For a Good Paws

by Linda O. Johnston

  I did try calling Bridget on the third day after our meeting, but didn’t reach her. Nor did she return my call.

  And so I waited some more, still watching the TV news—and Silas still seemed to be the same outspoken news announcer he’d always been.

  Okay. I might have been barking up the wrong tree, so to speak. Apparently the cops had either checked him out and didn’t find any evidence against him—or they were ignoring the situation that I’d brought to their attention.

  I did research Silas online, but mostly found his newscasts. There were a couple of bios, too, but nothing that indicated he was anything but a dedicated reporter. On some stories, he’d been the first to report on them, so he was apparently good at his job.

  I couldn’t find anything that would get the detectives interested in him.

  Nearly a week had passed. Francine Metz ran a cute article about the adoption event in the Knobcone News, as she’d promised. Was she still looking for a new pet of her own? Her article hinted at the possibility, at least.

  I didn’t think about the situation with Silas all the time, but I was frustrated when I did. I tried calling Bridget again, and when she didn’t return my calls yet again, I finally called Wayne while sitting in my office with no one else around. He, at least, answered.

  “Hi,” I said. And then I got right to the point. “Has anyone checked Silas Perring yet as a possible suspect in Henry Schulzer’s murder?”

  “Yeah, Bridget told me about that little episode you staged last week. Seemed a bit of a stretch, don’t you think?”

  “If I thought there was no possibility of it being a reality, then I wouldn’t have brought it up. Did she tell you that when one of Henry’s dogs got close to Silas, the dog growled?” I reminded Wayne that Henry’s body had been discovered thanks to the barking of his dogs. They’d apparently been present for the murder—and just might still be angry with the killer.

  “Yes, she told us about that—and not just me, but also the chief. I won’t tell you what we did to look into it, but I can tell you we didn’t completely ignore you.”

  I didn’t like the word “completely.” It suggested they hadn’t behaved too seriously, whatever they’d done.

  I leaned forward, elbows on my desk, and closed my eyes. “Look, Wayne. You’ve obviously been having trouble figuring this one out, since you haven’t arrested anybody—and you can be sure that in saying this, I’m not encouraging you to go after Dinah. I know I’m not one of you. I don’t have the training and knowledge that you all have. But you’ve seen me have a little success in these kinds of cases, and you’ve even sort of acknowledged that I’ve been of help. Am I certain Silas is the killer? No. I have no idea what his motive would be or if he knew Henry as anything but a possible interesting news subject since he was married to the former, murdered mayor. But—”

  “Okay, Carrie.” It came out as a sigh into my ear. “I do hear you. And maybe we haven’t checked enough. No promises, but I’ll suggest we follow up some more on Silas as a possible suspect.”

  I felt myself grin—in relief? In pride that Wayne was actually sort of listening to me? It didn’t matter. “Very good,” I said. “And—well, to the extent you can keep me informed about what you do and anything you find, I’d really appreciate it.”

  “We’ll see,” he said. Well, at least it wasn’t a “bug off, already.” I’d have to live with that.

  We said our goodbyes. It was Friday afternoon, and I was scheduled for a shift at the clinic, so I quickly went through the kitchen into the Barkery to get Biscuit, and we were soon on our way.

  I continued smiling, at least a little, the whole way there. Okay, I knew that the agreement I’d gotten from Wayne wasn’t much, nor could I be sure I’d actually set him looking for a genuine suspect. But at least he’d listened.

  That smile got Reed’s attention. He was the first vet I was scheduled to assist.

  Our first patient was a somewhat belligerent pit bull mix—but his aggressiveness turned out not to be surprising because he had a large cyst on his belly that must have been painful. The owner was shocked and upset—and grateful when Reed told him to leave the pitty for surgery the next morning. Then Reed helped me get the poor dog into our kennel area in the back and into a crate to wait for what was to come. I hugged the poor dog and patted him for a few minutes. At least he seemed calm and appeared to enjoy my attention.

  “You’re not looking very cheerful now,” Reed said, looking into my eyes as we left that room. “But when I first saw you, you appeared pretty happy. Some break in the Schulzer murder case?”

  I laughed. “You know me so well. The answer is … maybe. At least I’ve gotten a verbal commitment from Wayne Crunoll to do more checking into Silas as a possible suspect.” Yes, I’d hinted to Reed about my suspicions, partly because I just couldn’t keep it inside, and I knew I could trust Reed.

  “I know you were getting frustrated about that,” he said, “so I guess that’s good news.”

  “Guess so,” I said.

  I wasn’t surprised when I didn’t hear anything from Wayne for the rest of that day, even when I returned to my shops. At least Reed and I spent the night together, which helped get my mind off it—a bit.

  Nor did I hear from Wayne the next day. Nothing unusual about that, I told myself. On Sunday, I nearly called him. At least I had his number on my phone now, so all I’d need to do was press the button. But I didn’t. Surely Wayne would call that day … but he didn’t.

  Same thing on Monday. And Tuesday. I was getting frustrated again, deciding when would be the best time to call him.

  Wednesday morning, I figured that day had come. I’d wait till later and try to prime myself not to nag—much.

  Reed had spent the night at my house, and Neal had stayed with Janelle at her place. As always, the sweet veterinarian got up early with me and we left my house together to start each of our days. At the Barkery, I began my baking as usual—dog treats first, of course. They always came first.

  Dinah had, as usual, been off on Monday and Tuesday, but she was scheduled to be my first assistant of the day. I expected her to arrive around six.

  But almost immediately after I’d started baking, I heard my phone make the noise that indicated a text. My hands were covered in biscuit dough by then, but I figured that a text at this hour might be important. So I washed up and pulled my phone from my pocket.

  It was a local grocery store letting me know they’d received some ingredients we’d ordered for Icing’s baked goods, and they were about to deliver it to the kitchen door. I was glad to hear it. I mostly just went to pick stuff up at the store but had begun recently to receive a delivery once or twice a week. So one scheduled for today? I supposed so. But it was a lot earlier than they’d ever delivered anything before.

  Shaking my head, I turned off the sound on my phone so I wouldn’t hear it ring or text again. I’d check on it later, especially if it vibrated in my pocket. More importantly, I’d follow up again with Wayne just to bug him a bit, if necessary. I even thought through things to make that call … maybe.

  Then I went to the back door of the kitchen and opened it, in case the delivery had already arrived.

  And was shocked to see not a delivery person or a carton of ingredients, but Silas Perring—alone, without Wilbur along.

  “Good morning, Carrie. We have some things to discuss.” Without waiting for me to reply, he shoved me out of the way and stalked through the door.

  “I don’t think so,” I said.

  But then I noticed he wasn’t wearing one of his usual on-camera suits, but jeans and a T-shirt—and rubber gloves.

  And in his right hand he held a nasty-looking knife. After he slammed the door shut and locked it, he raised the knife toward me.

  Twenty-Seven

  Uh-oh. I’d expected something … but not this. I ignored how my he
art began doing flip flops and my mind started screaming at me to run. That wouldn’t work.

  No, I had to stay calm. Or at least as calm as possible. Otherwise—well, I didn’t want to think about otherwise.

  Well, the good thing, I told myself as I willed myself not to shake, was that Silas’s appearance, in this manner, suggested that the cops had in fact been checking into him as the potential murderer.

  The bad thing was that no matter what I might have anticipated from him due to my recent pushiness, it didn’t include this kind of reaction—at my shops, at this hour.

  Well, Silas had certainly figured out a way to get my attention. Maybe he’d even been watching me and my shops and figured out the grocery delivery situation. So what now?

  Yes, I’d solved murders before, and the killers generally seemed inclined to attempt to do away with the person—me—pointing at them as the major suspect. But I’d been resourceful enough to find ways to save myself.

  This time?

  That knife looked pretty lethal.

  And I was thinking too much, without coming up with answers.

  We were standing near the back of the counter where I’d been preparing Barkery treats. I had knives around, too. This was a kitchen, after all.

  But I seldom sliced meat for our treats, though I did occasionally for liver biscuits. My knives were smaller than his.

  And facing off against Silas with my own knife just sounded foolish.

  “How did you get the idea to text me to say you had a grocery delivery?” I asked, forcing myself to sound calm.

  “Your assistant Dinah isn’t the only one around here who does research.” Silas’s grin was nasty. “That’s part of a reporter’s job.”

  Okay, I’d already figured that one out. But … what now? “You said you wanted to discuss something,” I said. “What do you want to talk about?”

  “Oh, I think you know. You have one hell of an imagination, and also a very dishonest mouth.”

  I’d considered Silas to be good-looking, or at least attractive enough to be a reporter who people would pay attention to, with his dark hair and interested eyes. But right now those eyes looked smug. They seemed to challenge me to move, to do something that would give him a reason to stab me right then.

  “But if it was all my imagination and lying, why are you here?”

  Okay, he could consider that a bit of a challenge, I guessed—since he took a step toward me, arm raised. I heard Biscuit barking in the Barkery and was glad she was safe, at least for now. But if Silas killed me, what would keep him from harming my dog, too?

  “Because you pushed those detectives to intrude into my life and ask some nasty questions. And now you’re going to pay for it.”

  “But if you’re totally innocent, and you gave them truthful answers, why not just let it all go?” Right. Once again, though, what could I do … ?

  Then I got an idea. It was partly thanks to Silas’s earlier actions. I’d muted my phone, but I’d already programmed it so it was ready to place a call to Detective Wayne as soon as it was an acceptable hour of the morning.

  For something like this, I didn’t need to wait for an acceptable hour.

  “You’re really scaring me, and my legs are shaking,” I told Silas. “I’m going to lean against this counter now, for balance. I’m not going to pick up something or anything like that.” Not yet, at least.

  When he didn’t object, I moved a little bit, which allowed me to swivel my hips—and reach into my pocket to press the front of my phone.

  Was it calling Wayne? I couldn’t check to find out. But if it did, Wayne would be able to hear us without us being able to hear him. And that was thanks to Silas’s grocery delivery text, which had gotten me to turn the sound off. Thanks, I thought wryly.

  If nothing else, I was slightly farther away from Silas now, since he remained at the end of the counter. I could smell my latest batch of carob dog treats, which were close to being fully baked, but at least I’d used the timer on the oven. Nevertheless, I turned to glance toward that oven.

  “Okay, that’s enough.” Silas took a step toward me. “You’re against the counter now. Don’t wriggle around. And you want to hear the truth?” His tone now sounded furious. “I’ll tell you the truth, since you’re not going to survive to make any more allegations to your cop buddies.” He lifted the knife and began shifting it back and forth between his hands.

  “Okay,” I said softly. “Please tell me.”

  And please be listening, Wayne.

  “Yes,” Silas said with an entirely evil smile on his face. “I’m the one who killed Henry—and his damned dogs were there, so that’s why they don’t like me.”

  “I gather that your attempt to change your scent didn’t put them off in the slightest.” I tried to keep my tone somewhat sympathetic but doubted it came across that way.

  “You noticed. I assumed a dog lady like you might, but I had to give it a try.”

  Uncomfortable, I shifted slightly against the counter, but moved as little as possible and tried not to shake. “So why did you kill him?”

  “Ah, I figured you’d want to know that. It goes back a long way.”

  Silas then proceeded to tell me a story that addressed a lot of the questions currently hovering around Knobcone Heights. It turned out that he had been the one to murder Henry’s wife, Mayor Flora Schulzer, ten years ago. “See, I was a renowned reporter back then, too,” he explained. “But our dear mayor learned of some instances where I exaggerated negative facts about her and some fellow politicians to make a better story. She promised she would shout it to the world—and to my employers. Not a great reason to kill someone? Well, I thought it was, since it was my career on the line.”

  And so Silas had been delighted, of course, when Mike Holpurn wound up confessing to Flora’s murder.

  I had to ask. “Why would Holpurn confess to killing Flora when he didn’t do it?”

  “I wondered about that too, so I looked into it a bit, and it seems the guy actually did have an affair with our mayor, though I’ve no idea why she would have gotten into bed with that stupid construction worker. But Holpurn had a girlfriend back then, and I think he was convinced that she was the one who did it, because of his affair. So, to protect his girlfriend, he took the fall and confessed. And before you ask, I have no idea what happened to the girlfriend, but she moved away as soon as Holpurn went to prison. So, when I learned that Holpurn was being paroled, I tried to research the situation again, including about the girlfriend, but whatever went on in court is apparently subject to a gag order. So if that’s in fact why Holpurn was paroled, I couldn’t find any details. I tried. Boy, did I try.”

  “Okay,” I said. “I understand … I think. But all this time later, why did you kill Henry?”

  That knife trick returned—left hand. Right hand. Left hand.

  I tried to be unobtrusive as I looked around the kitchen again, trying to figure out how to run away, or what to grab to protect myself with … and knew I had very little hope.

  What time was it? Nearing six o’clock? Dinah would arrive at six—but I didn’t want her in danger, too.

  “Because,” Silas responded, “from the little I was able to learn, it seems that Henry was the source who put authorities onto the idea that Holpurn was protecting his girlfriend. Maybe he felt guilty about Holpurn’s incarceration. Maybe he was curious about the man and did some research into his possible motive, and when he found out about the girlfriend—whoever and wherever she is—he learned something that made him suspect Holpurn had confessed to a murder he didn’t commit.”

  “I still don’t understand how the police had enough to parole him,” I said.

  “With a gag order involved, who knows what went on in the courtroom?” Silas said. “But whatever happened, Henry still seemed hostile toward Holpurn—or at least Holpurn was hos
tile toward him. And now Henry was back in Knobcone Heights. To try to figure out what had actually happened, if Holpurn wasn’t the killer? Or maybe he had another reason, like nostalgia or whatever, and wanted to make sure his wife was never forgotten. Whatever his motive, just his being here, asking questions now that Mike Holpurn was free, reminding people … it would have opened up all those old questions again. I couldn’t have that going on.”

  “I see.”

  I supposed I did see. And I still pondered how I’d get out of this.

  I couldn’t count on Wayne hearing us. And now, most of Silas’s story had been told. How much longer would he keep me alive?

  I wasn’t about to ask, but I did address a related question. “You know,” I said, “if you kill me, the police will look at you as the prime suspect since I’ve been pointing fingers at you as Henry’s killer. You’d be the logical one for them to go after. But if you just let me go, I promise I’ll keep quiet about this, and if I’m asked, I’ll just tell the police I changed my mind about you, that I have no reason to believe you’ve harmed anyone.”

  “Good idea,” Silas said, sticking his face closer to me and baring his teeth. “But we both know that wouldn’t work. So here’s what’s going to happen. Right now, I’m appearing on a TV newscast that’s supposedly live, and my good buddy Wilbur will ensure that no one finds out otherwise. Wilbur has been my backup in all this from the beginning—and has been generously compensated, by the way.”

  “I see.” I tried not to sound despondent that he had an alibi set up. I needed to keep my fear to myself. “But the police will want another logical suspect, and who would want me dead besides you?”

  “Well, your dear assistant Dinah may hate you for allowing her to remain a suspect in Henry’s murder—which of course isn’t a surprise, because in my scenario, she’s the killer. And now she wants revenge for your betrayal. So she’s going to kill you when she arrives in a few minutes, or so it will appear. Yes, I know her schedule, and everyone’s at your shops. Just like with your grocery delivery. I’ve done my research.” Silas drew the word out, clearly making fun of Dinah. “And then Dinah’s going to flee—courtesy of me. Of course, she won’t survive much longer.”