by Arlene Kay
“Rafael Ramos, Roar. His name was on our list.” Genna flashed a Cheshire cat grin our way.
“Did Mr. Ramos ever join you?” Roar asked.
Babette clamped her hand over her mouth. She quickly recovered and gave an enigmatic smile. “Nope. Stood me up.”
His partner turned away to hide a smile, but Roar jumped right in. “I find that hard to believe,” he said. Frankly, I thought his act was shopworn, but Babette’s face glowed with the attention. She squared her shoulders, thrust out her chest, and spouted still more information.
“He’s an important judge, you know. Came all the way from Spain. Very well known in poodle circles.”
My mind flashed back to those pretty pink shears. Poodle groomers loved them. I refused to share that little factoid with the detectives, however. No sense maligning someone who probably had no involvement in the murder. For Babette’s sake, I hoped that was true.
“Very interesting,” Roar said, making a note. “We looked for him, but he wasn’t around. Is that his trailer next door?”
Babette nodded. I hoped she had finally realized that silence was indeed golden when dealing with the authorities.
Pruett exchanged nods with Roar Jansen, the kind of guy-to-guy thing that bespoke camaraderie and male bonding. I observed that the two men were similar physical types—tall, fit, and packed with testosterone. An embarrassment of riches for any female observer.
“Mr. Ramos clashed with the victim tonight.” Genna Watts didn’t ask; she stated it as a fact and dared us to contradict. “You too, Mr. Pruett. According to his wife, you instigated things.”
Fortunately, Babette buttoned her lip and avoided throwing gasoline on the fire. Pruett and I stayed silent, awaiting further questions from the sergeant.
“What about that, Ms. Morgan?” Roar leveled a self-deprecatory smile at me, the kind that had probably melted a hundred female hearts.
“I wouldn’t say they clashed.” I closed my eyes and visualized the fracas. “Mr. Pruett intervened in the brawl, but he certainly didn’t cause it. Neither did Mr. Ramos.”
“That your recollection too, Mr. Pruett?” More nice guy vibes from Roar. His act was polished, professional, and almost genuine.
Pruett nodded but volunteered nothing. As a journalist, he had used the same sneaky tricks to worm information from unsuspecting members of the public. Silence was indeed platinum.
Roar lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Ever hear rumors about this Lee Holmes? I understand he was quite a stud.” He stared directly at Babette and watched her melt.
“Stud?” she said. “In his own mind maybe. No grown woman ever took him seriously unless she was desperate.”
The police pair exchanged glances and frowns. “Might have stirred up some boyfriends or husbands just the same,” Roar said. He glanced down at his tablet. “Ah yes. Mr. Roy Vesco. Worried about his ex-wife, Kiki.”
Pruett smiled. “You know how it is when you care for someone. A man gets protective.”
Genna Watts snorted. “We’ve seen that woman. Kiki. Plenty to worry about there.”
“Quite the temptress,” Roar agreed. “Can’t locate her ex, though. Seems like Mr. Roy Vesco has disappeared.”
* * * *
The two cops left us soon after dropping that bombshell. It was obvious that Roy Vesco, avenging lover with a fiery temper, was suspect number one in their book. Couldn’t say that I blamed them. If I were handling the case, he would have been high on my list too. The prissy pink murder weapon didn’t fit his rough-hewn image, but that could be explained easily enough. Anyone—Vesco included—could have snatched the shears from a grooming cart. For all I knew, those shears may have belonged to Holmes himself. Forensic evidence would narrow down the possibilities. Or not.
Babette slid over to the granite counter and poured herself a slug of cognac. She downed it immediately and went for a refill without offering us a taste. That lapse in good manners was a violation of hospitality that would have scandalized her proper southern mama. It told me that my pal knew more than she told the cops, and whatever it was probably involved Rafa Ramos.
I walked to her side and put my arm around her. “Okay. Let’s have it. You’re among friends here.”
Babette widened her baby blues and pointed toward Pruett. “What about you, Wing? No leaks to your editor this time.” In our first encounter with Pruett, he had published some information that was both damning and humiliating. Babette had never quite forgiven him for it.
Pruett held up his palm. “Scout’s honor. Strictly off the record.”
After pouring each of us some cognac, she slouched into a chair, closed her eyes, and told her tale. Apparently, Rafa owned a pair of shears almost identical to the murder weapon. He was booked to demonstrate poodle grooming at the next day’s show and had shown them to Babette. She had no idea if they were missing.
“He was real excited about it,” she said. “Just went on and on about proper grooming techniques and stuff and the tools he used.” She gave a wry smile. “Those weren’t exactly the tools I was interested in seeing, if you catch my drift. That’s why I waited for him while you guys walked the pups.”
Somehow both Pruett and I kept our composure and focused on the issues.
“Did Rafa know Lee Holmes?” Pruett asked. “Seemed like it to me. In fact, Holmes made some kind of disparaging comment to him.” No one mentioned Lee’s puzzling remarks about me, but I hadn’t forgotten them. The man knew nothing about me or my life. More likely he was targeting Pruett, hoping to score off him.
Babette shook her head. “Rafa didn’t mention it, but I’ll bet that creepy Whit Wiley would know. That guy collects dirt like a magnet. Probably cozying up to the cops as we speak.”
I thought of the scene between Yael and Bethany that I had witnessed earlier. Could be that Lee had several irons in the romantic fire. Anyone—man or woman—might have plunged those shears into him in a fit of passion, including his long-suffering wife.
Pruett reached for his jacket. “Maybe I’ll mosey over to the arena and see what’s going on. Feel up to it, Perri?”
I had no reason to involve myself. On the other hand, I was curious about Pruett’s role in this caper, and any time with him was time well spent.
“Sure. I’ll check my stall while we’re over there. You don’t mind, do you, Babette?”
She risked a mini-frown but quickly recovered. “Y’all go ahead. I’ll just hunker down with Ella and the pups.” She reached into her backpack and thrust a set of keys my way. Naturally it was no ordinary backpack. Heaven forbid! In true Babette fashion, she sported an exquisite Alexander McQueen butterfly small chain backpack that cost the earth. Initially I lusted after it. One glance at the price tag cooled my ardor. Any hunk of leather north of $3,000 settles me down right away.
My pal was oblivious to it all. “Here. Use these when you get back. I plan to lock up good and tight.” She paused and flashed those dimples. “Unless Rafa needs some consolation, that is. Send him my way.”
Chapter 6
“What’s your take on this?” Pruett asked as we walked toward the Better Living Center.
I hesitated for a moment. “Right now, those cops are gathering information, evaluating facts and suspects. At least that’s what I would do in their shoes.” My first impression of Sergeant Roar and his flinty partner was that both were experienced and cautious. Until they fully assessed the situation, everyone was a suspect.
“Is there anything you want to tell me about the murder?” I asked. “Or about Lee Holmes? I’m afraid the cops might try to pin this thing on you, if they can. Did you study the look on Sergeant Watts’s face? She didn’t believe a thing you said. Roar Jansen seemed more balanced, but who can say?” I stopped walking and faced Pruett. “You know you can trust me. I’m on your side, no matter what.”
Pruett
pulled me to him and hugged me tight. “So suspicious. Might as well tell you now. I’m following some leads about money laundering using venues like dog shows. You know, innocent family-friendly events. Think of it. With all the traveling that goes on, the handlers and vendors are itinerants. Plenty of opportunity for bad actors.”
I searched his face for signs of duplicity. When pursuing a story, Pruett could lie, mislead, and embellish with the best of them. “So, was Lee one of those leads?”
He gave me an enigmatic smile and said nothing.
Fortunately, we reached the Better Living Center just then. Despite the late hour, the building was awash with people and vehicles. Several police cars, an SUV with forensic tags, and a somber medical examiner’s van ringed the area adjoining the field where the victim’s body had been found. The proximity of such tragedy to festive canine capers was disquieting. Although a tent had been erected to shield the scene from the elements, the cops were fighting a losing batter with Mother Nature.
A uniformed officer stood guard at the front entry door to the building, but Pruett and I easily slipped in one of the many unlocked side entrances. Score one for the civilians. Our strategy was simple—divide and conquer. I headed toward my shop while Pruett sauntered toward the denuded refreshment table, where a mostly female crowd huddled. The women ringing the area immediately parted as if he were Moses dividing the Red Sea. Yael Lindsay was absent, but psychic Bethany Zahn was front and center. She stepped close, surrounding Pruett and edging out any other competitors for his attention. Since he was accustomed to doting females, Pruett appeared unfazed. Before long, he was chatting with the ladies as if they were fast friends or something even more intimate.
My quarry was far less glamorous. I spotted Jess Pendrake pacing back and forth in front of my shop, wearing a mega-frown that would quell the Furies. The woman obviously needed a friend, and at least temporarily, I was her designated pal du jour.
“Hi, Jess,” I said. “Want something for the show?”
She scowled further, a most off-putting expression. “I guess.”
I unlocked the door and beckoned to her. “Come on in. Let’s see what we have.”
Jess lacked social graces, and her physical attributes were certainly limited. I chided myself for being superficial, but damn, Babette had a point about makeup. Even a smidge of lip gloss would have worked wonders, and shampoo was certainly accessible enough. For a moment, it seemed that she could read my mind. Jess brushed back a lanky strand of hair and grunted, “I need shears.” She lowered her head and managed to avoid looking at me.
Keep your cool, Perri. “Okay. What kind. German shepherds are your breed, right?”
I pasted a smile on my face and kept it there. Even dog show novices knew that shears and shepherds didn’t mix.
“Not for my dogs,” Jess sneered. “A friend needs ’em.”
I nodded pleasantly and showed her my stock. “See anything here that works?”
She grunted something I couldn’t quite hear and pointed to the ten-inch shears, the same kind that had skewered Lee Holmes. Fortunately, their lethal-looking blades were encased in plastic. Even so, I remained on alert. Erratic people such as Jess were tough to gauge. I had learned that the hard way during my army days.
Her eyes widened when I rang up the sale, but she pulled a roll of somewhat grubby bills from her pocket and willingly paid all two hundred dollars.
It was now or never, do-or-die time. I might never get another chance to chat with Jess, whose reclusive ways were legendary in the show world.
“Too bad about Lee,” I said. “His poor wife.”
Jess narrowed her eyes and grunted again. “He was a creep. Good riddance.”
I nodded. “I saw that dustup tonight. Surprising.”
Suddenly, she abandoned her monosyllabic act and launched into a virtual rant. “Adulterers don’t deserve to live. They’re vermin.”
Control yourself, Perri. “Did Lee do that?” I managed to keep my voice level. “I heard rumors, but no specifics.”
“Huh,” she snorted. “Shows what you know. No self-respecting woman was safe around that man. I told them, but no one believed me.”
I tried a new gambit. “Gee. Whit Wiley said he was okay.”
Her reaction was immediate and explosive. “Whit Wiley? That piece of crap! He and Lee Holmes were thick as thieves. Why do you think that wife of his wins every pointer competition, huh?”
Jess clenched her fists as if she intended to use them. She wasn’t an imposing woman, but her frame was wiry. Handling large dogs required major muscles, and Jess had plenty of them. I stepped back, preparing to defend myself, if necessary, and thanking my stars that those shears were encased in plastic.
Fortune favored me. Before tensions escalated further, Bethany Zahn slipped into my store, accompanied by her beloved Cavalier King Charles spaniel, Prudence. Like most of her breed, Prudence was all wiggles, wags, and good cheer. Even her little face lit up with doggy glee as she offered canine kisses to all. Bethany was another case entirely. She billed herself as a pet psychic, but perhaps her sixth sense extended to human needs as well. Either way, considering my situation, her arrival was most welcome.
Bethany’s long black hair fell in waves that framed a pretty face with a sprinkling of freckles. Her garb—a spangled caftan awash with stars and canine images—was unusual for the dog set but consistent with the otherworldly image she projected. Despite her fits of whimsy, Bethany was a respected breeder-owner-handler, the trifecta in dog show circles.
“Sorry to interrupt,” she said in a soft voice with a touch of southern sugar, “but I really need your help with a show lead. Want me to come back later?”
I willed my voice to remain calm, but it wasn’t easy. “Not at all. We’re finished here. Right, Jess?”
Jess Pendrake glowered, but in what I considered a major victory, she retreated without attacking either my customer or me. After she exited, I locked the door and sighed.
“Boy. That was one close call.”
Bethany shook her head and laughed. “Wow! Looks like our Jess went off the rails again.”
“What’s her problem?” I asked, genuinely curious. “The woman acts seriously disturbed.”
Maybe it was all the peace, tolerance, and love she preached that made Bethany dismiss her zany colleague without another thought. “We don’t really know all her issues,” she said. “Jess has always been peculiar, especially around men. Some people say it’s PTSD.”
I sensed that Bethany knew more than she was willing to say. Perhaps a bit of prodding would loosen her tongue.
“She really didn’t like Lee Holmes. Called him a serial philanderer.”
Bethany showed absolutely no reaction. Her pale, perfectly smooth complexion stayed as blank as granite. Babette swore that injectables were responsible for that serenity, and she had plenty of expertise in that particular area. Maybe Bethany was incapable of expressing emotion due to overuse of the needle. When silence turned awkward, she finally expressed an opinion.
“Lee Holmes was quite a man—creepy, charming, and a wizard around dogs. Naturally, his wife was insanely jealous.”
“With reason?” I asked.
Bethany shrugged. “Who knows? That Kiki Vesco stuck to him like gum. No wonder her husband was concerned. I know they divorced, but Roy never did get over Kiki. A one-woman man, I guess.” She fingered a show lead and immediately changed the subject. “Give me your advice. I want Prudence to stand out in the ring. Is this too flashy?”
After we spent a few minutes discussing the merits of various show gear, Bethany made her purchase and sashayed toward the door. She saved one parting shot for me, however.
“I promised Wing I’d do a reading for his daughter and her pointer. Such a lovely child, and he is the perfect parent.” She winked. “The pointer’s not bad either.”
* * * *
Later I found that Pruett had had far better luck dishing the dirt than I had. Somehow, I was not surprised. People, particularly women, found him easy to confide in and even easier on the eyes.
The peripatetic Bethany, for instance, defended Lee’s character and swore that rumors about him were malicious gossip spread by spurned admirers. Several of Pruett’s new pals hinted that Rafa and Lee were foes of long standing and that they had clashed before. I hoped for Babette’s sake that Sergeant Roar hadn’t heard the same thing.
“Why the animosity?” I asked. “Rafa seemed pretty easygoing to me.”
Pruett’s foxy smile was among his most endearing traits. Coyness served him well with his host of female groupies over the years, but that was one game I simply refused to play. Instead of begging for scraps, I ignored him. He lasted all of two minutes.
“Oh, come on, Perri. Give me a break. Here’s the story. Apparently, Lee and Rafa co-owned a dog several years ago and had some dispute over training or some such thing.”
You could tell that despite his many attributes, my guy Pruett was not a dog man and certainly was a novice in confirmation circles. Co-owning a big-time show dog required a major investment of time, ego, and money. Disputes frequently got hot and heavy and had led to many a fractured friendship. In his worldview, it seemed trivial, so Pruett had shrugged off the tiff without getting the particulars. Big mistake! A festering feud could spark all kinds of mischief—even murder. I felt confident that in the close-knit, gossipy dog world, any number of people could fill in the blanks. Most would never volunteer that information to the police, despite the charms of Roar Jansen, but they might feel safe tattling to me.
Pruett wasn’t the only one with poor marks for today’s efforts. I hadn’t exactly covered myself with glory either. Time for plan B. I’d struck out with Bethany Zahn, but fortunately there was another player on our team who had just the right skills. This delicate operation sounded like the perfect task for Babette. If anyone could wheedle information from friend or foe, my BFF was the gal for the job. I would gladly delegate those tasks to her.