Death by Dog Show

by Arlene Kay

  I folded my arms in front of me and faced him. There was a touch of defiance in my stance, and I didn’t really care.

  Roar took a deep breath before responding. When he spoke, it was with that easy cop cynicism that he did so well. “Hmm. I guess we’re at an impasse here. I hoped since Pruett was with his family, you and I might get together tonight.” He swallowed his drink in one gulp. “Guess not.”

  His comment stung, but I masked the pain with a sunny smile. “Think again, copper. I’m still looking for a hit man—or woman—while you rest on your laurels. No time for anything else.”

  Roar pivoted gracefully and walked away, shaking his head as he did so. He never once looked back.

  Chapter 23

  Babette was in fine form. She loved dancing and had had plenty of practice over the years. Tonight, she pranced from partner to partner, kicking up her heels with abandon. I stayed by the sidelines cheering her on. No need to dampen her spirits just because I was alone. Besides, there were plenty of people to chat with about Roy Vesco’s arrest. It was literally topic number one on everyone’s lips.

  Punky and her pals hovered around a large table, sharing a pitcher of beer. When I walked by, they scooted over and made room for me. I could tell by the pity in their eyes that word of Pruett’s defection had already spread. Bad news travels at lightning speed in the Big E.

  “You look awful perky tonight,” Punky said. She slapped me on the shoulder. “Good for you, girl. Keep that head up high.”

  She meant well, but I never fancied playing the role of the wronged woman. Self-pity was simply not my style. Still, it might work to my advantage with a group of women who were all too familiar with romantic misadventures. I shared a few tidbits about my conversation with Roar.

  “That’s crazy,” Punky said. “Roy’s not the sharpest knife in the drawer, but he’s no killer. Sounds like that Watts woman went on the warpath.”

  I tried to be noncommittal. “Maybe he’s an easy target. They have to be feeling tons of pressure to find someone.”

  Another handler piped up. “You know, Roy looked real nice for a change that night. Course, that string tie wasn’t great, but still . . .”

  Something clicked in my mind. Roar described a fabric soaked in Bethany’s blood, not a string tie. The guy probably owned only the one tie. Sounded more and more like a setup, with Roy as the hapless victim. I made a mental note to review that Facebook video as soon as we got home.

  When Babette finally wound down, we hitched a ride back to Steady Eddie with Alf. I was too exhausted to do more than peel off my clothes and fall into bed. It wasn’t until morning that I turned on my cell phone and read Pruett’s text:

  Perri—don’t give up on me. It’s not what you think. I miss you so much I can’t even think straight. Meet me tomorrow, and I’ll explain everything.

  That message cheered me more than I cared to admit. He was probably spinning a tale, knowing how much I wanted to believe him. I decided not to seek Pruett out. At least I had that much pride intact. Creature Comforts would be open for business at eight am, and he was well aware of its location. I intended to wring an explanation out of him too. What was his real connection to Lee Holmes and the other actors in this murderous play? Although Pruett was no murderer, the police considered him a viable suspect. Roar seemed friendly enough, but Genna openly accused Pruett of involvement. She was the one whose motives I questioned. Kipling had said it well: “The female of the species is more deadly than the male.”

  Babette, the eternal romantic, had a different reaction. She flung her arms around my neck and rhapsodized about the reunion to come.

  “He loves you, Perri. Told you so.” She gave me a smug wise woman of the Western world look. “I don’t know how you ever doubted him.”

  I came down from the clouds just in time to remember my question. “You helped Roy with his wardrobe the night of the murder, didn’t you?”

  Babette scraped toast crumbs from her plate. “Yes. But don’t blame me for everything. He insisted on wearing that stupid string tie.” She smiled. “Kind of endearing, actually. Plus, I think it’s the only one he owns.”

  Roar Jansen was so sure of himself. How would he react to this blockbuster bomb in his airtight case? Obviously, the silk tie in question had been planted in Roy’s vehicle for Genna Watts to find. Conveniently placed, I might add. Perhaps the object and the person who found it were one and the same. I couldn’t wait to share that bit of news with Pruett. Good sense suddenly returned, and with it the realization that despite his text Pruett was no longer my partner—professionally or otherwise.

  “We have to tell Roar,” Babette said. “Not the Gorgon. She’d probably put a bullet in our brains rather than admit to planting evidence.” She fluffed her hair one more time. “Besides, lookin’ at Roar is pure pleasure. His mama and daddy sure knew what they were doing when they combined gene pools.”

  I looked at my watch and jumped to my feet. “Oops! I have ten minutes to get over to Ring Ten for the puppy demo. Think you can hold down the fort while I do that?”

  Babette loved a challenge. “Natch. Your shop will be in good hands.” As I sailed out the door, she stopped me cold with this question: “What should I tell Pruett when he drops by?”

  “If he drops by, tell him to have a nice day.” It was a paltry response but the best that I could do under duress.

  It didn’t faze my pal one bit. She blew me a kiss and closed the door behind me, mumbling something I couldn’t quite hear.

  * * * *

  Puppies, puppies everywhere but not enough to pet. I never got enough of those wiggling bundles of fur and fun, no matter how many times I conducted these sessions. Most of the students were adults accompanied by their pet progeny, but a few kids Ella’s age and over also joined the group. One common bond united us all: canine love.

  After reviewing some ground rules for raising a pup, I demonstrated basic techniques, using Keats and Poe as my assistants. Their performance was letter perfect, although mine suffered when I glanced at the crowd and saw Pruett and Ella standing on the sidelines. I’d done these so often that I could conduct these classes on autopilot, a useful feature when my mind was otherwise engaged. After a spirited exchange with the audience and demonstrations with the students, I concluded with a mild pitch for the custom leads and collars available at Creature Comforts.

  I planned to slip silently away before encountering Pruett. It was better for all concerned that way. The plan was derailed when a pint-sized missile hurled herself into my arms and hugged my neck.

  “Perri, we missed you,” Ella cried. “Guinnie looked everywhere for the other dogs.”

  Who could resist such a captivating child? I couldn’t, and I didn’t even try. “What time does Guinnie go into the ring?” I asked, although I knew her schedule by heart.

  Pruett eased into the conversation. “Eleven. Do you have time to grab a coffee before then? I promised Ella a soft-serve.”

  “Sure. I need to exercise the dogs first.” No sense in being disagreeable. After all, we had started out as friends and could be that again. He put his arm around Ella and lightly touched my neck with his fingers. A jolt of electricity traveled down to my toes, proof positive of how pathetic I was when confronted by the sexiest man in DC.

  “I’ll help,” Pruett said, brave talk from a man who was still skittish about operating in the canine world. “Ella too.”

  We formed a sextet, half-canine, half-human, and braved the bracing wind and chilly temperatures outdoor. Keats and Poe streaked to the outer fields, but Ella kept a tight rein on Guinnie.

  “You got my text?” Pruett asked. His voice was subdued, almost timid. I liked him that way for a change.

  “Yeah. This morning.” I plastered a pleasant smile on my face and kept my cool. It was his move, and I wasn’t about to preempt that. Pruett sent Ella ahead to throw stic
ks for Guinnie and turned to me.

  “I really blew it. Can you ever forgive me?” His eyes blazed into mine with an intensity that was quite unlike him.

  At times like this, the truth will out. “I don’t know what to say, Wing. Your life and mine are on different tracks, it seems.”

  He grasped my arm and pulled me close. “No. Don’t ever say that. I love you. We belong together. You, me, and Ella—we’re a family.”

  I seldom cried under any circumstances, especially around a man. Generations of unenlightened females used tears to manipulate men. Emotion was a power ploy, a tool used by the powerless to control the clueless. I never operated that way and never would. A drop of moisture formed in my eyes, and I quickly turned away.

  Pruett knew the value of silence. He drew me to him again and held me tight. We stayed that way until Ella returned and my Malinois were back at my side.

  “You heard about the arrest?” I asked him as we sipped a double latte. When he nodded, I shared the rest of the story, particularly the part about the string tie.

  “You’re sure?” Pruett asked.

  “Check out the Facebook video. There’s no doubt.”

  The wheels were spinning in his journalist’s head as he wrote and rewrote the lead to his story. Suddenly, “Death by Dog Show” had a different, even more sinister headline. Had the police deliberately falsified evidence, or was a clever murderer still on the prowl?

  “What did Roar say?” Pruett asked.

  I spread my hands in a hapless gesture. “We parted ways before discussing that. Roar was convinced that Kiki and Roy were the culprits.” I couldn’t help adding a final touch: “Incidentally, Genna was the one who discovered the so-called evidence.”

  Pruett quickly shed his lover’s pose and went full-bore writer. “This is big. Maybe your hit man theory isn’t so far-fetched, after all. Let me check into it.” He pointed to Ella and Guinnie. “Can you watch these two while I make a few calls?”

  “One minute, writer-man. Time for you to come clean. What were you really doing at this show?”

  Pruett knew by my tone that I was serious. Dead serious. “Okay,” he said. “I was tipped to a story about money laundering at different venues. Dog shows were one of them. Unfortunately, I couldn’t find any evidence to corroborate the charge. I planned to interview Lee Holmes the night he died.” Pruett spread his hands. “You know how that turned out.”

  It made sense. When he pursued a story, Pruett was sneaky and secretive and suspicious of everyone. Too bad that murder became the headline for his newest article. Money laundering seemed tame in comparison.

  “How about it?” he asked. “Watch out for Ella? Please?”

  He knew the answer before I said a word. Pruett dashed off on his quest, while our pack, now a quintet, sauntered back to my shop. Ella wore Guinnie’s Best in Show rosette pinned to her jacket, along with the belt that I had made for her. An eclectic look, but she managed to pull it off as only a moppet could do.

  At the store, Babette proudly totaled up the day’s take. I had to admit, she had reason to crow. The puppy session had inspired plenty of pet parents to pony up for collars, leads, and other frippery for their new babies. After thanking her, I hastily reviewed my notes before a conference call with a potential buyer—an upscale store with a dash of panache—that was interested in my belts. While Babette and Ella freshened up, I got down to business. Guinnie’s ring time was coming up, and I wanted to be there front and center to show Pruett that I was still in the game. No word on Monique’s part in this charade. If she showed up I would fold my tent and slink off into the night.

  An unexpected visitor stumbled in just as my call concluded. To my surprise, Jess Pendrake looked almost cheery in a navy pantsuit with red piping. Unless I was mistaken, she had also applied a smidgeon of cosmetics and blown out her hair. Wow! Babette would have been on this like the best scent hound. Even I knew that a man was somehow involved.

  I greeted Jess with a friendly smile. “Need anything special?”

  She cast her eyes downward instead of meeting my eyes. “Nope. Just wanted to thank you.” For a moment, I feared that she would weep. If a bastion of strength and defiance like Jess broke down, what hope was there for the rest of us? She gulped and finally raised her head. “I know you took up for me. Nobody’s ever done that before.”

  “You were innocent. Right?”

  “That cop tried to bully me. Told me to plead guilty.”

  Genna Watts again. Would that woman ever stop? Her excessive zeal was rapidly morphing into something far more sinister.

  “Don’t worry. She has another victim in mind now.”

  Jess wrinkled her brow in confusion. “What?”

  “They think Roy Vesco murdered Bethany. He’s been arrested.”

  “No!” Her loud shout caused Keats and Poe to come to my side. “Roy couldn’t kill anyone, especially a woman.”

  Devil’s advocate was a role at which I’d excelled in the military. “Why not?”

  Jess knelt down and stroked Poe’s silky head. “His mom. Her boyfriend beat her to death when Roy was a kid. He would never hurt a woman.” She jumped up and bolted toward the door. “I gotta tell them.”

  “Wait. Stop, Jess!” She ignored my feeble effort as if she hadn’t heard a word. It was too late to stop her, so I spent some time pondering this new insight into Roy, a more complex character than I had envisioned. On the night Bethany died, Babette squired Roy and Kiki around like prize poultry at a county fair. To be accurate, Roy had exited for a least one smoke break, and knowing Babette the social butterfly, she had lost track of time. By hoofing it over to the Equine Pavilion, Roy could have murdered Bethany and still rejoined the others. It was possible but in my opinion not probable. Only a soulless psychopath could slit a woman’s throat and then calmly rejoin a social gathering. That buttressed my theory about a professional killer. Roy was volatile, but no one would call him a criminal mastermind by any stretch of the imagination.

  By a stroke of luck, I made it to Ring Two just as Guinnie and the other specials entered. There were eight competitors, five dogs and three bitches, including entries from Yael and Whit Wiley. In my opinion, there was no real competition. Guinnie outclassed every one of them.

  Alf Walsh kept his eyes trained on Guinnie, although he subtly checked out her rivals as well. Yael employed a professional handler from Manhattan, but Whit showed his own dog. On the opposite side, Ella, Babette, and Pruett sat in a tight bunch ready to cheer on Guinnie to victory. That other show bitch, Monique Allaire, was noticeably absent.

  Each dog did a preliminary turn around the ring and stood for examination by the judge. I scrutinized each, noting whose gait was smooth and frictionless, as ordained by the breed standard. On all counts, Guinnie emerged as the winner—at least in my eyes.

  “Nice lineup.” Rafa Ramos slid next to me on the bench and patted my back. His smile seemed a bit forced. “Mind if I join you? You’re not saving a seat, are you?”

  I matched his smile with a sprightly one of my own. “Heavens no. What about you? I heard congratulations were in order.”

  He nodded toward Yael, enthroned on her special chair across the ring. “Thank you. I am a lucky man indeed.”

  The judge instructed Alf and Yael’s Manhattan guy to run their dogs around the ring yet again. Whit Wiley was waved to the back of the line.

  “She won’t win, you know.” Rafa’s words had an unpleasant edge to them.

  I deliberately chose to misinterpret his message. “I thought Yael already won.”

  “I meant the dog, Perri. Lady Guinevere.”

  “Oh?”

  Rafa’s response reeked of smugness. “Guaranteed. I know that judge. Bitches never win with him.”

  The subtext to the conversation was hard to miss. I confronted it head on. “Bitches sometimes win, Rafa, if th
ey have the right attitude.”

  He immediately switched to charm mode. “Forgive me, Perri. My English sometimes fails me.” We maintained a companionable silence until the judge made his final decision.

  Guinnie was not the victor.

  Chapter 24

  “We were robbed,” Pruett said. Like all parents whose child loses a prize, he fumed about the injustice of it all. In this case, he fumed sotto voce in case Ella got too close. No need to set a bad example for a child.

  “Cheer up. Guinnie still got two points,” I said. “Besides, it was preordained.” I repeated Rafa’s comments about the judge and his predilection for male winners. Pruett shared some choice words about both Rafa and the errant judge, none of which bore repeating.

  “Was Rafa threatening you?” he asked. “Sounded like it. Be careful. The world around here’s gone totally crazy. When this thing ends tomorrow, I for one will be very glad.”

  He was right, of course, but I still railed against the injustice of it all. Bethany Zahn had her faults, but she didn’t deserve her fate. Lee Holmes had almost begged for his, but murder never solved anything, even when it was warranted. Both crimes would probably go unavenged after tomorrow. Roy Vesco’s arrest was fraught with problems and would no doubt be invalidated. What would the outcome be then? I closed my eyes, envisioning a slow, steady slide into the oblivion of the cold case file.

  “Come on,” Pruett said, putting his arm around me. “Ella needs her dinner.”

  “I get it. Tonight is another Applebee’s night. Buffalo wings, here we come.”

  Pruett planted a sweet kiss on my forehead and nudged me toward the exit.

  * * * *

  Our dinner was surprisingly festive and tasty as well. Alf and Babette joined us as we chowed down on Ella’s favorite wings and fries. No sign of the photojournalist. I giggled thinking how outraged Monique would be if she saw her child eating peasant fare.