“Cover your tracks,” he said immediately. “Have a fall guy.”
Clara groaned. “This is all my fault. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Sheila. If I’d known that information came from Bob, I’d have told them he wasn’t reliable. When I did talk to them about you, I swear it was all wonderful. After seeing you with Gracie—”
“I know. Stop apologizing. It’s not the most comfortable thing to know I was checked out, but I’d rather that happen ten times over if it means they catch one bad adopter. As for Bob, you couldn’t have known he was the source. But it’s more than his liking secrets. Or something beyond that. I can’t quite … Ah…” I held up my index finger. The mildest, most modest of Eurekas. “He didn’t only like knowing secrets about people, he used what he knew.”
“What do you mean?”
I was sorting that out myself as words came out of my mouth. “Some people are satisfied once they know the secret. That satisfies a need for power. But Bob Coble went beyond that. He used the power, the leverage the secret gave him. He wasn’t satisfied with only knowing. He wanted it to accomplish something for him. He used rules as weapons, that’s what Amy said. Wouldn’t he have used secrets the same way? Rosie, the woman at bunco who’d been his neighbor said he looked through their mail, like he did with Pamela and Jeremy Farris. Looking for a secret, a weapon.”
“Oh. Like his cracks to me that last day at the dog park.”
“Cracks?”
“About knowing why I was hanging around with you. He’d guessed somehow that I was the one checking on you for collie rescue and he was warning me not to get in his way or he’d blab to you.” She gusted out a sigh. “And I was too much of a wimp to tell you the truth and tell him to go jump in the creek.”
I dragged up the exchange from my memory. “You’re right. You’re exactly right. That’s the other element. He found out people’s secrets, then he let them know he knew it. Because otherwise it wasn’t a weapon.”
Boy, if he’d known my real secret … Thank heavens he’d fixated on my disregarding his dog training advice and hadn’t dug into my past fifteen years.
On the other hand, if Teague O’Donnell began digging into my past, I doubted he’d use what he learned as weapons. That was the good news. The bad news was he wouldn’t be satisfied with the first secret he came upon.
I shivered.
“It is horrible,” Clara said, interpreting my shiver in line with our conversation. “He was so nasty.”
“He came up against someone even nastier.”
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
I should have gone to the courthouse to look up those lawsuits.
Clara should have gone home and fixed something wonderful for dinner for her wonderful and understanding husband.
Teague should have stayed and worked on my shelves.
Actually, Teague did do that.
But Clara and I went to the dog park. Yes, we took our dogs.
They were the whole reason to go.
Despite our best efforts to give them some exercise, neither one had been worn out the past several days, which meant they had plenty of reserves in their tanks. I wasn’t sure about LuLu, but I could practically see Gracie vibrating.
We would let them blow out their physical cobwebs, while we blew out our mental cobwebs.
Teague declined to leave his worksite to bring his dog. Clara even volunteered to bring Murphy with us.
Hearing that name got Gracie’s immediate attention, but neither her adorableness in recognizing the name nor Clara’s offer swayed Teague.
And how much could I complain about his staying, considering the work he was doing?
But he did not need to hit us with the parting shot of, “You really think you’re going to put this all together by the two of you standing around at the dog park?”
* * * *
Turned out, he was right about the standing. Not even Clara and I were going to sit in the snow.
He was wrong about the two of us.
Berrie was in the small dog enclosure we’d all used yesterday with the Bostons. Donna, with her golden, Hattie, and a pair of other Sane Middles and their dogs were in the smaller large-dog enclosure, now opened, while the others remained marked off with police tape.
Marcus had to adjust his show for the new venue, but worked in his whole routine when I reached the vestibule.
Clara and I let our dogs go, then I stepped off the concrete into the moderately pristine snow.
Then I stopped, in sync with Marcus turning off. “Let’s talk to Donna.”
I asked if I could have a word and led her away from her friends.
“Amy called me on the way to the sheriff’s department,” Donna said when we were out of earshot. “I knew something has been bothering her. But she held it in. I’m glad you told her to go.”
I stifled an urge to say she’d probably saved herself from being Next to Die by telling me, with Donna as a backup.
Clara would have gotten it, but not Donna.
“Donna, I’d like you to listen to what happened the day Dwight and Bob fought, the day before Bob was murdered. This—”
“I heard all about what happened that day.”
“Not from us. And we were among the few who were here.” I looked at Clara. “Stop me if I get anything wrong or leave anything out.”
I started with the first argument we’d heard between them that day, the one where Bob sneered at Dwight’s control of Skeeter. I gave every detail I could think of, using their exact words when I remembered them. The dogs milling around, Dwight’s use of a curse word, the brevity of the conflict, Dwight being the one to walk away, with Skeeter trailing behind.
Donna made no comment and Clara had nothing to add, so I moved on to the second round. When I finished that, I looked at Clara.
“The only thing I’d add is Dwight peeled out of the parking lot. I remember seeing his little SUV rock from side to side as he made the turn.”
Donna looked at her sharply. “Did it?”
“Yes,” I confirmed.
“I thought Skeeter must have had a rocky ride,” Clara added.
“Hmm.” Donna looked down at the toes of her boots.
Clara and I looked at her, then at each other. Clara raised her brows.
Another few minutes of silence.
I couldn’t take it any longer. “Anything strike you about that, Donna?”
“Yes. Skeeter.”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
“Skeeter?”
“From everything I’d heard before, it was clear Dwight was in a state. But from how you describe it, Skeeter was in a state, too.”
“What do you mean?”
“You said he looked up at Bob. Like he was going to attack? Like he hated him?”
“No. Not at all.”
With a glance, I invited Clara to comment. She frowned. “More like … asking him something.”
“Ah. Whatever was wrong with Dwight — and clearly there was something wrong. Not just the squabbling with Bob going too physical, but swearing and rocketing out of the lot in a way sure to be hard on Skeeter…?” She shook her head. “Definitely something wrong with Dwight. So wrong, it was also making his relationship with Skeeter all wrong, too.”
Clara looked as confused as I felt.
Donna propped her hands on her hips. “Skeeter and Dwight are bonded, right? Skeeter knows to look to Dwight for everything — food, treats, water, play, cues about how to act, what’s a danger, and who’s a friend. And who’s not. Skeeter knows Bob is not a danger, but also isn’t a friend. Then something weird happens. The angry words he’s used to become more than words. And what does he do? He looks at Bob — Bob! — and he’s slow to follow Dwight.”
She gestured to the other two Sane Middles who were waving to her, indicating it was time to leave.
“I’ve gotta go now, but if you can figure out some way to question Skeeter, I think you’d learn a lot.”
She was still laughing at her own joke
as she closed the main gate behind her.
Clara and I stared at each other.
Finally, I said, “She didn’t say a word about Trevalyn’s reactions.”
“That’s because he acted normally.”
“He did, didn’t he?”
Memories raced on fast forward.
“Oh, my God, he did.” I grabbed Clara’s arm. “I’ve got it. I think I’ve got it.”
…if you knew half as much about dogs as you’re pretending to…
You are not fit to have responsibility for a dog…
My dream from last night … two men fighting over one woman.
But…
“Maybe I’ve got it.”
“What? What do you think?” Clara demanded.
I held up a finger, ordering her to wait as I dug my phone out of an inner pocket — since the day we’d found Bob, I kept it on me, not in my car.
“Teague? It’s Sheila.” I said when he answered.
“Teague?” Clara muttered, frowning at me.
“I’m putting you on speaker phone. Clara’s here, too. Remember that night at the grocery store?”
“What about it?”
“When you came up behind me and tried to scare the bejabbers out of me—”
“I did not. I said hello. You jumped a mile and threw onions all around.”
“Why did you throw onions?” Clara asked me.
“I didn’t and that is not at all what happened—” I sucked in a breath and waved one hand as if erasing a dry board.
“That doesn’t matter now. What matters is how did you know it was me, Teague?”
“What do you mean how did I know it was you? I recognized you.”
“How? I had my back to you.”
I was sure — pretty sure — I knew. But I didn’t want to say more. I needed him to say it. If my crazy idea wasn’t so crazy after all I definitely needed him to say this.
He paused, but I thought it was in concentration, rather than hesitation. “I recognized… Yeah. I saw your coat from the back and knew it was you.”
“Ahhhh.”
“What?” Clara demanded.
“That’s how I recognized you, too. Without all your dog park gear, I didn’t know it was you, but I saw the green jacket and that I knew. It’s how we do recognize each other at the park in this weather. All wrapped up, faces mostly covered, recognition depends so much on the coat or jacket or scarf.”
“The scarf,” they both repeated.
“Yes. The scarf. Dwight’s scarf. That’s what we recognized. If we saw anyone wearing that scarf, along with the UK jacket, the UK hat, we might take it for granted that it was Dwight Yagos, especially if the person was about the right size and shape.”
“And had Skeeter with him,” Clara murmured.
I grabbed her arm.” Exactly. That’s brilliant, Clara.”
“Is it?”
“It is. Because if he didn’t have Skeeter at the dog park, we wouldn’t think it was Dwight, even with the scarf. The dog without the scarf, sure. We’d think he’d forgotten the scarf. Well, we might also think the universe had started rotating the opposite way, but still, the point holds. Skeeter was the essential. The scarf without the dog? Unthinkable.”
Teague sounded strained. “Let me get this straight. Are you saying—”
“Sorry. Gotta go.” I handed Clara my phone and stalked off toward the far corner of the enclosure.
I needed quiet. Just for a moment.
There was something … something…
I was running back scenes and conversations. From the past several days, from earlier…
Trying to make them a whole instead of snippets.
Then the something became a hand waving in front of my face.
“Have you heard a thing I said?” Clara demanded.
“No. I was thinking. Is Teague still on the line?”
“No. He said some bad words, then hung up. What were you thinking about?”
I took my phone, clicked it off, dropped it in my outer pocket, and stared at our dogs locked in mock battle over a mouthful of snow. “Dogs.”
She sniffed. “I suppose this is the place to do it.”
“Have you ever noticed, Clara, how the dogs will wrestle and tussle like it’s the most serious battle in the world? And then they just stop.”
“Well, yeah. We’ve only talked about that a hundred times. What’s gotten in to you, Sheila?”
But I was too deep into the thought rattling its chains to answer her question. I had my own. “Why do you think that is, Clara?”
“How would I know? It’s … Okay, okay, I’ll humor you. Say it’s because they have some secret language we don’t know, and they’re communicating and somebody’s said, let’s knock off on the count of three.”
I tipped my head, slanting the canine picture before me.
“So a secret language could also work when they’re fighting? I mean when a dog takes serious exception to another.”
“No.” Clara’s rare impatience snipped the ends of the words. “Because they’re friends. And they’re playing.”
I straightened my head, turning to Clara. “What if they’re not friends but they’re still playing. Play-acting and they both know it. So they know exactly when to stop. That’s it, Clara. That’s it. That changes everything.”
“What’s it? What changes—?”
“How many times did you see Bob and Dwight act out that scene? The big, dramatic argument. The raised voices. The accusations of not knowing how to train a dog.”
“A dozen.”
Ah, Clara the optimist.
“Clara, I’ve seen it a dozen and a half times and I’ve only been here a month.”
She grimaced. “You’re right. Say, twelve times a month for at least six years. That’s—”
“A lot. And every time they played out that scene, even with variations, they always knew when to stop. Where to stop. So they didn’t go past the line that wouldn’t let them ever have the play-acting fight again because they’d gone too far in the previous one.”
“But … But…”
“Just like the dogs,” I added, having the slightest suspicion I might not be crystal clear in my explanation. “They might growl and fuss at each other, but there’s a line they don’t pass. Don’t you see? C’mon, get your stuff. Get LuLu. Gracie, come.”
Clara took the leash I handed her. “Except the dogs don’t always follow the secret language. Remember when that mix picked up the Scottie, who didn’t belong in the big dog area, and started to shake him—
“Exactly!” I whirled on her triumphantly. She jumped back. “And what did the other dogs do?”
“They barked at him — Gracie most of all — and he immediately dropped the Scottie.”
“Right. And then the mix rolled over to expose his belly, apologizing. And order was restored.” Though Gracie kept a closer eye on that mix, I’d noticed. She took her role as dog park referee seriously.
I patted her on the head after hooking her leash to her collar. We all started toward the gate.
“I’m sorry, Sheila, but I don’t see how this applies to Bob and Dwight. Because they didn’t know when to stop, even when we were telling them to. Dwight would have hit Bob if Teague hadn’t been here.”
“Exactly!”
“I wish you’d stop saying that as if it explained everything, when I have no idea what you mean.”
“Why would Bob and Dwight not know when to stop when they had stopped all those other times?”
“You’re going to make me figure this out? Why not just tell me?”
“That’s not fun.” Another trick I’d learned from Kit.
She groaned. “This is like when Ned insists on explaining carburetors or something to me on the car. I appreciate his knowing about them and working on them. But I just want the darned thing to run. Fine, fine. Okay. Bob and Dwight would not know when to stop this time when they had all those other times because … one of them was drunk
or on drugs. Because one of them was sick. Because—” She opened her eyes wider. “—one of them had something bad happen in his life and was beside himself. But—”
“Hold up there. What do those three possibilities you mentioned have in common?”
“Sheila.”
“Okay, okay. You could say all three were another way of saying one of them wasn’t himself. In fact, you did say. You said exactly that. He’s not himself today.”
“Oh-kay.” She made it two long you-still-sound-crazy-to-me syllables.
“Because he wasn’t himself.”
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
We had to get out the main gate before Marcus stopped his carrying on … with Berrie pretending she didn’t hear a thing.
By the frown pleating her forehead, Clara was thinking hard. “I don’t … Just tell me. Who murdered Bob?”
“Dwight did it. Dwight killed Bob.”
“Really? Okay, okay, I won’t argue. But then who killed Dwight?”
“Dwight did that, too.”
“What are you talking about?”
She stopped dead, so I stopped, too.
“Two Dwights. That’s what I’m talking about. The one we knew and another one.”
“A secret twin?” Her eyes lit up.
“No, no. Cousins who look a lot alike. Remember the photo in Mrs. Yagos’ room? Remember her saying dark and light and hard to tell apart. I thought she meant the girls, the one with the dyed blonde hair and the other with dark hair. But what if she meant Dwight and the cousin who explored that creek as kids? All those family members look so much alike. Bundle them up, put a UK hat, UK jacket, UK scarf — especially the scarf — on almost any of them and they’d look enough like Dwight—”
“Oh, my God, you’re saying it wasn’t Dwight here at the dog park that day? That’s what you were getting at with Teague? About how he recognized you at the grocery store? How you recognized him.”
“Exactly. We recognize each other by our clothes. We’re so wrapped up out here, you can hardly see us anyway. He’d probably already killed Dwight. Oh. Yes, yes, yes. The neighbor. Dwight’s neighbor said Dwight had a visitor from out of town, but he hadn’t seen the visitor. He probably did, but thought it was Dwight. We saw someone who looked like Dwight. And everyone accepted that. Everyone except Bob. That’s why he had to die. C’mon. Let’s go. We have to get to the sheriff’s office.”
Death on Torrid Ave. Page 19