Death by Dog Show

by Arlene Kay

  “Kiki?” Babette was appalled. “What a horrible thought.”

  Pruett and I exchanged looks. No need to mention how often women lashed out at their enemies. The Internet teemed with examples.

  Jess bit her lip as if she had come to a difficult decision. “I lied before.”

  Pruett raised his eyebrows but said nothing. Fortunately, Babette was too dumbstruck to jump in.

  “You asked if she said anything.” Jess scrunched her eyes together as if the very thought was painful.

  I nodded encouragement.

  “Just one thing. Probably don’t mean nothin’, but she said, ‘Cops!’ Like she wanted me to call ’em.” Jess’s eyes filled, and she turned her head away. “Too late for that.”

  The energy in the room quickly waned as we processed the sad ending of Bethany Zahn. Too much alcohol and too little sleep muddled my mind. Maybe a nap would fire up the old synapses and promote rational thought. Apparently, I wasn’t alone in thinking this. Babette was already dozing, and Jess looked almost comatose. Only Wing Pruett, man of steel, was ready to rock. “I’ll walk you back to your camper,” he told Jess. “Let you get some rest.”

  She agreed only after I emphasized the need for one final potty break for our dogs. Just mentioning them brightened her face, transforming her wan features into something approaching animation. To my surprise, Babette joined our little caravan as we headed toward the open fields of the Big E acreage. Although she’d never admit it, I suspected that my pal felt a tad uneasy with a murderer on the prowl. Safety in numbers, as they say.

  “Who’s taking care of your dogs, hon?” Babette put her arm around Jess.

  “Mine are all ringside pickups,” she said. “Easier for me that way, and they stay with their owners.” Some handlers preferred to house and groom each of their charges, but others met the dogs and owners at the ring before showtime. Large breeds like shepherds required a lot of space, so it was no wonder that Jess, whose camper was minuscule, chose that option. On the other hand, there was no greater safety, if danger arose, than canine company. With Keats and Poe at my side, I felt perfectly protected. In view of all that had transpired, Jess might have welcomed the security.

  Since she lacked Babette’s bank balance, Jess’s camper was located on the far side of the Big E in what was tactfully termed “Siberia.” Handlers incurred plenty of expenses, especially for hotels, transportation, and meals. By hunkering down in a camper, Jess had saved herself a bundle. If Steady Eddie was a luxury behemoth, the pop-up camper Jess owned was an impoverished relation. Pruett remained impassive as we approached it, but Babette couldn’t help but wrinkle her nose. Fortunately, Jess missed that reaction. The pop-up was hitched to a weathered truck that, like my own Suburban, had seen plenty of miles. Although it was humble, the camper served its purpose and presented a realistic picture of what many workers faced. We waited for Jess to enter it before leaving. She slipped inside without saying a word—no thank-yous or good nights from that guest. On the homeward trek, we stayed silent, and even Babette, the perpetual chatterbox, seemed chastened by the evening’s events. As I adjusted the eiderdown on our bed, I thought of Jess and those like her whose finances were limited. Then Pruett folded me in his arms and banished those thoughts with something much more pleasurable.

  Chapter 18

  “We didn’t get much last night,” Babette grumbled. “Big waste of time.” She poured Pruett and me a mug of espresso and passed plates of fruit, fried chicken, and waffles to each of us. A pitcher filled with steaming syrup graced the center of the table. After some coaxing, she shared her conversation with Yael Lindsay.

  “I’ve been a widow before,” Babette said, “so I know what I’m talking about.” That was one of the understatements of the year. My pal had been widowed three times thus far and wasn’t ruling out another go on the marital merry-go-round. “Mark my words. Yael was glad to be shed of Lee Holmes.”

  “Go on,” I said. Babette loved me to tease information from her. I refused to play that game today, but Pruett had no such qualms. He placed his hands on the table and gave her his most engaging grin. Worked like a charm.

  “Anyhow, Yael planned to dump his ass as soon as possible. Told me so herself. After a few shots of scotch, she said someone saved her a lot of trouble and expense.” Babette was triumphant. “Top that one if you can, Perri.”

  I tried to be patient, but it wasn’t easy. Babette’s big scoop added nothing new to the equation and merely confirmed what we already knew or suspected.

  She batted her eyelashes and launched into her coy act. “One thing more. Want to hear it?”

  Pruett and I both nodded.

  “I think she’s already lined up his replacement. What do you think of that? Even I waited a while. Six months was my minimum. Anything less is indecent!”

  That added an interesting wrinkle to the case. Perhaps Yael was less innocent than she appeared to be. Pruett must have had the same thought.

  “Any idea who the lucky guy is?” Pruett asked.

  Babette bowed her head in defeat. “Nope. We were swappin’ bad husband stories, and Yael said next time she’d know better. Something about shared interests. That told me he was part of the dog show gang. No names, though.” She heaped Pruett’s plate with more food. “Eat up now.”

  To her credit, Babette was the ultimate hostess. That breakfast of chicken and waffles was simply too good to resist—so we didn’t. It wasn’t until our plates were cleaned that I added my two cents.

  “The guys had a few things to say. For one thing, Lee Holmes cheated Rafa big-time on a land deal right around here. Some kennel property, apparently. That plus the vitamin scam adds up to a major motive.”

  Babette kept her composure as she poured our espresso. Her hand was steady—didn’t spill one drop—but her eyes told a different tale. Rafa’s story piqued her curiosity and maybe a bit more.

  Pruett tilted his head. “Anything else?”

  I shared the scoop about Rafa’s brother and his nonexistent family. That won a smile from our hostess and a sigh of relief. The talk about Bethany and her checkered past raised a few eyebrows.

  Pruett curled his lip in distaste. “Sounds more like a gossip session to me. Who ever said guys don’t talk? Besides, men brag about their success with women, and nobody cares.”

  I raised one brow at that comment.

  “You know what I mean,” Pruett stammered. “Bethany got branded a slut for having an active social life. A guy with the same moves would be called lucky.”

  He had a point, even though I wouldn’t admit it. “Moving on,” I said, “what did you learn from your adoring female fans?”

  He wrinkled his brow. I had to admit, it made Pruett look even more delectable, especially when a thick strand of hair fell across his forehead.

  “Okay,” he said, “the ladies had plenty of opinions about these murders. Most of them voted for a disgruntled business associate. Lee Holmes was notorious for destroying other people’s lives, financial and otherwise.”

  I asked about the pet supplement Le Chien Champ. Punky had been closed-mouth about that, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that she was hiding something. Babette gave Pruett the gimlet eye and pounced.

  “You and Punky got mighty close, mister. I saw her sitting on your lap, just singing away. What else did she offer in return?”

  Grown men don’t often blush, but this one did. Pruett did an “aw shucks” routine and waved Babette off. “Come on,” he said, “you’re killing me. I did my part, just like we planned.”

  “And?” Babette put her hands on her hips.

  “Apparently, this supplement business was a bigger mess than we thought. Lee dangled the bait in front of everyone, including the AKC and UKC, whatever that is. Signed up the American Handlers’ Union too. Lots of high-level folks were involved, I gathered.”

  I explained
that the UKC stood for United Kennel Club and was another large organization devoted to dogs and their people. Pruett made a face and continued his narrative. “Anyway, when things went south, all hell broke loose. Le Chien Champ LLC got sued big-time, and Lee got dragged into court. He was sued individually as an officer of the corporation. Yael too.” Pruett coughed discreetly. “Apparently, he ‘misled’ the court when he testified and came damn close to being cited for perjury. That stuff contained additives from China. Phorate. I researched it, and, man, it is really bad stuff.”

  I had predicted the outcome of that story, and I was correct. The insurer backed out based on false and misleading advertising, and Yael waved her checkbook around and made things right. Once again, big bucks snatched Lee Holmes from the jaws of perdition.

  “Money aside,” I said, “some dogs were sickened or actually died. There’s no compensation for that.”

  Babette nodded and hugged Clara for emphasis. Lord help anyone who messed with my pal or her beloved pets. Mine too, come to think of it.

  Pruett hesitated. “One of the dogs that died was a poodle handled by Alf Walsh. Guess he took it hard and gave Lee a beating.”

  I shrugged. Lee Holmes deserved to be bloodied for what he did. Perhaps the use of those poodle shears was a type of poetic justice. That didn’t justify Bethany’s murder, but it certainly raised the stakes for Alf and Rafa as the prime suspects. All in all, Pruett topped our trio as a super sleuth. I lagged far behind.

  According to Roar, they hadn’t traced the murder weapons yet. Almost impossible to do around this place with the size and number of people going in and out. I’d bet that plough gauge was someone’s discard—careless but not unusual in a huge area filled with horses and livestock. They had had more luck with the shears. Rafa had already admitted that they were his. Most had a number on the inside blade that would confirm ownership.

  When I trotted out my theory about a professional killer, Babette had no reaction, but Pruett’s eyes lit up. He was intrigued and wanted more.

  “Bethany’s murder is the key to this whole thing,” I said. “Analyze that crime, and we’ll identify the culprit.”

  Whatever she saw or thought she saw had imperiled the murderer and sealed Bethany’s fate. She must have believed that she could turn a profit by toying with a killer. Bad move. Foolishness. Fatal, as it turned out.

  I put aside my deerstalker the moment I checked my watch. Even Sherlock had to earn his living, and mine depended on keeping Creature Comforts open and fully stocked. Pruett did his part by loading up Guinnie’s show gear and heading for Ring Ten, the next stop for pointers. If I knew the scourge of scribes—and I did—he would quiz Alf about the fracas with Lee Holmes and confirm the handler’s alibi as well. For a man who was uncomfortable around animals, Pruett had made great progress. I spent a pleasant minute considering the rewards I would offer him before focusing again on the task at hand.

  With Babette zeroed in on the agility competition, I had time to groom Keats and Poe and plan my next move. In four days, the show would conclude, whether or not the murderer had been apprehended. At that point, Roar Jansen and his trusty sidekick could solve the case or admit defeat. I sympathized with them since most cops, even unpleasant and obnoxious ones, hated ambiguity. They disliked letting a killer escape even more.

  I busied myself with completing sales tax records and adjusting my inventory. By eight am, a steady stream of customers with last-minute needs and plenty of side commentary filled the aisles. Punky sidled up to me, aching to reprise last night’s festivities. I waved her off, promising to meet her at lunchtime for a quick bite. I quickly checked the food supply in my satchel. Not bad. It was crammed full of a thermos of strong coffee and several bottles of water. As a veteran of these events, I knew that the food was suited for fuel rather than appetite, heavy on chips, mayo, and fat. Better to forego them except in emergencies. Fortunately, Babette, the perfect hostess, had packed fruit, nuts, cheese, and grapes to sustain us throughout the day. I had enough to share with Punky if she wasn’t too greedy, and I planned to use it as leverage. Food for facts or something like that.

  At noon, I closed up my stall, crated my dogs, and headed toward the concession area. Punky was already there, sitting on the bench, tapping her toes. When she saw me, she waved and patted the seat next to her.

  “About time, Ms. Perri. I’m in the ring in half an hour. Rafa’s judging the group, you know, and he’s very punctual.”

  I dangled sustenance her way. That earned me a big smile and a sigh of relief. “Thank you, ma’am. If I had to eat one more grilled hot dog, I’d puke.” She pointed at the food stand with its rotating wieners. “That poor little soldier has bitten the dust. Reminds me of so many men I’ve known around here. No staying power, and not much to look at.”

  Punky grinned at her own joke, even though there was an element of truth behind the words. According to her, Lee Holmes had the physical attributes that attracted a loyal female following. Quality and quantity—a recommendation for a tryst but nothing long-term.

  We arranged our spread before chatting, then got down to business. “Your guy Pruett was lively last night,” Punky said. “Made the time fly by.”

  “He has that effect on people,” I said sourly. “Mostly women.” Punky took a sip of water and giggled. “Lordy, yes. He is fine.”

  “You looked happy enough dancing with Roar last night. Is that his version of the third degree?”

  Punky gave me a coy look but remained silent. “Don’t tell anyone, but we kind of got together afterward.” She rolled her eyes. “I recommend it if you get the chance. That boy knows his stuff.”

  “Sorry. Not interested.” I kept my tone light to avoid giving insult. Punky was harmless enough as long as she kept away from Pruett.

  “Looked like Rafa scored last night too,” she said.

  “Yeah?”

  Punky nodded. “He left with Yael right after you did. That’s one thing I never saw coming. Whit Wiley went ballistic.”

  “Really?”

  After snagging a wedge of cheese, she continued. “Little shit. Whit, I mean. What made him think any woman would want him, let alone one with big bucks? I thought he wasn’t even into girls. Maybe he takes whatever he can get.” She checked her watch. “Oops. Got to run.” Punky galloped off to gather her dog and get an armband from the judge.

  I stayed, transfixed by thoughts of Whit Wiley and false expectations. Had he eliminated Lee Holmes to clear the path to Yael Lindsay? Filthy lucre and the prospect of attaining it were among the oldest motives in the book. If Bethany had threatened him, Whit probably felt that he had little choice. Even a cornered rat will fight to the death. I just hadn’t pictured him having the guts to physically confront anyone, male or female.

  “Thought you had a business to run.” No one could mistake the strident tones of Sergeant Watts. She stood at my side, hands on hips, with her perpetual sneer firmly in place.

  I applied a liberal dose of sunshine and soft soap designed to annoy the heck out of her. “Good morning, Sergeant. Sorry. I didn’t see you standing there. Care for some grapes?” No one could fault my letter-perfect smile except one venomous cop nursing a major grudge.

  “We have unfinished business,” she said. “Come with me.”

  Time to take off the gloves. No more nicey-nice with this vile creature. I gathered my refuse, stood, and stared her down. “I don’t think so. If you want to arrest me, feel free, but be prepared for a major lawsuit. Otherwise, as you pointed out, I have a shop to run.” I chucked the garbage into a nearby bin and gave this parting shot. “Just a bit of advice. Better check with your partner first before you arrest anyone. Roar and I had a nice chat last night at O’Doul’s. We covered a lot of ground.”

  For a moment, I feared that Genna would implode or assault me. Fortunately, even the most combustible cops have their limitations, and I was
spared. She spun around and stalked toward the exit doors without uttering another word. The taste of victory felt curiously flat, like champagne that had passed its prime. Instead of triumph, I felt a strange sympathy for the unlovely sergeant, who obviously adored her partner. My taunt had cut her to the quick.

  “Stop moping around, Perri. Clara just won points in agility, and I want to celebrate!” Babette dispelled gloom with her air of boundless optimism as she slapped me on the back. Few could resist her, and I didn’t even try. “Was that the Gorgon of the constabulary I just saw? She looked as steamed as a lobster in the pot.”

  “Follow me back to the shop,” I said. “I want to hear about Clara’s win. Then I’ll tell you a thing or two I just found out.”

  “Sorry, kiddo. I’m meeting Rafa in five minutes. Don’t worry. I promise to grill him like a hunk of beef.” She tittered. “Beefcake, actually. I’ll think up something else for dessert. Count on it.”

  I waved her off and hurried over to catch the finals of the pointer competition. Once again, Guinnie prevailed over a crowded field, including one of Yael Lindsay’s prize pooches. She earned more Grand Champion points and a nose kiss from Alf Walsh. Pruett stood outside the ring, playing the proud but puzzled parent and no doubt missing Ella. I could relate since I also felt a void every time the little girl was elsewhere.

  “Great stuff,” I said. “You’re really getting the hang of this dog show thing.”

  Pruett coughed. “I’m just doing it for Ella.” His glistening eyes put paid to that lie immediately. “Alf said Guinnie’s headed for the group ring, whatever that means.”

  I rolled my eyes at him. “She’s competing against all the other Sporting breeds. If she wins there, it’s on to Best of Show.” I rubbed my hands together. “Exciting.”

  This time, it was Pruett who rolled his eyes. “My editor has been bugging me about the piece. You know, ‘Death by Dog Show.’ She wants a conclusion, something to knock their socks off.”