by Arlene Kay
“I have to talk to Roar,” I said. “He’ll set me straight or at least listen to my theory.”
Babette folded her arms in front of her. “Better make sure he comes alone, honey bunch, or you’ll be next on her list. I say wait for Pruett. That way you’ll have backup.”
I gave my pal the side-eye. “What about you? Don’t you count as backup?” I knew that, despite her good intentions, Babette avoided danger whenever possible. She squirmed in her seat, then blurted out her feelings.
“Why risk your life over two people we barely knew? We’ll be out of here in three days anyway. Let it go, for heaven’s sake. Cops stick together. You know that, Perri. They’ll run us right out of town. Besides, I still think that slimy Whit Wiley fits the bill. Look at it. He butchered Lee Holmes to get to Yael and her money. When Bethany became a problem, he offed her too.”
Despite her use of lowbrow language, Babette’s version made sense. Maybe more than my own theory. Based on the Facebook photos, Whit Wiley disappeared from the memorial service not long after I did. He made no secret about his feelings for Yael, and he was certainly a viper. I pounded the desk and shut down my computer in frustration.
“Calm down,” Babette said. “Close up shop, and we’ll go back to Steady Eddie.” Her eyes glinted with mischief. “I need a stiff drink. How about you? Maybe Pruett has what you need, and it’s not a drink.”
I abhor vulgarity even when it hits the mark. Especially when it hits the mark! Tonight, as frustration mounted, and my patience ebbed, Babette persisted in pushing every one of my buttons. I grimaced, intending to scold my pal for talking like a third-rate gangster but, as usual, her sweet smile made me laugh out loud and forget my anger. Babette was one in a million—a good-natured soul with a generous heart and impetuous tongue. She would never change, and as her best friend, I had to accept that and value her as she was.
“What does Pruett think about all this?” Babette asked. “Seems like you two are miles apart lately.” She shook her finger my way. “Men don’t like that, Perri. Take it from me. I’m no genius, but I know how men think. Remember. I’ve had four husbands, and men are all alike. They have to be in the driver’s seat, or think they are. Trust me on that.”
Babette meant well, so I didn’t bring up her last husband, Carleton Croy. That man was certainly in the driver’s seat. He almost drove my sweet pal nuts with his lies and affairs. Having said that, Babette’s comments about Pruett rang true. I refused to concede the issue, but there was more than a grain of truth in what she said. Whenever a hot story loomed, Wing Pruett was a bloodhound on the scent. Nothing deterred him—except Ella, of course. I wasn’t a journalist or a celebrity. We weren’t competitors or antagonists. It didn’t mean we weren’t a team. Did it?
Pruett’s approach to most things was rational and balanced. I enjoyed swapping clues with him and testing my theories. We didn’t always agree. In fact, we rarely saw things the same way. That was one of the strengths of our relationship, or so I thought. Was I deluding myself?
Babette propelled me out the door of the auditorium, narrowly averting a snowbank in her zeal. Most of the exhibitors and handlers were leaving, and the show was winding down for the day, with a profusion of dogs, crates, and assorted paraphernalia clogging the walkways. That’s why I missed the danger signals until it was too late. Sergeant Watts was wearing a particularly insidious grin as she blocked my path, forcing me to stop. With Keats and Poe by my side, I wasn’t particularly alarmed. Babette, on the other hand, came close to hyperventilating. She clutched Clara in a death grip and dissolved into a fit of heavy breathing. I was weary of gestapo tactics and fed up with the small-town antics of this cop. My rights counted too, and I intended to assert them.
I stepped forward and faced her head-on. “Yes, Sergeant. May I help you?”
At first, Genna seemed startled. She backed up a step and stood, hands on hips, with easy access to her weapon. “I’ve got a message for you, Ms. Morgan, and this time you better listen. Stay out of this investigation. Let the professionals handle things, or you’ll regret it. Ever hear of accessory after the fact? You’re getting pretty close to that, lady.”
Babette gasped, but I felt calm and confident. “I don’t know what you mean. Ever hear of police harassment? You’re getting very close to that, Sergeant. As a private citizen, I can speak with whomever I choose.” I scratched Poe’s ear and launched a final zinger. “Perhaps you should brush up on police procedure and civil liberties.” I flashed a friendly smile. “Unless, of course, you have something to hide.”
Genna’s mottled complexion changed from pale to puce as she digested my comments. For once, her threats and taunts had failed to intimidate. I pivoted and signaled to my dogs to heel. Babette trailed behind, but before leaving, she shot a few barbs of her own Genna’s way. “Yeah,” she said with a sneer, “my lawyer will make mincemeat out of you. He’s not afraid of cops, and neither are we.”
Chapter 20
Pruett was waiting for us when we got there, but he wasn’t alone. His buddies Roar and Rafa were hunkered down on the couch, watching a football game on the big screen. A huge bowl of gourmet popcorn and several imported beers decorated the coffee table between them. They lounged about with perfect ease, while Babette and I stood awkwardly, like strangers in a strange land.
“Hey, you guys,” Babette trilled, “glad that game is almost over. Need any more snacks?” Her voice always ascends an octave when she confronts eligible males. It’s automatic, possibly a primitive throwback to her cave-dwelling ancestors.
The trio raised their hands in greeting but kept their eyes glued to the screen. For many New Englanders, whenever the Patriots play football, everything else fades into oblivion. That explained Roar’s trance but not the behavior of the other two. Rafa wasn’t even an American, for heaven’s sake! It appeared to be an instance of male bonding gone awry, and I wasn’t having any of it.
After the final touchdown, I broke up the gathering. “Listen, you guys, we need to talk.” I established eye contact with Pruett to emphasize the urgency of the matter. Rafa leapt to his feet, chugged down the last of his beer, and headed for the door. “That’s my cue to adios. Thanks for the company, guys. In Spain, we’re more soccer fans, but this was fun.” He bowed to Babette and me and vamoosed before we could stop him.
Pruett narrowed his eyes and patted the couch cushion. “Okay, Ms. Morgan. Have a seat and tell us what’s so important.”
“Want me to leave?” Roar asked. “If this is private . . .”
Babette grabbed his arms and pulled him to his feet. “Not so fast, mister. We need both of you to hear this. Help me fix some civilized drinks, why don’t you, while Perri gets started.”
I took a deep breath and launched into my theory of the dog show murders. It took delicacy and an unemotional recitation of facts, motives, and opportunity. After a character analysis of both the victims and the main suspects, I led slowly, inexorably to my conclusion. “Lee Holmes was loathed and hated by almost everyone. I haven’t found one person, including his wife, who mourned his passing. He was a lying, unscrupulous philanderer who thought nothing of deceiving and destroying anyone in his path. I wasn’t surprised when he was murdered. The only surprise was that it took someone that long to finish him off.”
Pruett started to interrupt, but I held out my hand to stop him. “This won’t take long, I promise. Plenty of people had motives to kill Lee Holmes, but Bethany’s murder stumped me.”
Pruett jumped right into the discussion. “I thought we agreed that Bethany knew something about the murder and tried to blackmail the killer.” He shrugged. “Q.E.D.—it makes sense.”
Roar nodded agreement, and even Babette began to waver. Once again, I plunged into dangerous territory. “Okay. We agree about the motive. What bothered me, though, was the brutality of her murder. That plough gauge was a bloody, painful way to end someone’s life. U
p close and personal for sure. It took a cruel, confident killer to do that, and some of those folks just don’t fit the bill.”
Pruett folded his arms, more foe than friend. “What’s your point, Perri?”
I swallowed hard and forged ahead. “I mentioned this before to both you and Roar, but it makes more and more sense. I believe that only a professional could commit two murders without flinching. Someone familiar with weapons, physically active, and determined.”
Roar exchanged glances with Pruett, transmitting a message that I didn’t like. “Look, Perri,” he said, “Wing mentioned your tip about the Facebook tribute page. That was a good, solid lead, and both Genna and I appreciated it.”
I knew by the way he hesitated that there was a humongous “but” coming. Pruett knew it too. He averted his eyes and occupied himself by stroking Guinnie’s soft fur.
“Okay. What did you think?” I was a big girl capable of withstanding rejection quite easily. If Roar had an objection, I wanted to hear it.
“Frankly, we didn’t see much there. Nothing we hadn’t gathered through witness interviews anyway.”
“I presume you matched those faces to the timetable surrounding Bethany’s death. The last time she shows up, she’s pointing to that big clock, grinning like she just won the lottery.” My voice stayed calm. Nothing defensive in my manner, no sir.
Babette threw me a life preserver, or her version of one. “I know that look,” she said nodding. “Only two things that woman was thinking of—sex or money. Trust me on that.”
Pruett got a puzzled look on his face. Other men look weird that way, but on him it was sultry. I gave myself a mental shake and focused on the murders.
“Wait a minute. Hold on. You think Bethany’s lover was in that room?” He spread out his hands, palms up. “What’s your proof?”
I hated to backpedal, but I did. “I don’t know for certain, but she left the hall right about then. You can see from the look on her face that she was elated. That woman wasn’t afraid to meet whoever it was.”
They were losing interest. Probably thought I was some sort of obsessed female on a tear. They may have been right. I didn’t need a clairvoyant to tell me that, but some things needed saying. It was time to unleash the nuclear option and damn the torpedoes. In the army, we used “Fish or cut bait” and a few less savory expressions.
“There’s more,” I said. “Let’s fire up the computer and watch it.”
Babette the hostess reasserted herself then. “Hold the phone, folks. Let’s whip up a quick supper. We’ll all think better with a full stomach.”
The hospitality break defused tension and allowed everyone to relax a bit. I hoped it would take the edge off a very difficult conversation to come. No guarantees, though. We spent a pleasant thirty minutes talking about—what else?—dogs and the show world. Roar was surprisingly knowledgeable on the subject and entertained us with wry observations and anecdotes about the Big E. When Babette complimented him, he did an aw-shucks routine and attributed any wisdom to five years policing the complex.
Over an especially yummy dessert, I brought out my computer and nudged the conversation back to murder. “Bear with me on this. Please. Watch the faces at the memorial, and check the time when they appear. You’ll note that Jess Pendrake told the truth. She never showed up for Lee’s memorial.”
Roar snorted. “So what? She still could have been there, waiting to kill Bethany. We know for sure that she was in that show barn, and that’s what counts.”
Persistence was always my watchword, and it came in handy now. “Several other people fit the bill, you know.”
Pruett leaned forward, and Babette chewed on her nails. They knew that something big was bound to happen, and it wouldn’t be pleasant.
Roar folded his arms and stared me down. Those eyes weren’t dreamy anymore. They were ice shards. “Give me a name if you have one. Come on, Perri. Don’t be shy.”
He was trying to goad me. I knew that, but the time for delicacy had long passed.
“You want a name. Okay. Try this on for size. I think the killer was a cop. Your partner, to be precise. Right from the beginning, she’s done everything possible to threaten and scare us off. Well, guess what? It didn’t work. Genna Watts fits the killer’s profile perfectly.”
He rose from his chair, calmly and deliberately. “You’re nuts, lady. Crazy as a coot. Why in the world would Genna commit a murder?”
Pruett moved closer to me in a gesture of solidarity. Babette backed up against the kitchen stove and shivered. She never believed in idle gestures that could alienate others.
“Power down, Roar,” Pruett said. His tone had a hint of frost in it now. “Perri has good instincts. You need to hear her out.”
Motive was the weakest part of my theory. Roar knew that and had zeroed right in on it. My conclusions had crater-sized holes in them, but they still made sense. Suddenly, I recalled the strange alliance between Genna and Yael Lindsay. Talk about the ultimate odd couple. That had to mean something. I knew that. It was up to me to convince two skeptics of its soundness.
I recalled the first briefing I’d conducted as an army sergeant. A roomful of guys with half sneers and folded arms sat on the edge of their chairs, just waiting for me to fail. I didn’t. Facing Roar Jansen was a piece of cake after that.
“You asked about motive. Okay. There’s one big one that springs to mind. Money. Yael has plenty of it, and I believe she got Genna to murder Lee and implicate Pruett or Rafa. After all, you said it yourself. You guys have been fixtures around here for five years. Plenty of time to observe the habits of the handlers and show people.”
Pruett put his arm around me and squeezed. “Keep talking, Perri. This is getting interesting.”
I continued my explanation, trying hard not to ramble. Anyone with exposure to dog shows knew that handlers tended to leave their supplies near the enclave they’d claimed with their friends and doggy clients. No one bothered their gear. It had no intrinsic value to anyone outside the show world, unless, of course, someone needed a particular weapon to commit a murder.
“Yael Lindsay wanted out of her marriage, but she refused to be crippled by alimony and property settlements. Massachusetts is famous for its punitive divorce laws.”
Roar shook his head. “You mean Yael paid Genna to murder her husband. No way! I refuse to believe it.”
Pruett interceded to avoid a shooting war. “Genna has been riding us pretty hard, Roar. More than normal with the cops I know.”
“Yeah,” piped up Babette, “I call them threats. Even today she cornered us. I have my attorney on speed-dial.”
Roar blinked. “You don’t understand her like I do. Genna can be rough at times, but she really cares. She’d never dishonor her badge. Never.”
I rejoined the fray with a helpful suggestion. “Maybe you should check her bank account, or Yael’s. Money can do strange things to folks.”
The muscles in his jaw tightened like a violin string as Roar Jansen said, through gritted teeth, “I don’t need to do that. Genna is the least materialistic person I know.” He shot a look of triumph my way. “Besides. We plan to make an arrest tomorrow. Then you can forget sleuthing and focus on your dogs. That’s why you came here, after all, isn’t it?”
Babette slugged down a glass of wine before speaking. Fortunately, she chose not to prostrate herself before Roar and beg for information. Bad enough that she pleaded. “Tell me it’s not Rafa. Please.”
As the hot cop gathered his winter gear, he smiled ruefully. “Sorry. That’s police business, Mrs. Croy. Need to know basis only.” He nodded stiffly to us, thanked Babette for the hospitality, and sailed out the door without saying another word.
Pruett’s expression was grim as he surveyed me and Babette. “What the hell was that all about? Did you expect him to give up his partner because of your theory, which I hasten to
add was presented without a scintilla of proof.”
Babette hung her head, but I fought back. “Thanks for all the support, Pruett. Glad you didn’t choose sides. While you were having your bromance, we were trying to solve this thing. And don’t forget that they were measuring you for handcuffs at one point.”
Pruett and I had never really fought, but that was about to change. His eyes narrowed as he fought for self-control. “What you don’t seem to get, Persephone, is the fact that this whole investigation is off-limits to you.” His barely contained fury was evident in the tight fists that he made. “You have no business propounding ridiculous and frankly libelous theories that could harm someone’s career. Not to mention that you’re playing hide-and-seek with a killer. Butt out.” He grabbed his coat and stalked out the door, leaving Steady Eddie a lonelier place by far.
“He’ll be back,” Babette whispered. “He’s afraid for you, that’s all.”
I wasn’t so sure. This was a new, angry side of Wing Pruett, one I was very wary of. Perhaps it was an insight into the dark recesses of his character. In fairness, I had to admit that springing my theory on him with Roar around was probably ill advised. Actually, it was downright reckless. Stupid even. Still...most men would have defended the woman they loved, even if they had their doubts. Lord knows, I’d had to defend Pruett many times from friends who thought he was a scheming sneak. Journalists were the most despised profession in every national survey—excluding politicians, that is.
“I think he’s jealous,” I said. “While we’ve forged ahead, Pruett was blindsided by this buddy group he joined. He looked damned cozy sitting on the couch with Rafa and Roar, sipping brews. Too cozy.” I suspected that they were swapping tales about their conquests too, joining the sophomoric male ritual that was older than time. Pruett, chick magnet that he was, could certainly add to that discussion. The possibility bothered me. Had he betrayed Babette and me? Especially me. Journalists were trained to be professional skeptics, not cop groupies. On the other hand, perhaps I was the jealous one.