Buried to the Brim

by Jenn McKinlay

  I reached down to pet Freddy, but he wasn’t there. I glanced up to see that he had trotted back onto the course. Not wanting him to undo his fabulous run with some misbehavior, I hurried after him, calling, “Freddy, come here, boy.”

  Freddy ignored me. I glanced at the judges’ table. They were watching him with what was clearly disapproval. Damn it! I put on some speed even though I was pretty sure I was going to pass out from lack of oxygen.

  “Freddy!” I called. He ignored me.

  At the end of the arena was the cloth-draped podium where the winners would be showcased at the end of the competition. Did Freddy think he had already won? Would points be deducted for his overconfidence?

  I had almost reached him when he ducked under the festive bunting. Nuts! I knelt down and called him through gritted teeth, “Freddy, come out here right now.”

  I hoped Jasper and Penelope Young were not privy to this scene as I didn’t want them to think Freddy was anything like Henry, although at the moment there was a marked similarity in the stubborn department.

  Was this what parenting a toddler or teen was like? I was going to have to do a big rethink on children if I couldn’t even get a well-trained dog to listen to me.

  “Freddy!” I hissed. I could feel the eyes of the crowd on my back and hear the titters of laughter that people were trying, not nearly hard enough, to suppress. I glanced over my shoulder to see the head judge, a woman who looked to have absolutely no sense of humor, frowning at me.

  Just as I was about to forcibly yank Freddy out from under the dais by his heart-shaped behind, he came trotting out with a man’s shoe clamped in his teeth. I rocked back on my heels. What the hell?

  He trotted toward me and dropped the brown shoe in my lap. It was a high-end designer shoe, camel-colored in what appeared to be crocodile. Freddy sat down, panting with his tongue hanging out, as if waiting to see if I would throw it for a game of fetch. Aware of the crowd watching, I picked it up and, with a shrug, held it in the air.

  The audience seemed to find Freddy’s shenanigans amusing and I heard a man shout, “Oy, is that a part of the agility test?”

  This was met with a low rumble of laughter from the crowd.

  “I think he should get bonus points for that,” a woman shouted, and the crowd applauded.

  Freddy looked pretty pleased with himself and I glanced, again, at the judges and they seemed amused, too. Okay, maybe this wouldn’t hurt his score.

  I put the shoe on the dais and clipped Freddy’s collar with the leash. I was about to walk away when it occurred to me that the quality of the shoe wasn’t the sort that would become a dog toy when it had served its purpose as footwear. The brown leather was soft to the touch, the hand stitching impeccable, there wasn’t much wear on the leather or the sole, so why the heck was it under the dais?

  “I think you’re good to go now, Scarlett,” Andre said. He handed me our hats. “The crowd seems taken with Freddy’s cleverness.”

  I glanced from Andre to the dais and back. “There’s something wrong here.”

  His face, which had been wreathed in a jovial smile, fell, plummeting into an expression of dismay and possibly a little horror. He backed away.

  “No.”

  “Hold Freddy,” I said. I shoved the leash and the hats at him.

  “No.”

  “Andre, we may have a situation here,” I said.

  “Why?” he asked. “Let’s just walk away and pretend that everything is fabulous, because if we pretend hard enough it could be. It really could.”

  I stared at him, waiting. With a sigh of resignation, he let his camera hang from the strap around his neck and took the leash and the hats. I couldn’t blame him for his reluctance. Shortly after we’d met for the first time, he and I had discovered one of Viv’s clients murdered. The trauma had cemented our friendship for life, but it was an experience Andre never wanted to live through again. Well, neither did I . . . but the shoe.

  I knelt down and lifted the cloth of the dais. It was pitch-black under there. I threw the heavy fabric up onto the dais to get more light. I could hear the crowd getting restless, wondering what I was doing, and I sensed several people approaching. I wondered if they were planning to forcibly remove me for tampering with the property of the competition.

  When enough light shone into the space, I saw, to my horror, another shoe that matched the one Freddy had brought me. Only this one was still attached to the foot inside of it. And it wasn’t just a foot. An entire person had been crammed under the dais.

  My gaze moved over the body. The clothes were expensive just like the shoes. One hand was visible and I noted that the fingernails appeared bluish. That was bad. I didn’t need a medical degree to know this person was in trouble. I reached forward to put my fingers on the person’s wrist. The skin was icy to the touch. I jerked back.

  “What is the meaning of this?” the head judge snapped. I rocked back on my heels, wiping my fingers on my sweat suit as if dead was contagious.

  She was an older lady with thick silver hair that was styled away from her face in waves. The cut flattered her sharp features and distracted from the deep wrinkles around her mouth and eyes. A festive red scarf was tied around her neck and she wore a light blue dress shirt under her official judges’ navy blazer. She looked very authoritative. Her bright blue eyes were narrowed as she studied me. Her name badge read Claudia Curtis.

  “There’s . . .” I gestured to the darkness beneath the dais. “A person under there.”

  “What?” she snapped. She knelt down beside me, using the dais to lower herself to her knees, and peered into the shadows, taking in the other shoe and the foot and the hand at a glance. Her face went pale and she whipped around and snapped her fingers at a few security personnel. When they rushed over, she said, “There’s a man under here. Lift him out.”

  The authority in her voice had the volunteers moving without question. I stepped aside to be close to Andre, who had his eyes clamped shut as if he could wish it all away. The sound of the crowd was rising with curiosity mingled with some high notes of alarm.

  It took only moments for the security team to pull the body out from under the dais, and when they did, the glaring brightness of the overhead lights shone down on the body of Gerry Swendson. There appeared to be some bruising on the side of his head, and around his mouth was a thick trail of dried spittle. It was easy to see from the stiffness of his form, the pallor of his skin and the blue tinge to his fingernails and lips that he was dead.

  Chapter 8

  There was a high-pitched scream. I wondered for a moment if it was me, but no. A woman in the crowd was the shrieker. I jumped at the sound and turned to see a tall, curvy, blond woman, wearing a fur coat and lots of diamonds, faint, right into the lap of the person beside her.

  Mayhem ensued. Thankfully, Harry was able to get to me and Andre, and he pulled us aside as the competition officials descended. Relieved of the dog and the hats, Andre had the presence of mind to snap a few pictures of what was enfolding before the Finchley Park security people barricaded the area, using the apparatus from the course and the bunting off the dais.

  “Come with me,” Harry said. He took my hand and Freddy’s leash and led us away from the scene. At the side of the floor, Viv and Aunt Betty were waiting. Harry whispered to me, “We need to get out of here before someone remembers Aunt Betty’s altercation with Gerry Swendson last night.”

  I nodded. I’d been thinking the same thing. I’d gotten only a quick glance at Gerry Swendson but I hadn’t seen any blood or any signs of blunt trauma; the bruising on the side of his face looked more like the sort that happened when you fell, which didn’t leave a lot of options for his death. If he’d been having a heart attack, would he have crawled under the dais? Highly unlikely. The only reason for hiding the body would be because he’d been murdered. A shiver winnowed through me.


  Swendson could have been strangled. I hadn’t seen his neck and didn’t know if there were any marks, but if it was the cause of death it would surely rule out Aunt Betty. He was a big man and she was tiny. She’d never be able to choke him out. But if it was poison . . . oh, jeez, what had she said to him at the cocktail party? It had been about his dog food being poison and how he’d better be careful because some dog lover was going to do to him what he’d done to their dog.

  Oh, this was bad. So bad!

  We scuttled as a group toward the exit, but the crowd made it impossible. I could hear sirens growing louder. Obviously someone had called the police. An announcement was made over the loudspeaker that no one was allowed to leave the building until the authorities said so.

  “Let’s go back to the waiting area,” I said. “Maybe we can still leave from there.”

  Harry nodded and he guided us along the perimeter of the room to the corridor entrance that led to the waiting room. There was no one posted at the door, so we slipped inside the competitors’ area. Inside, the people and dogs awaiting their turn looked at us in surprise.

  Richard Freestone was the first to ask, “What’s going on out there?”

  Harry and I exchanged a look.

  “Are you supposed to be here?” Penelope asked Aunt Betty. “I heard you were banned from the competition.”

  Aunt Betty bit her lip and looked at Viv. It was clear she had no idea what to say.

  “She still owns Freddy,” Richard said. “Of course she should be here. How are you, Betty?”

  His tone sounded full of affection. I noticed Betty looked flustered. If it was because of what was happening beyond the doors or because of Richard, it was hard to say. Either way, we had no time for this.

  “Freddy has to go out,” I said. “Make way—doggy with a full bladder!”

  The crowd parted and we surged toward the door. I had my hand on the metal handle. I was so close to pushing it open and freeing us from this nightmare, when a voice barked, “Not so fast!”

  I dropped the handle and turned around. Standing there with her arms crossed over her chest and glaring at us was Liza Stanhope. She pointed a bony finger at Aunt Betty and said, “It was you!”

  To her credit, Aunt Betty wasn’t even fazed by the false accusation. Instead, she looked down her nose at Liza, which was impressive not just because Liza towered over her by about a foot but also for the wave of disdain that poured off Aunt Betty when she did it. She was obviously gifted in the art of contempt.

  “Don’t be ridiculous!” she said.

  The absolute confidence in her voice gave Liza pause but then she shook it off, like a dog shedding water. “I’m not being ridiculous. You threatened to poison Gerry Swendson last night and now he’s dead.”

  There was an audible gasp in the room.

  “I did no such thing,” Aunt Betty snapped. She planted her fists on her hips and I wondered if she was going to take a swing at Liza. Harry stepped in between the two women, obviously thinking the same.

  “Now, now, we have no idea what happened to Mr. Swendson,” Harry said. He raised his hands in the universal signal to calm down. “So everyone needs to take a deep breath and—”

  “What do you mean? What happened to Mr. Swendson?” Penelope Young interrupted. “Is something wrong? What’s going on out there?”

  “Yeah, what’s the holdup?” another dog owner demanded. “We should have competed by now.” He turned and glared at me. His precisely clipped mustache perfectly matched that of his salt and pepper schnauzer, whose name tag read Otto. “What did you do?”

  “Me?” I asked. “Nothing! I swear.”

  “Then why are you back here?” Jasper Young asked. “Once you’ve run the course you’re supposed to sit in the stands with the other competitors. Why aren’t you out there?”

  “There was a thing,” I said. “And it required me to come back here.” There, now, that was nice and vague.

  This didn’t satisfy Liza Stanhope. “You will not move until the police have spoken to you.” She gestured to a security guard to block the doors and then turned on her heel and shoved her way through the gathering crowd.

  “The police?” Penelope gasped. “What is going on? I demand to know.”

  “I think that’s a reasonable request,” Richard Freestone said as he turned to our group. “What is happening, Betty?”

  Given that he was Aunt Betty’s biggest rival, his tone was surprisingly gentle. It did nothing for Aunt Betty. She gave him a dark look and turned away from him.

  “Betty, come on, now.” Richard was undaunted by the icy rejection. Instead, he looked sad and full of regret as if he wished their relationship could be different. “Clearly, something is happening. Won’t you put aside your frustration with me and tell us what it is?”

  “They’re going to find out in a moment anyway,” Harry said. “It might be best to come from us.”

  “Fine.” Betty turned to face the people surrounding us. She took a deep breath and said, “I am sorry to report that Gerry Swendson was found dead under the podium in the arena.”

  A collective gasp of shock rippled through the handlers. It grew in volume as it moved through the crowd until it was a low roar. Betty looked agitated by the attention and Richard blinked and took her hand in his. He gave her fingers a gentle squeeze and then let go. Surprisingly, Aunt Betty didn’t slug him.

  “I trust you’re all right, Betty?” he asked.

  “Yes, thank you, it’s just the shock,” she said. Her voice was stiff but there was a softening in her eyes as she met his gaze.

  I was riveted. Was there a truce happening between Aunt Betty and Richard? They were of an age, they both loved dogs, but they’d been rivals for years. Could their feelings for each other run deeper than I’d expected? Huh.

  “Stop that,” Harry whispered in my ear.

  “Stop what?” I asked.

  “Romanticizing the two of them,” he said. “They are not a thing. There is nothing between them.”

  “What makes you think I’m romanticizing them?” I asked.

  “You practically have hearts floating out of your eyes,” he said.

  “Hey, are you two seeing what I’m seeing?” Viv asked as she jerked her thumb over her shoulder at Aunt Betty and Richard. She wagged her eyebrows and Harry muttered an oath.

  “No, no, we’re not,” he said. He pushed forward and took Aunt Betty by the elbow, turning her away from Richard and pulling her into a huddle with the rest of us. “We need to focus. Because of Aunt B’s dustup with Swendson last night, there’s going to be attention on her. We have to do everything we can to keep her from becoming a person of interest. I’m calling Alistair.”

  “Is that really necessary?” Viv asked. “I mean, we don’t even know what happened yet.”

  Harry looked at her and she had the grace to look away. He took out his phone and opened his contacts. He looked at me and said, “Keep an eye on Aunt B.”

  I gave him a thumbs-up and moved closer to Aunt Betty, who had taken Freddy’s leash, while Viv closed ranks on her other side. Freddy, for his part, stayed at her feet and gazed up at her adoringly. I knew he was an exceptional dog, but seeing him like this really made me want a dog of my own. I glanced from him to Viv.

  “No,” she said.

  I sighed. How could she resist that face? Then again, this was a woman who had resisted Alistair Turner, one of the most eligible bachelors in London. Of course, that thought brought me back to Fee. Did she fancy Alistair? Did Alistair know? What would happen to our circle of friends if she declared her interest and Alistair took her up on it? Would it cause a rift between Viv and Fee? I could feel my anxiety spike. I wanted to talk to Viv about Fee and Alistair, most likely because it kept me from thinking about Swendson’s dead body, but I suspected she wouldn’t be receptive.

&nbs
p; “Scarlett Parker,” a loud voice boomed over the murmuring crowd.

  I turned toward the voice. A man in an overcoat stood with two beat cops. Clearly, the detective inspector had arrived. I glanced at Harry. He ended his call and stepped forward, taking my elbow.

  “I’m sure they just want to get your statement,” he said.

  “Right,” I agreed. I’d been questioned by the police before. More often than your average hat shop owner, I’d be willing to bet, so I wasn’t as freaked out as I might have been.

  “Aunt Betty, stay with Viv and do not talk to anyone until Alistair gets here,” Harry said. “This should only take a moment.”

  “We’ll be fine,” Viv said. “Just hurry so we can get out of here, please.”

  Harry and I moved through the crowd. I could feel dog noses press up against my legs, trying to take my measure in dog fashion. I wondered if they smelled Freddy on me or, more accurately, fear on me? Did that make them like me more or less?

  Harry raised an arm and waved at the detective to let him know we were working our way there. The man was tall and broad-shouldered with an intelligent face. His hair, a reddish blond, was thinning on top and he wore a hand-knit scarf, in a shade of deep blue that matched his eyes, draped around his neck. I took that to mean he was married. Only a man who was married would be wearing a hand-knit scarf that was clearly made specifically for him—either that or he still lived with his mother.

  When we joined him, I glanced at his left hand. Wedding ring. Bingo. Between the dead body and the married detective, I felt as if my investigative skills were kicking butt today.

  “Hi,” Harrison greeted him with a handshake. “I’m Harrison Wentworth and this is my fiancée, Scarlett Parker.”

  “Detective Inspector Bronson,” the man said. Up close, I could see he was somewhere in his midthirties. There were crinkle lines in the corners of his eyes but they were more suggestions than actual wrinkles as yet.