.” He looked straight at Burton and said, “And nothing happened,” letting him know that there was no hanky-panky.
“That’s too bad. Half the town is wondering when the two of you are going to stop pretending you’re simply good buddies.”
“But we are,” Viggo protested.
“Let me rephrase that.”
“No need.” Viggo stood straight. “I admit, I am rather fond of her.”
“Fond?” Burton guffawed. “Isn’t that a bit of an understatement? Or an inaccurate one?”
“What are you, the producer for The Bachelorette? Or maybe Love Island?” Viggo recalled the expression thou doth protest too much and let out some air. “Sorry. Yes, I am fond of her. I like her very much. Okay? Satisfied?”
Burton placed his large hand on Viggo’s shoulder. “We all like her very much. And believe it or not, we like you, too.” He straightened the photos. “Do you want to ask Madison if she’s game for this ploy, or should I?”
“Let’s do it together. This way, she won’t punch me in the face for telling you her quirk.”
He phoned Madison. “Hey. Chief Burton would like to have a chat with you later. Can you squeeze some time in before Crusty gets there?”
“Why don’t you ask him to come over at four when Crusty is bringing the boxes? He might have some insight.”
Viggo looked over at Burton. “You free at four?”
“I am now.”
Viggo added, “Crusty is bringing a few boxes to the house. They were at Pauline’s …” His voice drifted off.
“I believe we are connecting a few dots.” Burton nodded with approval. “I’ve gotta go help Nancy at the shop. I’ll see you at the Wainwrights’ at four.”
“Thanks, Rob.” Viggo gave him a salute, turned, and left. He was on a clam mission.