Of Birds and Beagles

by Leslie O'Kane

  By the time the sergeant was ready to interview me, I had dried my eyes, and she’d whisked Toofroo away. This street was really noisy; essentially a frontage road to Broadway—one of the busiest roads in Boulder. Kelsey’s small house was on the corner. The house that backed to Kelsey’s property was for sale and looked unoccupied. It was close enough to the CU campus to be largely a rental district, so I doubted Shirley or Kelsey had met many of their neighbors. Furthermore, it was no wonder nobody reported hearing the gunshot. If I heard one go off even now, I would assume it was a car engine backfiring.

  Neustrom helped me to my feet and urged me to follow him to the sidewalk so that they could “secure the perimeter.” He then allowed me to sit on the curb, sat down beside me, and took my statement. I mentioned to him that a neighbor named Malcolm Norfolk’s Doberman pinscher was often here but was not here now.

  I’d carefully taken the officer through the events of the afternoon, starting with my phone call from Frank and the factors that drove me to climbing through the dog door. Just as I described how Magoo squawked: ‘Malcolm did it,” Kelsey, wearing running shorts and shoes, and a pale green T-shirt, came trotting toward us along the sidewalk.

  Both the officer and I hopped to our feet. Kelsey eyed us and slowed to a stop at the top of her walkway. She gaped at her house. “What in God’s name is going on?!” she cried.

  “Are you Kelsey Minerva?” Sergeant Neustrom asked.

  “Yes. And this is my house. Is my parrot okay?”

  “He’s fine,” I answered. “He’s in his cage in your bedroom.”

  “There’s been a serious incident inside your house, Ms. Minerva,” Sergeant Neustrom said.

  “What kind of incident? I live alone. Did a burglar break in?”

  “Your next door neighbor was discovered in your bedroom by Ms. Babcock. She had died from a gunshot wound.”

  “Shirley’s in my house? Dead? What the hell is happening!” She looked at me. “Allie, why are you here? What were you doing in my house? And why was Shirley there?”

  “What time was it when you left for your run?” the sergeant asked her before I could answer.

  “It was around four p.m. I don’t know what time it is now. But I always run for about ninety minutes.”

  “Was your house locked?”

  “Yes. Well, not the deadbolt, just the lock on my front doorknob. But the back door was locked.” She looked at me. “How did you get in my house?”

  “Through the dog door. Toofroo was urging me to follow him. Shirley had called her fix-it man and said Toofroo was missing, and apparently she thought her dog was in your house. She probably got in through the dog door, too, as did Toofroo. You didn’t poison the dog food in the bowl in the sunroom, did you?”

  She gaped at me, seemingly sincerely puzzled. “What dog food? The bowl was empty. That’s Fang’s bowl. And Malcolm said he wasn’t going to bring him here anymore.”

  “There’s dog food in it now,” the officer said.

  “So...somebody put dog food in a bowl and shot my neighbor?” She sounded sincerely bewildered. “Or Shirley put food in the bowl and then got shot?”

  “That could be why Toofroo went inside your house . . . if he’d been eating a trail of kibble that was placed there, alongside the trail of acorns.”

  “Acorns?” Kelsey repeated, her confusion now taking on an edge of aggravation.

  “There’s a line of them on the steps to the dog door. And that could be why Shirley stayed inside your home after she found Toofroo in there.” As I spoke, Kelsey’s eyes grew wider, as if in alarm. “Shirley might have been searching for clues about poisonous meatballs,” I continued, “for fear that Toofroo had found and eaten another one of them...whenever he got into your yard.”

  Kelsey turned away from me and fixed her panic-stricken gaze on Sergeant Neustrom. “Officer,” she cried, “I am the victim here. I had two women break into my house today. I did not poison the dog food. I’ve lived my own life, minding my own business, next door to a nutcase who’s obsessed with squirrels and doesn’t respect my right not to like squirrels. I didn’t kill her. I didn’t poison her dog...or even the squirrels. I went to work today, came home afterward, and went for a run. Period. That’s all I did. All of this...this lunacy happened on its own accord, while I wasn’t even here, through no fault of mine.”

  Sergeant Neustrom was listening impassively, and I realized when I looked at the Smartphone in his hand that he’d been recording my statement with it. He was now recording Kelsey’s and my conversation.

  “Did anybody have a copy of your key, Ms. Minerva?” he asked.

  “Malcolm Norfolk did, my ex-boyfriend who used to live here. I don’t know if he still does, but obviously not having a key didn’t stop either Shirley or Allida from getting inside.”

  Kelsey glared at me, and I couldn’t really blame her for being hostile that I’d entered her house. That had been my first time inside; she’d never invited me in during our session with Fang yesterday, which, under these circumstances, now struck me as suspicious. “Did you fail to invite me inside earlier because you didn’t want me to see that you had a gun?” I asked her, in the officer’s presence.

  “No...because my house was messy.”

  “Does the rifle belong to you, Miss?” the sergeant asked.

  “Yes. Well, for the time being, it does. My former boyfriend left it for me when he moved out. For protection, now that I’m living alone.” I studied her face, not especially convinced that her statements were credible.

  “What was the dog dish doing by the dog door?” I asked. “Did Malcolm leave that here?”

  “Yeah. Sort of. It was Fang’s spare dish. I kept it in case I ever had to feed him.”

  “What about the ball I gave you to put his kibble in yesterday?”

  “That didn’t do me any good. Malcolm stopped bringing him the instant—” She broke off, looking guilty.

  “The instant you told him about the poisoned meatballs,” I said, completing her sentence. “Did you put one in Shirley’s yard?”

  “A poisoned meatball?” the sergeant asked.

  “Of course not,” Kelsey said to the sergeant.

  “Shirley must have already confronted Kelsey,” I explained to the sergeant, “but Shirley called me yesterday evening, asking if I’d maybe been tricked by Kelsey into bringing the poisoned meat into Shirley’s home.”

  “She might have made the whole story up,” Kelsey grumbled.

  Again I turned to the officer. “She said Toofroo’s veterinarian was the one who analyzed it, and that she contacted the authorities.”

  “I’ll look into that,” Sergeant Neustrom said. “That should be easy enough to verify.”

  To my eye, Kelsey seemed flustered at his assurance. I didn’t believe her denial of the animal-poisoning attempt. “Actually, Sergeant,” I said, “my fear is that I could have put the idea of poisoning meat into Kelsey’s head, because I happened to mention yesterday that I’d once heard that squirrels will eat meat when they’re really hungry. Suet, for instance. When I told Kelsey that yesterday morning, she replied that her macaw never eats meat. I’d found the comment a strange non sequitur.”

  “I did not poison any meatballs.” She was starting to flex and then clench her fingers, growing steadily more anxious.

  “Do you need a search warrant to search for anti-freeze fluid? And hamburger?” I asked him.

  “You can search all you want,” Kelsey said with a flick of her wrist. “But just because I do happen to have hamburger in my refrigerator and antifreeze in my garage doesn’t make me guilty of doing anything that despicable. And I’m pretty sure Malcolm was here for a while this afternoon, before I got home and then left for my run. Some things were moved around. I’ve suspected for these past couple of weeks since he moved out that he kept an extra copy of my key.”

  “You should change the lock,” the officer said.

  “I know. I should.” Kelsey glared at me and a
dded, “But apparently people feel free to trespass by crawling through my dog door anyway.” She returned her focus to Sergeant Neustrom. “I think Shirley was poking around in my bedroom, knowing I was off on my run. She was probably looking for signs of poison, so she could have the police throw me in jail. Even though I’m innocent. It wasn’t me who shot her.” Once again she shifted her gaze toward me. “It was undoubtedly that batty friend of yours, Tracy Truett.”

  “You can’t be serious!”

  Kelsey put her hands on her hips, her cheeks red and her eyes fiery. “She barged into my home less than two hours ago, Officer Sergeant. I’m sure you policemen will have that on your whatchamacallit. Your blotter. I called nine-one-one when she was here. She practically knocked the door down when I didn’t want to let her in. I grabbed Malcolm’s rifle, but she followed me and ripped it right out of my hands. That’s when I called the police. She put the gun down and left in a hurry. I assumed I’d taught her a lesson. But she must have just driven around the corner and waited until she saw me leave. Then she used a credit card or something to get the door open. She probably picked up the gun and was waiting for me, then shot poor-old Shirley when she broke into my house, instead of me.”

  “That can’t possibly be true,” I said, but a part of me was terrified for my hot-tempered friend. Kelsey had to be telling the truth about calling 911. That would be too easy to verify, one way or the other.

  “Two officers came to my house to check on me, right before I left on my jog. I stupidly told them everything was fine. What a mistake that was! I overestimated Tracy’s degree of sanity. If only I’d realized the woman was completely unhinged, Shirley Thorpe would still be alive.”

  The sergeant stared at her, his expression inscrutable. He was getting quite an earful from both of us. That reminded me of Magoo. “Why have you trained Magoo to say, ‘Malcolm did it’? That was the first thing he said to me, after he stopped barking.”

  Kelsey grew pale, clearly taken aback by my statement. “That was a joke. As you’ve seen for yourself, he can echo my statements at the worst possible times. I can be a bit overly dramatic. I had visions of committing suicide and having my parrot say, ‘Malcolm did it.’”

  She shook her head. “I’m not suicidal now, though. I used to talk like that when he’d first walked out on me, two weeks ago. Before I realized how lucky I was to get him out of my life. Even though getting his dog out of my life has been harder still.”

  Chapter 11

  After leaving Kelsey’s neighborhood, I endured three hours of interviews at the police station, which left me feeling utterly drained. I had an uncontrollable case of the shakes, and it was all I could do to get my key into the lock at Mom’s house. Just as I’d managed the feat, she swept open the door, took one look at my face, and asked: “What’s wrong?”

  “I found someone’s body. She’d been shot.”

  Flanked by all three of our dogs, Mom ushered me to the sofa. By the time I got my next sentence out—about the victim being Shirley Thorpe—she’d managed to all but swaddle me in a rust-colored throw blanket. This was one of those times when I truly needed and deserved some coddling from my mother. I wished I hadn’t entered Kelsey’s home. I wished I didn’t live in a world in which some seventyish woman could be shot to death, perhaps just because she was overly fond of squirrels.

  “Shirley Thorpe,” my mother repeated. “That name sounds familiar. Is she a big animal-rights activist?”

  “Yeah, she was. Although I didn’t realize you or anyone else would have—”

  The phone rang.

  “That’s bound to be Russell,” Mom said, rising.

  “Did he call here earlier?” I asked. “He happened to call my cell right before I called the police. I meant to call him back but never did.”

  My widened her eyes at me—an expression of disapproval. “I was just assuming you’ve been keeping him in the loop all along. He’s probably worried sick.”

  Last night, I’d told her about my troubles with Russ and his interview in Seattle, though. She liked him and wanted us to stay together.

  A moment later, I heard her saying into the kitchen phone, “Hello, Russell. Allida just got home from the police station a few minutes ago. I’ll put her on.” She strode back into the room and handed me the phone.

  “Russ?” I said, watching Sage, Mom’s collie settle onto her bed in the corner. Pavlov and Doppler were sitting by my feet.

  “Hi, darling,” he said. “I can’t stand to be stuck out here any longer. I’m cutting my trip short and finishing up my interviews tomorrow morning.”

  “You don’t have to do that, Russ. I’m fine. I’m just a little...frayed at the edges.”

  “You’ve had a terrible shock...finding a dead body. I’m sure anybody would want a little personal support in your shoes.”

  I couldn’t respond. I was so tired that his wording had given me the weird image of needing supports in my shoes along the lines of Dr. Scholl’s orthotics.

  After a pause, Russ asked, “Do the police know who did it?”

  “Not really.” Unless you counted the parrot’s accusation. “There are three strong suspects, from circumstantial evidence. Assuming I’m not the fourth. Kelsey, Malcolm, and Tracy.”

  “Tracy? Truett?” he asked.

  I unwrapped the blanket and spread it on the sofa, then patted the covered cushion so that Doppler could hop up beside me. Pavlov rested her head on my lap, while Sage followed Mom back into the kitchen. “Apparently she came to Kelsey’s house, pitched a fit, and grabbed the murder weapon at some point.”

  “But Tracy had no motive. She wouldn’t have known Kelsey’s neighbor from Adam,” Russ pointed out.

  “Yeah, but theoretically, Tracy could have shot her accidentally, either by being so startled that someone was in the house, or due to mistaken identity. The killer dropped the rifle in the doorway, and Shirley was beside the bed. The police told me specifically not to talk to her about the case until they’d had the chance to interview her. But I really don’t want to talk about this right now anyway. I told the police my story five or six times already.”

  There was a long silence. I finally ended it, asking, “How has your interview gone so far?”

  “Good. But there are more people to talk to tomorrow, so I could still blow it.”

  “You won’t. You’re too good at what you do.”

  “Not true, but thanks for your encouragement. I want to apologize one more time for yesterday, for being a jerk to your friend, Baxter.”

  “It’s all right, Russ. I honestly don’t care about that at all anymore. I just saw someone who’d been shot to death. Life’s too short and too arbitrary to lose sleep up over how you treated someone while I was practically drooling all over his dog. It’s in the past.”

  “Yeah. Okay. Good.” He sighed. “The weather’s lovely here. Seventy degrees. No rain. There were eight dogs at the park I walked through today.”

  “Oh?”

  “Yep. I was counting. I’m just saying, Seattle has lots of dog lovers. And maybe one Allie-Babcock lover, if all goes well tomorrow...and you agree to move here with me.”

  But I’m not ready to move there.

  We shared another awkward pause. I gave Pavlov an ear rub, then Pavlov a tummy rub.

  “It’s late, and I haven’t gotten the chance to eat any dinner,” I finally muttered.

  “I’ll let you go. I love you.”

  “I love you too, Russ. Good night.”

  The instant I hung up, Mom wandered back into the living room, making it obvious that she’d been listening. In spite of myself, my eyes filled with tears. Although I tried to hide my reaction, my mother asked gently, “Is Russ trying to convince you to move to Seattle?”

  I nodded. “I don’t feel like we’ve had enough time together to know if that will work.” We’ve only been dating for six months.

  “Wouldn’t you have exactly the same chance of your relationship failing or succeeding th
ere as you do here?”

  “Sure, but that’s pretty much my point. I don’t want to give up everything in my life here and move a thousand-some-odd miles away, only to discover we can’t live happily together.”

  “So...are you willing to break things off with him now and guarantee that you and Russell will never find out if you’re soulmates?”

  “Maybe. But, if push comes to shove, I’d rather try having a long-distance relationship. That works for some people.”

  Mom gave me a lifted-eyebrow look that I’m certain meant she was doubtful I could come up with any names. Which was true, actually, but I wanted that detail to be beside the point. I decided I’d rather talk about the murder than Russ moving. I launched into a description of what happened at Kelsey’s house, in spite of my having told Russ that I didn’t want to talk about it. The dogs got restless, probably due to sensing my agitation. My tale of woes had made my mother glum. It was hard to say if that was due to my news about a semi-client’s murder, Tracy being a suspect, or that I was confident Russell would be offered the job at Microsoft. We watched in silence as Pavlov fetched a rubber ball, then dropped it into my lap.

  “You’re not staying in Colorado because of me, are you?” Mom asked.

  “No, Mom. I mean, sure, that’s part of what makes Colorado so much of a permanent home. But I’d never choose living near you over moving with Russell.”

  “If you thought he was the one, you mean?”

  I considered the question as I rolled Pavlov’s ball toward the opposite corner of the room. She went after it, but Doppler hopped to the floor, hopeful that he’d be allowed to play, too. “I think he might be the one. But, when it comes straight down to it, that’s the crux of the problem. I’m not certain either way. Again, we’ve only been a full-blown couple for six months now.” Pavlov dropped the ball in my lap.

  “Sometimes it does take time. But as you know, I married your dad after three months. I knew he was the one. We’d still be together today if he hadn’t died so young.”