Death by Dog Show

by Arlene Kay

  “Who?” The door swung open, and Babette peeked her head out. “Who got arrested?” She turned to me. “Not Rafa. Tell me that’s not true, Perri.”

  Punky couldn’t wait to share her news with someone else. “I heard that someone saw Roy with those shears the night of Lee’s murder. Plus, he slipped out of the memorial service at just the right time.”

  “Who told them that?” Babette asked.

  Punky’s grin was a mile wide. “Ask your buddy here. She put them on to Facebook. Someone videoed the whole thing.”

  “He was with me,” Babette cried. “Ask anyone.”

  “Apparently, he slipped out at just the right time to finish off Bethany.” She laughed. “Roy likes to smoke, and smokers always take little breaks. No one thinks anything of it. Guess it’s harmful to your health, after all!”

  My head felt muddled and all at sea. That couldn’t be right. Roar must have something more that implicated Roy Vesco. Talk about circumstantial evidence! If only I could contact Pruett. His running buddy probably spilled every sordid detail about the arrest to him. I couldn’t do that. It wasn’t possible, and I had to face facts. Pruett had made his choice. I had to respect it and hope we could still be friends—colleagues, not lovers. Then we could salvage the best part of our relationship. I missed him more than I could bear to admit.

  Rafa and Yael’s big romance seemed anticlimactic after that, but I broke the news to Babette as gently as possible. To my surprise, she shrugged it off as if it were no big deal. “We never really clicked, if you know what I mean,” she said. “Rafa was an illusion—a sexy one but never anything solid.” As she turned away, I glimpsed the tears filling her eyes. In moments like this, I take solace in planning my next move. Two more days left in the show week. That meant a golden opportunity to sell my wares and expand my customer base. I’d agreed to conduct a free seminar for puppy owners on Saturday, a fun event that boosted sales of leads, collars, and incidentals. Besides, who could brood when surrounded by a group of puppies?

  “You need cheering up,” I told Babette. “How about a session in O’Doul’s to perk us both up? After Best in Show, we’ll feed the pups and sneak over there.”

  Babette pulled a sad face. “Nah. Maybe I’ll watch TV for a while.”

  “Oh, come on. It’ll be fun. No one lights up a room like Babette Croy!”

  Flattery always works with my pal. Almost against her will, she smiled and nodded agreement. “I’m surprised you’re going to Best in Show. The Lucrezia Borgia of the photo world will be there with her boy toy.”

  “Might as well get used to it. Besides, we’d disappoint Ella if we skipped it. I have a feeling that today is Guinnie’s big day.”

  We agreed to meet at Ring Nine promptly at two pm. While I did some bookkeeping, Babette and Clara ambled over to the agility competition for one last go at a title. Things would gradually settle down now that I had faced the truth about Pruett. I’d skipped all the way from grief to stage five of Kubler-Ross—acceptance. Surely that deserved a pat on the back and an “Atta girl.” When Pip passed, I had veered between denial and depression until Babette hauled me up by the bootstraps. No more wallowing in self-pity for this girl. No siree! I hunkered down at my computer doing Quick books, while a few customers browsed. I detested accounting, but keeping an accurate balance was a necessity for a small business owner like me.

  I suddenly looked up, sensing someone hovering over me. Kiki Vesco, with clenched fists, ravaged cheeks, and smeared lipstick was a picture of distress. Although Keats and Poe stayed vigilant, they apparently sensed no danger from her. Maybe they gave all dog handlers, even angry ones, a free pass. I reminded myself that Kiki was immature despite her wanton ways. I had an obligation to help her if possible.

  “Hi Kiki,” I said, “Need anything special?” My voice was impersonal but friendly.

  Her lip quivered as she faced me. “It’s your fault,” she said, pointing a finger my way. “You got Roy arrested.”

  Keats and Poe quietly rose and surrounded my chair. They didn’t growl, but their bodies tensed. I rose slowly, shooed out a stray customer and locked the front door. “You’re wrong,” I said. “The police made that decision.”

  “He was framed,” Kiki said. “Just ’cause he clobbered Lee.” She bowed her head and sobbed. Actually, the sound was more reminiscent of a howl. “He didn’t do it. I know he didn’t. He wouldn’t.”

  I didn’t kid myself. Kiki was a thoroughly unpleasant person, selfish and hyper-sexualized, not above lying or twisting facts to suit herself. Still...I empathized with her loyalty to poor downtrodden Roy Vesco. Unless, of course, she was hiding her own complicity in the crimes.

  “What do you want of me?” I asked. It was a reasonable question, although Kiki didn’t think so. She reared back and bared her teeth. Hopefully Kiki had gotten all her shots. When dogs show teeth, you brace for trouble. I held my ground while considering my next move.

  “Get him out,” she said. “We don’t have money, but they’ll listen to you and your boyfriend.”

  The poor deluded soul had no idea how wrong she was. Roar Jansen rebuffed my theories, his partner actively hated me, and Pruett had already moved on. My influence was less than zero. Still, my curiosity was aroused.

  “Why did they arrest Roy? The police must have had evidence.”

  Kiki stopped wailing long enough to curl her lip and sneer. “They said he killed Lee because of me, and the fortune-teller knew about it.”

  “Were you involved with Lee Holmes?” I asked, hoping I had broached the subject with enough delicacy and ambiguity to keep her talking.

  Kiki bowed her head. “Nope. He tried to kiss me a couple of times, but that’s all. Roy didn’t even know about that.”

  “What about Bethany? You know, the fortune-teller?”

  I could tell that Kiki was hiding something. In this instance, silence was the best weapon. After a few moments, she sniffled and gave a slight nod. “We were friends. She was fun to talk to. Didn’t treat me like a stranger, you know. We mostly talked about interesting stuff.”

  I tilted my head and waited for an answer. “What kind of stuff?”

  “Sex. She knew lots about that.” Kiki was on a roll now, proud to flaunt her superior knowledge. “She had a new boyfriend too. They did all kinds of weird shit.” She looked unabashed as she said that, and I was too cowardly to ask for specifics. Besides, it wasn’t relevant.

  “Really.”

  Kiki’s face glowed as she reminisced. “She wanted to marry him. Said she had the magic potion, whatever that meant.”

  I refused to be sidetracked by the excursion into the seamy side of life. “So, what did that have to do with Roy?”

  “Nothing. The ugly cop said he had a ‘track record,’ whatever that meant.”

  When my iPhone beeped, it scared the stuffing out of me. Best in Show was only five minutes away, and I had some thinking to do.

  “Look, Kiki. I’m sorry about Roy, but they can’t hold him without evidence. His lawyer knows that.”

  She bristled like an angry terrier. “I knew you wouldn’t help. Your kind never does.” Kiki flounced out the door, leaving me to ponder that last sentence.

  * * * *

  A crowd converged around Ring Nine, awaiting the start of the Best in Show competition. This wasn’t Westminster, and all four days had their own Best in Show event. Still, it gave me a secret thrill to watch Guinnie lined up with the other group winners, awaiting her chance for glory. Babette had snagged two seats on a long bench facing the judge, so we settled in with fingers crossed. Pruett and his family were seated on the opposite side in special chairs monogrammed with Guinnie’s name. I angled my body out of their line of sight and ignored them. In a move guaranteed to thrill the boys, Monique crossed her long shapely legs and leaned back. I sat soldier straight.

  Babette’s sharp el
bow pierced my side. “Check that out,” she said. “She looks like the queen of Sheba. What a snob. Pruett keeps staring at you though, Perri.”

  I swallowed hard and stayed silent as Kiki’s words reverberated in my head. What did she mean “my kind?” I was no elitist. Far from it. I’d worked hard for everything I ever got or hoped to achieve. And what was this noise about Roy’s track record? If he had a police sheet for violence, Pruett probably knew all about it.

  On the other side of the ring, Yael sat on her throne with her new consort, Rafa, nearby. The recently deposed Whit Wiley was nowhere to be found.

  The group winners made their initial pass around the ring. At first glance, Guinnie had some formidable competition: a Rhodesian ridgeback, cairn terrier, Akita, Pembroke Welsh corgi, pug, and, of course, Punky, with her standard poodle. In my judgment, they couldn’t hold a candle to Lady Guinevere, but I had to admit to some bias.

  Alf gave Guinnie a nose kiss and squired her around the ring in a perfect gait. She stacked beautifully for the judge, showcasing her exquisite head and shoulders. As Guinnie trotted around the ring, Pruett and Ella clapped lustily. Monique remained stoic, untouched by her daughter’s joy. I considered the parallels between Guinnie’s turn for the judge and the media circus that Monique attracted. Maybe she was bored because she wasn’t the center of attention. Maybe I was wildly jealous.

  The judge eliminated half the field, leaving Guinnie, the ridgeback, and the pug still standing. Finally, it happened. Lady Guinevere was awarded Best in Show, to the exultation of her handler and one very happy little girl.

  “Let’s go,” I said, grabbing Babette’s hand. “Let them bask in the glow.” Naturally, there were pictures in the offing and, due to Monique’s fame, a no doubt fulsome interview in the Springfield Gazette. I fled to my store, taking refuge in my dogs and simple things like leads, leashes, and collars. Thirty minutes until closing, I told myself. Shape up.

  Babette was floored when she heard about Kiki’s visit. She stopped grooming Clara and uttered several expletives that no upper-crust lady should even know. “That little hussy’s involved in this. Mark my words. Run like hell if you see her with a pair of shears!”

  How easy for everyone to blame a down-market type like Kiki. She had no defenders. Her behavior was rude and impulsive, just the kind of traits that might cause her to plunge shears into Lee Holmes. Once again, it was Bethany’s murder that gave me pause. Kiki said they were friends, and I believed her. Kiki’s speech and manner softened when she spoke the psychic’s name. Bethany had no cause to blackmail Kiki, no hope of reaping a reward. Roy Vesco was devoted to his ex-spouse. His every action confirmed that, and he would do anything, including murder, to defend her. Once again, I recalled the sheer brutality of Bethany’s murder. Slitting a throat was a bloody, messy endeavor that required a cool head and a cold heart. Roy Vesco had neither. My theory about a professional hit gained traction every time I thought of it. Too bad no one else saw its brilliance.

  At closing time, Babette and I sprinted back to Steady Eddie to repair and refresh our appearance before hitting the bar. While I led our three canine charges on a brief run, she prepared their dinner. It felt strange without Guinnie in the pack. I knew Ella would take loving care of her pet, and Pruett—gutless wonder that he was—would never neglect the pointer, even if Monique urged him to. That was unfair. Although Monique looked like Aphrodite and acted like Medusa, I had no evidence that she would mistreat Guinnie or Ella. She regarded them both as bargaining chips in a high-stakes game with Pruett. Thus far, she was way ahead.

  Babette looked like a million bucks, or at least several hundred thousand. She’d paired her paisley cashmere twinset with a smart wool skirt and killer boots. Naturally, her makeup was pristine, and her hair was fluffed beyond belief. I was a poor companion to such magnificence.

  “Get a move on, Perri,” she squawked. “Happy hour’s on at O’Doul’s, and the music starts at seven. Punky and the gang will all be there.”

  The temperature had risen to thirty-six degrees, with only a hint of snow in the forecast. I celebrated by breaking out my favorite velvet tunic over leggings. My hair and makeup required only the lightest touch-up.

  “Red’s your color,” Babette said, “But for crying out loud, use some blush. You look like a ghost.” She dove into her makeup bag. “Here. Let me help you.” After dabbing and blending, she held a mirror up for me to inspect the result. I feared the worst—would I resemble a desperate dame or a harlot on the make? I was pleasantly surprised. Babette had shown restraint and a touch of artistry this time. If Pruett happened to show up, he would see a winner, not a wan castoff. If Monique accompanied him, he wouldn’t see me at all.

  We crated the dogs and made tracks for O’Doul’s. Without Pruett’s Porsche, it was slow going through the crusty snow. Fortunately, a weathered van stopped, and the side door slid open.

  “Don’t worry, ladies,” said Alf Walsh. “You’re safe with me. Besides, you’re just too purty to walk in all that slush.”

  Babette leapt inside before I could stop her. Alf was still a possible suspect, although not a viable one. Caution had to be our watchword. Telling that to a woman with a pair of Prada boots on was wasted effort. I thanked Alf and slid in next to my pal.

  The tavern was filled with merrymakers that evening. Most of the dog show crowd filled the seats, while a few townies lingered at the bar. Among them was the toothsome form of Sergeant Roar Jansen. Tonight, he was a testament to the power of jeans so tight they left nothing to the imagination and even less room to stow his weapon. His weapon...talk about your Freudian slips! I felt my face and at least one other body part grow warm. I was not that type of woman, was I? Perhaps this was Pruett’s legacy to me—perpetual arousal.

  Roar beckoned to me immediately. “Hey, Perri, come on over.” He patted a stool. “Got a seat saved just for you.”

  I should have ignored him. No man who looked that good drank alone unless he’d planned it that way. Waves of women were already eyeing Roar, waiting for any overture. There was nothing special about me. I couldn’t delude myself about that. Still, my curiosity propelled me forward against my better judgment.

  “The joint is jumping tonight,” he said. “I hoped you’d show up.”

  “Yeah.” My response wasn’t elegant, but it was succinct.

  He caught me in the beam from those blue eyes. “Guess you heard about what happened.”

  Once again, I played it cool by nodding without comment.

  Roar grinned and ordered me a drink. “Scotch okay?” he asked.

  “Sure.” This game was getting interesting.

  He patted my arm. “Sorry about last night. I overreacted, and I was wrong. But Genna—she’s like a sister to me. I know her, and she’s no killer. You floored me by accusing her.”

  It was time to get the conversational ball rolling. “Roy Vesco. What made you arrest him? He’s volatile but not a killer. At least from what I’ve seen of him.”

  Roar was proficient at this game of cat and mouse. In fact, he was better at it than I was. “He has a record, Perri. Assault with a dangerous weapon. Both times he put the other guy in traction.” Our drinks arrived, and Roar clinked glasses with me. “Still think he’s not violent?”

  I gave that some thought. Roy might well be a brawler. Kiki said he stopped drinking last year, and I suspected that his prior problems were fueled by alcohol and angst. I shared my reservations with Roar.

  He slowly sipped his scotch before responding. “There’s more. Genna found blood on one of his neckties. Covered with gore it was. Waste of a nice piece of silk. He stuffed it underneath the carpet in his trunk where he figured we wouldn’t find it.”

  There was more. I knew it but decided to let him go first. “The blood on that tie matched Bethany Zahn’s. That’s why we waited for the DNA results before charging anyone.” His smile was dazzling. “
We try our best to be professional, Ms. Morgan.”

  I decided to push my luck. Any man that confident could withstand a bit of prodding. Roar reminded me of Pruett in so many ways that it tugged at my heart. No need to dwell on the past. Eyes forward, as my old drill sergeant used to say.

  “Okay. What about motive? Leave Lee Holmes out of it for a minute, and focus on Roy. He had no reason to kill Bethany.”

  Roar’s smile was way too smug. There was more to this tale, and he was bound to share it. “We think he had one dandy motive for murdering Bethany.”

  I prayed that he wouldn’t ask me to guess. Things had progressed way beyond that by now, and I felt testy.

  Roar took pity and dangled some bait my way. “Vesco loves his ex-wife, wouldn’t you agree?”

  “Yeah.” I had no idea where he was going with this, but I knew I wouldn’t like it.

  “We think there were two murderers involved. Lee Holmes’s death was a crime of passion. Ms. Zahn’s was one of necessity.”

  I closed my eyes, willing him to go elsewhere with this theory. He was wrong. I knew it, and nothing would change my mind. When I stayed silent, Roar continued. “We agree that Kiki is passionate and impetuous. She stabbed Lee in a fit of jealousy and was somehow seen by Bethany Zahn. That left Roy to clean up after her.”

  “Bethany was her friend. Kiki told me so.”

  His laughter verged on rude. It was clearly disrespectful. “Excuse me, Perri. If Kiki said so, it must be true. No killer ever lies.” He signaled to the bartender for another round of scotch.

  I’m not adverse to alcohol, but it tends to cloud my mind. I swirled the rich mahogany liquid in my glass without drinking. Time to bring out the big guns, and damn the consequences. My appetite for destruction grew exponentially.

  “Sounds like Genna did most of the leg work on this. Did it ever occur to you that she might have planted that bloody tie? Easy enough to do since handlers leave their stuff lying around. Cops have access to all kinds of incriminating material, including blood. Ask anyone. You’ll find that Genna has been all over the Big E ever since this show began.”