Dog Drama

by Leslie O'Kane

  “Oh, right. Valerie mentioned that. I guess the curtains went up a tad late just so Felicity could dry out her costume. She also mentioned you were asking about the fundraiser with the loaded-couple’s Poodle. Are you interested in the gig?”

  “No, but thanks,” I replied.

  He frowned a little but nodded. His forehead was damp with beads of sweat. “God knows if I’ll be in jail by then,” he said.

  “Don’t give up hope, John,” Baxter said. “It’s only been a couple of days. We’re hoping they can get some new evidence.”

  “Yeah. Well...” He let his voice fade. He rose, seemingly too agitated to stay seated. John was shifting his weight from foot to foot. He looked even more nervous than when he’d taken the stage himself.

  “Is there anything in particular you’d like me to help you with during tomorrow night’s performance, John?”

  “No, just try and keep an eye on everyone backstage or in the wings. Baxter can do the same. We’re getting another—” He broke off, then began again, “We’ve got a reporter from a Colorado Springs paper coming to watch it. I’d love for the play to be flawless and get rave reviews.”

  “Sounds good,” I said. “So should we just come in late tomorrow?”

  “Yeah. Whatever. Come on, Flint,” John said. “It’s time to hit the sack. I feel half dead. See you later.”

  Baxter waited a beat as John and his dog left. “You ready to go?”

  “I want to check in on Felicity. I want to ask if we should train Pippa again in the morning.”

  “Okay. I’ve got some computer work to do,” Baxter said, tilting his head toward the hidden camera. He was probably going to check and see if anyone had paid attention to Karen’s lemon water.

  Predictably, Felicity was upstairs, seated behind a sewing machine, working away.

  “Hi, Felicity. Just wanted to see how you and Pippa are doing.” Pippa was wagging her rear-end. Those upright tails of theirs weren’t as easy to wag as other breeds’. She was still in her Star Trek uniform.

  “I was thinking I owe you both another training session. Would tomorrow morning work?”

  “Oh, thanks for offering, Allie, but no thanks. I thought she did really well in Boomtown last night.”

  “She sure did. But I don’t want to short-change you. I’m more than happy to work with Pippa for another hour or two.”

  “That truly is sweet of you, but I’m good with the work you’ve already put into her.” She grimaced, “Now that she’s not getting bogus commands from that God-damned John Morris, I’m thinking she’ll do fine.”

  “How did you know about that?” I asked.

  “John told me himself. Just today. At least he’s finally seen fit to admit how terrible he’s been to me.”

  I couldn’t blame Felicity for the venom in her voice. I would have felt the same way if John had done that to Pavlov, let alone the much more serious mistreatments of his former girlfriend.

  “Okay,” I said. “We’ll leave it at that, then. Pippa was fun to work with, so thanks for the opportunity.”

  “No worries,” she said, “but hang on a sec. I was just finishing this up for Pavlov.”

  She finished sewing a seam and cut the thread. I looked closer at her work. It appeared to be a really nice vest for a dog, with numerous pockets on either side. “Oh, that’s great but you—”

  “I took all her measurements, so this will fit her perfectly She never struck me as a frilly, frou-frou type, so I used the dark blue fabric that’s used in police uniforms...Shepherds are often called ‘police dogs,’ after all. And I made her a vest she can wear whenever you go on long hikes. It has room for a water bottle and a collapsible bowl, as well as food and treats. Even for a small first aid kit and so on.”

  “Wow, Felicity. I don’t even know what to say. It’s worth way more than her one lesson.”

  “Oh, I don’t mind. Just take some business cards. A lot of companies produce cookie-cutter vests for dogs, but I can email instructions on how to take precise measurements and will customize this however the owner wants.”

  “That sounds like a great product for dog owners with expendable cash. Baxter started a really successful business making customized dog houses.”

  She smiled. “I remember John telling me about that. Back when he was living with me. We’d almost placed an order for Flint. I’m sure we would have, except that was right around the time he met Sally...and promptly dumped me.”

  “At least that’s better timing than after you’d purchased it to match your house.”

  She snorted. “Thank the Lord for small favors.”

  “I should get going. See you later.”

  “Allie?” she said. “I really regret all the garbage Sam and I pulled on John. I wish we’d never sunk to John’s level.”

  “What John did to us...messing up Flint’s performances and suckering us into coming here under false pretense...was a lot worse than you using a dog whistle to distract him.”

  “Yeah, but still. Two wrongs don’t make a right. See you tomorrow.”

  “Yep.” I trotted down the stairs, admonishing myself for using Valerie’s pet reply.

  My thoughts stayed focused on Valerie. Why had she agreed to hiring me for the play? They’d already hired Sam Geller as a trainer plus a stagehand. I was redundant, and she was deeply concerned with the theater’s financial bottom-line.

  Although I had next to no rational reason for my suspicions, I was starting to think that maybe both Valerie and John were in on everything: Sam’s murder. The poisoning. The falling lights. The drugged dog. I could only hope that our camera captured the next poisoning attempt. But what a miserable thing to hang one’s hopes on.

  Chapter 24

  Baxter and I didn’t return to the theater until late the next afternoon. We were both in a bad mood. As it turned out, he’d taken a lot of heat from the sheriff last night over my scheme to set up the poisoner to believe another dose had to be slipped into Karen’s water bottle. Even though I’d considered the conversation finished, as we neared the theater, Baxter said, “We’re going to need to have Karen’s back when it comes to monitoring her water bottle. The sheriff said he was going to come to tonight’s performance. But he read me the riot act.”

  “So you said. And you also said he’s still going to give any evidence we can collect to the D.A.”

  “When and if we manage to video someone tampering with the water bottle, he said he’d likely view that as a strong indication that they’d arrested the wrong guy. But he pointed out that the camera will likely only record someone removing Karen’s water bottle and then sticking it back in the fridge. If we’re lucky. Nobody is going to unscrew the cap and pour poison in it, all the while standing right in front of the refrigerator door.”

  “Someone might,” I grumbled.

  He gave no reply. Baxter was bringing his laptop today so that, once the play began and everyone was involved in that, he could view the camera recordings so far. We headed straight to the greenroom to our hidden camera. I noted that the camera was still in place and took a seat. Baxter opened the refrigerator. Sally’s water bottle was precisely where she’d left it last night.

  Before Baxter could sit down, John entered the room with Flint. He stood near the door and gaped at us. “What are you doing, Allida?” he asked.

  “I’m just...sitting here. You’re going to be cuing Flint. I thought I might as well relax for a bit.”

  “When you said you’d be here tonight, I assumed you meant to help out. Both of you. With the dog.”

  I rose. “What do you need me to do?”

  He snorted. “Look at Flint.” He gestured at him. Flint was sitting beside him, his ears perked up. I saw nothing wrong with his demeanor. “He’s got no spark. I need him to give the performance of his life tonight. My entire career depends on it. And you’ve obviously overworked him! You never should have forced him to perform last night!”

  “Dude, take a chill pill,” Baxte
r said.

  “You’re still on the clock, Allie,” John said. “I guess I just didn’t realize that you were going to throw in the towel. Hang out in the break room, while an off-Broadway director is coming here to watch my play!”

  “That’s great news, John,” I said. “Congratulations. And Flint looks just as energetic as ever to me.”

  “Well, he doesn’t to me! And I’m the one who knows him best!”

  I was familiar with John’s plight. He was anxious and freaking out. He had plenty riding on tonight’s show. “Flint is fine,” I said calmly. “I’ll run him through some commands right now.”

  “Never mind. You’ve clearly turned on me. You’ve decided I’m guilty. Just like everyone else.” He flung his hands into the air as if in defeat. “You can go on back to Boulder now. You’ll get your check in the mail.”

  “John. Seriously,” Baxter snapped, “Get a grip.”

  “You’re the one who’s lost his grip,” John growled. “Just go. Both of you. You’re fired.”

  Baxter balled his fists. “We’ll leave on Sunday morning, just as we’ve planned. We don’t work for you. We work for Valerie. If she wants to fire us, she can.”

  “You’re such an asshole,” John said. “I’m sorry I tried to help your girlfriend boost her career. I should have known better than to think you'd appreciate it.”

  He stormed out of the room.

  Baxter cursed. He was breathing hard, his fists and jaw clenched tight, staring after John as if it was taking all of his self-control not to chase him down. I had never seen him this angry, and I didn’t know what to do or say.

  “I want to punch that guy’s lights out,” Baxter said.

  “Me, too. But we have to see this thing through. For Karen’s sake, if nothing else. And we still need to be able to come in tomorrow and retrieve the camera.”

  “No. Tell Karen to drink the bottled water tonight. I need to stay the hell away from John. I’m going to go back to the hotel. Spend the evening with our big girl.”

  “Okay. I understand.”

  He furrowed his brow. “You need to come with me. Play it safe. There’s nothing you can do tonight, during the performance anyway.”

  I shook my head, still alarmed at Baxter’s demeanor. “We haven’t had the chance to check the recording. I can’t leave yet. Not while I know Karen’s a target.”

  “Or a great actress, who set this all up.”

  “I trust my gut, Baxter. Karen and I are friends now.”

  He sighed in obvious annoyance. “I’ll stay here, then, too.”

  “I’ll be fine. Frankly, I don’t think you’ll be good company until you cool off.”

  “Fine,” he growled. “I’ll zip back here during the first act, grab the camera, and check its memory at the hotel. If anybody has touched the bottle, I’ll alert Sheriff Caulfield by the second act. When I ‘cool down,’ as you put it, I’ll see if you’re willing to be in my presence.” He headed toward the door.

  “Baxter....”

  He turned back, glaring at me. “What?”

  I didn’t know what to say. We stared at each other in silence.

  He sighed. “There’s safety in numbers,” he said, his voice much less hostile, at least. “You can’t let yourself be alone with anybody.”

  “We’ll talk during the second act,” I said. My heart was pounding once again. Maybe Baxter had anger-control problems. Or maybe I was being too quick to sympathize with John’s anxious behavior instead of Baxter’s reaction.

  Baxter stood still for a few seconds, then left. I booted up his computer and logged in with his password. But within a few seconds, I started cursing myself. I had never used his doggie-cam software. I didn’t know how to examine the camera’s records. For all I knew, we had caught the killer red-handed already, but I wouldn’t be able to find out until Baxter had examined them.

  ***

  The curtain opened at 7:30. I had managed to follow Baxter’s advice, spending much of my time with Sally and Karen in the dressing room. I’d passed Valerie only once, who’d thanked and complimented me on Flint’s performance last night, spoken briefly to Hammond and Greg, but hadn’t seen Felicity—or Pippa—once. I remembered she’d said Pippa would be wearing her formalwear tonight and was curious, although she might have been joking.

  I deliberately watched from the wing opposite John’s. Otherwise I’d be listening to his every word and would fly off the handle if he gave Flint a bad command. Halfway through the first act, everyone on stage seemed to be at the top of their game. All I could think about now was Baxter and the camera recordings.

  I quietly left my post and went to the greenroom, hoping to spot him and tell him how much I loved him. I toyed with telling him we could leave now, but being honest with myself, I wanted him to agree to stay as planned and maybe have one last conversation with Sheriff Caulfield. If nothing else, I needed to know Karen was safe. I couldn’t imagine how I’d feel if I returned home, then learned she’d been poisoned.

  The greenroom was empty. The camera was gone. So was Karen’s water bottle.

  For a moment I felt almost faint. I had told Karen to stick with bottled water. Had she ignored me?

  Baxter must have taken it, along with the camera.

  I called his cell and held my breath.

  “Hey, hon,” he answered.

  “Do you have Karen’s bottle?”

  “Yeah. I figured either it’s already been poisoned or not, but either way, Sheriff Caulfied’s going to lower the boom on our sting operation tonight no matter what. I just left a minute ago. Still on my way back. I love you forever.”

  “Me, too. See you soon.”

  “Lucky me,” he replied with a smile in his voice.

  I felt an enormous weight being lifted off my shoulders. Baxter and I were fine. Karen would be fine. We’d put this investigation in the hands of the sheriff, where it belonged.

  I lingered in the women’s room, trying to level out my rollercoaster emotions. I all but literally bumped into John.

  “You’re still here, I see,” he said. “I suppose I should apologize for flying off the handle. I’m really just trying to get through the day. Getting arrested for murder does weird stuff to your head.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “The real reason I blew up at you is because I found out you’ve been asking around about me...trying to take my dog away from me.”

  “Well, John, what can I say? I’ve been concerned about your treatment of Flint because of the tranquilizers. Even though I can sort of see why you felt the need to be extra cautious when the lights fell, you gave Flint a tranquilizer between acts during the final dress rehearsal. According to the sheriff.”

  “I already explained myself. I didn’t know what else to do. Felicity had reported to Valerie during the intermission that Flint bit her.”

  “You never told me that!”

  “That’s what she claimed happened. I’d been talking to the actors between the first and second acts, trying to make sure they were able to keep straight their adlibbing. She showed me the injury on her forearm. Two puncture wounds on her arm where she said he drew blood.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me about that right away?” I asked.

  “Because by the next day, I realized it was likely that Pippa was the one who actually bit her. I think she lied about Flint because she didn’t want her dog to get in trouble, but felt it would be the justice I deserved if my dog got the boot.”

  “Did you tell Valerie that, or confront Felicity with your suspicions?”

  “Yeah, and Felicity held strong, so Valerie said we’d let it go this one time. She said she couldn’t be certain either way.”

  “But the bite marks of a Pug versus a Border Collie should have been easy to tell apart.”

  “Maybe if we’d checked immediately after the bite. It sure wasn’t obvious at a glance to me, almost twenty-four hours later. Meanwhile, she told me I was going to get sued if he bit anyone a sec
ond time.” He stamped his foot. “Allie. I’m just trying to get through the performance. There really is a Broadway producer in the audience tonight. Don’t wreck everything for me!”

  I turned on a heel and walked away. He could have been telling me the whole truth, or he could have lying through his teeth. I couldn’t tell. Maybe it didn’t matter. He didn’t really seem like a terrible dog owner, just not a very good one.

  The second act began, but I couldn’t focus and decided I’d just go ahead and text Baxter.

  Anything? I typed.

  Moments later came the reply:

  Nobody even opened the fridge.

  Seconds later he added:

  Sorry, darling. You’re the love of my life.

  I smiled at the screen and sent back some heart emoticons. At least now I could concentrate on the performance. I had read the script so many times that I’d memorized the lines. Even so, Sally and Hammie’s repartee was so engaging, I found myself laughing along with the audience.

  Flint was now crossing to his third target, where Greg was going to trip over him, causing him to accidentally dump his drink on Karen.

  Suddenly, I felt a distinct chill. On the stage, Flint froze instead of hitting his target and barked twice. It was his fearful bark.

  “Whoa,” Greg adlibbed, pretending to be so startled by the bark that he jerked his martini glass and dumped it on Karen.

  “There goes John’s flawless performance,” I said under my breath. I glanced at John. He was hanging his head. I knew it was silly, but I whispered, “Annabelle, if that’s really you, please stay away from the stage. You’re scaring the dog.”

  Maybe it was just a simple draft inside a leaky old theater. In any case, I realized now that I wasn’t helping Flint or John or anyone else by watching the play. I might as well investigate the source of the draft.

  The backstage door was propped open by an electric fan, which was running full blast. The actors probably appreciated the cool breeze. I chuckled at my leaping to the conclusion that it was a ghost.

  I stepped over the fan and strode down the steps. The breeze over the river was every bit as chilly as Annabelle Dancer’s ghost, I mused to myself. Realizing how very little I wanted to listen to John bemoaning Flint’s minor miscue, I grabbed my cellphone and texted to Baxter: