Without a word, Robert hugged me goodbye.
I stood watching them until they were out of sight. A tug at my heart reminded me how good it must be to have a son or daughter. As if reading my mind, Walter stepped beside me.
“That was a nice thing you did, Jillian. Who knows what would have happened to him without your help? I think you’re pretty terrific.”
“Well, thank you. But right now, I need to take Teddy outside to sniff the grass.”
Walter just smiled. “I’ll see you at home.”
~*~
Mr. Scott’s funeral was well attended by his colleagues, employees, and community leaders. I paid my respects by going, but I sat in back hoping for a quick getaway since Grandmother Lovejoy’s rescheduled birthday party was that same afternoon. There was no mention of Mr. Scott’s sons since Clay was dead and Ben was in custody.
Lexis cornered me as soon as I walked into the party. “Aunt Jillian, we need to talk.”
“What is it?”
“After they arrested Ben, Eddie called me and told me everything that happened that night. He said he didn’t want to say anything that might get back to Ben. I think he’s afraid of him.”
“I can understand that. Ben is a big guy.”
“Eddie said Ben had just found out from his dad that he’d changed the will in favor of Clay. That meant Clay would inherit the business and Ben would be expected to work for him. Eddie said Mr. Scott didn’t trust Ben to run Scott Furniture.”
“That must have devastated Ben.”
“It did. So when Clay showed up to help Ben get home, the dam burst. All those emotions spilled out. They took their argument out into the alley. Eddie thinks that Clay realized Ben wasn’t going to come with him. He figures that Clay had turned to leave. When his back was turned, Ben grabbed the stool leg and hit him.” Lexis wiped her eyes. “It was so cruel.”
I hugged her. “Yes, it was. Ben will have to pay for what he did for the rest of his life. But in the meantime, we have a wonderful family waiting to celebrate. I don’t think we should put it off any longer, do you?”
She shook her head, sniffed, and smiled. “I’m ready.”
It was true that half our joys come from our children, but also true that half our sorrows come from them as well. I concluded that God had blessed me with the family I needed. The Lovejoy clan for ever and ever, and the Montoyas for as long as they lived in Clover Hills.
--The End--
Nancy Jill Thames writes the Jillian Bradley mystery series, beginning with Murder in Half Moon Bay, featuring a feisty garden columnist and her clue-sniffing Yorkie, and has been listed in the Amazon Author Watch Bestseller List. When Nancy isn't plotting Jillian’s next perilous adventure, she travels between Texas, California, and Georgia finding new ways to spoil her grandchildren, playing classical favorites on her baby grand, or having afternoon tea with friends. Learn more at http://www.NancyJillThames.com/.
The Dog Days of Murder: A Pecan Bayou Series Novella
By Teresa Trent
Editor’s Note: An amorous dog has a summer fling, leaving his owner, Betsy Livingston Fitzpatrick, holding the (doggy) bag for murder.
Chapter 1
I stretched out in the lawn chair nestled in the sand, letting the sea air of Galveston clear my mind. The boys were playing in the surf, my toddler was happy playing with her toys in the sand, and my husband, the meteorologist, was charting the clouds. We were in that perfect moment of familial bliss. I shut my eyes and felt a beautiful sensation of sinking into ultimate relaxation, and then...
A wail went off near the edge of the shoreline. "Butch! Butch!" My eyes popped open. Zach and Tyler, who had been in the water, had been told to keep an eye on our Weimaraner, Butch. Butch was excellent at "exploring"—or better put—"getting lost."
I lifted my hand up to my eyes, trying to focus on my children. "When did you see him last?"
"Just a minute ago," Tyler said. "We wouldn't have lost him except Mr. Brilliant here wanted to play torpedo the wave." "Mr. Brilliant" was my son Zach, and his critic was my husband's son, Tyler. With a handsome stepbrother who was a year older and now about three inches taller, life had been pretty tough on Zach lately. Zach was a typical middle kid, but for many years he had been an only child. When I married Tyler’s father Leo, Zach inherited an older brother, and found himself in the middle child slot after the birth of his sister, Coco. A pretty rotten trick for life to play on a kid.
"Where was he when you last saw him?" Leo picked Coco up out of the sand.
Tyler put both hands up in the air and shrugged. "He was right there in the waves."
Zach held out his hand with Butch’s royal blue collar made out a woven recreational fabric. “Here. We took it off him because we didn’t want it to get wet.”
“Great. So he’s running around without a collar, too?” I glared at both of my “Mr. Brilliants”.
"Okay, okay. Just one more thing to deal with today. What way do you think Butch would run? This is a big beach, and we want to make sure that we start off in the most probable direction of finding him." My husband, ever the scientist.
Tyler looked each way down the coastline. Then he extended an arm and pointed. "That way." We all headed in the direction he’d indicated. There were several expensive houses on this part of the beach in Galveston. It was always hard for me to realize this was where my husband grew up. I guess I married Gidget's “Big Kahuna”. As we walked and called for Butch, Leo listed the different people who lived in the houses.
"That's the Millers over there. And over here, Mom said a new lady moved in a couple of years ago. I think she's divorced. I also believe that's the house Butch was barking at last night." Coco wanted to walk, so Leo let her down, slowing our pace.
Zach ran ahead but then turned back. "What if we never find Butch again?” Guilt was sinking in.
"We’re going to find him, don't worry." I only wished I believed what I was saying. To our advantage, Butch was a giant dog. You can't hide an elephant behind an aspen tree.
"Maybe he's made his way to Seawall Boulevard.”
Leo, finally frustrated with Coco’s pace, picked her back up again. "It would be pretty surprising if he made to the seawall already."
"Butch is fast." Zach’s statement reminded me of a time when Butch was a puppy and crawled under the gate of Charlie Loper's mansion. We thought he was gone for good then, too. We had no idea someone had claimed our puppy as their own. Yes, in his short life, Butch had provided lots of adventures by not being where he was supposed to be.
A tear was streaming down Zach’s sunburned cheek. I reached over and took his hand, and even though it was now deemed as uncool for me to comfort him in adolescence, he let me. I whispered in his ear. "We’re going to find him." Tyler looked over with disgust and maybe—just maybe—a little guilt. The boys whistled and called and yet there was no response.
Leo turned to look behind us. "Maybe we should start searching in the other direction."
Tyler stomped a foot in the sand. "I'm sure he's this way, Dad."
"Maybe, but would you like to take the chance of maybe missing..."
Suddenly, we heard a scream from one of the houses behind us.
~*~
"That way." Leo pointed, and we all ran toward the divorced woman’s house. A white picket fence, with a noticeable hole in it, surrounded her yard. Had Butch crashed through the flimsy boards in an effort to get into the yard? The house towered above us on stilts—a necessary precaution in hurricane country. As we entered the yard, white plastic bracelets clinked as a woman stood with her hands on both of her cheeks. The good news was we found Butch. The bad news was Butch found a new friend, and from the looks of it, the other dog was female and happy to see him.
Tyler let out a goofy laugh. "Oh, man. Is Butch doing what I think he’s doing?"
Leo handed me Coco and quickly pulled Butch away from the other dog. Butch’s new girlfriend was a beautifully groomed white standard poodle
. She was as pretty as the pink rhinestones on her collar.
"Butch!" I yelled. I turned to the woman who looked pale in contrast to her efficiently cut red hair. “I am so sorry. We didn’t know he ran off.”
She regained control of her dog and with one more clink of her bracelets, she shooed us away. "Take that…trash out of here. You people should be arrested."
I felt my neck prickle at hearing my dog called trash. It was true, what he was doing was out of line, but he wasn't trash. "I'm so sorry," I said, as Leo reattached Butch’s collar and pulled him through the gate.
“It's bad enough the damage your dog did to my fence, but I’m sure you don't realize what your monster’s dalliance has done." She pursed her lips and scowled. I was beginning to feel she was overreacting to a little instinctual dog play.
"He was in the surf with our boys. We didn't realize he ran off."
"He ‘ran off,’ as you put it because my Miss Genevieve here is in heat. Miss Genevieve is a national award-winning standard poodle. She had an appointment today with another dog of her…class and breeding. Do you have any idea how much puppies from a prize-winning standard poodle go for?”
"Are you saying our dog isn't good enough for your dog?" Zach blurted out from across the fence.
"That is precisely what I'm saying, young man. This mutt of yours may have ruined Miss Genevieve's chances of producing a perfect poodle."
"Butch is no mutt." Tyler lined up next to his brother in the sand. Technically, Butch was a mutt, by her definition. We didn't have pedigree papers on him, and generally if you want to produce a top dog in a breed you mate with the same breed.
"Nevertheless, he has no right to do what he's been doing. This is a tragedy.” Her final words bordered on melodrama. You would think her dog had just been assaulted by a grizzly bear.
"Certainly, it was harmless."
"You simply do not understand." She addressed us as if we were simpletons. "We have tracked her ovulation cycle, and this morning she is at the peak of fertility. Now, your...dog…" It was as if she couldn't find a name that fit the monster in front of her. "That animal has just interrupted an event months in the making."
The boys started to giggle as they realized this woman made appointments for dog sex.
"I'll have to give her a pregnancy test in the next couple of days." A dog pregnancy test? I had no idea. Butch had been in trouble many times in his life, but this would be a first. I began to picture what a standard poodle-Weimaraner puppy might look like. No matter how I switched around the characteristics, it would not be a pretty dog. Butch and Miss Genevieve seemed pretty happy with themselves. Maybe it was love. Then again, maybe Miss Genevieve had settled not for Mr. Right, but Mr. Right Now. Every dog needs to go wild every once and awhile, no matter what their pedigree.
"If you will follow me inside, I'm going to need your name and telephone number in case the worst has happened."
I turned to the boys. “Stay here. Watch your sister and keep Butch out of trouble.”
Coco, in a good mood, for now, gurgled and laughed. She usually received smiles and compliments from adults, especially women, but this lady was not about to be seduced by chubby cheeks and big brown eyes. The poodle owner turned her back, expecting us to follow her as she dragged Miss Genevieve back into the house.
Once we were inside, Leo attempted to introduce us. "I’m your next-door neighbor Gwen Fitzpatrick’s son. This is my wife, Betsy. We’re visiting from Pecan Bayou, Texas. Again, we are so sorry."
"Fine. My name is Rhoda Warren, and you’re not as sorry as you will be if we find out Miss Genevieve is with puppy." There was just no comforting this woman. "Stand right here and I’ll find some paper to write down your information. Please do not track sand into my house."
So much for the niceties. We were on a tighter leash than the dog.
Chapter 2
I shivered as the air conditioning chilled my bare legs. There were dozens of picture frames around us, all with Miss Genevieve standing in dog show profile. This pampered pooch had ridiculous-looking white puffballs on each leg, and a precise snow ball at the end of her tail. Her curly fur was shaved closely everywhere except for a giant, teased-out mass of fur expertly trimmed around her head. Her head was held high, showing her regal bearing. Behind Miss Genevieve was Rhoda, dressed in the standard dog show navy blue jacket and skirt, standing beside a man I assumed to be her ex-husband.
In some of the photos, the ex-husband had more hair than others, probably a direct result of living with his wife. Where she was stylishly thin, he was a pretty burly guy. It was also evident that he was heavier at some shows than others, so maybe he put on weight as the marriage progressed. In the canine world of physical perfection, weight gain couldn’t have been looked on favorably.
We heard the staccato sound of drawers sliding open and closed in the next room as Rhoda searched for something suitable to write on. "Now where is that paper?" When she darted around the corner, pen and paper in hand, she caught me holding a tarnished silver picture frame.
I set the frame down quickly and backed into my allowed place on her carpet.
“Please don’t touch the picture frames.”
"So many pictures of Miss Genevieve. She must win a lot. Lucky dog."
Rhoda Warren bristled at my simple label of her dog. "Miss Genevieve is one of the most successful show dogs in the state of Texas. The only thing I would call luck was my acquisition of her. I was supposed to have another dog in the litter, but there was a happy mix-up, and I became the proud owner of Miss Genevieve. It was if it was meant to be. That’s what makes her puppies so very valuable—something your dog ruined this morning.”
Rhoda’s gaze swept over the room as if she were taking a mental count of the items in it. “And if you don't mind, please don't touch my picture frames again. They’re pure sterling silver, and I'm already dealing with the tarnishing issue. Your fingerprints all over it are not going to help.”
"You know,” I said, “there's a simple way to get rid of that tarnish.” Without realizing it, I shifted into my helpful-hints-writer mode. Back in Pecan Bayou, I write a weekly column titled “The Happy Hinter” and getting tarnish removed is one of the things that I do best.
“Just make a paste out of baking soda and water and then polish the frame with a cloth. When you’re finished, get the baking the soda off with a clean damp cloth.” I smiled, glad to share the wealth of my knowledge. If anything, maybe helping Rhoda with her tarnish problem would smooth things over. Maybe she would take me through her house pointing out other problems she had and requesting hints and tips. My gaze met hers, expecting a look of relief that I had solved one of her biggest worries. She didn't look at all impressed by my informational tidbit. Leo reached for the paper she held, quickly wrote our address and phone number on it, and handed it back to her. She shot Leo a scornful look as if to downgrade the entire male species.
"Well, you have our number." Leo took my arm and started to back us out of the room. “Call us if there are any problems—and again, we are very sorry." We continued backing out of her little beach garden and apologizing all the way to the gate.
"Lunch is ready." The voice of my mother-in-law, Gwen, drifted over the sound of the ocean waves. A curious look came over her face when she spotted us walking from her neighbor’s home. When we caught up to Tyler, he handed Coco to me. Zach gave Butch to Leo, and both boys took off running to the deck stairs and their waiting lunch.
With Butch straining against his collar to run with the boys, Leo and I followed at a jerky pace. "Do you think that lady will ever call us?” I asked.
"Let's hope not," he answered.
~*~
During the next week at Grandma Gwen’s house, we went on enjoying daily beach excursions, cookouts, and snorkeling. It felt like the incident with Butch and Miss Genevieve had never happened. The boys made sand castles and even tried their hand at surfing after some lessons from the local surf shop. The idea of getting
to stay at the beach for a month in this century was an incredible luxury for us. Leo couldn't take that much time off of work, but he joined us on the weekends. My husband had just kicked off his shoes after a long commute and was enjoying a glass of his mother's lemonade when we heard a sharp rapping on the door.
“Sounds like the police. Were you speeding?” I joked, taking my head off of his shoulder as we snuggled on Gwen’s couch. Leo pulled himself up off the couch and loosened his tie. When he opened the door, Rhoda Warren held a piece of paper up to his face, a look of anger in her eyes.
"Just as I suspected, your mongrel has impregnated Miss Genevieve." The paper in her hand shook with rage as she barged into the house.
"Won't you come in, Rhoda?" Leo closed the door and turned to face the angry woman.
Gwen, who had been in the kitchen feeding Coco, rushed in and offered Rhoda a chair.
“No, I will not sit. I don’t plan to stay here long. Do you people realize what you have done with that dog of yours? Ruined everything, that’s all! Utter ruin!”
I stood, unwilling to give Rhoda Warren the psychological advantage of standing over me. “Rhoda, it isn’t like Miss Genevieve will never be able to have puppies again. Aren’t you overreacting just a little?” I couldn’t understand it. The poodle would have the puppies, go into heat again and then be mated again with a male that met Rhoda’s standards. But this woman was acting like Butch had taken away Genevieve’s ability to produce puppies.
"Miss Genevieve was scheduled to be in the Lone Star Classic this December. We were planning to take her puppies to sell. Now, I have no puppies worth selling, and your dog's behavior has destroyed our schedule to produce these puppies. I've asked the veterinarian to keep her overnight to make sure that we see no more long-term effects from your dog's rough handling. We have gone from your dog merely being a nuisance to causing a significant loss of revenue. I plan to file suit for the monetary damages, a result of you letting your dog run free on the beach to impregnate any dog upwind of him.” She blew out a sigh and stood bone straight, paper in hand. Her chin raised as if she had just drawn a line in the sand.
Happy Homicides 4: Fall Into Crime: Includes Happy Homicides 3: Summertime Crimes Page 72