by Arlene Kay
Since I was unwilling to grace the next cover of the police gazette, I begged off. I was quite confident that Pruett would milk Rafa for any relevant information about the murder, without any help from me. Pruett dashed for the shower while I inhaled a mug of espresso, courtesy of my charming hostess. He returned, bright-eyed and barbered, before I finished my second serving. Men, especially specimens like Pruett, have a tactical advantage that way. I promised to explain his absence to Roar, but I couldn’t count on Genna’s acquiescence. After collecting Rafa from his Airstream, the three adults, accompanied by Ella, whisked gaily off in Pruett’s Porsche in search of a cholesterol-laden repast. I bit my lip just thinking of blueberry pancakes dripping with maple syrup. Who needed the calories? Virtue would triumph over gluttony. Even I didn’t believe those tired clichés.
Just as I finished my own morning rituals, a sharp rap on the door announced the arrival of the law. Sergeant Watts, unaccompanied by Roar, wore a full-throttle sneer, a no-nonsense parka, and a rigid body posture. She sat primly on the edge of one of the club chairs and refused my offer of refreshment.
“Finding bodies a habit with you, Ms. Morgan?” Her opening salvo did not bode well for our interview. “Let’s hear your side of the story.”
I took a deep breath and counted way past ten. Control was everything in these situations. I responded with a smile rather than a scowl. “There really is no side, Sergeant, just the truth. I followed the victim from the main arena, got lost, and ultimately found her with Jess Pendrake.”
Genna’s eyes narrowed. “Why follow her in the first place? You said yourself that Lee Holmes was practically a stranger to you. Kind of odd, wouldn’t you say?”
I flashed that beatific grin her way once more and got just what I’d hoped for. Genna’s reaction was volcanic and immediate, a charging bull intent on vanquishing the matador. She didn’t paw the ground, but she came damn close.
“Bethany knew who the murderer was,” I said, “or thought she did. She told me that yesterday morning.”
Genna folded her arms in front of her in a derisive gesture. “Why keep it to yourself, Ms. Morgan? That’s what the police are for.”
Score one for Genna. I had no logical reason to hoard information in a homicide investigation. None at all, unless you counted my fears that Pruett was somehow involved. Had my penchant for secrecy cost the pet psychic her life or allowed a killer to escape? I examined my conscience and realized that my reasoning was sound. I wanted to be absolutely certain before involving the police or anyone else in the matter. Bethany could easily have been teasing me, trying to make me look foolish in Pruett’s eyes. Pruett. How did he factor into my actions if at all?
“Still with me?” Genna grunted. “How does Wing Pruett fit into this? Bet you were helping him get a scoop. A big story to make him appreciate you.” She leaned forward. “Or maybe you were covering up for him.”
My cheeks burned with humiliation. Was I that transparent? “Mr. Pruett does his own investigative work without any help from me. He’s a serious journalist. Check out the awards he’s won over the years.”
That earned me a malevolent grin from the sergeant. “Oh, I have, Ms. Morgan. Let’s see. Wing Pruett, the sexiest man in the nation’s capital, according to the Washingtonian. Most impressive. That passes for serious journalism in DC these days, I suppose.”
In this war of attrition, Genna was head and shoulders above me. I vowed to change the odds and fight back. As they say, a good offense beats a spirited defense any day.
“Back to Bethany,” I said. “She was dying when I found her.”
“What did she say?”
I shrugged. “Nothing. She just gasped and took a final breath. Unless she told Jess something, of course. I wouldn’t know about that.”
“We’re still questioning Ms. Pendrake.”
“She didn’t do it.” Something stubborn arose inside me, forcing me to oppose anything this irascible cop said. It made no sense. Genna and I had common backgrounds and goals and should have been allies, not adversaries. Sadly, sisterhood was out of the question. An alliance was simply not in the cards.
“That’s not up to you,” Genna growled. “For all we know, you might have skewered Ms. Zahn in a fit of passion. She got awfully cozy with your lover, I hear. He’s a prime suspect as far as I’m concerned.”
My mouth was Sahara-dry. I swallowed several times before responding and once again summoned a saccharine smile. “You know how people gossip in these places, Sergeant. Wing Pruett’s a free agent who can do whatever he pleases.” I ignored the sour taste that those words conferred, and the reminder that Pruett had disappeared two nights ago without explanation. Despite an enormous act of will, Bethany’s coy smile hovered around the recesses of my mind and refused to vanish.
“You didn’t like her much, did you?” Genna asked.
“Bethany enjoyed snooping,” I said. “If she heard something incriminating, she wouldn’t shrink from a spot of blackmail. Not that most dog show folks have deep pockets.”
Genna’s sharp eyes blinked. I think she actually took me seriously for a change. “Blackmail, huh? Dangerous game to play with a murderer.” She shook her head. “Doesn’t end well, by and large.”
For once, we were in complete accord. The name that immediately popped into my mind was Yael Lindsay, the wealthy, not so bereaved widow. There were other possibilities, of course. Whit Whitley wasn’t hurting for cash, and who knew the full story about Rafa?
“Your friend Mrs. Croy has plenty,” Genna said, “and Wing Pruett certainly does too.”
I abandoned my vow of silence and jumped down her throat. “Don’t be absurd. Babette didn’t really know Lee Holmes. Believe me, she had bigger fish to fry. As for Pruett, you’re on the wrong track.”
Genna’s supercilious smirk could try the patience of a saint. Since I renounced the celestial crown long ago, I considered the penalties for assaulting a police officer. Genna was undeterred and plowed ahead with her vile spiel.
“Some folks say Mrs. Croy’s man-crazy. After anything in pants. Lee Holmes attracted that type, I hear, and he always wore pants.”
“Some folks need to button their lip.” I rose and drew myself up to my full height. “Word of advice, Sergeant. If you mess with Mrs. Croy, be prepared for a legal tussle. That woman has a battery of attorneys on speed dial.”
To her credit, Genna didn’t back down. “What about you? Circumstantial evidence is enough for an arrest warrant, you know. Opportunity, means—you were on the scene and comfortable with those weapons. Tools of your trade they call them, so I hear.” Genna’s chuckle had more venom than humor in it. “Once I pin down that motive, I may come calling again.”
I shrugged. “Go ahead. Knock yourself out. In case you didn’t know, Wing Pruett serves as my legal adviser.”
A loud, totally unprofessional cackle spewed from her lips. “I’ll just bet. Seems like that pretty boy has a lot of uses. He just might need a lawyer of his own.” And with that, Sergeant Genna Watts stalked out of Steady Eddie without saying another word.
Chapter 15
For the first time ever, the dog show world lost its luster. Even the smiling, furry faces surrounding me lost their power to enthrall, temporarily at least, and the antics of humans scurrying around the Better Living Center provoked me into near madness. How could they focus on championship points, Best of Show, and other minutia when two lives had been brutally snuffed out? I was weary of everything and everyone. Weather, competition, and even the customers who kept me in business were now sources of annoyance instead of joy. Word of Bethany’s murder spread quickly through our closed community, and the air was rife with speculation. I kept my head down and limited any discussion of events or my role in them. It was a Band-Aid tactic, not a permanent fix, that worked for a while but not long enough. Soon after I reopened Creature Comforts, my pal Punky bounced in o
n the pretext of buying a show collar. Punky was a straight shooter who wasted no time on preliminaries. As soon as the coast was clear, she cornered me and started the inquisition.
“Tell me everything,” she said. “I never pegged ole Jess Pendrake for a killer, let alone a double murderer, but she had potential. Hated everything that wasn’t canine.” Punky took a deep breath. “Still, it’s not natural. Woman must have gone loony.”
“Is that what everyone thinks?” I asked. “Even the cops haven’t made any arrests, you know. Jess is still hanging in there”
Punky fixed me with a death stare. “Tell the truth. You found her, right, Perri?”
I nodded.
“It’s simple then. Jess hated Lee Holmes like poison and Bethany just as much.” Punky laughed, a raspy, smoker’s sound. “Come to think of it, who didn’t hate Bethany? Woman was a pure waste of time. Had no respect for anybody or anything. Just a greedy, grasping creature. A good breeder would put down any pup in a litter with those traits.”
I kept my expression as stone-faced as Mount Rushmore. Meanwhile, Punky rambled on, oblivious to me or anyone else in the area. She seemed genuinely puzzled by the grisly events of the past two days. “You’ve got to wonder, though, why Bethany picked Jess to blab to. Those two never had a civil word to share, far as I could tell.”
“Maybe the murderer tricked Jess into showing up.” The more I considered that idea, the better I liked it. Jess was a natural victim, the kind of woman with few friends who would be typecast for the part of villain. Too bad Roar Jansen had her buttoned up in some holding pen. Despite my prior experience, I had accepted Jess’s statement at face value without probing further. That was probably a mistake. Perhaps someone sent a note or e-mail arranging the meeting. I’d kept a close watch on Bethany during the memorial service as she flirted shamelessly with the few males in the crowd. Rafa, Alf, and even Whit Wiley had exchanged words with Bethany, but Jess had skipped the entire event. Babette had shadowed Roy and Kiki the entire time, so it was unlikely that either of them escaped her eagle eye. If only Pruett were available. His insights and analysis were usually right on target about most subjects, especially designing females such as Bethany. I gulped, recalling that Pruett had problems of his own.
I cornered Punky before she could change the subject. “You know, I questioned Bethany about that pet supplement business, but she got pretty cagey. Evasive as hell, if you want the truth. I think she was hiding something.”
Punky gave a muddled response that straddled the fence between a cough and a chortle. As she emitted a lung-wrenching bellow, I slapped her on the back until she finally settled down.
“That nasty habit will ruin you, my friend. Try the nicotine patch for a change.”
I didn’t expect her to acquiesce, and Punky didn’t disappoint. “My lungs and my nasty habits are my own business, lady. Only my mother could tell me that, and she’s long passed. But as for Bethany, you nailed it. She could bob and weave with the best of them, especially when it suited her pocketbook.”
I gaped at my friend as if I were the village idiot. “Huh?”
Another guffaw from Punky. “Girl, grow up. Thought you were supposed to be a superduper sophisticate, not a rookie. You didn’t know Jack about Bethany or Lee Holmes, did you? Bet ya Babette knows the score. Ask her.”
Her grin was so disarming that I forgave the impudence. After all, truth will out. I had been so captivated by my own concerns that my usually keen instincts had gone on strike. Time to activate Persephone Morgan, woman of the world.
“Stop stalling,” I told Punky. “What scam did Bethany have going?”
Punky took her sweet time. She batted her lashes and executed several dance steps before finally spilling her guts. “Blackmail, baby. Blackmail. Bethany used that pet psychic dodge to ingratiate herself with the show people and learn their business. When she got a juicy tidbit, she put the bite on them, so to speak.”
Suddenly, things began to make sense. If Bethany knew or saw something about Lee Holmes’s murder, she wouldn’t hesitate one minute to capitalize upon it. Knowledge was money, a negotiable currency in any world, and murder would fetch a pretty price indeed. Unfortunately for her, a killer’s idea of foreplay often had deadly consequences. There was no discernible difference in the penalty for two murders versus one. Massachusetts had no death penalty, and life without parole was a calculated risk that some criminals were more than willing to take.
“Kind of makes you wonder, don’t it?” Punky said. “Who had the stones to skewer Lee and then do Bethany for dessert? Sweet!”
I was preoccupied with another question. Who had the most to gain from eliminating both Lee and Bethany? Admittedly, Lee was a despicable creature who drew enemies the way dogs do fleas. Even at his memorial service, I had sensed more relief than grief from the assembled crowd. That extended to his betrayed bride, Yael Lindsay, his professional rivals, and the dozens of women who appreciated his physical charms. The names bubbled up to the surface like molten lava. Babette vouched for Roy Vesco and Kiki, but my wonderful pal lacked judgment where men were concerned. Her marital track record affirmed that. The perfidious Whit Wiley was capable of almost anything, but murder—I wasn’t so sure. His strong suit was more character assassination than the real deed. In my view, the little twerp couldn’t face a veteran brawler like Lee Holmes without running for cover. Our double murderer was both decisive and fearless, two traits that Whit had never before displayed. Rafa, Roy Vesco, and even Alf Walsh were far better possibilities than Whit. Come to think of it, several female candidates sprang to mind as well. Jess was the one most physically suited to the task, but Yael Lindsay had a steely side to her, buttressed by family fortune and bedrock pilgrim stock. Like many in her income bracket, she had no need to sully her manicured fingers in brawls if she chose not to. Yael was more likely to write a check to have the deal done.
I whirled around to ask Punky her opinion, but she was long gone. Instead, I spied Pruett’s lithe figure gliding toward my store. Damn! That man had the moves of a panther or some other jungle cat. I powered down and pretended to be unaffected by his arrival. Fat chance.
“Miss me, Perri?” he asked, putting his arms around me and nuzzling my neck. The faint scent of his cologne and the warmth of his arms mesmerized me as I leaned in. I silently cursed the weakness of the flesh and my pesky carnal thoughts. Blast it all, the man was bone and sinew, just like the rest of us, not some deity. The perfect alignment of his parts was merely a happy accident.
I yawned. “Were you gone?” My bid for nonchalance was a dismal failure, and we both knew it.
“Look,” Pruett said, “you should know that I’ve decided to move Ella somewhere safe. With a murderer around, I can’t take any chances.”
“Good idea,” I said. “We’ll take care of Guinnie for her.”
Pruett hesitated. “Actually, her mother was in town doing a shoot, and I asked her to pitch in.” He looked away as he always did when the name of Monique Allaire arose. I loathed the heifer, but she was Ella’s mother, and I respected that, if not the woman with the title. Monique treated me with the barely concealed contempt a monarch feels for her inferiors. She dismissed my lack of physical charms as if I were an errant peasant toiling in the fields. Since I had access to several mirrors, it didn’t surprise me. I was attractive enough, but certainly not superstar material. On the other hand, Ella loved me, and at times I believed that her daddy did too. Apparently, Monique Allaire fumed at the very thought of my alliance with Pruett. I gave myself a mental pat on the head and smiled.
“Good move,” I told Pruett. “Makes sense.” I pasted a sympathetic smile on my lips, thinking all the while that Pruett’s unexplained absences now also made sense. I didn’t know and never asked if they maintained any physical relationship. Frankly, I couldn’t bear to know the answer.
“Anything new on the case?” he asked. “I spoke
with Roar, and it’s driving him nuts. Genna is chomping at the bit for an arrest. Things don’t look good for Jess, I’m afraid.”
“Jess a double murderer? I don’t buy that for a moment. Someone set her up.”
Pruett folded his arms and stared me down. “And you know this how? ESP or facts?” Luckily for him, Pruett didn’t say women’s intuition. That sexist nonsense would have opened a major fissure in our relationship.
“Okay. I admit it may be supposition, but look at the facts. Both murders were cold and efficiently executed. Hallmarks of premeditation. That suggests a calm, calculated killer, maybe even a professional who had done it before. Jess might attack in a fit of passion, but she’d probably leave a trail a mile long.” I made a mock bow. “There. I rest my case.”
“Maybe. I suppose you already figured out the motive?” He was taunting me, using his many wiles to distract me and doing a pretty fair job of it. Pruett’s eyes were a particularly yummy shade of brown, something that suggested molten chocolate with flecks of gold. I tried to avoid sweet treats, but there were times when I shamelessly craved them. Now was one of those times.
“Unlike you, I don’t have an agenda,” I reminded him. “I’m not writing the next best seller or trying to extricate myself from a murder rap.” My motives were pure, but I had little to buttress my beliefs. Petty grievances abounded in the show world, but nothing that would prompt a double murder. Love, deceit, larceny—there were motives aplenty, but in retrospect they seemed trivial.
“Seems like a man’s crime,” Pruett declared loftily. “Women tend to shy away from violent actions. Poison is their preferred method in all the detective novels I’ve read.”
Now it was my turn to scoff. “And we all know that fiction mimics real life. Get a grip, Pruett, or you’ll be writing for True Detective instead of the New Yorker.”
We were officially at an impasse, or at least our investigative efforts were. At times like that, I favored meditation. Pruett voted for the “liquor is quicker” solution. Compromise was in order, so I signaled to Keats and Poe, and the four of us repaired to Steady Eddie for some serious thought. Call me weak, but I secretly hoped that Babette and her collection of misfits were somewhere else, preferably far away. The sexual tension between me and Pruett was toxic to my thought processes. A little relief would go a long way.