by Joyce Harmon
“Sure, I’ll pass it on.”
After Julia left, I went back to the office. I still had that document to finish proofing. When I finally completed it and e-mailed it on its way, I was at loose ends. A whine from the kitchen reminded me of Paco, so I gave him another small meal (by now I was making the meals larger and further apart) and then went to the living room with the videotape.
Well, it was adorable! The video takes place in a puppy training class, with a group of puppies with their owners being taught obedience commands for the first time. Polly came into the living room and joined the viewing, watching the television with intent interest. It occurred to me that this was the first time I’d had a movie on where she understood some of the dialog. There were dogs there, and that was interesting and they were being told to sit and stay, she understood that. And she certainly understood “Good girl!” It was definitely a feel-good movie.
Me, I was skeptical. It can’t be that easy! I remembered teaching Polly to sit. I’d say “sit”, while pushing down on her butt and up on her leash. Over and over and over again. Eventually she got it. But according to this, using the food lure teaches the pup in a few iterations! I’d believe it when I saw it.
So let’s put this to the test. I filled a jeans pocket with bits of freeze-dried liver, put Paco on his leash and harness and brought him into the living room. No, this wasn’t going to work. Polly was dancing around beside me, intent on the liver. Tough Stuff was sitting on the back of the sofa looking baleful. Changing course, I took Paco into the office, and shut the door with the rest of the menagerie on the other side.
I looked down at Paco and unsnapped his leash. He was looking bewildered, but hadn’t been actively yapping. Perhaps the confrontation with Tough Stuff had been a valuable object lesson. “Paco,” I said. He looked up at me. Well, at least he knew his name. “Paco, sit.” He stared at me. Nope, he’d had no training at all.
I sat down on the floor and fished some liver out of my pocket. Paco was right there. I was a bit concerned, I’ll admit, remembering what Rose had said about him biting ‘sometimes’. I held out a piece of liver and let him take it. So far so good. He liked it a lot. I held out another piece and he moved to snap at my fingers. I gave him a nose tap, to startle, not to hurt, and said, “Off.”
He pulled his head back and looked affronted. One more tap, and he seemed to get it. Then he knew, take the treat when it was offered, and don’t take any fingers with it.
Encouraged, I held out the treat. Like the videotape promised, his nose was right there. I moved my hand back over his head. He reared up on his hind legs. Whoops, that meant my hand was too high. I tried again, moving my hand just above his head. And Paco sat! Just like that, his head followed the treat and his butt moved to the floor.
I gave him the piece of liver and got another one. This time, when I moved the liver over his head, I said, “Sit.” He sat. He got liver. Several more times, I moved the liver, I said “sit” and Paco sat.
Now came the real test. I had a piece of liver in my closed hand. I looked at Paco, he looked at me. I said, “Sit,” and I didn’t move the liver over his head. Paco looked at me, a long considering look. And then, slowly, he lowered his butt to the floor. Yes! I gave him the liver. Good Paco!
Remember that scene in The Miracle Worker? Where young Helen Keller suddenly realizes that the hand gestures that Annie Sullivan was making weren’t just random, that it meant ‘water’? This was like that. It was an Aha Moment, I could see it. It was dawning on Paco, maybe for the first time in his life, that this two-legs wasn’t just making random noises, she was actually trying to communicate with him.
Moving on. I told Paco to sit and he sat. I held a piece of liver in front of his nose, and then moved it down to the floor, a little ways in front of him. He subsided onto the floor in a beautiful down. This was so cool! I did it several more times, adding the “down” command. And then without the liver lure, and Paco went down. By George, I think he’s got it!
Polly had been whining softly outside the office door, but now she set off the dog alarm, and scrambled to the back of the house. I heard the kitchen door open. “Jack?” I called out. “Come look at this!”
After a moment, Jack came in. “What is it, hon?” He saw my little pupil and scowled.
“Watch this!” I told him. “Paco, sit!”
Paco sat.
“Paco, down.”
Paco went down.
“Huh,” said Jack.
“He’s trainable!” I told Jack excitedly. “I think he’s really smart!”
“So he can sit,” Jack said. “Does that mean he won’t whine all night?”
“Maybe not right away,” I had to admit. “But he’s learning how to learn. He doesn’t have to be an annoying little pest.”
“I’m sure Rose’s brother will be glad to hear that.” Jack leaned against the door frame looking smug.
“Jack! You’ve found a next of kin?” I jumped up and gave him a big hug. He deserved it.
“I sure have,” he told me. “Tracked down Luther finally, and he tells me that the brother is next of kin and also executor. The brother is Myron Blankenship, and he’ll be here tomorrow. Coming in from Texas.”
“Great! So we have a possible Forever Home for Paco. And then there’s the ex-husband?”
“I wouldn’t count on the ex,” Jack warned. “Luther says Rose was married for five years and then divorced for twenty, so it’s not like this little guy was ‘their’ dog. The ex has probably never met him. And unless he’s a candidate for sainthood, I don’t see him being willing to take the annoying little dog of the woman he divorced two decades ago.”
“The brother, then,” I said. I looked down at Paco. “I hope he’ll take him.”
“He’s got no choice,” Jack said sternly. “It’s his responsibility, not yours. If he doesn’t want to keep the dog, it’s up to him to find it a home.”
I agreed, but privately hoped the brother would at least want Paco or know someone who did.
SIX
That night, I put Paco into his laundry room fastness again when bedtime came. He’d been following me around all evening, to Jack’s disapproval. “That dog had better not be bonding with you,” he warned me.
“That’s good, I think,” I suggested. “It could mean he’d bond with whoever feeds him, which would make his transition to a new home easier.”
After we went to bed, Paco started up again. Jack sighed heavily. “Maybe I should move to Washington House,” he grumbled. “I don’t think I can take another night in the barn.”
“Just wait a bit,” I counseled. “He might wind down sooner than last night.”
The whining continued. After a few minutes, Polly heaved to her feet from her rug at the foot of the bed and padded down the stairs. A few minutes after that, the whining stopped.
“Bless that dog,” I said. “She was keeping him company when I got up this morning.”
So we were able to get a decent night’s sleep.
Friday evening was the Rescue Squad’s Spaghetti Supper. You spend ten bucks a head to sit in a large vehicle bay and eat something you could make at home for a couple dollars. There was always a huge turnout. It’s a social thing. The desserts are donated and always good.
Jack and I went, like we always do. At the serving line, Buddy Haines was manning the spaghetti tongs and his son Buster was in charge of the sauce ladle. Both believed in generous portions. Unlike Buddy, Buster was whippet-thin, perhaps due to his position as the star of the Queen Anne High School track team.
“Hey, Mrs. Ray,” Buster greeted me. “I hear you’re finding bodies again. How do you do that? It’s pretty neat.”
I groaned. “Neatness had nothing to do with it. It’s not as if I’m trying to find them.”
Buddy elbowed Buster roughly. “Show some respect. Mrs. Jackson was an important member of this community.”
“She was also a royal pain in the ass,” Buster said unrepentantly.
“You remember the grief she gave the high school over the new track field. I thought Coach Jansen was going to have a stroke, she got him so riled. He had to file about a million documents, get some certification that the plan wouldn’t impact any wetlands, when the high school is on the highest point in the county. Had to come up with some noise abatement plan, plant some trees, all sorta happy horseshit.”
Buddy thumped the back of his head. “You kiss your mother with that mouth? Watch your language, young man.”
Buddy looked up at us and shrugged, the non-verbal gesture all parents recognize – it said ‘these kids today’. Buster rolled his eyes, saying wordlessly, ‘parents’.
We nodded and passed down the line, getting garlic bread from Janie the librarian, sweet tea from the giant urns, and utensils at a rolling cart. Then we found a table and dug in.
I was surprised not to see the Barstows; I was sure Julia said she’d see us there. But now coming through the line was Luther. He leaned over the serving tables to get a kiss from Janie, who was his girlfriend. (And when are those two going to get married, anyway?) And then to my surprise, he brought his tray over to our table and joined us.
“Evening, folks,” he said placidly.
“Hi, Luther,” I said cautiously. “How’s everything?” That didn’t sound too pushy, did it?
“Fine,” he said. “Things coming along. The Jackson viewing is tomorrow and the funeral is on Sunday. Well, when I say viewing, I mean a bunch of people visiting and a closed casket. There wasn’t much Gracci could do, as much time as had passed.” Gracci was the local funeral home.
“Is the brother here yet?” Jack asked. He was obviously looking forward to losing custody of Paco.
“Yep, checked in at Washington House, will be with the lawyer tomorrow afternoon and at the viewing in the evening.” He looked at me. “I’d say the viewing would be the best time to talk to him about the dog.”
I nodded. “I think he’ll like Paco. I’ve been training him a little and turns out he’s really smart. Rose must have just let him run wild, but he’s perfectly trainable, I’d say even eager to learn.”
Luther nodded, chewing on garlic bread. After a few moments of concentrated eating, he leaned back. “Well, tell you what, I told the sheriff your theory.”
“MY theory?” I asked blankly.
“Yeah, you know, that the break-in at Rose Jackson’s is connected to the other two break-ins. And all three break-ins are somehow connected to the estate auction.”
“What did he think of it?”
“He thought it sounded very plausible,” Luther said.
I felt a moment of triumph; someone was listening to me! But something else was going on. Luther obviously wasn’t through. I gave him a curious look.
“Yep, he thought it was so plausible that I’m off the case,” he finished.
“Luther, no! But – why?”
“Because the motive for the murder appears to have something to do with the auction and it’s my granny’s estate, that’s why.”
“Don’t tell me you’re a suspect!”
“I wouldn’t go as far as that,” he admitted. “Conflict of interest is what the Sheriff said. There’s an investigator coming in from VBI and I’ll turn all my notes and reports over to him. From here on out, I’m just a witness.”
“A witness?” Jack asked.
“I was at the auction, too,” Luther pointed out.
“That’s right, you were,” I said.
“I wish I’d been paying more attention,” Luther grumbled. “They want me to go to Rose’s house tomorrow, tell them if anything from the auction is missing. I keep telling them that I wasn’t really watching who bought what, but they say I have to try.”
I thought for a long moment, then suggested, “I could come along. I was mostly there as a spectator.”
He looked interested. “That’s not a bad idea.”
“No,” I amended. “Here’s a better idea. We need Amy.”
“Amy?”
“Amy Withers. She’s an eBuyer, like Rose. She and Rose were rivals at all the auctions in the area, competing for stuff to sell on eBuy. I’m sure she’d have a better idea of what Rose got than anyone else, because she was after a lot of the same stuff.”
There was a long, considering silence. Then Luther said, “Not a bad idea. Could you set it up?”
Well, to say I was gob-smacked was an understatement. Wasn’t what I was doing meddling? And wasn’t Luther supposed to be against that? “Who are you, and what have you done with Luther?” I asked.
Luther smiled, very briefly. “Not my case anymore,” he said. “I’ll let the man from Richmond try to keep you out of his hair and tell him good luck with that.”
“Okay, I’ll call Amy,” I promised.
Luther was making shushing noises, and I turned to see what he was looking at. The Barstows were coming through the serving line. I looked back at Luther inquiringly. “I don’t want a cast of thousands at this trip to Rose’s,” he said. “You and Amy and that’s stretching it enough.”
I made a lip-locking motion, and here came Julia and Bob, setting their trays down at our table. “Sorry we’re late, folks,” Julia said. “I thought I’d never get this guy away from his new toys.”
Bob just beamed; he was obviously having fun.
“And he’s talking about taking the business in a whole new direction,” Julia complained.
“Come on, hon, it’s a great idea,” he told her.
“What’s a great idea?” I asked.
“Furniture,” Bob said. “Now that I have some larger scale equipment, seems a shame to waste it on wooden toys. No, reproduction Arts and Crafts furniture. That will be my new challenge.”
I looked at Julia. She sighed. “I can’t stop you,” she said. “And it’s not like we have a desperate need for the money. But keep the toy production going at least through the holidays; I’ve already got us signed up for all the holiday craft fairs. Then if you want to go all high end, well, you figure out how to market thousand dollar chairs.”
“You just watch,” Bob said. “These babies will sell themselves.”
The last seats are our table were taken by Emily Davidson and Gene Abernathy. “The County Supervisors are out in force,” I noted. Emily was a real estate agent, noted for her shirtwaist dresses and stiletto shoes and invariable string of pearls. Emily never has a hair out of place. I don’t think her hair is capable of being out of place; I’m not sure what she uses on it, but it looks well-nigh bulletproof. She represented the northern district, and has been a mover and shaker in Queen Anne for over two decades. She always attended these sorts of community events, rarely with her husband. Dr. Davidson worked the emergency room at our regional hospital, and seldom had the energy for schmoozing in his rare leisure hours.
After a murmur of greetings, the newcomers dug in, to the spaghetti feast and the conversation.
“Terrible about Rose,” Emily offered.
“Terrible!” Gene agreed. “I was talking with her just the other day.”
“At the auction,” I remembered. “I saw you there. She really seemed to be giving you an earful.”
“I’ll say,” Gene chuckled and then remembered and looked somber. “She was going to come look at the county road budget, she was telling me, and find out why Washington Avenue missed being resurfaced again this year.”
Emily clucked. “Everyone thinks their road is the worst in the county. We have to prioritize! Ah well, nil nisi bonum. And I must say, Rose always kept us on the straight and narrow in her day. I don’t think there was a state regulation or county ordinance she didn’t know, some that probably hadn’t been thought of once since they were passed. That sort of institutional memory is hard to replace.”
Jack had been eating and listening silently. Now he weighed in, saying carefully, “Institutional memory is fine, but it works best if it’s combined with, ah – people skills.”
Bob made the peculiar sound that people m
ake when they start to laugh and try to disguise it as a cough. He hastily gulped his coffee.
Gene nodded gravely. “Well, people skills. Can’t say that was ever Rose’s strong suit.”
Which seemed to be the unofficial epitaph of Rose Jackson.
The next day, I picked up Amy on the way to Rose’s house. I’d called her the night before and she signed on to the expedition with enthusiasm. Now she bounced into the car carrying a notebook. With her hair in pigtails, she looked about twelve. She was wearing blue jeans and a sweat shirt, much like her auction wear of last week. “I’m a crime scene consultant!” she said with a grin.
“Unofficial,” I reminded her.
“Sure, I didn’t even tell Jordan. Makes it even better – I’m a clandestine crime scene consultant!”
“That’s the spirit. You can be their on-call eBuy expert.”
Luther was waiting for us at Rose’s house. He got out of his car when we pulled in, and waited for us at the back door. “I’m not sure what the sheriff would say about this,” he said worriedly, unlocking the sheriff’s department padlock on the door.
“He doesn’t need to know until he needs to know,” I pointed out.
“I guess,” he said, but he still seemed troubled and faintly guilty.
“Let me tell you something, Luther,” I told him. “Years ago, I went to hear Admiral Grace Hopper give a speech.” At his puzzled look, I elaborated, “She was a pioneer in computer technology, a real legend in the field. Anyway, Admiral Hopper said something that I’ve always remembered and have found useful in practice over the years. She said, ‘it’s easier to ask for forgiveness than to ask for permission’.”
Luther nodded thoughtfully. “So you adopted that motto, eh? That explains a lot.”
I just chuckled. I wasn’t going to get into it with Luther today, not when he was allowing me into the house that was the crime scene. “Anyway, Luther, here’s Amy, she’s our eBuy expert.”
Amy shook his hand vigorously and then whipped open her notebook. “After Cissy called me last night, I printed out all of Rose’s Sunday auctions.” She showed us the list. Some of the listings were lined through in pen. “Those are relists,” Amy explained. “So that’s stuff she already had before the Beaumont auction. But all these listings further down, those are items she got at the auction.”