Sit, Stay, Slay

by V. M. Burns

  I tried to think of something else, but June Vannover’s words kept coming back to me. Just because she wanted to start over without her husband didn’t mean she had killed him. Chances were good she meant divorce, not murder. Jacob obviously thought that’s what she meant. However, I wasn’t sure that the police would feel the same way. In fact, I was pretty sure there was at least one TBI officer who might interpret those words differently.

  Chapter 21

  Linda Kay walked me through the job description for my position, including salary and benefits. I knew I’d never get rich working for a nonprofit, and the salary she offered confirmed that. However, for me, it wasn’t about the dollar amount. I still had some money left from selling my house in Indiana, and I wasn’t extravagant, so it would be more than enough for me and two poodles. No, it wasn’t the money, but the fact that I now had roots.

  After I signed my offer letter, I met with Human Resources and filled out my tax papers. When I was legally and officially an employee, I sat at my desk, looked out the window onto the Tennessee River, and cried. I said a prayer of thanks to Miss Florrie, and then I dried my eyes, pulled out my laptop, and got back to work.

  Several hours later, I jumped when Jacob knocked on my door. “I’m heading home.” I glanced at my watch. It was after five, and Dixie would be here to pick me up in just a matter of minutes.

  “Thank you for everything,” I said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” I waved at Jacob as he walked down the hall. “Tell your mom I said hello.”

  He grunted a reply, and then I heard the elevator doors close. I shut down my laptop and hurried downstairs. I saw Dixie’s Lexus in the visitor parking space and hurried over.

  “I’m sorry. Have you been waiting long?”

  “Not at all.” She pulled out onto the narrow street in front of the museum and then made her way onto one of the interstates that crisscrossed the downtown area.

  On the short drive to the Vannover estate, I filled Dixie in on what I’d learned from Linda Kay and Jacob.

  “I wish I’d gotten one of those paintings before Jacob arrived,” Dixie said. “She may have more, but I’m sure he took the best ones.”

  “Well, you can always buy one from the museum when she has her showing.”

  “I’m sorry. I really was listening to what you said about her ‘dumping’ her husband. I’m sure you’re right and that she was just planning to leave him, but . . . well, I don’t know if Red would agree.”

  “I’ve been thinking the same thing.”

  She pulled up to the gated community, and we lucked out. The gate was open, so she drove to the house. There were several cars already there.

  “I didn’t ask Red where the body was found,” I said. “I wonder . . .”

  “I suppose they’ll let us leave our food and give condolences if nothing else.” She got out of the car, opened the back door, and handed me a casserole, while she took in a plate of brownies. “I don’t know if Dixon Vannover had a lot of family, but June can take the food to her neighbors if she has too much.”

  We walked up to the front door. Just as we were about to ring the doorbell, the door opened and June Vannover and a hunk of a man with rock-solid good looks that reminded me of Clark Kent came out.

  “Oh . . . Lilly and Dixie.” June tried to hug us, but it was awkward with the food. “How nice of you two to bring food.” She glanced at the man. “Paul, these are my friends, Lilly Ann Echosby and Dixie Jefferson. This is Paul Redburn, my attorney.”

  We nodded in lieu of shaking hands, and I tried not to stare at his uncanny resemblance to Superman’s alter ego.

  “Forgive my manners. Please, come in. The house is overrun with police, and I just can’t stand it anymore. I have to get out of here or I’ll scream.” Her housekeeper came around the corner. “Mary, would you please take these to the kitchen?”

  Mary relieved us of both items with the skill born from years of serving others and marched off to the kitchen before we could offer to help.

  June smiled. “Mary’s been in a huff all day with the police rummaging through the house and dusting that black powder all over looking for fingerprints or clues.” She sighed. “I told her she should take the day off and come back when they’re done, but she refuses to leave the house unattended.” She laughed. “I think she believes they’ll make off with the good silverware if she’s not here to watch them like a hawk.”

  “June, we wanted to give our condolences and let you know that if there is anything we can do to help, please don’t hesitate to let us know,” Dixie said.

  “Thank you. I appreciate that, but you’ve already done so much.”

  Dixie and I exchanged looks, and I saw the same puzzled expression on her face that I knew must have been on my own. “I’m not sure what you mean,” I said.

  “Dixie introduced you to me, and then . . . you not only bought my first painting, but you called your friends at the Hopewell, and they bought so many paintings.” She got choked up. “I can’t even remember how many, and they’re going to help me arrange a showing. I just . . .” She fanned her face and tried to keep the tears from falling.

  “You made all of those amazing paintings yourself. All I did was make a phone call.” I hugged her. Before we pulled apart, she whispered, “I’m going to take your advice and tell the truth.”

  When we separated, Dixie, June, and I all needed handkerchiefs.

  “Now that we’ve ruined our makeup,” I said, “we should probably let you two go.”

  June hesitated, but Paul Redburn flashed a dazzling smile, and she agreed, but not without first arranging for us to meet for lunch one day next week.

  Back in the car, we headed downtown to the Greyhound rescue.

  “What did you think of Superman?” Dixie asked.

  “I tried not to stare, but he looked so much like Clark Kent that I just couldn’t help myself.” I turned in my seat so I could see Dixie’s face. “Do you think there’s something going on there?”

  She hesitated. “I’ve known June Vannover for years. She’s always been such a mouse. A week ago, I’d have staked my life that she’d never even glanced in the direction of another man. For the longest time, I thought she practically worshipped Dixon. However, I think Superman may have some other ideas.”

  “I got the same impression, and I hope it works out for them.”

  “You’re thinking about you and Red, aren’t you?”

  I couldn’t stop myself from grinning. “I suppose so.” I leaned back on the seat. “Sometimes I just want to pinch myself. I can’t believe I’m living in this beautiful city.”

  Dixie drove around an area of town the locals called the ridge cut. It’s where the interstate does a forty-five-degree turn and provides an amazing look at the city, especially when the sun sets behind the mountains and rays of red, orange, and deep purple and the sparkle of white lights are the only illumination.

  I gazed out over Chattanooga, which I now felt was home. “Plus I have friends.” I stared at her. “There’s you and everyone from the dog club, Aggie and Rex and . . . Red.” I took a deep breath. “I didn’t realize how lonely I was before, especially after Stephanie and David left, but now my life is just so full that I’m almost afraid.”

  She reached a hand across and patted my leg. “I know what you mean. It’s been wonderful having you so close. Now you’ve got a permanent job, a wonderful boyfriend who adores you, and you’re buying a house.”

  “Oh, I almost forgot, I have the inspection tomorrow and have to remember to call the bank and wire the money to the title company.” I pulled out my phone and typed a reminder for myself. “What did we do before cell phones?”

  Dixie pulled off the interstate. “I have no idea.”

  We chatted while Dixie navigated the city traffic toward downtown. Thankfully, we were going against city workers who were heading for
the interstate to make their way to the suburbs, but there was still quite a bit of traffic between cars, buses, and tourists riding the blue-and lime-green electric bicycles the city had added to reduce carbon emissions while promoting exercise and outdoor enjoyment. Eventually, we saw the building for the Greyhound rescue, which was located close to the Choo-Choo Hotel. There was very limited parking near the rescue, and Dixie had to circle the block. When she turned the corner across from the Choo-Choo, I saw a small, stand-alone brick building on a corner lot. It was dilapidated, with graffiti sprayed all over the exterior. The building had been an automotive garage at some point in its past life. “Stop.”

  Dixie pulled into the parking lot. “What?”

  “That building would make a great doggie day care for tourists and busy city workers.”

  Dixie rolled her eyes. “Et tu, Brute?”

  “That building is perfect.” I opened the car door and got out, knowing curiosity would make her follow me.

  I peeked through the window at the inside and felt her next to me before she spoke. “This place looks horrible.”

  “It does, but it’s a great location.” The building was off a side street. Many of the old brownstone storefront buildings that had fallen into disrepair were being renovated and turned into trendy shops, restaurants, and coffee shops. The city had torn down the older homes and was building small, single-family homes.

  The area behind the building was an empty lot that was long and too narrow to build on. “You could probably buy that lot too for a dog run, but isn’t there a dog park near here?”

  Dixie appeared deep in thought. “Actually, there is. It’s a few blocks that way.” She pointed, and I squinted around a couple of houses and saw the sign. “I’d forgotten about the dog park.” She walked around the building. “You know, this place might actually have some potential.”

  We walked around the building multiple times, peeking into the windows that hadn’t been boarded up. “I could probably take some of this parking lot and convert it into more green space too.”

  We chatted about possible changes until we were both excited about the possibilities. Dixie jotted down the name and telephone number of the real estate firm handling the sale, and we got back in the car. Before she pulled away, she sent the information to Monica Jill. This time, we were able to find a parking space behind the building. Dixie pulled in, and we went inside.

  I’m not sure what I expected the headquarters of a dog rescue organization to look like, but this one didn’t fit any of those boxes. The building was basically an office where the workers provided brochures on the sins of dog racing and the benefits of the Greyhound as a pet. There were two Greyhounds and a white cat curled up together on an old sofa placed against one of the walls. The sleek, majestic animals lifted their heads as we walked in but, deeming us unworthy of further scrutiny, put them back down and continued their naps.

  “I’ve heard Greyhounds described as couch potatoes, but this is taking things a bit far,” I whispered to Dixie.

  She smiled, walked over to the dogs, and squatted down and offered her hand. The animals sniffed her, and their tails immediately began to wag, pounding the sofa like metronomes. Dixie scratched each dog behind the ear, causing the beat of the tail wags to increase and their eyes to roll back in their heads. She cooed and whispered compliments in the voice understood by babies and dogs.

  After a few moments, a door near the back opened, and Brittney Keller walked out.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize anyone was here.” She walked forward and extended a hand. “I see you’ve already met our greeters.”

  I shook her hand and allowed Dixie time to finish her Greyhound conversation.

  “Hello, my name is Lilly Ann Echosby, and this . . .”—I glanced toward Dixie, who had wrapped up her greeting with the hounds.

  “Dixie Jefferson,” Brittney Keller said. “Dog trainer, judge, and my stepmother’s nemesis.”

  I wasn’t sure how to take that, and based on Dixie’s face, I don’t think she was quite sure either.

  Brittney Keller must have picked up on it because she quickly added, “Hey, sorry. No insult intended. Frankly, any enemy of my stepmonster is a friend of mine.”

  “What’s that ancient proverb? The enemy of my enemy is my friend.”

  I knew Dixie quoted literature and movies when she was nervous, but I thought this seemed fitting, as the same thing had gone through my mind. “At the risk of stating the obvious, you really didn’t like your stepmother very much, did you?”

  She folded her arms across her chest. “What was your first clue?”

  “The syrup you slung at her at the dog club,” I said.

  “Along with the curses you flung at her as you were being dragged out of the building,” Dixie added.

  She laughed. “Yeah, well, let’s just say that Naomi and I weren’t exactly close. So I certainly wasn’t going to pass up an opportunity to publicly humiliate her.” She frowned. “But, surely, you two didn’t come here just to talk about how much I hated my stepmother. How can I help you?”

  I waited for Dixie to respond. She was so much better at thinking on her feet. “First, we came to offer our condolences. We visited your father yesterday, and he seemed devastated. We dropped off some food, but is there anything either of you need? Anything we can do?”

  For an instant, I noticed the first genuine sympathy from Brittney Keller. She may not have cared for her stepmother, but she obviously cared very strongly for her dad. “Thank you. Dad is devastated. He just sits around drinking and staring at that stupid award she got at the dog show and crying.” She huffed. “I have no idea why, but for some reason he loved that witch. No accounting for taste.”

  “I haven’t heard when the visitation will be. I’d like to go and pay my respects.”

  Brittney gave Dixie a cocky stare. “I didn’t think you and the Wicked Witch of East Tennessee were that tight. Didn’t you punch her out the other day?” She grinned and leaned forward. “Nice job, by the way.”

  Dixie blushed. “I’m sorry about that. I should have been able to control my temper, but . . . well, it’s something that I definitely regret.”

  She tsked. “Pity. I often wondered if Stepmomzilla and I mightn’t have gotten along a lot better if we’d been allowed to have a knock-down, drag-out fight.” She sighed and walked to her desk, where she picked up a cell phone. After a few swipes, she said, “Visitation is tomorrow at noon, and the funeral will immediately follow.” She gave Dixie the name of the funeral home and then tossed the phone back on her desk. “Needless to say, I won’t be attending, but you knock yourself out. Is that all?”

  “This building isn’t what I expected,” I said. “I guess I was envisioning something more . . . dog-friendly.”

  “Come with me.” She led us back through the door where she had entered, and the back of the building was bright and open. The building was long. “We have almost two-thousand square feet of indoor space equipped with three-quarter-inch RB rubber matting, sold as Tenderfoot flooring. It provides cushioning, traction, joint protection, and shock absorption.” There was a door at the back of the building that led to a larger fenced area. “This is another two thousand square feet of outdoor space that’s equipped with awnings for shaded play and a small pool.”

  The outdoor area appeared to have been part of the original building, with the roof removed to expose the area to the sunlight.

  Dixie pointed to the ceilings. “That’s pretty ingenious.”

  “The back of the building was in bad shape. The roof had collapsed, and there was a tree growing through the floor. Rather than spending tons of money to demolish and rebuild, we decided to salvage the walls, which were in good shape, and forget the roof. We shored up the front of the building and left the back.”

  Brittney was obviously pleased with what they’d done.

&n
bsp; However, I was still slightly confused. “Where are the dogs? I mean, this is a rescue, right?”

  “We’ve re-homed all of the dogs we had, and we’re moving to Florida to help with re-homing all of the former racing Greyhounds.” She glanced around. “It’s a pity. I’m going to miss this place.”

  Dixie asked. “What’s going to happen to this building?”

  “We’re going to try and sell it, but . . . I’m sure whoever buys it will just tear it down and build another yuppy pub, coffee bar or condos.”

  “I’ve read about the Hounds and Heroes. Don’t they meet here?”

  She shook her head. “Hounds and Heroes is an organization that trains retired Greyhounds for military service men and women, but all of the work is done through volunteers and foster pet parents.”

  We talked a bit more and went back inside to the office area. We took some of the brochures and then made our exit.

  Back in the car, Dixie’s phone rang. “This is B.J.” She swiped the phone. “Hello—”

  “Monica Jill’s having a meltdown,” B.J. said. “I’m going to need some backup. She wouldn’t give us any details but provided an address in Charleston, Tennessee.”

  I looked at Dixie. “What do you think is wrong?”

  “I don’t know, but wasn’t today the day that Monica Jill was supposed to get her results back on those tests?”

  We stared at each other for several moments, and then Dixie put the pedal to the metal and practically flew down the interstate. Then she took the winding country roads at a speed that left me gasping for breath and clutching the door armrest as we bounced and jostled. We passed horses, cows, turkeys, and what appeared to be a llama on our way into the backwoods, but eventually we arrived at a newly constructed home on the river. B.J. and Dr. Morgan’s cars were already in the driveway. We pulled up behind them and hurried to the door.