Wyatt had the decency to squirm a little. “Actually, no. Chief didn’t mention that. Why’d he ask you to do this if you’re friends?”
Shrugging, she turned right at the St. Bernard statue in front of the hospital and proceeded down to Lake Longmuir. “Who knows?”
The sun was high and warm, bringing dog owners to the boardwalk in droves. It seemed like every breed imaginable was represented in the constant parade. Kinney slowed, noticing how few mixed breeds moved in the crowd. Cori must be right that no one wanted a good old-fashioned mutt anymore. That said, she’d owned a golden retriever and now a Belgian shepherd. She was living in a glass house, but it was still a shame because many of the mutts ended up getting “exported” to neighboring cities.
Pulling into the parking lot beside the construction site, she turned off the ignition and took a deep breath. She needed to make this as discreet as possible for James. Issuing a fine in front of his staff—and the many pedestrians trailing by—wasn’t right and it wasn’t fair. The best she could do was pull him aside and keep it quiet.
She got out of the car and didn’t bother waiting for Wyatt. He caught up with her anyway, continuing his running commentary.
“Wow, that is going to be one heck of a condo. Is James Pemberton the architect?”
“He’s the owner,” she said.
“Ah, that explains the fancy dog, I guess. He’s loaded.”
She turned and gave him a look. “Wyatt, could I ask a big favor?”
“Sure.” He was as eager as a beagle working for a treat. “Name it.”
“Can you distract people and hold them back so that I can talk to James in private? I don’t want to call him out in front of his staff.”
“Gotcha. Yeah. Is that him?” He pointed to James, who was standing in a group of men, with Rocky beside him. “He looks like a billionaire. Lucky sonofa—”
“Quiet. Low key, right?”
Wyatt pointed to James, whose arm was up and waving. “Look at that billion-dollar smile,” he said. Then something dawned on him. “Butterfield, this guy has the hots for you, doesn’t he? Ticketing him is gonna savage his pride. You might as well cut off his—”
“Wyatt! I swear to god I’m going to toss you into that huge hole if you don’t shut up. And don’t think I can’t do it.”
James came over, with Rocky wandering behind him, unleashed. “Kinney, hi! Did you come down to check out my new site?” He looked from her to Wyatt and back. “What’s with the uniforms? You guys on a lunch break?”
She gave Wyatt a little shove and he walked over to the group of men James had left. “Is there somewhere we could speak privately, James?”
He gestured to the trailer off to one side of the construction site. “Sure, let’s go inside. I’ll make you a coffee.”
Snapping his fingers, he signaled Rocky to follow. The big dog hesitated, as if to make it perfectly clear he made his own decisions, then moved ahead of them. He had a confident walk, like a burly weightlifter.
Kinney’s heart sank as James guided her across the lot with one hand lightly touching her shoulder. She liked him. It was hard not to like James. Where Hannah tended to be shy and quiet, her brother was perpetually upbeat. He’d had a lot of good fortune in his life, but he’d also seen his parents split and his mother die too young. He’d clashed so much with his father in the family business that he’d finally left. These events hadn’t gotten him down permanently. Maybe he’d come into the world wired for happy, unlike her. Every day she got up anxious and went to bed anxious. In between she worked flat out to hide it. She was pretty sure she succeeded, but it felt like a heavy load sometimes.
James pointed out various features of the worksite as they picked their way through dirt, gravel and bits of asphalt. Most of his words passed right over her head, but she enjoyed hearing his voice. It was deep and oddly calming. If he hadn’t been a billionaire businessman, he could have made it on radio.
He didn’t so much as acknowledge the episode the day before, where her dog had trussed him up in a leash and dragged him. It was gallant of him, and made her task even harder.
When they reached the trailer, he opened the door. “Welcome to my office on wheels.”
She stepped up ahead of James, but Rocky jostled on the stairs to get inside first. A sudden commotion beside the trailer triggered a deep rumble in the dog’s chest that Kinney could actually feel. There was a scrabble of feet on asphalt and someone leapt out, and then screamed. Kinney turned quickly—too quickly—and lost her balance. She tumbled sideways down the stairs.
James got his arms out just in time to break her fall. He caught her, spun slightly and placed her on her feet. She tried to get her footing and he steadied her with one arm. Meanwhile, Rocky took the stairs at a bound and charged the person beside the trailer. She had never heard a more menacing bark in her life.
“Rocky, leave it,” James bellowed, running after the dog who’d chased the person around the trailer.
Kinney followed and they all circled the trailer to the front again. The young woman with the camera was shrieking. Now Wyatt and the workers were heading for them at a run.
James grabbed Rocky’s collar and pulled him backwards. Meanwhile, Kinney signalled Wyatt to hold everyone back. Then she turned on the girl. “Stop that screaming right now. You’re agitating the dog. What are you doing creeping around with a camera anyway?”
The girl looked barely out of school, with long caramel hair, heavy eyeliner and false eyelashes that seemed too heavy to hold up. She straightened her slim shoulders and offered a fake smile. “I’m Madison Parker,” she said. “I’m the new documentarian for the City.”
“Documentarian?” Kinney asked, advancing on her. “What on earth is that?”
“The mayor asked me to capture some of the cool events going on around Dorset Hills. For posterity, you know?”
Her voice had that lilting uptick so many girls adopted these days. As if it weren’t hard enough to be taken seriously in the world. But that was her cynicism talking.
James had crouched to hold Rocky. “What cool event did you expect to capture trespassing on my construction site? This isn’t exactly newsworthy.”
“It sort of is,” Madison said, raising her camera. “The dog cops are here to ticket you because of your aggressive dog.” She fanned her flushed face with one hand. “He sure is aggressive. Listen to the growling.”
James looked up at Kinney from his crouched position. “Is that why you’re here?”
Swallowing hard, she nodded. “I’m sorry, James. Apparently Rocky nipped a woman’s sleeve and the mayor heard about it. Since dog court disbanded, the CCD issues fines for dog infractions.”
She pulled the extra leash out of her bag that she always carried, and offered it to him. He quickly hooked up Rocky and straightened. For once, his smile was gone and his blue eyes had clouded with anger.
“That was hardly aggression,” he said, examining the photo she offered. “That woman took Rocky’s chew toy right out of his mouth. She said it was unsafe for dogs and he disagreed.”
Kinney gestured to Madison and put a finger to her lips. “I completely understand how Rocky would take that the wrong way,” she whispered. “But there are rules in Dorset Hills about dog nipping. Unfortunately, I do have to issue a fine and request you keep Rocky on leash at all times. For his own safety, and the safety of others.”
“Really?” James’ eyes narrowed to icy slits. “You’re telling me to keep my dog on leash for public safety?”
She stared down at the dog. James was calling her a hypocrite because of Whiskey’s behavior the day before. And because he was a gentleman, he wasn’t doing it on the record for Madison Parker.
“I’m sorry, James,” she said. “I didn’t want to do this. It’s only a hundred bucks.”
He shook his head as she pulled out the device that issued tickets. “It’s not about the money. Obviously.”
The ticket slid out like a yellow tong
ue that was vaguely obscene. Madison came forward to get a close up and then lunged back when Rocky ripped off another deep bark.
James accepted the ticket. “Thanks for coming out, Kinney. Lovely to see you.”
He turned and hauled Rocky into the trailer and slammed the door. Wyatt followed Kinney back to the Prius. She got into the driver’s seat and made Wyatt run after the rolling car.
Once settled in the passenger seat, Wyatt laughed. “Guess that means he won’t be offering a huge rock anytime soon, Butterfield.”
She whacked him with the ticketing device as she backed out of the lot. “Dog cop 101, Wyatt: know when to shut up.”
Chapter 8
Cliff’s mustache seemed bigger and bristlier, although it was only a few hours since she’d sat across from it. Drama and controversy probably made it grow.
He sat in silence, trying to get her to break the silence with babble, but she was too well versed in interrogation techniques to take the bait. So the quiet dragged on, and his mustache twitched more and more. She couldn’t take her eyes off it.
Cliff broke first. “That was an embarrassment to the department, Butterfield.”
“What was, sir? I went to the site and issued the ticket, just as you asked.”
“You lost control of the situation. The dog in question should have been leashed the second you saw he wasn’t. Then the aggressive dog you were there to fine ended up practically attacking someone else. We cannot have that kind of escalation in Dorset Hills. It could be mayhem.”
“You sent a so-called documentarian to leap out and startle the dog, Chief. Most dogs would take issue with that. It was like you were creating drama to catch it on film.”
“I did no such thing. If the mayor wants to document daily life in Dorset Hills, that’s his prerogative.” He picked up a pen and twirled it deftly on his fingertips. “As I recall, your friend Evelyn Springdale does exactly the same thing for her little show. Perhaps the mayor wants to set the record straight by telling his side of the story.”
“Evie’s not the mayor. Does it really make sense for the city leader to be creating drama about dogs—the very thing that draws people to Dorset Hills? Good dogs are part of our branding, like you always say. How does filming a dog potentially misbehaving support that brand?”
“I’m not here to debate politics with you, Butterfield.” Cliff spun the pen to his other hand, proving his dexterity. “The mayor may work in mysterious ways, but our duty to uphold the law is not mysterious at all.”
“I issued the ticket, just like you asked. I did my job.”
He stopped spinning the pen long enough to turn his computer monitor to face her. On the screen was a still shot of her in James Pemberton’s arms. Rocky was a tan and black blur in the background as he pursued Madison Parker.
“This photo is circulating on social media as we speak, Butterfield. Looks like you got a little distracted on the job.” He smirked. “I can understand wanting to leap into the arms of a billionaire bachelor when you should be doing your duty, but you’ll need to learn to quell your urges.”
The fire flaming up from her stomach threatened to set her hair alight. She stared down at his calendar, still marked with her bloody fingerprints, before answering. “I’m sure you know that I was knocked off balance when Madison Parker leapt out at us.”
“Knocked off balance by the unleashed dog, or the charming billionaire?”
Even her lips felt scorching hot. “I’m not in the habit of falling into the arms of people we’re investigating, billionaires or otherwise.”
“But you have given in to your urges before, Butterfield. Two nights ago, for example.”
Her rage transformed instantly into fear, tinged with shame. He knew about Whiskey. But how much did he know?
“What do you mean, sir?” It took a gargantuan effort to keep her voice level. “Are you speaking of Myrtle McCabe? I certainly did have urges around her. More violent than romantic, I suppose. I’m sure you saw my report that she’s been firing off canned air to keep neighborhood dogs in line. She’s part of an old-guard neighborhood brigade called the Pooch Patrol.”
Cliff clicked his mouse a few times and brought up several other images: Kinney with blood on her arm; Kinney and Evie lying in the grass with binoculars; and most damning, Kinney leaving the house with Whiskey on the end of a leash. She swallowed what felt like a gritty lump of sawdust. He knew everything.
“Show me your arm, Butterfield.”
She considered getting up and walking out, but that wouldn’t end her troubles. Even if she lost her job, Cliff would come after Whiskey and either banish or euthanize him. She stood a better chance of saving him if she stayed the course.
Pulling up her sleeve, she said, “He grazed me by accident in the dusk. I think his mouth happened to be open and collided with my arm.”
Cliff shook his head, making his mustache quiver. “A bite’s a bite. You won’t get far by denying it.”
For the first time, Kinney smiled. “Cori Hogan said the same thing.”
He rolled his eyes. “Do not liken me in any way to that radical. Let’s stick to the subject. You were bitten on the job by an aggressive dog. Yet I don’t see that anywhere in your report. Moreover, I see you leaving the Barber house with said dog, but there’s no record of it being surrendered to Animal Services. Where is the dog now, Butterfield?”
All kinds of lies and evasions popped into her mind, but she simply said, “At my house.”
Cliff raised eyebrows as bushy as his mustache but much darker. “You’re harboring a fugitive? The dog’s a public hazard. Not turning him in is a fireable offence.”
She looked down at her nails, dirty and cracked from field work. “I know, sir. I couldn’t turn him in because of Marti Forrester.”
This time it was Cliff’s face that flamed up. Marti, the disgraced judge, had gotten the top job at the CCD over him. He only had his job now because she quit and left town. She was his Achilles heel, and mentioning her now could be tossing a match into a powder keg.
He tried to spin his pen, fumbled and dropped it. “Explain.”
She handed the pen back and he shook his head.
“Marti was with me when I visited this dog in his previous home. She helped me defuse a situation with his owner and we were both so happy and proud when we left. The dog was as calm and devoted as any I’d seen. Months later I find Whiskey is with the owner’s sister and her… unpleasant… husband. He’s being traumatized by a neighbor who has an issue with both the neighbor and the City. The dog is completely innocent. And now, that stable, wonderful dog is an anxious mess.” She picked up Cliff’s pen, tried spinning it and failed. It fell on the desk with a clatter. “Marti gave me this job. She trusted me to look out for troubled animals. And she wouldn’t want me to surrender Whiskey and traumatize him further. This is a good dog that’s been harmed by bad policies. It’s not fair to send him away, where he could possibly be euthanized.”
Cliff picked up the pen and spun it again. This time it whirled atop his fingertips. “Marti Forrester aside, I agree with you.”
She looked up at him, startled. “You do?”
“Of course. It breaks my heart every time we need to ban a dog from Dorset Hills.”
“It does?” She hadn’t believed he even had a heart, although he clearly was fond of his own perfectly behaved golden retriever.
“Yes, indeed. That’s why I’m happy to report that the mayor’s taking a new stance on problem dogs. We had a meeting about it today, while you were out flirting with the billionaire.” He shook his head. “Is it any wonder why I question putting ladies in the dog officer role?”
She bit her lip. Protesting would only delay hearing about the mayor’s new position. “Please tell me about the mayor’s change of heart.”
He spun the pen from one hand to the other, fully back on his game. “Mayor Bradshaw is the consummate dog lover, just like me. It’s given him many sleepless nights to take harsh actio
n against bad dogs. So he’s decided to pursue a kinder, gentler Dog Town image. During our pilot test, we’ll stop sending dogs away. Instead, we’ll rehabilitate them—with appropriate controls and supervision.”
Her hand went to her heart. “That’s wonderful news. It means I can retrain Whiskey and make him the dog he was when I met him.”
“Absolutely. And with the City’s blessing, no less.”
“Sir, I’m so happy. Thank you. I really value this job and appreciate being part of this new movement to do more for troubled dogs.”
“I’m glad you feel that way, Butterfield. Because you’re going to be the one to set a good example for everyone in Dorset Hills who struggles with a bad dog.”
Her hand gripped the edge of his desk. “How so?”
“The mayor is launching the Miracle Makeover Dog Training Program. You and your aggressive shepherd will participate and be filmed for the City’s documentary.”
“Technically the dog isn’t mine, sir. He belongs to Jacinda Allen, who’ll want to reclaim him when she comes home.”
“Actually, no. The dog belongs to the City because he was surrendered. But I’ve released him into your custody with the mayor’s approval because of this show. Whiskey is your dog now. Your responsibility. It’s official.”
Her tongue felt oddly huge and cumbersome in her mouth. “Oh. Well I don’t like the idea of this show at all. How does it serve the City to see a dog cop struggling with a troubled dog? It might make them doubt our capacity at the CCD.”
“Butterfield, don’t overthink this. I have no doubt in the world that you will work wonders on Whiskey and it will raise public confidence about the potential of training dogs well. You’ll have a rare opportunity to show people what this fine City is all about. By Independence Day, you’ll be able to demonstrate your success to the world.”
“The Fourth of July is barely six weeks away, sir.”
“It’s called the Miracle Makeover Dog Training Program for good reason. Apparently it works wonders in a short time. So you’ll be showing off your new skills at the citywide event. The mayor wants fireworks this year.”
Bold and Blue in Dog Town: (Dog Town 9) Page 6