This darn town was still living in an age when everyone trusted everyone else. Even with this panty thief business, no one took the threat seriously enough to lock their doors. In George and Rose’s case, they probably figured they had Mick as lookout, though what the aging, slightly arthritic beagle could do to an intruder was beyond her.
Speaking of the dog . . . “Where’s Mick?” she asked warily.
“Eatin’ steak.”
She let out a sharp exhale.
Samson’s dark eyes clouded. “What was that for? You don’t think I’d hurt him, do you?”
Charlotte shook her head. No, she didn’t, and not just because no one had been harmed during the course of the other robberies. In her heart, she trusted the gruff older man and thought even this strange turn of events would have some kind of explanation she could understand. She hoped.
Before she could ponder what his motives were, the beagle in question came barging out of his new doggie door, baying and circling around Sam. Charlotte sighed. “You don’t have any more steak in your pockets, do you?”
He shook his head, “Wasn’t supposed to need any. If you hadn’t stopped me, I’d be long gone by now.”
She rolled her eyes and leaned down, hefting the heavy dog into her arms. She didn’t want him to decide to attack if he caught Samson inside, not that Mick had a surly reputation. That distinction belonged to Samson.
Mick wasn’t only heavy, he was wet as he slobbered and drooled on her arm. “I’ve got him, now get inside and put those panties back before I get a hernia,” she hissed. “I’ll stand guard.”
Samson glared at her, but thankfully he turned, stomped up the steps, and let himself back into the house. Gloved hands, no fingerprints, she realized now, and shook her head. She grunted and shifted position. Mick’s front paws touched her shoulder, his warm, chubby body aligned against her. “Care to dance?” she asked him.
He licked her cheek in response.
“Oh, brother. Well, at least you know how to kiss up to a lady.” She twirled around the front hedges until she realized exactly how mentally disturbed she looked, then ducked behind a tree. If she was ever asked about this, she’d have to cop to a sudden love for dogs and buy herself a pet. All in the name of cover-up.
Thankfully Samson returned before the Carltons got home and she had to explain why she was holding their two-ton dog in her arms. She let Mick down and he bounded back inside. She was quickly forgotten. “Typical male,” she muttered.
Without another word, she grabbed Samson’s arm and dragged him with her across the rest of the yard and down the street, waiting until they were out of the subdivision before starting in on him. “Talk to me, and don’t give me any of that it’s none of your business crap. Why are you stealing women’s panties? Panties I made?” she asked him.
“Can’t a man have privacy?”
“Unless you want me to head straight on over to Rick Chandler, you’d better start explaining.” They continued their walk to town, but he remained stubbornly silent. Frustrated, Charlotte stopped in her tracks and yanked on his sleeve. “Samson, there’s nothing good that’s going to come of this if you force my hand. Rick will have to prosecute and they’ll probably throw you in jail for a little while, or have you tested by a psychiatrist, and then—”
“I did it for you.”
That was the last answer she’d been expecting. “I don’t understand.”
“I always liked you.” He looked down and kicked at the ground with his worn sneaker. “You were such a friendly kid. All the others ran from me, but you always waved hello. Just like your mother. Then when you moved back after your time away, you didn’t change none. You still made time for a strange man.”
“So you stole the panties because . . . ?”
“I wanted your business to work so’s you’d stay in town.”
Charlotte was oddly touched by his words. He cared, even if he had a strange way of showing it. “What made you think panty raids would help my business?”
“At first I thought it’d just give you some attention.”
“I think my advertising has done the same thing.”
“Not on as grand a scale. And I only planned one theft. The next morning I found out that the youngest Chandler boy came home the same night. I remembered his panty raid.” Samson tapped his head. “Picture-perfect memory.”
“You mean photographic memory?” Charlotte asked.
“I mean I don’t forget a thing. And when I realized everyone else remembered it too and I saw the lines outside your shop, I knew I’d done good. Plus, with the Chandler boy in town, I knew I had a good cover going.”
Her mind boggled at the way the older man’s brain worked. “Weren’t you worried about Roman getting blamed for your . . . uh, crime?”
He waved away her concerns. “Couldn’t see Officer Rick arresting his own brother without evidence, and since Roman wasn’t guilty, there weren’t evidence to find.” He waved his gloved hands in the air and grinned, obviously pleased with himself.
She wasn’t. “Shame on you for setting yourself up like that! I don’t care how harmless the theft or how good your motives, you shouldn’t have done something illegal at all. Especially not for me.”
“That’s gratitude for you,” he muttered, back to his moody self.
She eyed him carefully. “Roman’s been gone a week. Care to tell me what tonight’s theft was about?”
He shook his head from side to side and exhaled an exaggerated sigh, as if to say she was dense and he knew it. “I got the boy into trouble. Had to get him out, didn’t I?”
“You took this last risk for Roman?” Was there no end to the surprises Samson had inside him?
“Haven’t you been listening?” he asked, sounding annoyed. “I did this for you. Because you smile at me when no one else does, except your mother the few times she comes to town. And because you give me errands for money, instead of charity. How else do you think I knew who bought the darn panties? I mailed ’em for you, didn’t I? Besides, Ms. Chandler’s good to me, too.”
“Raina?”
Samson nodded, looking at the pavement once more. “Pretty lady. Reminds me of someone I used to . . . never mind. But the two of you seem to care about Roman. What kind of name is that anyway?”