Doggie Day Care Murder

by Laurien Berenson

  I’d just dropped Davey at camp and Kevin was home with Sam. So the trip to the pet supply store had seemed like a perfect opportunity to grab a little more quality time with my number one Poodle, Faith. She was riding shotgun beside me on the front seat. When I opened my door and got out, the Poodle waited politely for an invitation to join me, then gave a small yip of delight when one was forthcoming.

  I clipped a thin leather leash to Faith’s collar, then opened the door to the store and let her precede me inside. There were fish tanks to the left of the entrance area and birdcages on the right. Half a dozen yellow canaries popped up in the air, startled from their perches by our appearance. They chirped loudly as they zoomed around their enclosed space.

  The store was one big, wide-open room. From where we stood I could see the back wall about an acre away. It was stacked from floor to ceiling with the practical stuff: bags of dog and cat food. Before a shopper got that far, however, he would first have to pass by tempting displays filled with pet toys, books, and grooming supplies.

  For the devoted pet owner, this place was consumer heaven.

  That early in the morning, the row of checkout counters stood idle. Aside from the frantic chirping that continued unabated, all was quiet. The smell of kitty litter hung in the air.

  I was debating which way to head first when a young woman wearing a dark green WE LOVE YOUR PETS! apron, stuck her head around an end-cap midway back. According to the sign that hung from the ceiling above her head, the aisle she was working in was devoted to FERRET SUPPLIES.

  “Can I help you?” she asked.

  “Yes, I’m—”

  Then the woman caught sight of Faith. She came flying around a display of colorful ferret cages with names like Critter Trail and Habitat Playground. The name tag affixed to the top of her apron identified her as Penny. It also told me she was HERE TO HELP!

  “Wow, what a great dog! Standard Poodle, right? She’s a big one! What’s her name? Who does your grooming? She looks so soft! Is she friendly? Can I touch?”

  It was hard to know which question to address first. But while I hesitated, Faith did her part impeccably. She walked forward, touched the woman’s outstretched hand with her nose, and wagged her tail back and forth above her back with all the serene majesty of a queen greeting a loyal subject.

  “Her name is Faith,” I said. “And, yes, you can touch her. She’s very friendly.”

  Penny slid her hand along Faith’s muzzle until her fingers reached the Poodle’s ears. She gave an experimental scratch. Faith tipped her head and leaned into her.

  “Some coat.” Penny lifted her hand to stroke the long, smooth ear hair. “I’ll bet she’s a lot of work.”

  “She is. But she’d be the first one to tell you that she’s worth it.”

  We smiled together.

  “We get a lot of Poodles in here,” Penny said. “But mostly it’s the little ones. Not to mention all the other crosses . . . Cockapoos, Pekepoos, Poogles. You name it, we see it.”

  “Poogles?” I said reluctantly. I hadn’t heard that one before.

  “You know, a Beagle Poodle cross?”

  I tried to imagine a mixture of those two breeds leading to something good, and simply couldn’t. I wasn’t being Poodle-centric. I was pretty sure that Beagle breeders would have felt the same way.

  “It’s the age of the designer dog,” Penny continued brightly. “Why be restricted to the already existing breeds when you can just create your own? All the celebrities have them now.”

  “They do?”

  “Sure. Don’t you read Star magazine?”

  “Umm . . . no.”

  “If you like, I’m sure I can find you a book in our collection about creating your own designer dog. A big Poodle like that”—she beamed down at Faith who responded, once again, by wagging her tail—“could really make some beautiful puppies. You wouldn’t believe how many possibilities there are. Labradoodles, Goldendoodles, Boxer-doodles. You can even register them now. Pretty soon, they’ll be like whole new breeds. You’ll even be able to show them in dog shows.”

  The mind boggled.

  “No, thank you,” I said as politely as I could manage. “I don’t need a book.”

  An aspirin maybe. But not a primer on how to create more mixed breed dogs.

  “You sure? Because Faith really is a beauty. And I bet you could find someone right here in Greenwich with a Lab or a Golden Retriever they’d be willing to stud out. Then it only takes two months until you get a litter. You come back in and put a cute picture up on our community access bulletin board and the puppies will be sold before you know it. Easy money!”

  “I don’t think so,” I said.

  My tone was clipped, but Penny didn’t seem to notice. She was still smiling, as if she didn’t understand how I could fail to see the beauty of her excellent plan.

  “Do you have any idea how many unwanted dogs there are in the United States already?” I asked.

  “No, but—”

  “Tens of thousands. Pounds and shelters are filled with them. Some are mixed breeds and some are purebred. And I’m sure they were all cute puppies once. Most likely the majority of them were bred by people who didn’t put any more thought or consideration into having a litter than you’re advising me to.”

  Penny retreated several steps. That probably meant that the expression on my face wasn’t particularly pleasant. Not surprising, considering that this conversation was pushing most of my buttons.

  Easy money? Designer dogs? She was lucky I didn’t have smoke coming out of my ears.

  “Jeez,” she said. “You could have just said you weren’t interested.”

  I’d already done that. And Penny had rolled right over my first several objections. I wondered how many other dog owning customers the saleswoman had managed to seduce with her cheerful advice and her get-rich-quick ideas. Hopefully not very many.

  “Actually, I’m looking for someone,” I said. “Cole Demarkian. I believe he drives one of your delivery trucks?”

  Penny shrugged. “I work out front. I wouldn’t know anything about what goes on in the back.”

  The rebuff was clear. I’d criticized her grand plan; now I was on my own.

  “Maybe there’s someone else I could talk to?”

  Her eyes flickered briefly toward a swinging door in the back wall.

  “Thanks,” I said and headed that way.

  Faith caught up in one stride and fell in step at my side.

  “Wait!” Penny hurried after us. “You can’t go in there. That area is for employees only.”

  “Cole Demarkian,” I said again. My pace slowed slightly. “Curly dark hair, big muscles, very good looking?”

  If the effect Cole had on the women at Pine Ridge was anything to go by, Penny had to know who he was. He didn’t seem like the type of guy who was likely to go unnoticed by any females in the vicinity.

  “I just need to ask him a few questions.”

  Penny frowned. “I guess you could try around back. The guys usually hang out there while they’re waiting to get their delivery schedules for the day.”

  “Thanks.”

  Faith and I exited the front of the store and followed the parking lot around the side of the building. A loading dock with two bays, its garage-style doors currently sitting open, took up the near end of the back wall.

  Approaching the chest-high platform, I saw a middle-aged man carrying a clipboard and a mug of coffee. He spotted me and came over.

  “Whatcha need?” he asked.

  “Cole Demarkian.”

  “Hang on.” He turned and yelled over his shoulder into the bay. “Yo, Cole! Come on out here.”

  After a moment, Cole appeared in the open doorway. Tight jeans, form-fitting T-shirt, a shadow of stubble across his strong jaw. Yup, Cole was ready for work, all right.

  “Lady here is looking for you.”

  Cole strode out to the end of the loading dock. As the older man went back inside, Cole lean
ed down, grasped the edge of the platform, and hopped down to my level. The movement was easy and fluid. Cole looked good in motion and he knew it.

  He squinted at me briefly, his gaze dropping to Faith and then lifting again. “I’m sorry. Have we met?”

  “Not exactly. But I’ve seen you at the Pine Ridge Canine Care Center in Stamford. I know you make deliveries there.”

  “Sure. I stop there a couple of times a week. It’s on my route.”

  “So you must have known Steve Pine.”

  “Sure,” Cole said again. A varied vocabulary didn’t seem to be his strong suit. “Were you a friend of his? I’m real sorry about what happened.”

  “Actually, I’d only met him once. But after he died his sister, Candy, asked me to do a job for her.”

  “What’s that?”

  Faith stepped forward to give Cole a sniff. He reached down, patted the top of her head, and murmured, “Hi, girl,” under his breath as he was waiting for my answer.

  I have an automatic fondness for people who like my dogs. Besides, Faith’s a pretty good judge of character.

  “Candy asked me to help figure out who murdered Steve,” I said.

  Cole sized me up again. His expression was somewhat skeptical.

  “So you’re like, what? A police detective?”

  “No, strictly amateur,” I replied. But that raised an interesting point. “Speaking of which, did the police ever question you about what happened?”

  “No. Why would they? It’s not like I knew anything. I didn’t even find out Steve was dead until a couple days later when I made my next delivery. I went inside to have him sign the papers and Candy had to do it instead.”

  “So Steve was the one you usually dealt with when you made deliveries?”

  “Sure. Steve was the man.”

  “Meaning?”

  Cole shrugged. “He was just a good guy, easy to be around. Easy to work with. You know?”

  “So I guess you wouldn’t have any idea why someone would want him dead?”

  “None at all.” Cole was firm. “I figured it had to be some kind of freak accident.”

  A man found dead in his office . . . shot once in the head . . . no murder weapon to be found. It was hard for me to see how that could have happened accidentally, but to each his own.

  “You seem to make quite a few deliveries to Pine Ridge.”

  “Couple times a week, I guess. But that’s not up to me, I just do what it says on the roster.”

  “Has the number of times you go to Pine Ridge changed recently?”

  Cole thought for a moment. “Could be. Now that you mention it, it does seem like I’ve been over there more often than usual lately. Used to be I’d stop there every ten days or so. Now it’s more like twice a week.”

  “Has Candy changed something? The pattern of ordering, maybe?”

  “Like I said, I wouldn’t know anything about that part. I just get told what to put on the truck and where to take it. That’s all.”

  Cole was losing interest in my questions. Fortunately, he had Faith to keep him occupied. He patted the front of his T-shirt, inviting the big Poodle to jump up on him.

  She cast a quick glance at me, seeking permission for what was normally a forbidden act. I nodded absently.

  Faith was every bit as graceful as Cole. She hopped up lightly and braced her front paws against the taut muscles of his chest. While he waited for me to continue, Cole ran his hand up and down Faith’s sides. The Poodle wriggled with delight at his touch.

  Human or canine, Cole had a way with the ladies, all right.

  “So you’re stopping at Pine Ridge more often now,” I said. “What about the size of the deliveries? Has that changed or remained the same?”

  “I guess about the same. It’s not like I pay attention to what each customer gets. To me, all that matters is how many handcart trips it takes to unload. At Pine Ridge that’s three, pretty much every time.”

  “And yet you’re stopping there more often,” I said slowly. I thought about Bailey, waylaying Cole in the parking lot and trying to stop the flood of supplies that she didn’t have room for. “Which means you’re actually delivering two or three times as much stuff as you were in the past.”

  “I guess.” Cole shrugged again. “If you say so.”

  Forget what I’d told Jason about the possibility that the delivery man was a PhD candidate. Cole had enough brain power to handle his current position, but there wasn’t going to be much left over.

  “And yet,” I said, thinking aloud, “the number of clients has dropped since Steve died.”

  “You don’t have to worry about that part,” said Cole.

  I looked up. “I don’t?”

  “No. Steve and I talked about that once. Probably a year ago. He had this process built into his bookkeeping system to handle that kind of fluctuation. It was something he designed himself.”

  “And he talked to you about it?” I asked, puzzled.

  “Sure. Like I said, Steve was pretty easygoing. He got along with everyone and when he talked to you, it was almost like he was taking you into his confidence. He told people things, made them feel like they were part of what was going on.”

  I had no idea where Cole was going with this, but I certainly wanted to find out. “And what were you part of?”

  “No big deal. Steve just asked me to do him a favor once or twice and bring him some blank invoices from the store. He said it helped him out with the bookkeeping, you know? Like if there was an error or something, because he was expecting more dogs than they actually had, he could easily fix it himself. That way, all the numbers in the books always matched up.”

  No big deal to Cole maybe, but it was to me. Because that piece of information gave me a pretty good idea how Steve Pine might have gotten himself killed.

  25

  I left Byram and drove home where I dropped off Faith and picked up Sam and Kevin. Together, the three of us headed over to Davey’s camp.

  The Field Day had a round-robin format with several games being played at a time, and a call had gone out beforehand for parent volunteers to help out with the busy schedule. Sam and I had both signed up.

  He served as referee for a couple of games while I handed out snacks and juice boxes during the breaks. Kevin, whose job was to sit in his stroller and enjoy the spectacle, shuttled back and forth between us like a baby commuter.

  Davey and Joey, Alice’s son, had been assigned to the same team. Both were playing defense; Davey at center halfback and Joey in the goal. Since Alice was stuck at work, I was also manning the video camera, recording the day’s events so that she could enjoy the replays later that night.

  Juggling tasks like the experienced mom I was, I also found time to make a quick phone call to Pine Ridge.

  “You and I need to talk,” I told Candy when she came on the line.

  “That sounds serious.”

  “It is.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Not over the phone,” I said. “There are still some details I have to work out. And there’s stuff I need your help with. I want to do it in person.”

  A raucous cheer went up. Somebody’s team had scored a goal. All around me, parents were jumping up and down, screaming. Even Kevin was waving his hands in the air. I had to wait for the tumult to die down before I could hear what Candy was saying.

  “What’s all that yelling?” she asked. “Where are you?”

  “Soccer game. It’s Field Day at Davey’s camp.”

  “When does it end?”

  “Four o’clock, give or take.”

  “See you then,” she said and hung up.

  Davey and Joey’s team won their first two games, then lost the third. Since the defeat had come at the hands of boys who were two grades ahead of them in school, neither was unduly upset by the loss.

  Last game of the day pitted the kids against their parents. Sam played the first half, I went in for the second. If it wasn’t for a last minute block
by my own son that didn’t look strictly legal to me, I would have scored a goal. The game went down to the wire, and the kids beat us in overtime.

  When we got back to the house, I grabbed a quick shower, then explained to Sam that I had to go out again.

  “Let me guess,” he said, cocking a brow. “Pine Ridge?”

  I nodded. “I’m meeting Candy there. I think I’ve finally figured out what’s going on. I just need a few more answers, and then I’ll take everything to the police and let them work on it.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” said Sam. “Be careful.”

  “You know I will.”

  Candy was waiting for me when I arrived. In fact, she was pacing back and forth in the grassy area between the front office building and the Dog House.

  Winston was outside with her. The plump Welsh Corgi had more sense than to stride up and down in the sun, however. Instead, he was flopped down under a nearby tree with his muzzle nestled between his front paws. Only the Corgi’s eyes were moving as he kept tabs on her progress from his comfortable spot in the shade.

  “I thought you said four o’clock,” Candy snapped as I approached.

  “That’s when the event ended. Then I had to go home and change.”

  It was closer to five now. But anxious as I was to try to fit together the last pieces of the puzzle, I wasn’t about to let Candy bully me. Solving Steve’s murder was important to me, but not nearly as important as my family.

  “Would you rather we do this tomorrow?” I asked mildly.

  “No, of course not. You’re here now, let’s get on with it. Tell me what you’ve found out.”

  “For one thing, I’ve been told that there are some irregularities in your bookkeeping.”

  Candy stopped pacing and spun around to face me.

  “Bookkeeping?” She sounded incredulous. “That’s what you wanted to talk to me about?”

  “For starters.”

  “Who cares about that? I thought you were going to tell me who killed my brother.”

  “I’m getting there. And the trail starts—or maybe ends—with your books.”

  “What do you mean?”