“Ken put me in the position of trying to determine custodianship of his dog. I was hoping that the two of us could arrange to meet in the near future so that we could discuss the matter.”
There was a pause. “He asked you to do that? Last time Ken spoke to me about his will, he told me he was planning on leaving all his money to Maggie. Did he go through with that?”
Bone weary, I rubbed my forehead. This again—Ken’s money first and foremost on everyone’s minds. “Yes, though I don’t know anything about the legalities of such a thing. For all I know, the courts might say the will isn’t legal and your brother’s assets are to be divided among his survivors. I’m just following through on what he asked of me. Which was to find his dog a good home.” In the corner of my vision, Mom looked up from the book she was reading and gave me a reassuring smile.
“Oh. Right. Of course. And I def’nitely want the dog. In any case. Even if the dog’s got no money. I didn’t even know Ken had kept his will that way. That was almost two years ago when we talked about it. Back when he first got the puppy and him and Mary was divorcing.”
“Do you happen to know if the divorce was finalized before or after Ken bought Maggie?”
“Before. They was already divorced, then he got Maggie. I seen to that myself. Tol’ Ken he’d best be careful so’s Mary wouldn’t be able to use his pup in a tug-of-war to weasel more money outta him.”
“Good advice,” I said, though I was thinking that Arlen’s recollections could be tainted by his knowledge of the dog’s inheritance. “Does Maggie know you at all?”
“Oh, sure. The dog’s a good buddy of mine.”
“Good,” I murmured, though we would have to see about that. At least Arlen was a possible candidate for adopting Maggie.
“Ken ’n’ me used to talk all the time. Course, it made it harder that he didn’t drive and RTD don’t get all that close. Nearest stop’s ten blocks away. But I’d come over to his trailer every couple of weeks.”
Then why the “falling out” that Yolanda had mentioned? Why had Ken cut his own brother out of the will? I would probably have to learn the answers, but this was not the time to ask. “Are you free tomorrow morning?”
“Yeah, sure. Name the time and place.”
I wanted to see for myself how suitable the home itself would be, so we agreed to meet at nine A.M. at his home, and he gave me directions.
After I’d hung up the phone, Mom asked, “How did—” She was interrupted when Maggie galloped into the room and leapt onto her lap. “Off!” she cried, giving Maggie a good shove. Maggie landed on all fours with a little whine. Mom said to her, “Well, sorry, but you’ve got to learn some basic manners!” She looked at me. “You’re planning on taking tomorrow off to work with Maggie. Right?”
That was more an instruction than a question, and I normally did take midweek days off and worked weekends, but business had been too demanding lately. “I’ve got some time off in the morning, but I’m too busy in the afternoon to take time off.” I looked at Maggie, who was panting and looking very insecure. I very much doubted that my mother knew how prone this made Maggie to lose basic-housebreaking skills, nor did I wish to share this particular insight. “You might want to keep her in the backyard as much as possible.”
The phone rang and I answered. It was Carol Ann Wilson. She gave me the date of the divorce decree and said, “There was no mention of a dog at all in the divorce settlement for the Culbersons.” I thanked her, thinking to myself that this, at least, was looking good. Their divorce had been finalized in early June, slightly more than two full years ago. Mary was not going to be able to claim joint ownership of Maggie.
Exhausted from the events of the last twenty-four hours, I went to bed early and fell right to sleep. During bleary, half-stages of slumber, I dreamt that someone was trying to knock down my door.
My mom called, “Wake up, Allie,” and an instant later, my door flew open and a seventy-pound golden retriever burst into the room and launched herself onto me and my bed.
While struggling to push her off me, I cried, “What’s happening?”
“The thunder,” Mom said. “She’s going nuts. Didn’t you hear it?”
“No. I . . .”
Maggie’s whole body was trembling. She’d moved to the side of me on my bed and was desperately trying to dig her way down and under it.
“I’m sorry,” Mom said. “I just haven’t been able to do anything with her, and she’s got all the other dogs worked up, too.”
There was another crack of thunder outside, and Maggie resumed clawing at the sheets and blankets with a feverish intensity. Before I could get up and get my wits together, she’d leapt onto the floor and was now squeezing herself underneath the bed.
“What do we do?” Mom asked.
“Phosphorus pills. I’ve got some in my glove box. We should also get her down into the basement where it’ll be as quiet as possible.”
Mom grabbed Maggie’s collar. “You get the pills. I’ll get the dog downstairs.”
Happy to let my mother take the more physical part, I rushed out to the garage and found the small bottle of medication. The key was to get the dog to swallow an initial dose before he or she got into the kind of frenzy that Maggie was now fraught with, though.
To my pleasant surprise, once we were in the basement and I was seated on Mom’s old couch, Maggie hopped onto my lap and settled down. Though she trembled terribly when the thunder hit, she stayed on my lap. I talked to her soothingly, and eventually we both fell asleep.
By morning, if I’d had a tail, it would have been dragging. Mom had already left for an early-morning flight instruction by the time I painfully made my way up the stairs from our basement. I’d slept in a semi-upright position and was pretty sure that the circulation had been permanently cut off from my feet and ankles from holding such a heavy dog on my lap for so long.
Maggie, on the other hand, looked fresh and ready to take on the day. She attached herself to my hip, at least to the extent that the other dogs allowed. “Time to meet your uncle,” I told her.
I got her into the car, but didn’t have the energy to get her into the seatbelt harness. She’d slept in my back seat yesterday, so she was starting to mellow a little. I gave her a rawhide bone, and she gnawed on that peacefully.
In his straw hat, plaid shirt, baggy jeans, and leather boots, Arlen Culberson was dressed like a rancher, but lived in a modest two-story home in one of the residential neighborhoods that had sprung up to surround the golf courses between Boulder and Longmont. He was a thinner, older version of his brother, and I got the perverse image of him as Ken, after having been left out in the sun to dry like a raisin. His open garage was full of television sets in various states of disrepair. He was tinkering at a workbench in the back when I pulled into his driveway. He tried to give Maggie a pat through the car window, but he quickly withdrew his hand when she barked at him. In and of itself, the barking meant nothing. Many dogs get territorial when confined in such a small enclosure as a car. For the time being I left her in the back seat and got out to talk with Arlen.
“Do you live here alone?” I asked.
“Yeah. Divorced, and the wife got the kids.” He gave a casual shrug, but his features revealed some resentment there. “Typical story.”
“Do you have a dog?”
“No, but that don’t mean I don’t like ’em. I do. I just don’t happen to own one.”
“Have you ever?”
“Oh, sure.”
“What kind?”
“A mutt.” His face had taken on a reddish hue, and I suspected he was lying.
“I love dogs, of course. Do you happen to have any pictures of yours?”
“No. My ex-wife got the photo albums, too.”
“What was your dog’s name?”
“Umm, Fido.”
I nodded, but was now convinced he was lying. Unfortunate, really, but this wasn’t in itself going to make me rule out Arlen as Maggie’s
permanent guardian. “Fido is a common name, but I have to say it’s one I’ve never understood. It’s always sounded to me like an acronym an engineer might come up with—First In, Dud Out.”
I grinned, mentally patting myself on the back. Here was a man tinkering with electronic parts, and I’d managed to forge a conversational bridge between his life’s work and mine. That was as close to charming as I ever came. Arlen, however, just scratched his nose and muttered, “He was a stray. Followed my kids home from school, and that was the dog’s name on his collar.”
I nodded again, thinking I could press the issue and point out that most “strays” didn’t have collars, but decided to let it pass.
He glanced over at the car, where Maggie was watching us intently. “So if you pick me as her new owner, does that mean I inherit the money?”
“I’m honestly not sure, Mr. Culberson.”
“Arlen. Please.”
“Is inheriting your brother’s money important to you?”
It was a stupid question, I knew, but I wanted to see his reaction. He furrowed his brow and looked at me. “Of course. I surely wouldn’t turn it down. But no more so than it would be to most folks. Wouldn’t buy a yuppie estate and move up the top of the hill, either. And I got enough of a yard to let Maggie roam around a bit. Yard’s as big as Kenny’s was at the trailer, and my house is a lot nicer.”
“That’s good,” I murmured. “What’s much more important to me, though, is how good of a caretaker you’re going to be for Maggie.”
“So you’re going to give her to me, then?” Arlen asked, brightening at the prospect.
“Not necessarily. I haven’t made up my mind yet. But let’s get Maggie out of the car.”
Arlen stiffened. “She’s . . . never been here before. She’s not going to be comfortable. I can guarantee it. But that don’t mean she won’t ever feel at home here.”
“Right. I’m going to take all of that into consideration.”
“Oh, sure. Course. It’ll be good to have Maggie. She’s a good dog.”
Truth be told, I couldn’t bring myself to believe that anyone who didn’t like dogs enough to own one would call Maggie a “good dog.” Maggie leapt out the car. I kept a leash on her. She was content to sniff the floors as Arlen gave us a tour. They ignored each other almost completely.
When our tour was complete, Arlen escorted us back into the garage. “As you can see, she’ll have a lot more room in my house than she had in Ken’s. I even got a fenced yard for her.”
“Do you want to see if she’ll walk on leash with you?”
“Oh, er, you want I should take her leash?”
“You don’t have to.”
“I’d rather not, then. How ’bout we schedule another visit another time, and I’ll show you how good we get along then. I’d like a chance to . . . I got an appointment to keep. Have to leave in a few minutes.”
Arlen was looking decidedly uncomfortable now. He had taken off his hat a moment earlier and was now turning it in a slow circle with his hands.
“It must have been very disappointing to you when you found out that your brother was leaving all of his money to his dog.”
Arlen put his hat back on and gave me a sheepish smile. “That was just Kenny, for you. He loved that . . . he loved Maggie so much, and he never did think twice about his money. It wasn’t important to him, and so he couldn’t imagine why it was important to other people.”
I nodded in agreement with Arlen’s assessment.
He gave me another smile, which could only be described as nervous, at best. “There wasn’t anything in his will that specifically excluded me from being able to get Maggie, was there?”
“I don’t think so, no. Was there a reason you expected there to be one?”
“No. No.” He shook his head. “We’ve had our share of disagreements, is all. Ken and me. Just like in any family. I’m sure you know what I mean.”
“Yes, I do. I’ve got a brother myself.” We both stared at Maggie, who seemed content to sit between us. This was decidedly un-Maggie-like behavior, but I doubted it would last, unfortunately. “It was nice meeting you, Arlen.”
He shook my hand enthusiastically. “Nice meeting you, too. So . . . you’ll call me, right? Or just drop by?” He reached into his jean back pocket and gave me his card. “About when you want Maggie to come back?”
I gave the card a quick glance and replied, “Yes. Unless you’d rather set up a time now.”
“No, I’d just as soon . . . wait a bit. Get things fixed up for her a bit.”
“ ‘Fixed up’?”
“Maybe build a doghouse, that sort of thing.”
“Don’t go out of your way, Arlen. As I said before, I haven’t made a decision yet and may need at least a couple of days.”
“Okay. Be hearing from you then.” He watched as Maggie eagerly hopped back into the back seat. I read his card. He was self-employed as a television repairman. His company name was Culberson TV Repairs. I wondered if, before Ken had struck it rich with his invention, that title had once been Culberson Brothers. He lifted a palm as we drove away. I needed to drop Maggie off at Mom’s house. I just couldn’t have her with me, tearing up Russell’s office or sitting in my car for hours on end.
We drove home. Maggie barreled past me and through the door, toward my mother. I managed to press the button on my noisemaker just before the exuberant dog could jump on my mother. The noise, which had emanated from my pocket, did its trick and she pulled up short and looked around.
Her attempt to rush toward my mother was a massive breach of dog etiquette, and Pavlov let her know this by barking at her and snapping in the direction of Maggie’s muzzle. This could have deteriorated into a fight, because Maggie was unaccustomed to being in another dog’s domain. Fortunately, Maggie did the right thing and backed off, while I played my part and greeted Pavlov first, then the other two dogs.
Meanwhile, Mom went back to searching for something in the junk drawer. She said over her shoulder, “I listened to an interesting little piece about your furry friend here on my drive home from the airport this morning.”
“You heard something about Maggie on the radio?” I asked in alarm.
“From our favorite talk-show host.”
“Oh, no.” A friend of mine, whose softball team I played on—and we had a game tonight, in fact—was forever blabbing things on the air about existing police investigations. Where she got her information was a mystery to me.
“Yes, Tracy broadcast the fact that Maggie, here, was the recipient of a substantial inheritance, and that you, local dog psychologist, were in the process of determining who Maggie’s caretaker should be.”
“That’s great,” I muttered. Though she was a fun person to be around and I enjoyed playing on her softball team, Tracy Truett was not one to hesitate to blab someone’s secret on the air, without considering the possible consequences.
“Now everyone listening to today’s show knows that we’ve got a millionaire dog in our yard.”
Chapter 10
Though perturbed at my deejay friend, I didn’t have time to stew about it. I wanted to pay a visit to Ruby before my first appointment to see how T-Rex was doing. I said good-bye to my mother, then had to go through considerable effort to get out the door without Maggie following. She was so good at getting her muzzle into the doorway, in fact, that I finally had to partially close the door on her face while pushing on her nose with one hand. Maggie was making me feel like a complete novice dog handler.
Ruby was home. I knew she’d blow up at me if I admitted I was there to check on her dog, so I said I was “in the neighborhood and thought I’d say hello.”
She smirked and said, “Seein’ as we’re such close friends you mean?”
Okay, not one of my better excuses. “How’s T-Rex feeling today?”
She gave me a hateful glare but, to my surprise, swung the door open and gestured for me to enter. “See for yourself. He’s his old self again.
I should’ve trusted myself. I knew there was nothing wrong with him.” As I stepped around her to look at her dog, she grumbled, “Now I s’pose you’re gonna try to convince me to hire you. And I wouldn’t pay you to squeeze his butt.”
“Good thing butt-squeezing isn’t on my list of specialties, then.” As devastating as that was to my self-image, I added to myself. Indeed, T-Rex seemed to be doing well. He wagged his tail and sniffed my breath as I got down on one knee to pet him.
“So where’s Maggie at?” Ruby asked. “Did she finally get herself taken to the pound?”
“No, she’s got a temporary home and is doing fine.”
“That won’t last. Dog’s a nuisance. Wait till this ‘temporary’ owner starts hearing from his neighbors.”
“Had you told Ken about how annoying you found his dog to be?”
“Sure. Didn’t do me no good, though.”
Someone tapped on the screen door immediately behind me, and I quickly stood up. It was a tall, pretty, fortyish blonde, attractively dressed in black slacks and a beige silk blouse. She gave me a winning smile. “Hello. My name is Rachel Taylor. Is Ruby Benjamin here?”
“I’m here,” Ruby answered, leaning around me to look at her visitor. “Come on in.”
“I brought the job application you asked for,” Rachel said, pulling a sheet of paper out of a folder as she entered the trailer.
“Application?”
“As I told you over the phone, for you to live in a person’s home and provide care, we’ll need references and work history.”
She glanced at both sides of the form as if overwhelmed at the notion of filling it out, which was understandable for an illiterate person.
I said to her, “I’m glad T-Rex is doing better.”
Ruby winced as though I’d let the cat out of the bag, which was true, but there was no way she was capable of being a health-care provider when she could misread the labels on her dog’s medicine bottles.
“T-Rex?” Rachel repeated. “Was your dog ill?”
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