Give the Dog a Bone

by Leslie O'Kane

  Tired and thoroughly discouraged, I rubbed my eyes. “I don’t think so, Mom. I don’t know how I could even begin to go about untangling myself at this point. Until this murderer gets arrested, I’m just . . . trapped into being a part of everything.”

  “You could stay with your brother for a couple of weeks, couldn’t you? Leave Maggie with me and just—” I was already shaking my head and Mom added angrily, “You don’t need to be a hero.”

  “I’m not trying to be one. Just to do what’s right by my late client and his dog. Now, suddenly I feel like a duck in a shooting gallery.”

  “Then get out of the gallery, Allie! Do what this . . . Mary Culberson did. Go away for a few weeks!”

  “And desert my business now that it’s finally getting to be profitable?”

  “If that’s the price you have to pay to stay safe, yes!”

  “But, Mom, what if the police don’t ever catch the killer? Am I supposed to stay away forever?” I gestured at the closed door, where Maggie’s whines had mutated into howls. “I’ve got to rehome Maggie eventually. I’m stuck with that responsibility, whether or not I . . . go into hiding first.”

  Mom set her lips in a straight line and rose. I knew she was angry at the situation and not at me, but that didn’t make things any easier. “I don’t understand any of this,” she muttered as she let herself out, pulling Maggie with her.

  “Neither do I.” I got back into bed, though I knew sleep would now be out of the question.

  At seven-thirty A.M., the doorbell rang. It was the detective who had interviewed me following Ruby’s murder. He wanted to know what, if anything, I knew about Mary’s disappearance. I told him everything that Theodora said during her phone call to me. I added that Theodora had known Mary—and Ken—a lot better than I had. In case it was relevant, I recounted yesterday’s conversation with Terry Thames about the anonymous caller, and Mary’s having threatened to sue him. He informed me that Theodora had, in his words, “turned herself in” last night.

  If any of what I said was enlightening to the detective, he masked his interest well. After my being of no help to him, he left. Mom had some flying lessons scheduled, and she left soon after the detective did.

  Today Maggie was either going to have to be left home alone or come with me on client calls. Either way, she needed to show better manners and obedience than she’d displayed last night. I worked with her in the backyard, going over sit-stay-lie-down routines, which she performed adequately.

  It was a gorgeous morning, with a slight chill to the air that would soon warm from the bright sun. Pavlov, Sage, and Doppler would be happy to stay outside today, and I’d greatly prefer to let Maggie be with them. That meant, though, that Maggie would be in the backyard, potentially driving the neighbors crazy with her barking.

  To test her behavior, I left her out back and drove around the block. When I returned, quietly letting myself in through the gate, she was tunneling under the fence as fast as her paws could go. The other dogs were watching her progress with interest.

  Spotting me, she stopped digging and trotted up to me as if she hadn’t a care in the world. This was not a dog whose past experience had taught her to make the usual canine association—property damage plus owner’s return equals a scolding—which so many owners misinterpret to mean “my dog feels guilty because he knows he’s been bad.”

  I looked at the tunnel, sighed, then looked at the dog. “Maggie, you know what? Don’t tell my clients, but I don’t have the time or energy for this.” I haphazardly pushed the pile of dirt back in place with my foot, grabbed Maggie’s collar to keep her from running away, and led her to my car.

  As we drove, I scolded myself. Here I was, not practicing what I preached. My actions were the very anathema of the dog trainer—I was rewarding bad behavior by giving the dog what it wants. Ah, well. Nobody is as insightful with their own troubles as they are with others’.

  At a stoplight, I glanced into the back seat. “You know, Maggie, I’m only doing this this one time because I got so little sleep last night. Then had to lose so much of the morning talking with the police. Fortunately, I know you understand every word I’m saying so I won’t have to undo any setbacks my laziness has caused.”

  We went to my appointments. Although I had a full load for the next few hours, I was fortunate enough to have them with dog owners flexible enough to allow me to put Maggie in their backyards while we worked indoors. My busy schedule had also provided me with much-needed distraction. I managed to push from my mind all thoughts about the murders.

  Those thoughts came crashing back when I pulled into my parking space at the office that afternoon and saw a horrible sight: Theodora engaged in conversation with my friendly loose-lipped media maven, Tracy Truett, on the sidewalk in front of my entranceway.

  “Damn it!” I smacked the steering wheel with the heel of my hand. Knowing Tracy, tomorrow’s radio broadcast was going to be all about the story of a psychic’s exorcism of a certain golden retriever.

  I fastened a leash on Maggie’s collar, and we got out of the car. Tracy spotted me and called over her shoulder to Theodora, “So this is the actual dog right here, isn’t it?”

  “As a matter of fact, yes,” Theodora answered proudly.

  I looked at Tracy, taking in her typical flamboyant outfit—all the way from her brightly colored loose-fitting blouse and scarf down to the knees of her black lycra leggings. Her bleached-blond hair was in its spikes and her eyelashes thick with mascara. Under the circumstances, I was unable to muster any appreciation at seeing my friend again. “Let me guess. You heard about Ken’s ex-wife’s disappearance last night and came here hoping to get a scoop.”

  Tracy laughed and gave my arm a squeeze. “No, I’d never use the phrase ‘get a scoop’ from someone who works with dogs. Pooper Scoopers are the last thing I need.”

  Out of respect for our friendship, I resisted making a crack about the type of shovel I felt she needed for her show.

  “Plus, I wanted to drop this off. The tape you wanted to borrow. I hope it proves helpful.” Keeping up her guise, she turned to Theodora and said conspiratorially, “Relaxation tape,” then slipped me the tape, which I pocketed. I hoped she’d made a copy of just the anonymous phone call so I wouldn’t have to listen to her whole show; having to listen to a three-hour discussion about Ken’s murder would be as far from relaxing as a recording could possibly get. Plus, Theodora had already admitted to making the call.

  I shifted my attention to Theodora. “You’re not in jail, I see. That’s a good sign.”

  She beamed at me and tossed her long hair from her shoulders. She had bounced back well from last night’s trauma, I thought sourly. She was wearing the same purple frock she’d worn yesterday. “I suddenly had this vision that I needed to drop in on you now. And, as a result, I’m going on your friend’s show tomorrow.”

  I gritted my teeth and glared at Tracy.

  “You’re not pleased, I know,” Tracy interjected, in an obvious attempt at cutting me off. “But we’ll keep your name out of it. I promise.”

  “That’s nice. Mind keeping everything having to do with Maggie out of it as well?”

  She let her jaw drop as if at the absurdity of my request. “Then I wouldn’t have a theme for the show. Sorry. No can do.”

  I deliberately held Maggie on a short leash, so that she couldn’t try to make friends with Tracy or Theodora. “How about if I threaten to never speak to you again, quit the softball team, and ask Russell to quit as well? Then could you find a new theme?”

  Tracy’s face fell, again overdramatizing her reaction, but this time with more sincerity. “Hmm. Well, that does put me in a bit of a jam. You we could get around, but Russell’s irreplaceable. We barely won without him.”

  She was kidding. I was one of the best players on the team, and we both knew it. Plus, we were friends, even though unorthodox issues kept cropping up and driving a wedge between us. Such as her theory that her right to fre
e speech gave her a license to trample all over my right to privacy.

  Tracy turned to Theodora. “Change in themes. We’ll focus exclusively on how your psychic abilities led you to discover another potential victim last night.” She turned back to me, studied my features, and said, “I get the feeling that this isn’t a good time for me to visit. I’ll talk to you soon. Such as at tomorrow night’s softball game. Don’t forget, or I’ll have to bench you for two weeks.”

  “I won’t forget.”

  She smiled, tossed her long scarf over her shoulder in a final dramatic gesture—I suspected she often wore scarves precisely because they allowed her to make that motion—then she turned and gave Theodora’s hand a quick squeeze. “Theo, see you tomorrow at the station. We’ll kick ass.”

  Tracy headed down Broadway toward downtown Boulder. I unlocked my office door and let Maggie in first. I asked Theodora, “Do the police have any idea what Mary’s note meant?”

  “No.” Now that she was no longer in Tracy’s presence, her cheer quickly fell away and she looked exhausted and sad. She combed her fingers through her long hair. “I was up all night talking to them. Nowadays I’m getting used to less sleep. It’s getting so that I’m afraid to close my eyes at night.”

  “I know what you mean.” I unfastened the leash, and Maggie trotted off to investigate the new scents in the room since her last visit.

  Theodora dropped down into a chair near my desk and indicated that I should do the same, which was nervy since this was my office. “Allida, something is very wrong.”

  “Even I, with my paltry five senses, realize that much.”

  Ignoring my mood, she seemed to deliberately put herself in a trancelike state. By the time I was seated at my desk, she was rocking slightly. With her eyes half closed, she said in hypnotic tones, “There is a dangerous energy shift in your aura, Allie. I can read it as plainly as if you were crying aloud for help.”

  “Somebody has murdered two people I’ve met in the last week. How placid do you expect my aura to be?”

  Theodora stared into my eyes. “The dogs will go wild with this cosmic energy. They’re very intuitive creatures, you know.”

  “Yes, I’m well aware of that.”

  She shut her eyes. After nearly a minute of silence, which seemed interminable, she said, “The worst is yet to come, Allie.” Her face was a portrait of sorrow, and she shook her head as if to blot it out. “Another attempt will be made. We are both in jeopardy, you and I.”

  “From whom?”

  She opened her eyes, lifted a shoulder, and looked to the heavens. “If only I could control my visions, I might know. But that’s just not the way they work.” She rose. She watched Maggie as she trotted toward me and lay down at my feet. “Watch the dogs, Allida. They’re your only warning. Your only defense.”

  I studied her. She was being utterly sincere. If she was a mere scam artist, she had come to believe in her own scam. “I’ll do that,” I said. “I guess it’s a good thing you’ve got your . . . visions to serve as your own personal watchdog, right?”

  “Indeed.” She gave me a long look, then said, “I’ve got to get back to my office. I’ve got a client coming in a few minutes. What I really need now is a lawyer, to clear up matters in Wisconsin. At least one good thing has happened lately. This Tracy Truett show will help me get new clients. Thank you.”

  “That was totally unintentional on my part, of course, since I wasn’t even here, but you’re welcome. I hope things work out for you.”

  She left and I found myself alone in my office, not counting Maggie. I immediately retrieved the tape of Tracy’s show and looked at it. On the label, Tracy had written a number followed by the words: female caller. Maybe Theodora, if she was indeed the caller, had said something that would be a clue.

  Russell sometimes used a tape recorder. He was such a cautious sort that he took oral notes when going over his designs. I let myself into his office and searched his desk, then his filing cabinet. Indeed, his bottom drawer contained a tape recorder, and I plugged it in and inserted the tape. Maggie let out a little whine, and I saw her looking at me from the doorway. She was worried that I was trying to trick her into feeling content to be in this room, then would leave her alone in here again. That reminded me that I had yet to replace his door. And that I hadn’t fed his stupid goldfish since Sunday. Talk about pathetic girlfriends!

  “You won’t give me your name?” Tracy was saying, distracting me from further self-abasement.

  “Just call me Jane.” I couldn’t tell for certain if this was Theodora; the caller was obviously deliberately disguising her voice, speaking in the breathy tones of someone with a bad case of laryngitis.

  “All right, Jane. You say you know something about the recent murders in the trailer park?”

  “I know that if I were the police, I’d be talkin’ to Ken Culberson’s therapist, Terry Thames. He’d been using HypnoReiki on him.”

  “You were a friend of Mr. Culberson’s, and he told you about his therapy?”

  “I’m acquainted with Dr. Thames. I figured exactly what he was up to. Ken Culberson was rich, with no kids or wife. Thames was using hypnotic suggestion to convince Ken to make him his inheritor. Thames was trying to drive Ken nuts . . . trying to make it so he could get himself appointed as his legal guardian.”

  “That’s quite an accusation. Do you have any proof to back any of this up?”

  “It’s not like I got a signed confession or anything. But I can read auras accurately. They’re like personal diaries of the soul.”

  “That’s Theodora, all right,” I said aloud, just as Tracy’s taped voice was cutting to a commercial break. Theodora, I was certain, was just trying to get publicity. During tomorrow’s broadcast, she would probably even reveal herself as the caller. I listened to the remainder of the taped conversation, which ended shortly after they returned from the commercial. Tracy had obviously begun to suspect that this aura-reading caller was a fruitcake, for Tracy cut Theodora off when she started talking about what an “innocent aura” Ken had possessed. I wondered how long it would take Tracy during tomorrow’s show to figure out that the fruitcake and her guest were one and the same.

  After putting everything away and locking Russell’s office behind me, I checked my messages on my new answering machine and found that I had a couple of inquiries from potential new clients. That was good news for me, but I couldn’t shake a prevailing sadness. Two people were dead. For what? Because Ken Culberson was an eccentric loner who didn’t spend his money and, instead, left it to his beloved golden retriever?

  Mary had had the most to gain by his death and might have orchestrated the whole thing. Had she worked with someone else and then grown afraid of her partner in crime? I still suspected that Ruby had witnessed the murder or some piece of it that endangered the killer.

  The thoughts continued to “dog” me as I headed east to work with a dog in Longmont late that afternoon. This was a mixed breed, a recent acquisition from the Humane Society in Boulder. The dog had not acclimated well to his new home and was terrorizing the children’s rabbits, despite their being physically protected by their hutches. The dog’s territorializing had increased such that he considered it his responsibility to keep everyone and every animal from entering his reign of control, which was two feet or so to the other side of the fence. My task was to shrink his boundaries to a more appropriate area, and his perceived status to a lower rung.

  To my disappointment and the owners’ discouragement, we had a bad day. The dog was obstinate and seemingly had unlearned all progress he’d made to date. I reassured the owners as best I could afterward that there were always peaks and valleys in anyone’s “learning curve,” including dogs’. We set up another appointment, and I hoped that they wouldn’t fire me in the interim. Afterward, I had enough time to drop off Maggie at home. Mom had returned from work and was willing to assume responsibility for Maggie on my behalf. It felt as though Mom and I were teamed in a nev
er-ending marathon, with Maggie functioning as the baton to pass.

  It was a late night for me, working as I was on not just one but two separate cases of fearful dogs—always the greatest challenge. Fearful dogs can bite for no reason, plus it’s easier to retrain a dog to overcome one specific behavioral problem than it is to change a personality characteristic. Afterward I kept a social engagement made weeks ago with some friends from high school. I deliberately evaded the subject matter of the murders in Boulder, which were on my friends’ minds, just as they were on all Boulderites’ minds.

  It was dark as I drove home up Hover Road; dark except for the headlights of the person tailgating me, that is. I kept hoping that the car would turn off, but it was still tailing me by the time we reached a relatively deserted stretch of road. The bright lights reflecting off my rearview mirror were so annoying that I pulled onto the shoulder of the road to let the person pass, but the driver merely turned her high beams on and pulled in behind me.

  My heart rate increased instantly. For a moment I assumed it was an unmarked police car, but the driver made no move to put official lights on the car roof. I certainly wasn’t going to stay here or risk getting out of my vehicle, so I pulled a quick U-turn.

  The other car did the same. Within moments, it was right on my bumper. Shit! I tried to see if I could identify the make of car or the driver, but the headlights were blinding.

  What should I do? Common wisdom was to drive to the nearest police station, but a few years ago in Denver, a woman tried to do exactly that, only to be shot in the police parking lot.

  I decided to keep going south on Hover until I reached the Twin Peaks shopping mall. The parking lot was well-lit. Maybe the driver wouldn’t risk following me, for fear of being identified.

  I made a sharp left turn into the parking lot of the mall, my tires screeching. The other car flew past the entrance. At that speed, it had to have turned west on the Diagonal back to Boulder. Meanwhile, I drove through the mall lot to head east on the Diagonal, to head toward Longmont. I ran the red light rather than risk giving the other driver enough time to turn around and pick up my car again at this intersection.