Of Birds and Beagles

by Leslie O'Kane

  Just as I got into my car, a theory about Shirley’s and Toofroo’s presence in Kelsey’s house hit me. It must have been bouncing around in my subconscious for a while. I snatched up my cell phone and called someone I knew at the Humane Society in Boulder.

  My theory was that Shirley might have been collecting evidence to charge Kelsey with animal cruelty—or even planting fake evidence to entrap her. If so, she might have summoned someone from the Humane Society to Kelsey’s house to corroborate the existence of incriminating evidence.

  I explained to Susan that I’d discovered Shirley Thorpe’s body and now wanted to see if I should share my theory with the police about why Shirley was in Kelsey’s house. Before I could even ask, Susan said, “She called here on Tuesday, the day of the murder. That very afternoon in fact.”

  “She did?”

  “Yes. She said someone needed to go to her neighbor’s house right away, because her dog was trapped inside and may have been poisoned.”

  “So what happened?” I asked. “Did someone go out to investigate?”

  “No, actually. She canceled the request.”

  “Why?”

  “Shirley had called us on three previous occasions to report that her neighbor was abusing squirrels. This time, our caller-ID indicated that she was using a phone that belonged to the very neighbor that Shirley was always blowing the whistle on. Jeff, who took the call, asked how her dog could be trapped inside her neighbor’s house...when Shirley was using that neighbor’s phone to place the call.”

  “Ouch,” I said.

  “Shirley claimed he’d misunderstood, that she’d gone into the house and found her dog there, and was worried he’d been poisoned. But when Jeff questioned her a little, she said, ‘Oh, never mind. I’ll call the police myself.’ Then hung up.”

  “I wonder if she ever made that call.”

  “Yeah, me too. But, in any case, Jeff told the police about the whole thing.”

  “Oh, good. Then they already know the things that support my theory. I think that Kelsey Minerva, Shirley’s neighbor, might have stumbled across Shirley trying to frame her for an attempted dog poisoning. The police would already have covered that, one way or another, when they questioned Kelsey.”

  “Yeah, that’s what Jeff and I wondered about, as well. It’s too bad. Shirley was what I guess you’d call an odd bird, but her heart was always in the right place. I just hope whoever killed her gets what’s coming to them.”

  Chapter 17

  Ironically, when I got home, eager to tell my mother all of my troubles, she wasn’t alone. Frank was there visiting, and this time he’d brought his yellow lab, Rover, who was indeed a delightful animal. Albeit he was a big shedder; there were several wispy fur balls a few inches from where he lay—on Sage’s favorite throw rug in the kitchen.

  I joined them in the living room. During a lag in the conversation, I said, “My friend Tracy Truett told me she saw you at Shirley’s house the day Shirley was killed.”

  “The name’s familiar,” Frank replied.

  “She has a radio talk show here in Boulder,” my mom said.

  “Oh, right. I didn’t make the connection. I saw her and Kelsey Minerva arguing the day of the murder.”

  “So Toofroo wasn’t missing at that time?” I asked.

  “He apparently wandered off just after I left Shirley’s. And right before I got out to Longmont and called you about it. I’d only just arrived.”

  “Tracy said that Kelsey had called nine-one-one on her. Were you still there when they showed up?”

  “Yeah, a patrol car was there, but only for a couple of minutes. I wound up following the patrol car back to Foothills Parkway.”

  “So Toofroo was still there with Shirley, but something like twenty minutes later, she called to say he was missing?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “The timing feels contrived to me.”

  “Contrived?” Frank repeated.

  Just as I was about to explain about my conversation with Susan at the Humane Society, Mom interjected, “My daughter is something of an amateur sleuth. A couple of her clients have gotten involved in murder cases this past year.”

  Frank widened his eyes in alarm, and she quickly added, “It’s just an eerie coincidence.”

  “What I’m getting at,” I said, “is that somebody lined up acorns leading to Kelsey’s propped-open dog door. Kelsey swears it wasn’t her, and I’m inclined to believe her. Why would Kelsey do that, minutes after the police had just left her house?”

  “You’re thinking Tracy might have done that?” Frank asked.

  “No, I think Shirley might have. She called the Boulder Valley Humane Society right after she called you, and she was using Kelsey’s phone at the time.”

  “What?” both Frank and Mom cried.

  “I’m sure she knew Kelsey took long runs every afternoon that kept her away for over an hour. I think she was watching for when Kelsey left, then set up the acorns to make it look like Kelsey was entrapping squirrels, and then brought Toofroo over there as an excuse to call the Humane Society.”

  “But why would she call to tell me Toofroo was missing?” Frank asked.

  “She also told you she was afraid he was inside Kelsey’s house, right?”

  He nodded.

  “She might have just been covering her bases.”

  “By endangering her own dog?” Mom asked.

  “If she was actually with Toofroo the whole time, he wasn’t ‘endangered.’ She would have been right with him to ensure that he didn’t eat anything.”

  Mom and Frank exchanged glances. “Does that sound like something Shirley would have done?” Mom asked him.

  After a lengthy pause, Frank replied, “I wouldn’t put it past her. She was really feisty and a big supporter of PETA. She had some sort of certificate from them framed on her wall.”

  “That wouldn’t have sat well with Malcolm,” I said. “He and his girlfriend, Jana, are hunters.”

  “Now that you mention it,” Frank said, “that could have explained why Shirley flew off the handle when Kelsey was teasing her by ‘cleaning her gun’ earlier.”

  * * *

  The next morning, Baxter dropped by my office with Barker. Fortunately for Russell’s sake, Russ wasn’t here. He’d texted me to say that he was working at home and would arrive sometime in the afternoon.

  “Hi, Allie.” Baxter swept up Barker with one arm and held him so that he and his cute dog were cheek-to-cheek. The image would have made a nice addition to a men-and-their-pets calendar. “Barker missed you.”

  It was impossible not to return his smile. Also impossible to resist taking Barker from him and into my own arms. “That’s sweet of you to honor your dog’s wishes.”

  “I have to admit, I had an ulterior motive.”

  “Oh?”

  “I could use your help with the Dog Jog.” He pronounced the name so that the words rhymed.

  “You want me to compete?” I asked.

  “Yes. As a dog celebrity.”

  “As in ‘Lassie’ and ‘Rin-Tin-Tin’?”

  He chuckled. “I misspoke. I meant as in a dog-trainer celebrity.”

  “Is there such a thing? If so, I should be making a lot more money. I need to figure out how to cash in on my fame.”

  “You do indeed.”

  “Do you have any jogger celebrities? Olympic runners? They could be running with their greyhounds, just to obliterate the competition.”

  “We do,” Baxter said, grinning at me. “But of course the Dog Jog isn’t really for aspiring professional racers hoping to trounce the competition. It’s primarily a charity event. That’s like trying to come in first in the Breast Cancer Walkathon.”

  “I suppose that’s true. Now I’m embarrassed. I’m naturally competitive. Throwback to my college basketball days.”

  “Really? I’d never have guessed that.”

  “Because I’m only five-feet tall, you mean? That made the ball closer to the
floor when I was dribbling. Which played right into my catlike reflexes.”

  “Ah,” he said, chuckling. “I also wanted to give you a head’s up about something—Kelsey Minerva called me, asking if you were running.”

  “Why? She doesn’t even own a dog. Is she one of your celebrity joggers, or something?”

  “Yes, and she asked if it was within the rules to borrow a dog. So she wants to borrow Pavlov from you.” He paused. “Your friend Jana Bock is also running.”

  “I can see why Jana would want to compete. She’s in really good shape. She’ll probably treat this like the Iditarod.” I paused, wondering if Jana would feel slighted if I was being given a special slot while she was not. “So you’re featuring Jana Bock as a canine-trainer celebrity, too, aren’t you?”

  He winced. “I can’t, actually. That wouldn’t be politically correct with some of our ant-hunting sponsors.”

  “Oh, I see. Is PETA a sponsor?”

  “No, actually, our biggest donor was a local woman...whose name you’ll recognize.”

  His hesitant tone of voice was a give-away. “Shirley Thorpe?” I asked.

  He nodded. “She told me in person that she wanted dog ownership to be celebrated. She called me the day before she died. She said she’d seen Jana Bock’s name on the registration list, and she asked me to refund her money and tell her we don’t want anything to do with hunters. I told her that I wasn’t comfortable with that idea—that Jana wasn’t running as a trainer of hunting dogs, but simply as a dog lover. Shirley decided she could live with that...but she made the stipulation that I should seek out other dog trainers, such as you, and recognize them, specifically, but not Jana.”

  “Wow. Now I feel uncomfortable. Jana’s a friend. This seems like you’re asking me to undermine her.”

  “You’re not, though. You’re just taking advantage of a promotional opportunity that I’m not at liberty to extend to Jana. Due to situations beyond our control.”

  “I understand where you’re coming from, Baxter, but I’m going to have to decline. Thank you for making me the offer, though.” I returned Barker to his arms. He set the dog down on the floor.

  “Damn it. I shouldn’t have told you about Shirley and Jana.”

  “Yes, you should have. I’m glad. It lets me know the whole story before I stepped in something.” His brow was still furrowed. “I’ll still happily enter your Dog Jog event.”

  Just then, Kelsey entered. Russ must not have told her yet to stop dropping into our offices. Magoo was perched on her shoulder. He seemed happily situated with his parrot-sized harness and leash. Kelsey’s eyes widened when she saw Baxter.

  “Hey, there, Mr. McClelland,” she said to him with a smile. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

  “We were just discussing the Dog Jog,” Baxter said.

  “Did you mention me and Pavlov?”

  “He did,” I answered on Baxter’s behalf.

  “So is it all right with you? I run four to six miles a day. I assure you, Pavlov is unlikely to find a faster, more capable partner.”

  “I’m also running, and I was planning on partnering with Pavlov. What about if you run with Doppler?”

  “What brand of dog is he?”

  “His breed is Cocker spaniel.”

  She shook her head. “He couldn’t keep up with me. Besides, you’re little. So is a Cocker. People take a look at you, and they think: ‘Cocker-spaniel owner.’ Whereas with my long legs and foot-speed, I scream: ‘sleek, tall, athletic dog.’”

  Apparent she was screaming for a police dog.

  Kelsey shifted her gaze to Barker, and slowly lifted her gaze to meet Baxter’s. “Now you, Mr. Baxter McClelland, with your Cocker spaniel makes for a nice going-against-typecasting statement. It takes a confident man to own such a cuddly looking dog.”

  “I’m gay,” Baxter said, “and Barker is a King Charles, not a Cocker.” I grinned, certain that Baxter was teasing her.

  “You are?” Kelsey asked as if horrified.

  “You are?” Magoo mimicked.

  “No, I just get annoyed at the typecasting of dog-owners.”

  “But all I said was it was nice to see that you were doing the opposite of typecasting.”

  “That’s my point. There shouldn’t be typecasting in the first place.”

  “Typecasting,” Magoo repeated.

  “Whatever,” Kelsey said pleasantly. “As long as you’re here, I had an idea that should bring in some extra money at your event. My image is on literally hundreds of athletic-wear ads. I’m willing to donate my image, running with Pavlov, to the cause. My agent has given her blessing for me to host a quick photo shoot this afternoon, which I’ve already arranged. You can print posters, and I’ll sign them, free of charge. You can sell them at the event. I’d anticipate that you can earn an additional thousand dollars, easy.”

  “Free of charge,” Magoo chimed in, with a squawk.

  “Fine, Kelsey. If running with Pavlov means that much to you, I’m happy to team up with Doppler.”

  “Excellent!” she replied with a triumphant grin. “We’ve only got a couple of days, so can you meet me at North Boulder Park with Pavlov at, say, four o’clock this afternoon? I can get a photographer there. Pavlov and I will get in a practice run at the same time. We can select a digital photo and email it to the three of us. Then, Baxter, you can talk to Kinkos about donating some twelve-by-sixteen color copies, and you’ll be good to go.”

  Although miffed, Kelsey’s idea could very well improve the proceeds. “I’ll have to switch some appointments, and ask my mom to bring Pavlov down, but I should be able to make that work.”

  “What color is his leash?”

  “His leash? Red.”

  “No, that isn’t a good color for me. It will look wrong with the mountains in the background, as well. We’re going to want to be shot as we run east, toward the camera.”

  “I’m sure Pavlov doesn’t really want to ‘be shot,’ but—”

  “You must have other leashes. What about turquoise? I have sea-green apparel that will complement turquoise nicely.”

  I sighed but opened the bottom drawer in my cabinet and rifled through my extra leashes. “My green leash is more of a mint. Would that suffice?” I lifted out the leash.

  She grimaced and shook her head. “That’s apple green.” She peered into the drawer and grabbed the blue leash, Magoo flapping his wings a little to maintain his balance as her shoulder tipped forward. “Royal blue will be adequate.”

  “Hooray,” I intoned.

  “Now that that’s all resolved,” Baxter said, snapping a leash on Barker’s collar, “I’ll be on my way. Is it all right if I give you a call later?” I hesitated a little, and he added, “To talk more about the race?”

  “Sure. You have my number.”

  “I do.” He grinned at me. “Talk to you soon.”

  I nodded, but my cheeks were warming of their own volition. As Baxter left, I glanced over at Kelsey. She was smirking at me, her arms crossed.

  “Having troubles with Rusty, are we?” she said with apparent pleasure.

  “Why do you ask?”

  “No reason,” she fired back. “Your wandering eye already gave me my answer.”

  “Russ and I are still together.”

  She chuckled a little and shook her head. “No wonder you didn’t want me to sue Baxter for stealing my idea. You’ll be happy to hear that I decided to drop the whole thing.” She started to head to the door. “I’ll see you and Pavlov at four. We’ll get wonderful pictures that you can hang in your office.”

  The only way I was going to want to keep any of those pictures, let alone put them on display, was if I could crop her out of the photo completely. “Come to think of it, Kelsey, I’m going to put a stipulation on your running with Pavlov. I’ll only let it happen if you pay Tracy Truett the four-hundred and eighty-four dollars she originally agreed to accept for Magoo biting her beagle.”

  She spread her arm
s and gaped at me. “You really expect me to give money to that woman? After she barged into my house and threatened to kill me? And killed my poor neighbor, thinking she was me?”

  “I don’t believe Tracy’s guilty of any of that for a second. And, yes, I do expect you to reimburse her if you want to run with Pavlov.”

  “Have it your way. I want to help Baxter with a good cause.”

  And outrun Malcolm’s girlfriend, while promoting yourself as a model.

  She whirled around and marched to the door. “Have her give you copies of the vet bills and bring them this afternoon. I’ll write out a check for that amount in full. Along with an extra hundred dollars for her time. As for her aggravation, she can stuff a sock in it.”

  Magoo squawked his protest as she marched out the door with him.

  Chapter 18

  “Are you sure you want Pavlov to run with that Kelsey person?” my mother asked me.

  I grinned at her phrase: “that Kelsey person.” Mom was actually being tactful and tempering her open dislike of the woman somewhat. “It’s for a good cause,” I replied.

  Mom had met me at North Boulder Park, bringing all three dogs down from Berthoud. She’d also offered to stay and watch, and then to take all three dogs back home. She studied my features, then scanned our surroundings. “Where’s Russell?”

  “He has a lot of work to do. He’s still at the office.” We’d barely spoken an unnecessary word.

  I did a double-take as a car pulled up and parked nearby, and Baxter emerged. Once again, he’d brought Barker. He waved at me and headed toward us.

  “Hi, Baxter, this is my mother, Linda.”

  “Nice to meet you, Ms. Babcock. I’m a big fan of your daughter.”

  “Thank you.” She glanced at me, then back at him. “I see you have a King Charles cavalier.” Again, she gave me a darting glance. She was well aware of my adoration for that particular breed. In spite of myself, I felt my cheeks grow warm. This was getting to be an embarrassing habit, all of a sudden.

  Doppler was more than a little whiney, and Mom suggested that Baxter and I take our three dogs for a walk while she “hung out for a while” with her collie. Baxter jumped at the notion, saying, “Barker seems thrilled to be with a dog so close to his own size.