Stay Calm and Collie On

by Lane Stone

  “They said they would stop by Buckingham’s mid-day. They’ll run the piece in their online edition.” The way she kneaded her hands contradicted her casual tone.

  “I’m sure publicity is abhorrent to you. I really appreciate this.”

  “You may have wondered why I didn’t just get on the next airplane back to the U.K. after Henry’s body was discovered. Perhaps I should explain.”

  “I accidently overheard you talking to Lion King,” I admitted.

  “Oh.” She took a deep breath. “He was a very good listener. The truth is, not every historic home can be saved by a television program.”

  “Was Downton Abbey as popular in England as it was here?” I asked.

  “Almost, but not quite.” When she spoke again, it was to list the expenses for repairs at Frithsden, sometimes caused by an ancestor’s neglect and sometimes just from the passing of time. She never mentioned her brother’s mismanagement of the estate, showing admirable family loyalty. “So you see, the wellbeing of Buckingham Pet Palace is important to me too. More than I’ve let on.”

  We turned left onto Cullen Street at Fifer’s Farm Market Café, and headed for the ocean, a mere two blocks away. I parked on the street, pulling in behind Ashley’s new white Honda CRV. Lion King jumped out but stayed close by her side. Her eyes were puffy, and she quickly pulled on a pair of oversized sunglasses. If it was possible, she was smaller than yesterday. I felt a pang of guilt for leaving her all alone in a hotel room, but my guest room was occupied. Truth be told, even if Lady Anthea hadn’t been using it, I would have lied about its availability. I doubted she’d killed her fiancé, but what if I was wrong? There was still the matter of Henry’s infidelity. We had every intention of calling to check on her, but after what happened, I was in no mood to console anyone. We’d called Shelby to come over, and the three of us had drinks on my screened-in porch. I’d gone to bed filled with an unfamiliar anxiety. Before I drifted off I realized that I wanted someone to assure me that everything was going to be all right. That was all. I just wanted to hear someone say those words.

  I helped Abby out of the car and she walked over to the bigger dog.

  “It’s a beautiful morning!” I said. “And it’s almost low tide.”

  “Go ahead,” Lady Anthea said to Abby, laughing. “Give him a head to bum sniffing.”

  This morning, she said she had slept well. I had owned up to feeling a little stiff from our fling down the embankment, but she had said she was well. Then why was she walking so slowly?

  I was leading our group to the path that would take us to the beach when my cell phone rang. It was Chief Turner so I took the call and motioned for Lady Anthea and Ashley to go ahead. I handed Anthea Abby’s leash, and they headed around the turn in the walkway made from weathered planks.

  “Good morning,” I said.

  “It’s a very good morning!” He was practically chirping.

  “Uh, who are you?”

  “It’s John! Chief Turner,” he said, a little deflated. I knew it was him but made a rule of not explaining sarcasm. You either got it on the first go-round or you didn’t. “What did they say at the hospital last night?”

  “We’re both fine,” I artfully assured him.

  “You didn’t go to the emergency room, did you?”

  “If you knew we didn’t go to Beebe, why did you ask?” I chose not to go because I felt fine and because I didn’t want to, and I’d asked my VIP guest if she wanted me to take her in to get checked out. She’d been adamant in her refusal. Her only caveat was something like, “Not unless you need a prescription for a gin and tonic in this country.”

  “Never mind. Look, I have news that I thought you’d be interested to hear. The fingerprint report on the van’s steering wheel and door handle came back. As luck would have it, the prints matched someone in the system. Do you know a veterinarian named Dr. Raymond Walton?”

  “Sure, his clinic is near Buckingham’s.”

  “His prints were on file since he had a DUI last year. I can tell you that because it’s a matter of public record.” Not that I’d accused him of being careless with confidential information. “It gets better. I went to bring him in for questioning and what do I see but a dented fender on his Cadillac. I believe the paint in the dent is a match for the paint job on your Jeep.”

  I was glad he paused because this was a lot to take in. “So, he murdered Henry and ran me off the road last night?”

  “He lawyered up immediately, so I haven’t been able to interview him, but that is exactly how it looks to me.”

  I leaned up against the wooden railing. “Thank you,” was all I could say. The nightmare was over. All of a sudden my business was safe. Lady Anthea and I were safe. She could pay her bills and I could have my life back. “Thank you,” I repeated.

  He laughed. “Everything’s going to be all right.”

  I held my breath. He had said what I wanted to hear.

  “Look, I’ll call you back later. Walton’s attorney just walked in. Looks like he brought an assistant with him.” With that he hung up.

  “Sue, you’re going to want to see this,” Lady Anthea called to me.

  Dewey Beach was a wide, white, gleaming span. We were still “in season,” and at night the crowd was young and loud, nothing like Lewes, but at seven in the morning dogs ruled. From the end of the path, I expected to see Kate Carter, Robber by her side, and maybe Dayle with Dottie. Instead, there was a large crowd of men and women and dogs mingling and running everywhere. Some bobbing in the ocean, some on shore barking at them. Dottie was already in the water, returning with a tennis ball. When they saw me, everyone turned to wave and shout. “Sue!”

  I stared. “How many people are here?” I recognized Barb and Red and Jerry and Charlie.

  “Must be thirty or forty,” Ashley said.

  I stood and looked out at the ocean. The tide was turning, and Abby and I ran to meet it.

  Chapter 13

  By the time I had played with the dogs in the soft sand and the surf for an hour, my thirty-eight-year-old body was feeling the full effects of the accident that wasn’t an accident.

  Anthea was somewhere in the crowd, working her public relations magic. Kate Carter had told the group about Lady Anthea’s corgis having the same breeder as the queen’s dogs, and at first that was all anyone wanted to hear about. Then she introduced Ashley Trent to the group. At first, I’d been uneasy because we didn’t know if any of Mary Jane Kerwin’s friends were here. What if they started discussing how she was holding up after her loss?

  When they realized what a boon the forlorn, young Ashley could be to the Lewes rumor industry, the out-of-towner had all the company she could ever want. Now that play time was over, Ashley was walking behind me with Kate Carter. Lion King and Robber had fallen in love, or bonded, or something. As I huffed and puffed and led the group of pet parents and their dogs back up the hill, I saw someone standing on the path. The sea grass swayed in the breeze and I lost sight of the person. As I got closer, he walked forward. It was Chief Turner and his good mood was gone. I didn’t care about his grimace. The murderer had been caught and, as this morning’s turnout showed, Buckingham’s was back and better than ever!

  “I couldn’t reach you on your cell so I called your business. Shelby told me you were here. Can I have a word?” His eyebrows were lowered and his lips formed a tight line.

  “Sure,” I said and reached down to grab my sandals. “Bye, everybody. See you Friday night at the gala!” I yelled to my customers. I motioned for Lady Anthea to join us, and we stayed at the entrance to the path and waited for the group to pass us by.

  Chief Turner kept a wary eye on what can only be described as a procession of well-behaved dogs.

  “Don’t worry,” I said, shaking my head at how constantly suspicious he was of dogs. “They’re all worn out. All they want to do n
ow is nap.”

  When Ashley Trent walked by, he nodded but didn’t speak. He hadn’t stopped her to give her the good news—a development she had every right to know. That was my first clue that something had gone wrong with the arrest. He stopped staring at the parade and turned to me. “We had to cut Dr. Walton loose,” he said.

  “You mean like until he goes to trial? Like out on bail?” He was scowling but I was smiling, holding onto my ignorance for all I was worth.

  “I wish,” he said. “Have you told anyone what I told you?”

  “I told Lady Anthea that an arrest had been made,” I said. When I had whispered to her that the killer had been caught, I told her we wouldn’t need to visit Mary Jane Kerwin. And she’d been ecstatic that she wouldn’t have to go through with the Southern Delaware Daily interview. “Not anyone else.”

  “I haven’t told anyone,” Lady Anthea said in response to my unasked question. “Isn’t Dr. Walton the veterinarian? So that’s who you arrested?” I hadn’t given her a name, but she remembered our previous remarks about Raymond Walton.

  “Yeah,” he said. “The person that came with his attorney alibied him. She’s a waitress at On the Rocks, and she swears he was at the bar for several hours up until the body was discovered, except for a short absence of about ten minutes around five o’clock.”

  Anthea grabbed at what she saw as a glimmer of hope. “It doesn’t take long to stab someone! He could have murdered him in that time.”

  “I’m afraid not,” I said, bursting her bubble. “Henry was killed earlier than that.”

  “Walton’s absence from his bar stool was about an hour after the time of death,” Chief Turner said.

  I had been looking at the sand and turned to look up at him. “Wait a darn minute. What did you see on the security video?”

  “Dr. Walton driving the van from the shoulder of the road into the turn lane for cars entering the ferry parking lot. That’s what he said he was doing in the short time he was missing.”

  “Huh?” I said. “Why would he do that?”

  “I beg your pardon, Chief,” said Lady Anthea.

  “The first version of his story was that he saw your van sitting along the side of the Cape Henlopen Drive with the engine running. He walked up to it and saw that there was no one in the driver’s seat.”

  “How did he see the van? On the Rocks is on the ocean side of the ferry terminal, not on the street side,” I said, I thought reasonably enough.

  “He said he went to his car to get a jacket and that’s when he saw it. According to him, he assumed Henry had left it running and gone in to use the facilities, and he couldn’t resist playing a prank by driving your van to a different spot.”

  I rolled my eyes. I could just hear him trying to make himself sound like some good-kid-from-a-good-family-who-had-made-a-bad-choice-your-honor. “I’m not buying it. You know the size of that parking lot. I don’t think it would be possible for anyone to see if a car has a driver from that distance. Plus, he would have to see through the ticket booths.”

  Chief Turner paused long enough to look at me and I felt he understood. Then he went on. “I said that was his first story. In his revised account, he said he knew he was inebriated and intended to walk to the beach adjacent to the ferry terminal. He said he hoped the ocean air would help him sober up, and that’s when he saw the van.”

  Since On the Rocks is itself on the ocean, which comes in handy for the ferry to dock, I just shook my head.

  “Finally he admitted he was headed to the beach hoping to meet, uh, someone to spend time with.”

  “Who?” I asked.

  “I don’t think he was particular—just anyone.” He took off his cap and rubbed his hand over the top of his head. “ That’s when he saw the driver-less van and got in it and moved it to the entry lane. And that is what the camera footage showed. We charged him with the vehicular crime, and he immediately made bail.”

  Lady Anthea turned to me. “You and I are the vehicular crime?”

  I nodded. I’d been called worse.

  “He left On the Rocks and had been drinking at the Crooked Hammock when he saw you two.”

  “What about Henry’s shirt and the knife?” I asked, running my hand over the side of my head to get the hair out from under the side bar of my sunglasses.

  “We haven’t found either.”

  “Can’t you get a search warrant for his home?” Lady Anthea asked.

  “I doubt I’d be successful. The waitress says she can get as many people as we need to testify that Raymond Walton was right there from three o’clock on.”

  “I still think he’s the murderer,” Lady Anthea said. “Are we to believe that a coldblooded killer would leave the motor running—and therefore the air conditioner—in a van full of dogs out in the August sun, saving their lives, but that a veterinarian who was pulling a harmless prank would turn the engine off, endangering the animals’ lives? Nonsense!” That word, spoken in British accent, has a lot of giddy-up in it.

  “But, but—” Turner tried to get a word in.

  “Because the van’s ignition was off when Sue and I arrived,” she continued.

  “Yes, but—” When would the man learn? Lady Anthea would be done when she decided she was done.

  “The dogs were barking when you telephoned Buckingham’s, and I’ll just bet they were barking when he got in the van.” She shook a finger at him. “Don’t let him say he didn’t know the dogs were in there. He heard them and he knew. Dr. Walton is the killer,” she concluded.

  “I’m trying to tell you I agree,” he said. “He was drunk last night and look what he did. You two could have been seriously hurt. And he was drinking for hours on Monday night. So, no, I’m not ruling him out.” I couldn’t see his eyes because of his sunglasses, but I saw the tension in his jaw. Problem was, he had been just this clear about Ashley Trent’s guilt. So what was he, stubborn or thorough? My beginner’s mind hadn’t fixed on anyone.

  “Did he toss Henry’s phone out of the van?” I asked.

  Chief Turner was pretty much worn out from Lady Anthea’s presentation, and a shrug of his, admittedly broad, shoulders was all he could manage in the way of an answer.

  “The phone indicates Henry was killed by someone he knew in some capacity, right?”

  “Yeah,” Chief Turner said.

  “I’ll go over Henry’s emails to see if I can find a connection between him and Dr. Walton,” I offered. “Did you ask him for the car keys? If he moved the car, he would have the car keys, right?”

  “Hmm,” Turner said. He literally scratched his head as he turned to walk away.

  “So you forgot to ask him,” Lady Anthea said.

  Ouch, I thought.

  “When you get that search warrant, maybe you’ll find them,” I said, that time out loud. I had spoken gently on account of his jangled nerves.

  He nodded in reluctant acknowledgment and started moving again with long, purposeful strides.

  “I have another question,” I said.

  Chief Turner backtracked the couple of paces he’d managed. Then he stood over me and waited.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “I told you. Because the waitress, or bartender, to be specific, alibied him.”

  “I meant, why did he run us off the road? Did he say?”

  Abby sitting by my foot, looked at him, and waited patiently for an answer.

  “He does seem to have a truckload of animosity toward you.” He made it sound like a question.

  “I always thought it was professional jealousy. It never occurred to me that it was personal. Well, at least not until now,” I said.

  “Will he be jailed since he has a previous?” Lady Anthea asked.

  “Huh?” the chief asked.

  Am I the only one who watches British crime shows? “We would say
he has a prior. Like a prior conviction.”

  He shook his head. “That’s up to the D.A. or maybe a jury, but I hope so.”

  Lady Anthea looked at me and gave me a sly smile. “Then here’s another to help build your British slang vocabulary, at her majesty’s pleasure.”

  I took her arm and we walked by our uniformed friend. “He’ll be doing the jailhouse rock,” I said.

  Chapter 14

  Lady Anthea and I walked into a lobby filled with more pet parents than we’d seen at Buckingham’s since Monday. Several of the swimmers had come back for a bath. Mason and Joey were scrambling to keep up with these walk-ins. I had rinsed Abby off at the beach water faucet, so I led her into my office, where she promptly fell asleep. Then I joined Shelby behind the counter to wait on the pet parents, settling their bills. Lady Anthea walked over to the tea table and poured a cup, but it wasn’t for herself. She turned and held it out to Betsy Rivard, Paris and Riley’s mom. “Would you care for a cup of tea? It’s actually quite good.”

  Betsy was frozen speechless.

  “I’m Lady Anthea Fitzwalter. We met Monday night.” She held out the tea to her.

  “I’m Paris. Oh, no, that’s my dog. I’m Betsy Rivard.” She laughed and took the tea.

  Shelby had seen the exchange too and leaned over to whisper something to me. “Mrs. Rivard was one of the first people spreading the rumor about the dogs being stolen to be sold. Do you think we have her back on our side?”

  “It sure looks like it,” I answered.

  “Business isn’t as brisk as it was the days before the murder, but most of our regulars are back,” Shelby said. “Charles Andrews is still holding out.”

  We both looked up when the door opened. “Hi, there, Dana,” Shelby called out.

  I went around to the customer side of the reception desk and hugged her. “Is your mother okay with you being here?”

  “Uhhh,” was her non-answer. Then she whispered, “My mom says I can’t work here as long as there’s a murderer on the loose.”