Witch Doggone Killer

by Paula Lester

  The smile fell off her face and she winced. “Ooh. I hope not.”

  I’d have to stay up late and dive into those rule books. I sure didn’t want to do something wrong and get into any trouble. The dog show was too sacred in the minds of most Superior Bay residents to mess with it.

  The crunching of gravel on the driveway drew both our attention. Crosby’s beat-up red pick-up truck crept up and parked behind my car. He’d been driving the same rust bucket since we were in high school, and I kept wondering when he’d fall through the floorboards.

  Crosby grinned at us and kissed my aunt on the top of the head before settling into a chair across from me. Aunt Dru got up and went inside.

  “Heard you’re in the running to be a dog show judge.” His lips twitched like he was fighting off a smirk.

  I narrowed my eyes. He must think it was hilarious that I was going to be part of the dog show we used to mock as kids. Of course, that was just teenagers thinking everything the adults around us did was boring and stupid. We’d both grown to like the show and understand its importance to our town when we became adults. “Yeah, I guess I’ve been recruited,” I said.

  He chuckled. “Awesome. You’ll be good at it.”

  Aunt Dru returned with a plate and fork, which she set in front of Crosby. “You look too skinny. Have some stroganoff.”

  “I’m not skinny.” He grabbed the spoon. “But I will have some of your famous beef stroganoff.” He piled at least two helpings onto his plate and dug in. After some appreciative groaning and chewing, he looked at me “Grapevine tells me you got chosen to replace Wiggins as a dog show judge. Congratulations.”

  I felt my mouth drop into a frown. Something about the dog show judge thing wasn’t sitting right with me.

  Crosby raised an eyebrow. “Not happy about it?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. I guess so. It just seems like I’m a strange choice. Dog show judge is usually a job filled by people in the business—ex breeders and that sort of thing. I’m sure there was a line of people ahead of me who should have been asked instead.”

  “I don’t know. Seems to me like a veterinarian would make a great show judge.” Crosby piled salad on his plate.

  “I think so too. You shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth, honey,” Aunt Dru interjected. “This is a good thing.”

  “I guess.” I wasn’t convinced. I pulled out my phone to check the time. “I’m supposed to meet Jeremy for a meeting tonight.”

  I almost dropped the phone when it rang. It was my associate vet, as though my words had summoned him. “Hey, there.”

  “Hi, boss. Listen, I’m not going to make it tonight. I’m not feeling so good.”

  Concern coursed through me. He really didn’t sound good. “What’s wrong?”

  “Stomach trouble. I think I’d better hunker down here at home.”

  “Do you need to take tomorrow off?” I asked.

  “Maybe. Can we play it by ear for now?”

  “Sure. Take care of yourself. I’ll talk to you later.” I pushed the end call button and set the phone on the table. “Jeremy’s sick.”

  Crosby pushed away his empty plate. “That’s too bad. Does that mean you’re free for the evening?”

  “I guess so.”

  He got up and grabbed his plate. “I’ll help with the dishes,” he announced. “Feel like grabbing a drink at the Grill after that?”

  “Sure. I don’t have anything else to do.” I followed him into the house with my plate.

  It didn’t take long to finish up the dishes, especially when Aunt Dru insisted she’d do her favorite cast iron pan herself. She was quite particular about it and never wanted to risk someone disturbing its cured layer. She hovered over the pan protectively and shooed us out.

  We took Crosby’s truck, and I was struck as usual by how well the ancient thing ran. It may not look like much, but he kept the engine running like it was new.

  When we got to the Grill, it was bustling with after dinner business, and Steve dropped off two beers to us at the end of the bar with a wink before hurrying off to make a whiskey sour for another customer. Crosby placed his hand on the small of my back to lead me to a tiny table in the corner as far from the live band on stage as possible. Still, we had to keep our heads close together to hear one another.

  “You know, I wasn’t joking before, Will. You are a suspect in Arthur Wiggins’ murder. Honestly, I shouldn’t be hanging out with you, especially in public. It could look like I’m compromised in my ability to investigate the case.” He scanned the room while he gulped beer, as though he were looking for someone who may be keeping an eye on us.

  I rolled my eyes. “This is Superior Bay, Crosby, not Detroit.” In fact, way up north in Michigan’s upper peninsula, we were about an eight-hour drive from that big city and closer to Chicago. “Nobody’s going to expect you to stop talking to people you’ve been friends with for your entire life just because there’s a case to work. I mean, geez. If my non-professional investigation is anything to go by, you wouldn’t be able to talk to anyone around here if you couldn’t speak with any suspects.”

  Crosby set down his pint glass, hard, and gave me a long-suffering look that I was pretty familiar with. He’d used it a lot when we were growing up, especially on Julia. “Did you just say you’ve been investigating Arthur Wiggins’ murder?”

  I widened my eyes to look innocent and sipped beer without answering.

  “Willow!” His tone was sharp. “Seriously, you need to keep your nose out of this.” He glanced around and leaned even closer than was strictly necessary for me to hear him in the noisy room. “I know about Arthur getting ready to increase the clinic’s rent. And that you’ve been losing clients to Red River Veterinary and are barely making a profit.”

  “How . . .” I shook my head. More than likely, it hadn’t taken much in the way of terrific research skills to find out that particular tidbit. It was probably well-known Superior Bay grapevine knowledge. “Fine. Arthur was putting extra pressure on me. But I’m used to that. Keeping my business in the black has pretty much been a struggle from the beginning.”

  He nodded. “I know that. And I also know you aren’t capable of hurting someone, even if that person is wreaking havoc in your life. But listen. You need to be very careful. Sneaking around trying to find out information about Arthur’s killer is going to put you on that person’s radar. Don’t forget where we live. Do you really think you can creep around being all nosy and not get noticed?”

  I pressed my lips together and twirled the half-full glass on the table. He was right, and I knew it. It wouldn’t be long before everyone in Superior Bay knew I was asking questions and trying to get to the bottom of Arthur’s murder.

  Apparently satisfied he’d gotten his point across, Crosby bopped his head to the music and enjoyed the beer. I sipped mine too and tried to relax into the beat, but tension held my spine ramrod straight.

  There was a killer in Superior Bay. And not only was I a prime suspect for the police, but I may also have managed to earn myself a spot on the murderer’s short list of next victims.

  Chapter 5

  “Get down, Dixon! I don’t want cat hair in my cream cheese.” I pushed the cat to the floor, and he glared at me.

  “I just wanted a morning cuddle. You’ve been gone a lot.” He did that thing cats do where they lower their ears a tiny bit, and he widened his eyes, suddenly looking like a sweet, sad cat meme on social media.

  I sighed and scooped him up, listening to him purr against my cheek. “You got me, you little stinker.” I blew fur out of my nose and then sneezed. “But you really need a good brushing. There, is that enough cuddling? Can I have my breakfast now?”

  The black-and-white cat hopped off my lap and stalked out of the kitchen, tail held high over his back.

  I couldn’t hold in my laugh. Dixon really was adorable.

  “You sound happy this morning.” Aunt Dru went straight to the tea kettle on the stove. She
waved a hand, and it floated to the sink and filled itself with water. Then it floated back, and the burner underneath lit itself.

  “Only because I had a cutie-patootie cat on my lap. Otherwise, I’m kind of tired. I didn’t sleep well last night.” I sipped my strong black coffee and wondered for the millionth time how my aunt got by on only tea.

  “Thinking about Arthur?” She glanced over her shoulder. She looked the same as always—hair pulled into a loose bun at the nape of her neck with some silver strands flying free and soft lines making her expression extra kind and inviting. I often wondered if my mother would have looked much the same if she were still around.

  I nodded. “I’ve been constructing a suspect list, and there’s one thing that just keeps bothering me. Why was I asked to take Arthur’s place as a judge? There are a lot of people who should have been chosen before me. Breeders, retired show folk . . . why did the board choose me?”

  “Oh, honey! You’re a great choice.” Aunt Dru put her tea and a plate of fruit on the table and leaned in to kiss my head. “The perfect choice, if you ask me.”

  “You have to say that. You raised me.” I couldn’t help but smile back as she beamed at me. “But I still wonder if this didn’t have something to do with Arthur winding up dead.”

  She pulled the stem out of a strawberry. “The dog show? How do you mean?”

  I got up and took my plate to the sink. “I’m not sure. But something doesn’t seem right about it.” I headed for the door. “I’m going to sit on the porch and give it a good think.”

  “That’s the best spot for one of those,” she agreed.

  I grabbed a pad of paper and pen from the living room on my way through and took them, along with my coffee, onto the front porch. Normally, we saw patients at the clinic on Saturday mornings, but there had only been a couple of routine appointments on the schedule, so I’d had Catherine move them, and we’d all taken the day off. I figured we could use it after the eventful week we’d had.

  I rocked, sipped, and jotted for a while, letting my mind wander like the fresh breeze that kept grabbing my dark hair and trying to stuff it into my mouth.

  After thirty minutes, I had a list of people in town who I thought were better qualified to be a dog show judge than I was. Even though I was sure there were some I wasn’t thinking of, it was a good start with eight names.

  I took my empty coffee cup in the house, found my phone, and then rummaged around in the kitchen cupboard next to the house phone. I gave Aunt Dru a hard time about holding onto her landline in the cell phone age, but she totally ignored me. She said landlines were more reliable in an emergency and, besides, she didn’t want people being able to get ahold of her whenever they wanted. A person needed some privacy without a dinging phone attached to their hip all the time, according to her.

  I tended to silently agree with her, but of course, I had to keep my cell on me all the time in case someone had a pet emergency.

  Aunt Dru kept a real phone book too, which I also good-naturedly hassled her about, but she insisted it was useful and practical. Being in such a small town, most businesses and families had the same number they’d had for decades.

  I found the thin phone book, looked around to make sure Aunt Dru didn’t see me, and dashed upstairs to my room with it. Even if she had turned out to be right about the book’s usefulness, I didn’t have to let her know that by advertising that I was using it. I knew it was petty, but I wanted to retain my teasing rights.

  Before starting, I sat and worried for a few minutes before calling everyone on the list, butterflies dancing in my stomach as I considered what to say. But then I remembered that it was Superior Bay. People made careers out of small talk. All I had to do was start the conversation by saying, “You floated through my mind this morning, so I thought I’d better give you a call and see how you and the family are doing.”

  No one acted suspicious after my brilliant opening line, which fell under the umbrella of completely logical in our town. After that, I just had to bring the conversation around to the dog show needing a new judge somehow and then finagle in a compliment about how the person on the other end of the line would make a great one.

  Amazingly, all eight people on my list verified they had been approached to fill Arthur’s spot but had either come down with an illness too strong to allow them to prepare on such short notice or been called out of town suddenly.

  I hung up the phone after the last conversation and saw a slight tremor in my hand as I dropped the cell on my comforter. The odd feeling in the back of my mind had been something after all.

  I’d been right. There were a lot of people better suited to the job of dog show judge than I was. And something had kept all of them from accepting the offer.

  Except me. I hadn’t gotten sick or called away. I’d accepted.

  What did that mean? Did it even mean anything, and if it did, was it related to Arthur’s death or a total coincidence?

  I chewed my lip and thought it over from every angle but came up empty. The only thing that kept coming to mind was that not only was I a suspect, but I may also be a pawn in someone’s show-related scheme. And it only made sense it would be the killer’s scheme.

  I was so deep in thought that, when my cell phone rang, I jumped six inches off the bed’s surface and landed hard, causing the device to shoot into the air. I dove for it, and pain exploded in my elbow when it crashed into the nightstand. I muffled some curse words and held my breath until the worst of it subsided before I could focus on the screen to see that Alyson was calling.

  “Hey!” I squeaked.

  My friend’s soft, concerned voice floated through the pounding of receding pain in my ears. “You don’t sound right. What’s wrong?”

  “Banged my funny bone.” That was better. More Willow Morgan and less frightened chipmunk.

  Aly inhaled in sympathy. “Ooh, that’s no fun. Sorry to hear it.” She paused. “What else are you up to?”

  “Well, to be honest, I was looking up people in the phone book who I think would be better dog show judges than I would and calling them.”

  “What? To ask them to take over for you? You don’t want to give up your spot, do you?”

  “No. Yes. I mean, I don’t know. But that isn’t why I was calling people. I was trying to find out whether they were asked to be judges before I was.”

  “Oh!” Her word said she understood, but Alyson’s tone conveyed that she was highly perplexed.

  “I’m just thinking that it’s so weird I was chosen to take over for Arthur.” I shook my head, even though Aly couldn’t see me. “Never mind. I think I’m losing it. What’s up with you?”

  But she didn’t answer my question. Instead, there was another pause, and then she said, “You’re not going to give up on investigating this thing about Arthur, are you?”

  “How can I? You and Julia made it clear I’m risking my business if I do. Plus, Crosby has let me know in no uncertain terms that I’m a suspect, so I could be risking jail time if I leave it to the cops to figure this out.” I flopped back on my pillow and sighed. “I pretty much have to play detective and figure this out.”

  “You can’t do it alone.”

  I knew that tone. Aly was gentle and mild, but when she made up her mind about something, it was like she turned into an immovable stone statue. I could tell she’d made a decision and wasn’t going to be talked out of it. I tried anyway. “It’s fine. This is Superior Bay. People are going to figure out before long that I’m nosing around on this, and things could get a lot worse. I don’t want anyone else getting in the line of gossip-fire by throwing in their hat with me. Besides, the more people involved, the more we’re likely to draw the attention of whoever killed Arthur.”

  She spoke as though I hadn’t said anything. “Who’s still on your suspect list?”

  “Aly . . .”

  “Just tell me, Willow. Shorten this conversation. Because the more you argue, the longer it’s going to take, that’
s all.”

  There was that tone again. Aly was going to make a fabulous mom someday. Soft marshmallow on the outside but steel and stone inside.

  I sighed, resigned. “Angelique Johnson, Jackson Rimes, and . . .” I didn’t want to say the last one. But it was true, and I couldn’t avoid it if I wanted to keep myself and everyone else at my clinic safe. Still, the word came out choked. “Korbin.”

  I heard Aly sharply inhale and then slowly exhale. “Okay. Anyone else?”

  I thought about it for a minute. “There was this guy at the Grill with Jackson and Angelique who I thought was acting shifty. He said something to Jackson about wanting some of Arthur’s holdings. I don’t know who he was, but Jackson called him Mike.”

  There was no pause. “Mike Gentry, I bet.”

  Shocked, I sat up again. “Who?”

  “He’s basically Arthur Wiggins’ counterpart over in Red River. Owns a bunch of apartments and business leases and stuff. He’s not quite the slum lord Arthur was, but he seems to be going for a monopoly over there.”

  “Wow. How’d you come up with that from what I told you?”

  Aly chuckled. “I actually saw Mike Gentry leaving the Grill on my way home yesterday. So, I kind of put two and two together just now.”

  Dixon jumped onto the bed and rubbed on me. I patted my lap and invited him to snuggle.

  “Sounds like we need to start checking up on the people on your suspect list,” Aly said. “Let’s start with Mike. It seems to me like he has the most to gain by Arthur’s death. If he was having trouble breaking into the landlord business in Superior Bay, getting rid of Arthur would be the thing to do to bust it open. Any ideas how we can get some dirt on him?”

  I looked down at the purring cat in my arms and smiled. “I do have one idea.”

  Chapter 6

  “How do you look good even in spy clothes and peering through binoculars?” Aly studied Julia, who was dressed all in black. Huge dark, round sunglasses perched on top of the baker’s head as she used binoculars to look through the windshield toward a small diner.