by Marie Celine
The room smelled like dog but Kitty didn’t mind that one bit. In fact, it made the tiny storefront seem rather homey.
Kitty introduced herself to the woman and the Husky.
‘I’m Sheila Shepherd,’ said the woman, running a hand up under her sweater and scratching. ‘That’s Jane.’ Her cuffs were worn thin. This was a woman who was obviously comfortable in her own skin and didn’t seem to care what anybody else thought. A refreshing change of pace from the cast of Hollyweird.
Kitty ran a hand along the Husky’s thick double coat. ‘She’s beautiful.’
‘Are you interested in adopting?’
The woman’s face turned hopeful and Kitty hated to disappoint her. ‘Sorry, I live in a small apartment and I already have a dog and a cat. A black Lab and a tuxedo cat.’ Kitty explained how she’d adopted Fred from a shelter and how Barney had followed her home.
Sheila nodded appreciatively. ‘It sounds like he basically adopted you.’ She grinned and tossed Jane a small treat that she’d pulled from her pants pocket. ‘Nice. Cats have good instincts, you know.’
Sheila rubbed the tummy of the fat cat on the perch. The animal barely managed to partially lift one eyelid before falling back into his snooze. ‘If your Barney likes you then I like you, too.’
The woman in back called Sheila’s name. ‘Time to give Starr her eye drops!’
‘I’ll be right back,’ said Sheila, dusting off her hands. ‘Starr suffers from a touch of conjunctivitis and always puts up a fuss when it’s time for her eye drops. Doesn’t know what’s good for her.’
Kitty nodded sympathetically. Fred had had pink eye once and had suffered plenty. ‘Do any of us?’
‘Make yourself at home,’ Sheila said with a wink as she pushed aside the curtain and retreated to the backroom.
Kitty waited until Sheila disappeared and then approached the small counter near the back wall. There was a dented four-drawer metal file cabinet in the corner with a messy stack of papers atop it. An open bag of dog food for seniors spilled small bits of kibble across the countertop.
Kitty took a quick look at the doorway to the backroom from which the sounds of one struggling dog and two struggling women emanated. She didn’t have much time. With Jane shadowing her, she cautiously stepped behind the short counter. The top drawer of the file cabinet stuck for a moment then popped free with a mousy squeak that Kitty feared would draw attention. She froze. No one appeared in the doorway.
A couple holding hands passed by out front and glanced in the window and smiled. Kitty smiled back, hoping she didn’t look guilty. She certainly felt guilty. Sheila Shepherd was such a kind woman, she felt bad snooping around her animal shelter like some sort of spy or thief. Not that feeling bad was going to stop her. Kitty riffled through the thick rows of manila folders. Most contained info on the various pets who’d been in and out of the shelter, including their histories, both personal and medical.
Unfortunately, they had been filed by the name of the animal, not the person who had adopted them. That wasn’t going to help her at all, especially since she hadn’t yet come across a file for Ted’s dog, Chloe.
But it was drawer number two that held the real surprise.
NINETEEN
Wedged between a rumpled brown paper bag, which Kitty peeked inside and discovered contained a cheese sandwich on white bread, a green apple and a stack of old receipts, sat a large and slightly wrinkled white envelope with the Little Switzerland Resort and Spa address and logo in its upper left-hand corner.
Inside the envelope were more bills than Kitty could count. And these bills all had Ben Franklin’s picture on them. Nice-looking guy, that Ben.
What was that all about?
‘Thanks, Sheila.’
Kitty quickly shut the drawer and swung around. Sheila stood in the doorway, wiping her left hand on her slacks. Her right hand held a lined piece of paper. Starr’s name was written in red at the top. Probably the dog’s medical chart.
Kitty couldn’t swear to it but she thought she saw the woman’s eyes go to the file cabinet before turning their attention back to her. ‘Still here, eh? What can I do for you? See anything you like?’
Kitty stepped back around the counter. She definitely liked all the Benjamins. She cleared her throat. ‘I was looking at the photos on your wall.’ Kitty gestured to an old pockmarked corkboard on the wall behind the counter. The board was covered with recent shots that looked like they’d come off a computer printer mixed in with a lot of yellowing Polaroids.
Sheila smiled. ‘Those are just some of the lucky pets we’ve found homes for over the years.’
‘That’s sweet,’ said Kitty. ‘It’s a wonderful thing that you’re doing. Have you been doing it long?’
‘Nearly twenty years,’ Sheila said proudly. She plopped herself down on a plain pine stool, setting Starr’s medical chart on the countertop. ‘I got tired of working in a cubicle. I wanted to do something more useful, less confining.’
‘I bet it hasn’t been easy.’
Sheila slapped her knees. ‘No, young lady, it hasn’t. Not everybody wants to adopt a pet these days. Too many folks only want a pet with a pedigree, like they do when they buy a fancy car or some such silliness. And sometimes those that do adopt a pet get to feeling like it’s too much trouble and then return them.’
‘That’s awful.’
Sheila nodded.
‘My friend, Ted Atchison?’ Kitty began, casting her web with caution. ‘He picked out a dog here.’
Sheila’s ears perked up. ‘Oh,’ she beamed, ‘Mr Atchison. Such a nice young man.’
‘You remember him?’
‘Of course I remember him. I might look old but I’m not so old as to be addlebrained.’
Kitty swiftly apologized. ‘I didn’t mean anything by it, Sheila. I’m sorry. I didn’t expect you to remember.’
‘Well,’ Sheila rose with a groan and petted a skittish sheep dog that had risen to her feet for the first time since Kitty had come in, ‘I remember. He came in only yesterday afternoon, just as I was closing for the day.’
Kitty tugged at her ear. ‘Yesterday?’ Ted had said he’d had the dog for over a year. And that he and the dog had come up from San Juan Capistrano. Hadn’t he?
Kitty realized right then and there that if she was going to keep snooping into things then she might want to invest in a notebook.
‘Yes. He wanted desperately to get a pet, he said.’ Sheila smiled. ‘Usually I like folks to take a couple of days, you know, and think it over. Make sure they’re certain that they can handle the responsibility.’
She pulled a pair of glasses from her slacks pocket and studied the sheep dog’s face close up. She turned to Kitty. ‘I wouldn’t want him returning her in a couple of days.’ She turned back to the dog and bit her lip as she held the dog by the snout. ‘Eyes are looking a bit inflamed. I’m going to have to keep an eye on you,’ she said, giving the dog’s snout a wiggle.
Sheila turned back to Kitty and wiped her hands on her legs. ‘But Mr Atchison was quite insistent. And like I said, he did seem very nice. How could I say no? Pets are what I live for. He picked out Chloe, an affectionate mixed-breed that I’ve had for over five months. I was happy to see her go to a good home. The two of them seemed to really hit it off, too.’
Kitty muttered something about how nice that was but inside her brain was in turmoil. Something was so not right about Ted Atchison. And she’d been alone in her room with the man.
‘We found homes for three dogs and two cats since Monday.’ Sheila pointed to several recent shots on the corkboard. There was a close-up of Ted and Chloe taken right there in front of the counter. Kitty hadn’t noticed it earlier. That was definitely the dog that Ted was calling his own.
‘Yep, it’s been a good week,’ Sheila was saying, ‘especially after that anonymous donation we received yesterday. That’s huge. There’s so much good I can do for these guys with that kind of money. One thing we’ve always struggled w
ith around here is funds. Enough funds to keep the doors open, keep the animals fed and healthy …’ Her voice trailed off.
Kitty’s eyebrows had risen and hadn’t come back to earth yet. A huge donation. That could explain the envelope full of money that she’d just seen. Had the hotel made the donation? It would make sense. Sheila ran an animal shelter and adoption service – the resort catered to pets. ‘That big, huh?’
Sheila gestured her closer with an arthritic finger. ‘Fifty thousand dollars? You bet that’s big.’
Kitty straightened. ‘Fifty thousand dollars?’
‘Yep, found it in an envelope stuffed in my mailbox.’ She jabbed a finger toward the banged-up mail slot in the door. ‘It was there when I came in yesterday morning. Amazing, isn’t it? A gift from above, that’s what Mr Atchison said.’
‘You told Mr Atchison about it?’
‘Sure, why not? I’m telling the world.’ Sheila ruffled her hair. ‘Well, maybe not the taxman,’ she said with a chuckle.
‘I’ll never tell,’ replied Kitty, happy to be the woman’s co-conspirator. Kitty figured it wouldn’t hurt to keep on Sheila’s good side.
‘He seemed as excited as I was.’
‘Mr Atchison?’
Sheila nodded. ‘Such a nice young man,’ she said again. ‘Are you two a couple?’
Kitty shook her head no. ‘Just friends.’
‘You might want to think about making it something more than that.’ She grabbed onto Kitty’s arm. ‘You don’t want to let a man like that get away.’
No, thought Kitty, you sure don’t. ‘Do you think the resort might have given you the money?’
‘You mean the Little Switzerland Resort and Spa?’
Kitty nodded.
‘I don’t think so. Don’t get me wrong, they’ve given us a few thousand dollars a year, plus supported us with extra food and other supplies over the years. But nothing this big. Besides,’ Sheila added then paused for a moment as she went to the file cabinet with Starr’s medical sheet in her hand. No doubt she was about to place that paper in one of the folders. ‘Why keep it a secret?’
Fresh, cool air struck Kitty’s face as she held the front door open with one hand. Why indeed?
‘Wait just a minute,’ hollered Sheila. She stood beside the open file cabinet, hands on her hips.
Kitty froze, one soggy foot out the door. Had Sheila suddenly realized that Kitty had been snooping? ‘Y-yes?’
‘You never did say why you’d come in.’ Sheila had a big grin on her face.
Kitty breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Oh, silly me.’ She reached into her purse and pulled out her checkbook. ‘I wanted to make a donation. After hearing my friend Ted talk about the wonderful work you’re doing here I just knew I had to contribute something.’
‘Well, aren’t you sweet, child.’
Kitty quickly scratched out a check for five hundred dollars then raced back to the resort.
TWENTY
Kitty spotted John Jameson loping through the lobby in a red flannel shirt and jeans. He was clutching a small navy bag, like the kind you’d carry to the gym. He was alone and heading in the direction of the pool and exercise room. If he was going for a workout, he would have to wait. She had a few more questions for him. Like how did he feel about Victor Cornwall stealing his wife? And had Victor swindled him as well?
She made a beeline past the fountain and headed after her quarry. He was moving quickly with long strides. She had to move fast because if he made it to the men’s locker room before she got to him she’d lose her chance. There were some boundaries even she was loath to cross.
Kitty almost lost him when she passed by an open room full of women spread out on mats across the floor. They were all on their hands and knees. A white leotard-dressed instructor hovered over one skinny woman, clutching her ribcage. OK, she must be the yogini. But what had stopped Kitty wasn’t the sight of all these women doing some form of yoga with their master. Oh, no. What had brought Kitty to a skidding stop was the absurd image of the dogs that were perched atop each woman’s back.
A small placard outside the room announced this was the Downward Dog Duet Class. Hmmm. Kitty chewed her lip as she watched. None of the dogs looked happy or comfortable. She couldn’t for the life of her imagine putting Fred on her back like that. And she was positive that neither she nor her Lab would enjoy it if she did.
Kitty forced herself to look away from the bizarre scene, realizing her quarry might be getting away. She spotted a flash of red flannel and angled toward it. Sure enough, it was John Jameson. She was less than twenty yards from him when he turned to the left. He passed the spa, the indoor pool and the exercise room. Where was he heading?
Her question was quickly answered as Jameson stopped unexpectedly outside the grooming salon. The door was closed and there was no light coming through the big plate-glass windows on either side. Kitty ducked behind the corner. As she watched, he pulled out what looked like the same pair of driving gloves she’d seen stuffed in his back pocket the other day. He slipped them on.
What on earth? She held her breath.
Jameson tried the handle. The door opened and he squeezed inside, closing the door behind him. Moments later, shadowy light spilled out from within.
This was very interesting. Was Miss Dolofino inside? She might have been in the inner office. Did he have an appointment with her? He didn’t have a pet with him. Who goes to a pet groomer without a pet? Come to think of it, she’d never even seen the man with a pet. Did he even have one?
Were he and Lina having a tryst? That would be embarrassing to barge in on.
Maybe Jameson was as big a player as Victor. Kitty was going to have to warn Fran about that. Kitty moved to the salon door and slowly turned the knob, hoping not to make a sound. Whatever was going on inside and whoever was doing it, she wanted to catch them unawares. The front room was empty. The light was coming from the lamp on Lina Dolofino’s desk, which Jameson stood over, his hands shuffling through some papers. His back was turned slightly away from her. Several drawers hung open as if he’d searched them. There was a half-smoked cigarette between his lips.
‘You’re not supposed to be doing that.’ Kitty turned up her nose at the acrid odor of tobacco smoke.
Jameson jumped and his pupils dilated. ‘Oh, it’s you.’ The stub of his cigarette danced between his lips.
‘There’s no smoking allowed in the resort.’
He snatched the remains of his cigarette from his mouth and squashed it in a Little Switzerland ceramic mug on the desktop. John apologized. ‘Sorry. Like I said, I’m trying to quit.’ He smiled. ‘Promise not to tell?’ His gym bag was on the floor beside the waste bin.
‘What are you doing here?’
He came toward the door and for a minute Kitty worried for her safety. Should she really have come into this empty office alone and confronted a possible killer? He already looked at the very least like a burglar.
She held her breath as Jameson came toward her and only let it out again as he passed by into the front room. ‘I was looking for the groomer. I wanted to check on my appointment.’
Kitty glanced at the desk quickly then turned her attention to John. She didn’t like the idea of having her back to the guy no matter how smitten with him Fran might be.
‘You know, I’ve never seen you with your pet. What sort of animal do you have, Mr Jameson?’
‘A pit bull.’ He must have seen the look on Kitty’s face because he asked, ‘What’s wrong?’
‘Pit bulls can be quite dangerous.’
‘Yes, they can.’ His eyes locked onto hers for a moment. ‘But not Hugo. He’d never hurt anyone.’ His hands played over the edge of the grooming table. ‘Unless he thought that someone was trying to hurt me.’
Kitty nodded. ‘Like Victor Cornwall hurt you?’
His brow shot up. ‘Whatever do you mean, Kitty?’
‘I hear Eliza used to be your wife.’ Why was his smile so scary? Did he practice th
at face in front of a mirror?
He shrugged and stuffed his gloved hands in his pockets. ‘It’s no secret. As you must know, I told Fran all about it. And she told you. That is who told you, right?’
Kitty nodded.
‘So, you see, it’s all ancient history. Victor and I may have had our ups and downs but we were friends. I would never kill the man.’ He arched an eyebrow as he said, ‘Isn’t that what you’re thinking? You think I killed Victor?’
‘I don’t know what to think.’ Something about this guy made her feel like she was attempting to balance her legs on constantly shifting sands. ‘You were the last one to see him alive.’
Jameson pulled another cigarette from the pack in his shirt pocket and held it inches from his lips. His other hand brought out a slender gold lighter. ‘Except for the real killer.’ He lowered the unlit cigarette. ‘You’ll excuse me now.’ Jameson bowed his head slightly and left quickly.
Kitty exhaled with a whoosh of air. She waited until John turned the corner then went back into Miss Dolofino’s office for a closer look around. Whatever Jameson was looking for, he hadn’t appeared to have found it before Kitty had arrived. But what had he been looking for? That was the million-dollar question.
She poked around. There was not much on the desk or in the drawers of any significance – a package of butterscotch candies, some hotel stationary, the usual assorted papers and an appointment book, a bottle of hand lotion. Kitty ran her finger down the handwritten list of names. John Jameson’s name did not appear on the list of appointments for that day or any day looking forward.
Funny, that.
Her eyes fell on Jameson’s gym bag. He’d left it behind. She squatted and slowly unzipped it. A new pair of sneakers rested atop a baggy pair of shorts, a rolled-up pair of socks and a polyester Nike T-shirt. All completely ordinary.
Kitty put everything back in the bag and zipped it shut. She looked at her watch. She still had a little time to herself. If she could track down Lina Dolofino maybe she could come up with an explanation for what John Jameson was doing alone in her salon.