by Paula Lester
Leave it to Dory to start some crazy rumor.
Then a thought hit me. No rumors in Superior Bay stayed small. They all became huge rolling boulders that everyone got in the way of eventually. If Crosby, who was one of my best friends, had heard this craziness about Jeremy and me, most of the rest of the town had to have heard it too. Was this part of the reason my clinic was losing business? Because people thought Jeremy and I were dating and that was inappropriate?
Before I could voice this new angst, Crosby slowed the car to a stop by the curb and said, “There he is.”
I forced my mind away from the troubling issues of the rumor to look where Crosby gestured. Korbin was on the boardwalk that meandered along the harbor. But it didn’t seem like he was taking a Sunday stroll. He darted behind a tree next to the path and peered around its trunk. “What’s he doing?”
“It looks like he’s following someone,” Crosby answered.
We both trained our eyes on the space ahead of Korbin, trying to determine who he may be watching. Suddenly, the technician moved around the tree, jogged a little way down the boardwalk, and then crouched behind a wooden bench. Slowly, he peeked up over the top.
I craned my neck to the side, still trying to see what Korbin was looking at. Then I caught a flash of long blonde hair glinting as the sunlight hit it. “It’s Angelique. He’s following his ex-girlfriend.”
Together, we watched Korbin edge his way forward a few feet to get behind another tree. “So, he’s a stalker,” Crosby growled, putting a hand on the door as though planning to jump out.
I put a hand on his arm. “Hold on. Let’s watch for a bit longer.” My stomach knotted as I thought about the implications of what we were seeing and the word Crosby had just used. Could it be true? Was my sweet, mild-mannered employee a crazed ex-girlfriend stalker? I shivered.
I felt Crosby’s hard muscles beneath my hand. He was wound up like a spring. It felt like, if I removed my fingers, he’d explode out of the car. Probably arrest Korbin with no cause or at least expose the fact that he was following Angelique.
I couldn’t blame him. It was creepy to think about being followed, and I had to admit I felt automatically outraged for Angelique.
Then I saw Mike Gentry get out of a car and meet Angelique at a picnic table. Even from a block away, I could see Korbin tense. Next to me, Crosby’s eyes narrowed.
“That’s the guy from Red River I was telling you about,” I explained. “The one I heard Jackson and Angelique talking to at the Grill the other day. Aly says he owns a bunch of properties in Red River, and from what I overheard, it sounds like he wants to take over some of Arthur’s holdings.”
“How? Won’t all that go to whoever Arthur bequeathed it to in his will?”
“You’d think so. I’ve never heard of Arthur having any next of kin, though. Have you?”
Crosby shook his head. “Seemed like a solitary kind of dude to me.”
“Yeah. I happened to be in Arthur’s office talking to Cheyenne Meyer when Jackson Rimes went in there and demanded to know that very thing—who was going to be taking over Arthur’s buildings. I thought it was because he wants his rent lowered.”
Mike returned to his car and Angelique wandered slowly down the boardwalk.
Before I could stop him again, Crosby jumped out of the truck and jogged toward Korbin, stopping the technician before he could follow Angelique again. I got out of the truck too, glad for the distraction. I hurried forward but gave Korbin and Crosby a wide berth. Instead, I headed toward the picnic table where Angelique and Mike had met. I’d seen something interesting while the two of them had been talking.
When I got to the table, I knelt down and made kissing noises with my lips. The little chipmunk that had been nosing around under the table sat up straight and pinned me with his black eyes. “Hi,” I whispered. “Can you tell me what those two people were just talking about?”
His whiskers twitched. “You’re that lady.” His voice was as squeaky as you’d expect a chipmunk’s to be. “The one who can understand us.”
Who knew my reputation had permeated the area’s wildlife community? Huh. Well, that was good to know.
But at that moment, I needed quick answers, not a long-winded how-do-you-do conversation. I glanced over my shoulder to make sure Crosby and Korbin were still engaged in conversation. Crosby appeared a bit aggressive, and Korbin shrank away from the other man, shuffling his feet and looking down.
I turned back toward the small brown and black creature in front of me. “Yes! I can understand you. I’m in a bit of a hurry, though, and I was wondering if you’d mind helping me out. See, I need to know what those two people were talking about a minute ago.”
The chipmunk turned his head to look in the direction Mike and Angelique had gone. “Something about buildings,” he said before putting his nose back in the grass. He rooted around with his tiny paws.
“Buildings. You mean like apartments? What were they saying about the buildings?”
His squeaky voice came out muffled by the grass around him, and I had to strain to understand. “Something about getting the buildings no matter what. The man said they’d come so far and he’s getting antsy. The woman said they were almost there, and she’d handle the rest.” He sat back on his haunches and regarded me with a tilted head. “I didn’t like them.”
“Why not?”
“He tried to kick me. That’s mean.” He moved about a foot away and started rooting around again. “But the woman was very nice to the man, and that distracted him.”
“She was?”
“Yes. She sounded delighted to be helping him get his buildings. Then he said she’d get a big reward if she managed it. I hope someone tries to kick that man soon. He deserves it.” The chipmunk scampered away. I didn’t dare call out to stop him.
As I rose and turned toward Crosby and Korbin, my mind whirled over what the animal had said. It didn’t add much to what I already knew—Mike Gentry wanted some of Arthur’s buildings. For some reason, he wanted Jackson to get them for him. What was new was that Angelique was in a position to help and was willing to do so. Was she just trying to help her boyfriend? Or was there something else going on? What did Mike mean by a reward for Angelique?
Before I got to the men, Korbin took off down the boardwalk at a jog. Crosby crossed his arms and scowled after him. “Well?” I said. “What did he say?”
“That he was trying to surprise Angelique. He wants to get back together with her, and he got her a bracelet she’d been eyeing when they were still dating. Had it in his pocket.” His frown deepened.
“You don’t believe him?”
“I don’t know.” Crosby turned back toward the pick-up. “I’m going to keep an eye on him, though.”
“I think you should be keeping an eye on Angelique Johnson and Mike Gentry. In fact, maybe you should take them in for questioning about Arthur’s death.”
Crosby stopped short of the truck and turned toward me. “On what grounds?”
Grounds? Oh, right. He probably needed a good reason to arrest someone. I shrugged and looked at the ground. “I don’t know,” I mumbled. “Acting suspicious and trying to kick chipmunks?”
“Chipmunks? What in the world are you talking about, Will?”
“Nothing.” I started walking toward the truck again. “I just think those two are acting suspicious, that’s all. Jackson too.”
“Yeah, well, an hour ago, you said Korbin was acting suspicious. Seems like maybe your suspicion meter is set too low.” We got into the truck, but Crosby didn’t start it. Instead, he turned toward me in his seat. “This investigation isn’t going to be as easy as I thought. If we’re going to arrest someone, we need a heck of a lot more evidence than we have right now. Which is basically zilch.” He turned the key and the truck roared to life. “We need something solid to chase. And fast.”
Chapter 8
Orientation for the dog show judges made me feel like I was in veterinary school agai
n. There was so much information to take in, and the other judges, who were old hands at it, already seemed to know everything. They were busy chatting it up and laughing over old times while I scoured the rule books and tried to take notes on everything the president of the board said from the podium at the front of the room.
The woman next to me, a retired beagle breeder named Sarah, flipped through a home decorating magazine. Periodically, she’d lean over, point at something I’d written, and whisper a correction. I was torn between being annoyed she was reading my notes and feeling grateful for the help.
I knew a lot about dogs, but this was a different world. It wasn’t evaluating the animal’s health regardless of its conformation and breed-specific looks, which was my regular M.O. And, as the president talked about the angle of a Doberman’s tail and the degree of sway to a German shepherd’s back, I wondered what I’d gotten myself into.
I wasn’t sure I wanted to judge dogs on those types of things.
When the president called for a short break, Sarah closed her magazine and leaned toward me again. “It’s really not as complicated as all this. You just look at the dogs and decide which one you think looks the best, that’s all.” She gestured toward the president, who was speaking with Aunt Dru’s friend, Jane, the woman who’d handed me the judge job, near the podium. “He’s just a goody two-shoes. Wants everybody to follow the letter of the law.” She used air quotes and a mimicking tone on the last half of her sentence and then shook her head. “It doesn’t have to be so boring.” She tapped my notes. “Just go with your gut, honey.”
“But what about the guidelines? Isn’t the show meant to reward dogs that are shining examples of their breed’s best characteristics?” Just choosing the dog I liked best sounded like a lot more fun and much easier than trying to remember all the tiny little things about each breed. But I was pretty sure that would be undermining the spirit of the whole event. People spent lots of time and money working on their dog lines to win shows. Wouldn’t having judges that disregarded all that be almost . . . well, criminal was the word that came to mind.
“Oh, pish,” Sarah said. “You’re a dog person. If you pick the dog you like, I’m sure it will be one that fulfills all the guidelines. You have an eye for dogs.” She leaned even closer, and I could see she hadn’t blended her foundation well enough. “We’ve had judges before who just wouldn’t give an inch on the guidelines, and it caused no end of trouble around here. Everything takes so much longer, and dog owners end up being upset.” She put on a sad expression. “Such a shame.”
“Come on, Sarah. Leave the poor girl alone.” A heavyset man with a gray mustache and beard that fell to his chest edged his way between the chairs to stand on my opposite side. He grinned at me. “Hello, Dr. Morgan. It’s good to see you here. Welcome to the judge’s panel.”
“Hiya, Carl. Thanks. I’m glad to be here.”
“Our Alyson hasn’t stopped gushing about you being chosen as a judge.”
Carl owned the flower shop Aly worked at. He was a wonderful, kind boss and much like a father figure to her, since she’d lost her own dad to cancer a decade earlier.
“Really? I’m surprised she’d mention it,” I said, dropping the notebook onto my chair to retrieve after the break. “I think I’m just here on a temporary basis. A lot of people would be better at this than me, but it seemed like they all had something come up. I’m just trying to do the best job I can. Someone else can take over next year.”
Carl held out a hand to let me pass him, and the three of us made our way out of the aisle of seats into the open area of the conference room. “Now, Dr. Morgan. You weren’t chosen by the board on a whim. I’m sure of that. And don’t listen to Sarah, here. You do your judging the way you see fit.”
Sarah gave Carl a swat on the arm. “I’m just saying that Arthur was an old fuddy-dud. It took him forever to judge, and he was mean about it too. Why, do you remember when he knocked Jolene Kravitz’s dog down to second place because he said the claw on his right rear foot was a few millimeters too long?” She looked as shocked as though the travesty had just occurred. “He was a menace! I’m not sad he’s gone, either.” She lifted her chin as though expecting to be chided for voicing such an opinion.
Carl clucked his tongue and obliged her expectations. “Sarah, really. There’s no need to speak ill of the dead.”
“Who’s speaking ill? I’m speaking truth, that’s all.”
As the two bickered, I caught sight of Crosby in the doorway of the conference room. When his gaze fell on me, he smiled and waved me over.
“Excuse me, please.” I dipped my head and stepped around the other two judges. But I didn’t need to worry about seeming rude for ducking out. They didn’t even appear to notice I left as they continued their heated debate over whether it was okay to say less than flattering things about the deceased Arthur Wiggins.
I followed Crosby to the atrium. The Superior Bay Dog Show was held in the town’s arena, which was small compared to those you would find in a city. The main room could hold about ten thousand spectators in the bleachers, and that was where the main show happened. The building was a wooden dome structure, good for keeping snow and ice from gathering on the roof, and the perimeter held lots of conference rooms and varying sized spaces used for receptions, dances, and bigger gatherings. The atrium was in the middle of the building, and a sky light in the center of the top of the dome lighted the space, which was dotted with plants around a towering fountain.
Crosby turned to me and jutted his chin back toward the room I’d just exited. “How’s it going in there?”
I groaned and rubbed my temple. “There are way too many details to know about each breed. I’m going to have to bring in a cheat sheet while I’m judging. I mean, I know the basics about how each breed is supposed to look, but as a vet, I never pay it any attention, and I certainly don’t know all the tiny minutiae.”
Crosby looked bewildered and ran a hand through his thick hair. “No, I don’t care about any of that. I mean how’s it going with the people? The other judges.”
I blinked. “What do you mean?”
His jaw clenched. What was he so worked up about? He spoke slowly, like I was a kid and he was explaining something complicated. “Are there any new suspects on your list now that you’ve had a chance to talk to some of the other show judges?”
“Oh. Um. Not really, I guess. I mean, Sarah Buckingham made it clear she’s not that sad Arthur’s gone, but I don’t think that makes her a suspect. The guy was pretty unlikable.” I shrugged. “I didn’t really talk to anyone else. I was too busy listening and taking notes. I do not feel ready to start judging dogs yet.” I rubbed my arms. “I wish I hadn’t agreed to do this.”
Crosby took my elbow and pulled me to a seat next to the fountain. I quickly realized he was hoping the sounds of water falling would mask our conversation. “Willow, you have to focus. If we’re going to figure out who killed Arthur and clear your name before the dog show begins—which I think is a really good idea in case the killer decides to use the chaos of the show to strike again—I need you to keep your head in the game.”
“Sorry.” I pouted and looked at my feet. “I just have a lot on my plate right now.” But I knew he was right. I’d let myself get temporarily derailed from what should be the primary thing on my to-do list. “I’ll do better. After the break, I’ll try to listen more to the gossip going on in the room and less to the president giving instructions.” That went against my nature. I liked to learn what I was supposed to do and stick to the rules. It must have been a holdover from my vet school days. But Crosby was absolutely right. If Arthur’s killer struck again, I’d never forgive myself for getting distracted from the investigation.
The sound of a raised voice reached us over the fountain’s noise, and Crosby and I both leaned forward to look toward the sound. A security guard stood in front of a closed door, arms crossed, while a man shouted at him.
Crosby shot up and hur
ried across the atrium to the two men, and I trailed along.
“What’s going on?” Crosby asked.
The guard, who I figured must work for the arena, gave Crosby in his uniform a nod of acknowledgement. “This guy is demanding to get into the supply area.” He jerked his head toward the door he blocked. “That’s the room where the medicine and other supplies for the dogs is kept. Access to it is restricted.”
The man who’d been shouting stomped his foot, drawing my attention to him. He looked around forty-five, with a mildly receding hairline and wire-rimmed glasses. “I’ve always been allowed in there before.”
The guard gestured toward a lanyard around the man’s neck, which read Steve Townsend. “You don’t have access. You’re a dog shower, not a judge or a vet.”
“Arthur Wiggins always got me access before. I need to get in there and get some medicine for my dog. It’s critical that Sofia get her dose today!”
Crosby frowned. “Arthur Wiggins got you access to the medication supply room? Why?”
Steve shifted his feet, seeming to realize for the first time that he might be saying too much. He shrugged. “Sofia needs her medicine.”
I couldn’t help myself. If a dog was in need of medical attention, it was my job to step in. “What kind of medicine?”
Appearing surprised to see that another person was there, Steve blinked at me a couple of times. “Oh. Dr. Morgan.” He shifted his feet some more. “Oh, you know, it’s just vitamins. No big deal, really. Forget about it.” As though he’d suddenly remembered an important meeting he was late for, Steve darted away before any of us could ask another question.
I narrowed my eyes at his retreating back. “Vitamins, huh? How’d we go from life-saving medication that Sofia had to have right now to no-big-deal vitamins?”
“I don’t know, but one of those things must be a lie,” Crosby agreed. He eyed the guard. “Nice work. You might need to be even more vigilant than usual right now about making sure people have the proper access to this room. In fact . . .” He stepped closer. “I’d like you to keep a list of everyone who accesses or tries to access the medications. I’ll come by later and get it from you. Do you have a pen and some paper?”