After examining Maggie’s claw marks in the wood, I put Buy Russell a new door on my list of things to do. Then I called Yolanda to see if she could shed any light on whether Ken and Mary had still been married when Ken purchased Maggie. If so, Mary and I might be in for a legal battle, because there was no way I would ever allow that woman to take custody of Maggie.
Yolanda answered on the first ring. I identified myself and asked whether or not the police were still investigating next door.
“Oh, you better believe it. Got the whole place dug up now.”
“They’re digging up Ken’s lawn?”
“Mmm-hmmm. It’s like they’re digging for oil.” That was interesting. They must be looking for more bones, though the bigger issue would surely be how and why someone’s stolen bones had wound up in some construction site in Ken’s neighborhood. “I was wondering how well you knew Mary, Ken’s ex-wife.”
“Miss Hoity Toit? Oh, she’d never associate with the likes of me. No one could figure out why she’d associate with the likes of Ken either, for that matter.”
“Were you in the neighborhood before they moved in?”
“Before she moved in, sure. Ken was here long before either of us, though.”
“How about Maggie? Was she Ken’s before or after their divorce? Do you know?”
“Can’t say for sure. But Mary never lived here with Maggie. I do know that much.”
“So she had moved out by the time Ken brought Maggie home?”
“Right. Weren’t like her to take to something soft and cuddly. That kinda described Ken, too, now that I think about it.” She sighed. “Poor guy. Wrecked his life when he met that . . . woman.”
“Did you ever see Mary with Maggie?”
“Just enough to know she hated that dog.”
I was curious about whether or not Yolanda had any suspicions about Mary’s faked death, so I asked casually, “Did you go to her funeral services?”
“They didn’t hold ’em in Colorado. ’Cording to Ken, the services were held back east or someplace, wherever her people are from. Not that I would’ve gone even if they were right next door, mind you.”
There was no hint of deceit in her voice. She truly seemed to believe that Mary was dead, too. She also appeared to have had no idea that Ken Culberson had been wealthy. Testing, I asked, “Did you get the impression that Mary had married Ken for his money?”
“Did you say ‘his money’?” She laughed heartily. “Oh, right. That must’ve been it. She just took one look at that luxurious trailer of his and was swept right off her feet.” She had another laughing fit. “Matter of fact, ever since my Robert passed away, I gots to beat off suitors with a stick for that very reason.”
Despite the seriousness of the situation, her words made me smile. Also, it was reassuring to know that there was at least one person in Ken’s life who’d apparently cared for him for his own sake and not his money. “Thanks for speaking with me, Yolanda. I’d better let you go now.”
“If’n you’re having trouble finding someone to take his dog, I’d be happy to. Unless you want to see the dog stay in the family, that is.”
“Did he have family?”
“Mmm-hmm. His brother Arlen lives in the area. He and Ken had a falling out, but he still came over to visit Ken once a month or so.”
“Do you happen to have Arlen’s address or phone number?”
“No, sorry.”
“That’s okay. I’m sure there’s only one Arlen Culberson in town. Thanks again.”
“No problem. But like I said, watch your backside,” Yolanda said and then hung up.
The phone rang. I glanced at my watch, prepared to be surprised if this was Joanne Palmer calling me back so soon. It had been a long, hard day, and I found myself hoping that this would be my last appointment, calling to reschedule. I picked up the phone and said, “Hello, this is—”
“Allida,” my mother interrupted. “I just heard on the news that the police are investigating the death of a man in a trailer park. And that his body was discovered by his dog’s trainer. Please tell me that wasn’t you.”
“I wish I could,” I murmured.
“Oh, my God. Was that Maggie’s owner?”
“Yes, and that’s not the half of it. Ken left all his money to her and appointed me her temporary guardian, and now his ex-wife, who Ken thought was dead, has shown up and says that she and Ken were joint owners of Maggie before their divorce.”
“So she wants Maggie.”
“Right. And she’s this . . . horrid gold digger. She’s getting this dog over my—” I stopped myself from saying “dead body,” realizing the possibility, somewhere, of a killer who would be willing to turn that phrase into more than a figure of speech. “I don’t know what to do. I don’t even have an approximate purchase date for Maggie, and I don’t know when they divorced.”
“That might not matter, if he was smart. He could have put a clause in his divorce settlement about his having sole custody of Maggie.”
I scoffed. “You never met Ken. He was something of an idiot savant . . . totally naive and incapable in some respects.”
“Call my friend, Carol Ann Wilson. She’s a financial advisor for divorces. Maybe she can give you some insights.”
I glanced again at my watch and decided I had time to make the call and got the number from my mother. Then she said, “I take it Maggie will be living with us for a while.”
“ ’Fraid so. I hope you don’t mind.”
“Of course not. Living with dogs is easy. For one thing, you know not to expect your dogs to keep you informed.”
I winced. I’d started to think I was going to get off scot-free for failing to call my mother at the first opportunity and tell her about the mess I was in. Before I could apologize, Mom said, “My student’s here. I’ll see you at home.”
“Have a good—”
She hung up. Her next student could be in for a rough flight. Mom’s a pilot and gives flying lessons part-time.
I called Carol Ann and introduced myself as “Allida Babcock, Marilyn’s daughter.”
“Hi, Allida. How are you?” she asked pleasantly.
“Fine. But something’s come up at work that I’m hoping you can help me with. A client of mine died recently, and I need to know how to find out about some of the terms of his divorce settlement.”
“Did the divorce take place in Boulder?”
“Yes, about two years ago.”
“That’s all a matter of public record. You could go to the Clerk of Court’s office at the courthouse.”
“Great. Thanks.”
“In fact, I’m going to be there with a client this afternoon anyway. If you’d like, I can look the information up for you myself.”
“Could you? That’d be great. The couple’s name was Culberson. Ken and Mary.”
There was a pause, and I assumed Carol Ann was simply writing down the names, but she said, “That’s a coincidence. Mary Culberson was a former client of mine.”
“She was?”
“Briefly. She hired me and then refused to take my advice. If memory serves, twice a year, her ex received large payments for some television circuit he’d invented. He wanted to give her half of those payments semiannually, as well. Against my advice, she insisted on demanding a one-time cash settlement. She was impossible to work with—always insistent that she knew everyone’s job better than they did. Eventually she fired both me and her lawyer. Even so, she called me afterwards, absolutely livid, to tell me how she’d made a paltry settlement, something on the order of two or three hundred thousand.”
“Did she ever claim to you that Ken had physically abused her?”
“No, and it was quite the other way around. One time, Ken came in with a black eye. He wouldn’t tell me how he got it. Then she got so irate during a meeting that she punched him, right in front of me and both lawyers.”
“Do you remember if they had a dog? Or if they ever discussed the dog’s custody?�
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“No . . . I’m pretty sure the subject of a dog never came up, but I can’t say for certain. Want me to check the records for that?”
“Could you please? I need any information on the dog, including the date of purchase, as well as the date the Culbersons’ divorce was finalized.” I could see my next client approaching—a woman carrying her puppy. Maggie, too, spotted them and started barking. Uh, oh. Wrong client for such a harsh greeting. I said hurriedly, “Carol Ann, thank you so much. I’ve got to go. I’ll call you from my mom’s.” I hung up and rushed to the door.
Sally—my new client—had arrived early. I held up my palm to indicate for her to wait a moment. Sally had called to complain that the dog was afraid of nearly everything that moved. Having a large golden clawing at the other side of a door was not going to be conducive to overcoming those fears.
The woman, paling at the sight of Maggie, looked ready to flee. I shouted through the glass to her, “I’m going to put this dog in the other office. I’ll be right back.”
I grabbed a rawhide bone from a cabinet drawer, then dragged Maggie into Russell’s office with me. Moving his couch back a few inches, I then dropped the bone back there. This way she would occupy herself with trying to figure out how to retrieve the bone. Sending up a small prayer that she wouldn’t shred the upholstery in the process, I left, noting that so far, my strategy seemed to be working. Maggie was indeed transfixed by the hidden treasure and was trying to wedge herself between the wall and the back of the couch.
I returned to my office, where Sally was seated along with her mixed-breed puppy, Sebastian, though my current view of him was of his rear end as he burrowed behind her cardigan. I apologized profusely and explained that, no, their having been greeted by a large barking dog was not part of my desensitizing training, but rather an unfortunate complication. I gave her the option of rescheduling, but she declined.
Not repeating my mistake with Ken and Maggie, we began our session by filling out a full background report on Sebastian. My first impression was that Sally herself was actually much more timid and jumpy than her puppy. Fearfulness in dogs is one of the hardest problems to overcome and can be very serious, because a fearful dog is often a biter. In this case, it was clear that I would have to start by assuring the owner that her dog was picking up on her own nervousness.
Not fifteen minutes into our session, Mary barged through the door. Sally gasped and shrank back into her chair. The puppy jumped and started yipping, while cowering behind his owner’s chair.
“God! More damned barking dogs,” Mary snarled. She pointed at me. “I have to speak to you for a minute.”
“Not now. I’m with a client.”
“Suit yourself, but I’m here as a courtesy. Just wanted to tell you that you’d better get yourself a lawyer.”
I sighed in exasperation and turned to Sally. “I’m sorry. This will just take a minute.”
“That’s okay. Take your time.” She smiled nervously. It was quite obvious that, between Maggie’s greeting and Mary’s interruption, I was not making the best of impressions on my client.
I held the now-scratched-up door to Russell’s office. Maggie started barking, but at least didn’t barge through the door—yet. Mary started to follow me, then turned to Sally and said, “If I were you, I wouldn’t waste my time waiting on her. Unless you want to find yourself in my shoes, having to hire a lawyer to get your dog back.”
Incensed, I thrust my finger in Mary’s face. “You’d better ask your lawyer for a definition of the word ‘slander.’ ” I turned back to Sally, whose jaw was agape as she pressed back into her chair in horror. “Again, I’m sorry. I’ll explain everything just as soon as I handle this.”
For the sake of Maggie and my clients, I gently closed the door behind me instead of slamming it. “What?” I asked through a tight jaw.
She glanced at the fervently barking Maggie, but then returned her focus to me. “My lawyer tells me that we can get punitive damages from you for trying to keep Maggie yourself, in spite of my husband’s wishes.”
“Your ex-husband, you mean, and I am doing no such thing.”
“My lawyer also told me that since Ken believed his dog was channeling me, he obviously meant to leave his money to me, had he not believed that I’d already died.”
“A thought pattern which would, in turn, make you the prime suspect.”
She grinned at me. “Maybe so, but fortunately, I have an alibi.”
“Good for you.”
Mary gave me a haughty smirk. “I’m innocent of my late husband’s murder. But I want what is rightfully mine. Besides, anyone with half a brain could figure out that Ken’s last-minute change to his will wasn’t legal. You’re holding onto this dog when you have no legal rights whatsoever to do so.”
“Look, lady. Yesterday I was hired by a sweet but eccentric man to work with his sweet but badly behaved golden. I want nothing more than to see to it that Maggie is placed in a good home and to never have to hear about Ken’s inheritance again.”
“Good for you,” she fired back at me with relish. “As for me, I want what is rightfully mine. And my lawyer is going to see to it that I get every penny that’s coming to me.”
“Perhaps it’s time you let this lawyer of yours speak for himself. Up until I hear from him and the courts tell me otherwise, I’m going to do what I think is right.”
Her voice and mannerisms suddenly softened. “Maybe I can help you figure that out. See, if you give this dog to anyone but me, you’re not getting a dime of my late husband’s money, Allie; however, just to hurry this along, I’ll cut you in on a percentage or two of the inheritance. We’re talking thousands of dollars, just for you to do what the courts will eventually decide anyway. It’ll be way more money than you make in a whole month of dog duty.”
I gritted my teeth and put my hand on the doorknob. “Ms. Culberson, or whatever you wish to be called, I will see to it that you don’t get this dog if it’s the last thing I do.” I swung the door open and held it for her.
She pursed her lips and, again, narrowed her eyes at me. “Watch what you wish for.”
She marched past me, then stopped and chuckled. Sporting a big grin, she turned back to me, gesturing at her surroundings with a sweep of both arms. “By the way. Seems that your client took my advice and left.”
The phone rang, helping me to keep a caustic reply to myself. I answered. In a smoldering voice, the caller immediately said, “This is Dr. Thames. I’ve just completed a rather lengthy interview with the Boulder police.”
“Yes, I gave them your name.”
“We’re even, then. I’ve known all along that he was leaving his money to his dog. So when they asked me if I knew of anyone who might have a motive to kill Ken Culberson, your name was the first one that came to mind.”
He hung up before I could reply.
Chapter 9
Maggie fell asleep in the back seat as I drove home without needing her harness. To me, however, it felt as though a belt were tightly cinched across my rib cage. Through no fault of my own, I was making enemies of the small circle of people in Ken Culberson’s life, one of whom might very well have murdered him. I ran bits and pieces of past conversations through my head—with Ken’s therapist, Maggie’s vet, T-Rex’s owner, and his now-no-longer-late ex-wife.
Ruby had warned me about Ken, yet he had been nothing but friendly toward her. In retrospect, it seemed to me that she’d deliberately lied to me, driven by some ulterior motive to suit her own agenda. Maybe she knew about Ken’s wealth, had designs on him, and wanted to keep away the competition. Or perhaps her reasons weren’t as sinister as all that. Maybe she had been the major complainant against Maggie to Animal Control and had simply convinced herself that her actions against Ken had been justified.
Regardless, here I was having taken temporary ownership of an orphan dog who had been overly attached to her owner. Without him, she was going to be horribly insecure, which can drive dogs to s
uch awful behaviors as self-mutilation and defecating inside the home. I shuddered at the thought of how that would go over with my mother.
“So,” I muttered to myself. “I’m ticking off a murderer while I try to decide who gets a millionaire dog that might crap on my mother’s carpeting. My life’s a multicolored tapestry, all right.”
I had to find a good home for Maggie soon. Maybe Ken’s brother would be the answer. I tried to cheer myself with that possibility while quieting the nagging voice in my head: if Ken had thought his brother should own Maggie, he’d have stated so in his will.
Maggie awoke as I pulled into the garage. I left her in the car until I could properly greet my dogs in their rightful order—from top dog down. This meant my German shepherd, Pavlov, followed by Sage—a male collie who was top dog when my mother entered the house but yielded authority and lagged back when I entered—and last, by my buff-and-white-colored cocker spaniel, Doppler. My mother wasn’t home yet so the totem pole consisted exclusively of four-leggers. Then I brought in Maggie.
Properly prepared, the dogs got along fine. I headed straight to the TV. Ken’s death—reported only as having been under “suspicious circumstances”—was on the evening news.
I made dinner when my mother got home, and while we ate, she expressed concern for the ordeal I’d suffered regarding Ken’s death. She’d obviously forgiven me for not calling to tell her about that “ordeal” myself. After dinner, I found Ken’s brother’s name listed in the Longmont directory and called him. The man who answered said, “Yeah?” instead of hello. His voice was eerily similar to his brother’s.
“My name is Allida Babcock. Is this Arlen Culberson?”
“Yeah.”
“Your brother hired me yesterday to work with his dog. Though I’d only just met him, I liked Ken a great deal. I’m terribly sorry for your loss.”
“Yeah. Me, too. I mean, thanks. What can I do for you?” His voice betrayed no discernible emotion but, after all, why would he express his feelings to a total stranger on the phone?
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