by Arlene Kay
“What’d you get?” Babette asked.
Ella piped up right away. “A macaroon, right, Daddy?”
Pruett hushed his daughter with a big hug. “Close. Actually, it’s a Macan.”
I knew very little about fancy vehicles since my aged Suburban fit both my needs and my pocketbook. High-end products were more suited to aficionados like Pruett and well-heeled matrons like Babette.
She nodded. “Cool. That’s the new Porsche, right? What color?”
Pruett looked downright sheepish as he answered. “Deep red. Ella picked it out. I’ll show it to you later on.”
Above all, I was a realist. Wing Pruett was a gorgeous guy who fit perfectly in a Porsche and could afford to pay the freight. Maybe that described the vast cultural gulf between us—he was a sexy foreign import, I the sensible domestic product.
“So, you didn’t miss me?” Pruett asked. My nether parts tingled, but I strove for indifference.
“We’ve been so busy,” I said. “The show and all.”
Pruett wasn’t fooled one bit. “I wanted to surprise you about the car. You’re always miles ahead of me on everything.” He held out his arms to his daughter. “What are we ever going to do with her, Ella? She’s incorrigible.”
Ella knitted her brows. “What’s incorrigible, Daddy?”
That gave Babette the opening she desired. “It means Ms. Perri is a brat, honey. There. I said it! All that mooning over this man, and she pretends she’s an iceberg.”
Before she continued analyzing my habits, fate in the person of Rafael Ramos intervened. He nodded to Babette and me, but his real target was Pruett. Rafa strode toward us with his arm extended.
“This is a distinct pleasure. Wing Pruett, am I correct? I am a big fan of your work, sir.” The two men exchanged handshakes as Babette introduced her new friend.
“What brings you here?” Rafa asked. “Some big exposé in the show ring?”
Pruett laughed and shook his head. “Nothing so dramatic. I’m here strictly as an observer and chief cheering section for Lady Guinevere and my daughter.” He glanced my way. “And to keep an eye on Perri too.”
Rafa nodded. “That I can understand. A pair of champions—both of them. And who would ever think that this lovely lady was a leathersmith? In my country, that’s a man’s job.”
I grinned. “Actually, I learned the trade from a man—an army buddy. He had a business making custom briefcases and luggage. I hung around until I learned how to do it myself.” I spread my arms out wide. “The rest is history.”
Babette burrowed her way into the conversation. “Perri’s designs are fantastic. All my friends rave about them. And Ella, she’s junior handler material for sure one day. She loves dogs.”
I sensed a hesitation—fleeting and temporary—in Rafa’s manner. “Follow me. I’ll introduce you to Lee Holmes. He’s the head honcho of the junior handlers. Any questions you have, he’s the one with all the answers.” Ella and Pruett followed him to the refreshment table, where a tall man with curly brown hair and matching mustache was holding court. Normally, Wing Pruett schmoozed with the best of them, but as he approached Lee Holmes, his body language said otherwise.
“Who is that?” I asked Babette. “He looks familiar, but I can’t place him.”
Babette giggled. Most women her age had stopped giggling years before, but it still worked for her. “Perri, you are in a daze. Lee looks like Tom Selleck. You know, the actor on the old TV show Magnum PI. Kind of a babe magnet if you’re under thirty. Word is, he likes ’em young. Anyone under thirty.” More giggling by Babette. “Of course, his wife passed thirty about three decades ago. Guess that power of the purse still counts.”
I’m fairly sophisticated—worldly, but not jaded. My mouth dropped open, and I gaped at Babette as if I were the village idiot. I focused on canines, not human foibles, and avoided tales of marriages gone awry.
“Oh, grow up, Perri,” Babette snorted. “You were in the army, for crying out loud. Besides, Lee mostly just leers at anything female. Probably afraid to touch the merchandise. His wife keeps him on a short leash with a choke collar.”
“His wife? You keep mentioning her. Have I met her?”
My pal enjoyed the drama. “You knucklehead! Of course you have. Lee’s wife is Yael Lindsay, the princess of pointers.”
That gave me a jolt. No wonder Yael was so prickly. She looked at least a decade older than her randy spouse. Who could blame her if his wandering eye made her suspicious? I knew her casually through her occasional purchases at my shop, but I had never socialized with the couple. Now the contretemps between Yael and Bethany made some sense. Yael’s lineage was well known at least in society circles. Her family was charter members of the Daughters of the American Revolution and maintained a venerable brick town house on Beacon Street in Boston. I didn’t know the Boston dog crowd very well, but Babette was plugged in to every upper-echelon social network on the East Coast. Unlike me, she had both the cash and connections to penetrate any tightly knit and very exclusive community of privilege.
Babette stabbed my shoulder with her fingernail. “Don’t just stand there like a ninny. We need to join the crowd. Shake a leg, Perri. Those women will mob Pruett if you’re not careful.” She bustled toward the knot of admirers surrounding Pruett while I trailed behind. I refused to loom over him just to assert my ownership. After all, we weren’t married or even engaged. From experience, I knew that he was catnip to any sentient female within ten miles and exerted some type of gravitational pull on the fair sex. Mutual trust and respect united us, not the proverbial ball and chain of a marriage certificate. That was the shield I used to ward off doubt and insecurity. If I yearned for more, I resisted even thinking about it. The consequences of loss were simply too profound.
“Perri,” Babette hissed, “get a load of that one slithering around him like a serpent.”
I focused on a nubile brunette wearing a diaphanous caftan that left little to the imagination. “Oh. That’s the pet psychic again. She’s harmless. Fun to talk to.”
“Huh!” Babette folded her arms and snorted. “You just tell yourself that, missy. I know a woman on the make when I see one. Plus, she has claws. Watch your step.”
I shrugged and scanned the crowd, looking for Ella. It was easy enough to find her since Pruett, the doting dad, kept his eyes glued to his child. Ella hovered on the fringe of a group of handlers, drinking in their every word. One in particular, a precocious blonde with waist-length hair and plenty of curves, appeared to be their leader. She sidled up to Lee Holmes and whispered something in his ear. Judging by his reaction, her words must have packed a punch. He flushed, muttered something to her, and turned aside. That’s when the fireworks started.
“Quite a crowd,” a mocking voice said. Whit Wiley beamed a suspiciously innocent smile my way. “No wonder Lee takes his duties so seriously.” He nodded toward the blonde. “In case you’re wondering, that’s Kiki Vesco, one of the up-and-coming handlers.” He leered like a villain from a cheap melodrama, then lost his train of thought. A commotion that threatened to become a brawl stopped him in his tracks.
Chapter 3
A swarthy man with a compact frame and receding hairline leapt between Kiki and Lee Holmes, seizing him by the collar.
“Leave her alone,” he growled. “Touch her again, and I swear I’ll kill you.”
“Oops,” Whit said, “that’s Kiki’s ex-husband, Roy. Still crazy about her, they say. Guess he needs to stand in line.”
Holmes struggled impotently, arms flailing. “Let me go,” he squawked. Kiki burst into tears and beat on Roy’s back, to little effect. The situation worsened when Yael Lindsay ran to her husband’s side, shrieking. “The police are on the way, you hooligan.”
The hooligan in question maintained his hold. “Cops! Great idea. We got laws against your kind, buster.”
I
considered intervening and moved toward them. After all, as an army sergeant, I had grown rather skilled at diffusing conflict. “Brawls are us” was our motto in my old squad. I stopped short as actors on several fronts beat me to it. Pruett and Rafa, twin towers of muscle, lunged toward the combatants and pried them apart.
Pruett grabbed the swarthy man by the collar and hauled him away from Lee Holmes. Instead of being grateful, Holmes turned surly. He dusted himself off and snarled.
“Just what we need, a super snoop from the big city. I could have handled that guy without your help. Next time, stay out of it and out of my business too. You have your own problems.” He nodded toward me and sneered. “Better watch out for that leather lady, my friend. Looks like she could use a man’s touch.”
Pruett whispered something to Holmes that I could not hear. Whatever he said was incendiary. Lee Holmes turned tomato red and lunged for my guy’s throat. Pruett deflected the blow and deftly stepped aside. Initially, Rafa held back and kept watch over the other combatant. Suddenly, Lee changed tactics, leapt up and sucker punched Roy Vesco. Pruett moved swiftly to end the brawl, displaying the wushu moves at which he excelled. Holmes collapsed in his wife’s arms like a punctured balloon, robbed of dignity and aggression.
Babette, never a fan of fisticuffs, cowered behind me as Whit Wiley beamed his poisonous smile my way.
“Goodness gracious,” he said, “looks like you have quite a fan club, Perri. Better watch out for Yael. The lady doesn’t tolerate interlopers.”
I considered several responses, one of which was a punch to Wiley’s midsection. Fortunately, good sense prevailed, and I shrugged instead. “I’m safe. Truthfully, I don’t even know that Lee Holmes guy. Could be he bought some of my products, but I have so many customers at these shows, he just didn’t stand out.”
Wiley curled his lip in a faux grin. “Well, my dear, he obviously knows your sweetie and doesn’t like him much. Seems to appreciate your wares, such as they are. Wing Pruett must be on to something with that gentleman. I’ll leave it to your imagination.”
I turned away from Wiley and his vile suggestions. It was much more fun to study Pruett in warrior mode. All that testosterone fueled my own desires.
Rafa turned toward his fellow handlers and shook his head. “Relax everyone. Chill. Show’s over.” He grinned. “Not the big show, of course. That’s what we’re here for, after all. Dogs!”
He diffused a tense situation with a combination of charm and muscle that earned him admiring glances from the mostly female audience. Babette had the glazed look that presaged a bout of love sickness.
Pruett moved swiftly to Ella’s side and put his arm around the little girl. I watched her, all big-eyed, clinging tightly to her dad. Who could blame her? Unfortunately, it was a disquieting and inauspicious introduction to the junior handler program for a nervous parent like Pruett. His doubts about the program were probably magnified threefold by such a dustup.
Yael Lindsay brushed off her husband’s polo shirt, trying to contain her embarrassment and regain control. Control seemed very important to that redoubtable lady. Several of the other officials pitched in and herded the junior handlers to the side of the room. One woman in particular caught my eye. I recognized her from the German shepherd brigade, although her name escaped me at that moment. Whit Wiley came in handy once more.
“Oops,” he said. “There’s trouble.”
Despite my misgivings, I bent down and whispered. “Who is that woman?”
“Jess Pendrake. German shepherd handler and man hater. Sees sexism behind every crate.” He rolled his eyes and grinned. “I doubt it’s from personal experience, though.”
“I remember her,” Babette piped up. “Says she has PTSD.” She gave Jess the once-over. “Personally, I think if she fixed that hair and dressed better, she might actually find a man.” She patted her own coiffeur. “That would settle her down.”
I ignored Babette’s comments. True, Jess could use some sprucing up, but for most women, that was a personal and very sensitive subject. My pal stocked more cosmetics than Sephora and made it her life’s mission to transform every woman who crossed her path. I could personally testify on that subject. Nothing could dissuade Babette from the makeup crusade, even the risk of alienating members of her own gender.
Pruett locked eyes with me and nodded toward the exit. “Boy, am I thirsty. Where can a guy get a drink around here? I booked a hotel room at the Sheraton downtown just in case that snowstorm hits early.”
For once in her life, Babette took the hint. She invited everyone to convene in Steady Eddie for adult beverages and snacks. Rafa promised to join us later, but Pruett squeezed my hand and wordlessly followed the procession. I had hoped for some alone time with him, but it was not to be.
Babette opened several bottles of wine and produced a tray of tasty treats for the adults. Ella settled willingly for hot chocolate and a sandwich. She was more concerned with Guinnie’s welfare than assuaging her own hunger.
“She’s been cooped up so long,” Ella said, hugging the pointer. “Can’t we take her for a run? Daddy, please?”
Pruett tried to tough it out, but one look at his pleading child ended that charade. “I guess so. How about it, Perri? I have some things to attend to, but I’ll catch up with you.”
Babette quickly agreed to hold down the fort and wait for Rafa. The woman had stars in her eyes as she envisioned doing Lord knows what in her alone time with him. After Pruett left, I listened patiently to yet another recitation of Rafa’s virtues and his macho takedown of Lee Holmes. No mention of Pruett’s contributions to resolving the conflict, but that was par for the course when my pal was on the hunt. Babette’s single-track mind was focused on only one man.
I nodded to the point of foolishness, agreeing that Rafa was indeed a superior specimen. After five more minutes of blather, I collected our pet gear, leashed the four dogs, stowed potty bags, and headed out. I reminded myself that exercise was a more healthy and wholesome pursuit than sipping wine and staring into those mesmerizing Pruett eyes. Small consolation!
Snowflakes dotted the landscape around the Big E, and the wind howled louder than our canine corps. Using the “better safe than sorry” mantra, we donned caps, scarves, and boots before venturing out.
Keats and Poe quickly took the lead, streaking effortlessly through the fields toward the equine arena. My boys are Schutzhund-trained and very adept at protection and tracking. Like me, they never forgot their military training. The Malinois had mad skills, and they knew how to use them. With them at our side, both Ella and I were well protected.
I kept Clara at a heel, while Ella brought up the rear with the ever-compliant Guinnie. Ella’s childish chatter made me laugh and lulled me into a state of complacency. Most days, I was a realist and seldom allowed myself the luxury of dreaming, but that evening, just for a moment, I did so. Pruett, Ella and I as a family unit—it felt so right. We were a bonded trio already. If only...Daydreaming exacts its own price, and at first, I missed the signals coming from my dogs. They stood statue still, their hackles raised in warning.
“What’s going on, Ms. Perri?” Ella asked, her voice quivering. “The dogs are acting funny.”
I held out my arm to keep her back. “I’ll handle this, if you can hold Clara and Guinnie. No need to feel scared.’’
The dogs get testy when they’re in Schutzhund mode. Schutzhund was a serious discipline that my boys excelled at. That training had saved my life and those of many others during their military careers. I had and would trust those Malinois any time, any place.
I advanced slowly toward the edge of the field, calling softly to my dogs. Keats and Poe had taken sentry positions around something—I couldn’t quite make out what it was. I drew closer and saw a human arm outstretched as if in supplication. A familiar figure bent over the body, checking its vital signs.
“Sta
nd back, Perri.” Pruett’s voice deepened. “I was looking for you guys and stumbled on him.”
I couldn’t help wondering what Pruett was up to. Was the dog show world the subject of Pruett’s latest exposé? Since Ella was there, I hoped to shield her from what might be a grisly scene as long as possible. The night had turned dark and impenetrable as I approached the body, shining my pocket flashlight on the area, walking cautiously to avoid compromising a potential crime scene.
Lee Holmes lay sprawled on the field, snowflakes dotting his hair and face. His mouth opened in the perpetual scream of the recently departed. He was gone, no doubt about that. I had seen enough corpses in combat to know that. There was also the matter of the pretty pink grooming shears protruding from the center of his chest.
Chapter 4
Under other circumstances, I might have appreciated the aesthetics of the scene. Pink titanium grooming shears added an artistic, almost feminine touch to an otherwise grisly event. The impact was at once strange and so familiar that I immediately went on autopilot, viewing things as dispassionately as possible. First, the murder weapon: I sold that same product to a select group that wanted quality and didn’t mind shelling out almost two hundred bucks for ten inches of durable, German-made cobalt steel. Poodle owners swore by them. I bent over and checked Lee’s body for the sake of form. He was long gone, not likely to object to an impersonal survey of his remains. Meanwhile, Pruett joined me and went into action. He shielded Ella from the view, restrained Clara and Guinnie, and dialed the authorities on his cell phone.
“I’ll stay here while you take Ella back to the trailer,” he said. I shrugged and managed a half smile. “With Keats and Poe around, no one will mess with me. Maybe you should take Ella.” His eyes met mine, and he nodded. “Be right back. The dispatcher said a cruiser is on the way.” His voice was calm and reassuring as he spoke to his child and explained the situation.