Mollie starts to stroke the dog. The dog rolls over on his back. “How did you find him?”
“You know the horses at the back of the Matchwood Campsite?”
Mollie nods.
“I figured he probably followed them all along the fence—you know dogs and horses—and walked too far to find his way back. I took the jacket of one of the owners and placed it on the ground near the stables. When I went back this morning, the dog was sitting on it.”
“Shouldn’t you have taken him straight back?”
Steve shrugs. “The owners have gone to the Beaulieu National Motor Museum. Asked if I’d hold on to him for the day.”
This makes Mollie look at Steve quizzically. Steve shrugs. “They’re from London; they’re used to being pampered.”
“What do you call him?”
“Lucrative.”
Mollie nods, and turns her attention back to the dog. After some silent cooing and stroking, she says, “A girl at school told me I had to get the money. She knows I work here in the holidays.”
Steve nods. “Threatened to beat you up?”
“Something like that,” says Mollie. “Worse.”
“Internet bullying?” Steve asks. He’s read about it.
Mollie nods.
Well, this won’t stand. “Does she have a name? This girl?”
Mollie shakes her head.
“Should be easy to find, then,” says Steve. “A girl at your school with no name. That’ll stick out.”
“Lauren Gough,” says Mollie. “But don’t speak to her—she’ll kill me.”
“I won’t speak to her,” says Steve.
“Promise?”
“Nope,” says Steve. He bets that Lauren Gough is Gary Gough’s daughter. And every copper in Hampshire knows where Gary Gough lives.
Steve likes fitting things together. Just as a hobby now, you understand. He had pootled about online this morning, reading about Andrew Fairbanks, for an hour or so, Trouble dozing on his lap. Fairbanks was a fitness “guru” on Instagram, though Steve noted that he had only 18K followers, which seemed a little low for an “influencer.” Even the Steam Museum in Lyndhurst has 8K followers, and you’re not likely to see Ernie Dubbs, life president of the museum, with his shirt off on a yacht anytime soon.
Fairbanks had been in South Carolina to film a short ad for a new energy drink. Again—with 18K followers? Steve looked up the name of the company behind the ad—why not, something to talk to Amy about. Vivid Viral Media Agency. Offices in Letchworth Garden City. Are there really viral video agencies in places like Letchworth Garden City? Seems odd to Steve, gets his detective senses tingling, but, you know, someone else’s problem. Someone else’s murder.
The door to the office opens, and Mollie’s mother, Jenny Bright, walks in. “Any luck?”
“You could say that,” says Steve.
“Is that your dog?” asks Jenny. “About time you got a dog, Steve. I don’t like to see a man living with a cat. It’s off.”
“No,” says Steve. “Long story. But here’s the news. There’s nothing on the video.”
He sees Mollie’s quick glance.
“So, it’s no one on your staff.”
“I was five minutes away from sacking Mrs. Thompson,” says Jenny. “So I suppose that’s good news? Where’s the money, though?”
“Quite the mystery, this one,” says Steve. “Someone slipped this through my letter box this morning.”
Steve takes out the envelope of cash the Londoners gave him to find their dog. It has “To Steve Investigates” written on it. He pulls out three hundred pounds and hands it over. They’d paid him way too much to find the dog, so it would be nice to do something useful with it. Steve sees Mollie avert her eyes from the dog for a moment.
“The money?” asks Jenny. “All of it?”
“Three hundred pounds,” says Steve. “No note, nothing. Whoever stole it must have felt guilty, or was only borrowing it. I choose to think it was someone terrified of my investigative skills.”
“Thank you, Steve,” says Jenny. “That’s a weight off. What do I owe you?”
“On the house,” says Steve. “I didn’t have to do anything. Just bent down and picked up an envelope.”
“Can I give you a scented candle at least?”
“Don’t believe in them, I’m afraid,” says Steve. “I’ll have one of those notebooks with a New Forest pony on the cover, though. If you’ve got one going?”
“Coming right up,” says Jenny and heads back out into the shop.
Mollie waits until her mother is out of earshot. “Thank you. You’re kind.”
