by V. M. Burns
Naomi grimaced. “Take it.”
Dixie reached down and took the dumbbell from Chyna’s mouth.
“Finish.”
Dixie gave a hand signal, and Chyna walked around her and sat glued to Dixie’s left side.
“Exercise finished.”
Several people in the crowd clapped, but they were quickly shushed.
“Perfect,” I whispered. “She was freakin’ perfect.”
They did the same exercise again with a leather dumbbell.
“Why two?” Red asked.
“I think the textures hold scents differently, but you’ll need to ask Dixie to be sure.”
Again, Naomi Keller touched the one dumbbell with Dixie’s scent, adding her scent on top of Dixie’s. Nevertheless, Chyna sniffed the pile, found the one leather article with Dixie’s scent, and brought it back quickly.
“Wow,” Red whispered. “This is intense.”
“There’s just one more exercise to go, the moving stand and examination.”
“What’s that?”
“Dixie and Chyna will heel, and then she’ll give Chyna a command to stay while she walks away from her. Chyna has to stand still while the judge examines her.”
“Considering all of the examinations she’s had in the show ring, I’d think this would be fairly easy.”
“It’s not easy, and I don’t trust the judge not to try one last thing to trip them up.” I said a silent prayer and focused my phone on the ring.
Naomi Keller looked stressed as she stared at Dixie and Chyna. “Are you ready?”
Dixie glanced down to make sure Chyna was in proper position. “Ready.”
“Forward.”
Dixie took approximately ten steps forward, with Chyna glued to her side.
“Stand your dog.”
Dixie placed a hand in front of Chyna’s face. “Stand,” she commanded and kept walking. She continued to a chalk line the judge had drawn on the mat and turned and faced Chyna.
Naomi Keller approached Chyna and began to examine her. Even to my untrained eyes, the examination seemed unusually thorough. The judge pressed down on Chyna’s back, looked at her teeth and ears. She then traversed the length of her spine and her tail. The crowd was extremely displeased, and cries echoed out, That’s not fair. Through it all, Chyna stood still and endured the humiliation.
“My ob/gyn wasn’t that invasive,” B.J. whispered.
Dixie frowned, and it seemed as though steam came from her ears. Her chest heaved, and her eyes narrowed.
When the crowd noise grew to a low roar, Naomi ceased, but she took one step forward and somehow managed to step on Chyna’s paw.
“Oh my God.” I stared in disbelief. “She did that on purpose.”
Through it all, Chyna was mute. Her shoulders drooped, but she did not move.
The crowd, however, was vocal and had begun to shout their disapproval.
Naomi Keller must have realized she’d gone too far. She took a step away. “Call your dog to heel.”
“Chyna, heel.”
Chyna limped to Dixie’s side and sat in perfect heel position.
“Exercise finished.” She walked to the table where the ring stewards sat, which was just a foot in front of where we were standing, and handed her scoresheet to the head steward.
The crowd erupted in applause and cheers.
Dixie bent down and checked her dog’s paw and then marched up to Naomi Keller, reached back, and landed a right hook on the judge’s chin.
Naomi Keller dropped to the ground like a rag doll.
After a brief moment of silent shock, the crowd cheered. Those who weren’t standing before stood and applauded.
Dixie leaned down so her face was inches from Naomi Keller. “If you ever touch one of my dogs again, as God is my witness, I’ll strangle you.” Dixie turned back to Chyna and picked up her sixty-pound dog and carried her out of the ring.
Red turned to face me. “I had no idea dog shows were so exciting.”
Chapter 4
We hurried out to Dixie’s RV, where we found her sitting on the sofa hugging Chyna and crying.
“You were amazing,” B.J. said. “Your competition was pretty darned good too, but you dropped that witch like George Foreman dropped Joe Frazier.”
“Shush,” Monica Jill said, giving B.J. a shove. “Is Chyna okay?”
Dixie sniffed. “I think so, but . . . I knew she didn’t like me, and I expected her dirty tricks, like trying to cover my scent on the articles, but—”
“Speaking of that, how did you do it?” Madison asked. “I mean, she touched the dumbbell with your scent.”
“I trained my dogs to look for the hot scent and ignore all others. Plus, Chyna has always been really reliable.” She snuggled her face in Chyna’s coat.
“I’d say she deserves a huge jackpot,” I said.
“I almost forgot.” Dixie hopped up and went to the treat jar. She pulled out a large pile of dried liver and placed it in front of Chyna.
All the other dogs immediately gave Dixie and the liver their full and complete attention, and she disbursed a small treat to each of them.
“So, what happens now?” I asked.
Dixie shook her head. “If she doesn’t have me arrested for assault . . .” She glanced at Red.
He held his hands up. “I didn’t see anything.”
“It doesn’t matter, there are plenty of videotapes. I’ll probably be banned from competing for the rest of my life. I’ll lose my ability to judge. In fact, I’ll probably be banned from all dog shows for life.” She took a deep breath and looked lovingly down at Chyna. “But it was worth it.”
B.J. nudged Red. “Didn’t I tell you it would be on like Donkey Kong?” She cracked her knuckles and bounced on her feet. “I think we should go and rough her up some more.”
Monica Jill pinched B.J. “Would you stop that? We are not going to rough up anybody.” She winked. “No matter how much we may want to.”
Dixie smiled. “I appreciate all of you, but I am not encouraging violence.” She gave us all a stern look. “What I did was wrong. I shouldn’t have hit her, but . . .” She gave Chyna’s head a rub. “Chyna was working so hard. She knew this was important to me, and she was so good, despite everything Naomi did to her. She just gave it her all and worked so well, and when I saw Naomi deliberately step on her foot—and Chyna didn’t move, didn’t bark or snap or anything—I just couldn’t take it.” Her eyes overflowed.
I hugged Dixie. “I understand completely.” When we were done, Red handed me a handkerchief, and I wiped my eyes.
“Why don’t we give Dixie some time?” Red said. He tugged on my sleeve and whispered, “I need to talk to you.”
I turned to follow him out, but there was a knock on the door.
“Here it comes,” Dixie said. She stood tall and braced herself. “Come in.”
Lenora Houston climbed inside. She glanced around like a frightened cat. When her eyes landed on Red, she said, “You better come with me.”
In a flash, something switched. Red was no longer my boyfriend hanging out with friends on a Saturday morning. Instead, he was Red Olson, TBI officer. I’m not sure what he did or how, but he was all law enforcement. “Stay here.”
He followed Lenora Houston out of the RV.
We waited a half second and then followed him, leaving all of the dogs behind. Outside, we heard a loud commotion and followed the noise into the building.
Inside, there was a tight crowd and shouts. We pushed our way toward the front. Naomi Keller stood in the middle of the ring, drenched from head to toe with a sticky brown liquid.
“Is that . . . syrup?” Dixie asked.
B.J. sniffed. “Smells like it.”
“Mercy,” Monica Jill said.
Red grabbed a young
woman wearing a Save the Greyhound T-shirt, who was holding a bucket that I guessed had once held the syrup. He dragged the woman out of the ring. The crowd parted to allow them to pass, whether from the sheer power of his authority or a desire to avoid getting the sticky syrup on them.
In the ring, Naomi Keller stood dripping with syrup, looking like a drenched rat.
“I kind of feel sorry for her now,” I said. At least I did until Lenora Houston rushed into the ring and handed the bedraggled judge a towel, only to have it tossed back in her face.
“Your club will be paying for this.” She waved her hands from her head to her feet. “You’re going to pay for all of this. I’ve been humiliated, assaulted and now this . . . UGH.” She stomped out of the ring.
A gray-haired man approached her. “Naomi, what on earth?”
“Don’t start with me, Warren.” Naomi shoved the man in the chest and left a sticky brown handprint on his previously pristine white shirt.
Dixie and Monica Jill stared at me. B.J. took it one step further and held up her hand like a wounded dog’s paw and gave me a sad look, reminding me of what Naomi had done to poor Chyna.
“I said I almost feel sorry for her.”
“Regardless of how you feel about the woman, you have to admit,” Dr. Morgan said, “Naomi Keller is having a very bad day.”
Outside, Red and a uniformed policeman were having an intense conversation with the man with the syrup handprint on his shirt, while the syrup-tosser sat in the back of a patrol car.
Try as I might, I couldn’t catch any of the conversation, even though Mr. Syrup Print was extremely animated and waved his arms as though he were directing traffic at Hamilton Place Mall during Christmas.
“I wonder what that’s all about.”
When the arm waving slowed to the level needed to land a plane on an aircraft carrier, the policeman opened the back door, releasing his captive.
A wave of emotion washed over me as I remembered the one time when I had been arrested. That open door reminded me how grateful I’d been to experience freedom after the authorities thought I’d killed my husband.
Monica Jill patted my back. “You okay?”
“Fine.”
B.J. gave me the Whatchu talkin’ ’bout, Willis look. “Am I missing something?”
Once freed, Mr. Syrup Print attempted to place an arm around the syrup-tosser, but she wasn’t having it. We watched as she pushed him away, ran to a Mini Cooper, and sped down the road, spitting gravel in her wake.
“What do you suppose that was all about?” I asked.
Dixie sighed. “I think that means family time at the Kellers’ is going to be rough this year.”
We stared at Dixie.
“Brittney is Warren’s daughter and Naomi’s stepdaughter.”
Monica Jill, B.J., and I stood there, gawking at our friend.
“Wait a minute,” Monica Jill said, leaning forward. “You mean to tell me that man is Warren? The one Naomi Keller just treated like dirt inside the building is her husband?”
Dixie nodded.
B.J. put a hand on her hip and glanced down her nose. “Are you saying that the woman who just staged a protest at a dog show aimed at nothing but public humiliation . . . that girl who just threw syrup on a woman wearing a suit in front of a crowd of people . . . that was Naomi’s stepdaughter?”
Dixie nodded.
I shook my head like an Etch A Sketch to clear my brain, but still I had no words.
B.J. nudged Monica Jill. “This is going to be good. Let’s go.”
We headed toward the other massive RV parked at the club. Similar to Dixie, Naomi Keller had a luxury RV that looked large enough to house a third-world country. She had demanded access to water and electricity in her judging contract, so she was able to shower and remove the physical signs of her attack. Whether she was able to wash away the emotional signs was yet to be determined.
Red rejoined our group. He looked at me. “Hey, can we talk?”
I nodded and was about to follow him when a small red sports car sped through the parking lot. It barely missed B.J.’s SUV as it skidded to a stop.
“Hey, watch my car,” B.J. yelled.
The driver wasn’t listening and threw open the door and ran from her car toward Naomi Keller’s RV.
“Not again,” Red said. He passed Steve Austin’s leash back to me and rushed after the woman.
“This can’t be good,” Dixie said and hurried after him.
“What now?” B.J. asked.
I took several steps and noticed that Dr. Morgan wasn’t following. I turned to look back.
He shrugged. “I’ll pass on this drama.”
I handed him Steve Austin’s leash and then hurried after my friends. I followed the shouts to the RV. Red was already inside, and Dixie, Monica Jill, and B.J. were just inside the door.
“GET OUT!” Naomi Keller screamed.
“HOMEWRECKER! You filthy little adulteress.”
I heard Red trying to calm the two women. Based on the sound of their voices, I pitied him.
“You stay away from my husband, or I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you!”
Naomi Keller laughed.
There was a large crash as something breakable hit the wall.
“You’ll pay for that!” Naomi screamed.
B.J., Monica Jill, and Dixie scrambled down the stairs and outside just as Red descended. He had a bear hug on the woman and was practically carrying her down the stairs. She kicked and wiggled, but Red didn’t let go. Once he had her outside, he backed her against the RV.
“If you don’t settle down, I’ll be forced to handcuff you.”
The woman looked at him—really looked at him for what was probably the first time.
He held up his shield and a pair of handcuffs for her to see he meant business.
She stared for a few moments and then, like a balloon that has been deflated, slid to the ground and wailed.
Red looked at me as though to say, You have got to be joking.
Dixie, Monica Jill, and I hurried to his aid. We helped the woman up and into Dixie’s RV. The woman was sobbing so hard she could barely breathe. Dr. Morgan had been lounging with a lap full of German Shepherd, but once he caught sight of the hysterical woman, he helped us calm her down. When she finally stopped gasping for air and was able to breathe, we all relaxed.
Monica Jill made a cup of tea and passed it to her. Dixie got a blanket from a closet and wrapped it around the woman’s shoulders. Even B.J. made herself useful and stood by, fanning the woman with a magazine she’d found.
“Just try and relax.” Dixie plumped a pillow and stuck it behind the woman’s back.
Dr. Morgan removed two of the dogs from the sofa to allow the woman to recline.
Once she was situated, we stood by, staring at her. After a few awkward moments, she looked as though she wanted to say something but suddenly stopped, her lip quivering, and we could tell the waterworks were about to start again.
Dixie surprised us by grabbing the woman by the shoulders and giving her a shake. “Now, June, I know you’re upset, but you need to pull yourself together.”
Whether due to the shock of Dixie’s actions or not, the woman stared for several moments and then laughed. It started out as a chuckle but grew bigger. The laughter broke the tension, and everyone relaxed.
B.J. stopped fanning June and turned the magazine on herself. “Thank God. I thought I was going to have to slap you.”
Monica Jill nudged her friend. “Will you stop scaring this poor woman.” She leaned down and said, “Please, don’t pay her any attention.”
“June, these are my friends,” Dixie said. “Monica Jill Nelson, Bobbie Jean Thompson.”
“Call me B.J.”
“Dr. Morgan.” Dixie pointed to the doctor, who gave a
slight bow.
I smiled when Dixie pointed to me. “Lilly Ann Echosby.”
She turned to Red. “And this is Lilly Ann’s friend, Dennis Olson.”
Red stepped forward and held out a hand. “Please, call me Red.”
The smile she had on her face when introduced to the rest of us froze when she shook Red’s hand. However, Dixie smiled and chatted as though her friend hadn’t just had a minor breakdown. “Everyone, I’d like you to meet June Vannover.”
We all said hello.
Dr. Morgan stood. “I signed up for two trials, and I think it’s about time Max and I headed out for round two.”
If it were a real competition, we would only be able to enter once per day. However, since it was a mock trial and didn’t really count, Dixie encouraged us to sign up multiple times. However, I’d already missed my second trial, so I stayed.
“Snoball and I have another trial too,” B.J. said. She scooped up her little white highland terrier and reluctantly made her way toward the door. “Monica Jill, are you coming?”
“Jac and I have had our fill of public humiliation for one day, but I’ll come and cheer on my friends.”
B.J., Monica Jill, and Dr. Morgan left, taking their dogs with them, which left the RV a lot quieter.
Dixie patted June Vannover on the leg. “Now, you drink your tea and tell us what’s wrong.”
I couldn’t help but be impressed by the way Dixie managed to not only put June at ease but set her up to spill her guts.
June sipped slowly, but she eventually realized she would need to talk sooner or later. She gulped her tea and looked up. “I’m sorry for making a scene. It’s just . . . well, I’ve known Naomi Keller for years . . . I thought she was my friend.” She swallowed hard to hold back the emotion. “She and Dixon . . . they’re . . . she said she’s pregnant. We tried for years, but I just couldn’t . . . Dixon said it was my fault. I went to so many doctors, and they said there was nothing wrong with me, but Dixon said it was my fault. He wanted children, and I couldn’t . . . when he found out that she was carrying his child, he said it proved he had been right, and I was the problem.” She swallowed hard. “He told me he wanted a divorce.” The tears flowed down her cheeks. “He’s leaving me because I can’t give him children and she can. He’s leaving me for that . . . that . . .”