Death on Torrid Ave.

by Patricia McLinn

  The trainer nodded sagaciously. “See?”

  “Uh-huh. But … Wait. Watch this. Okay, Gracie.” She hopped up. I took out a sliver of treat she zeroed in on immediately. “Sit.”

  Whomp. Her butt could have set off a sonic boom. That’s how fast it hit the floor.

  Leo nodded sagaciously again. “She’s food motivated. Makes training much easier.” He moved off to the next dog owner.

  “Big help,” I muttered. How did I get her from food motivated to me motivated?

  I heard chuckling behind us. Gracie turned before I did, her tail going a mile a minute.

  Teague and Murphy, Clara and LuLu, stood there.

  “What are you guys doing here?”

  “With the dog park closed, I wanted to give Murphy some socializing.”

  The free-for-all at my house earlier hadn’t been enough? Then I remembered Donna’s comment about wanting to pick up gossip. Interesting. Teague O’Donnell was in the gossip biz?

  That also reminded me I had more questions for Donna, but when I looked around, she and Hattie were gone.

  However, I did spot a four-pawed black and white figure in a red coat disappear around a corner. Most important, I’d spotted its bat-like ears.

  A Boston.

  Berrie might not be the only Boston terrier owner in the county, but the chances were still good … I needed to get close enough to be sure she didn’t have Marcus with her.

  Clara said, “I’m hoping to pick up clues. LuLu’s along for the ride.”

  I said to Teague, “Let that be a lesson in honesty to you. What kind of clues, Clara?”

  “Whatever we find. Haven’t you talked to people? You’ve been here an hour.”

  “It was a class,” I protested.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I want to have a word with Berrie.”

  “On purpose?”

  Teague only partially masked his chuckle.

  “I thought it would be nice to express some sentiment that we were both human beings caught up yesterday in a distressing situation.”

  “Wouldn’t have been as distressing if she hadn’t tried to throw you under the bus.”

  Good point.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  It wasn’t Marcus.

  That was the good news.

  I was less sure about good quotient of Clara and LuLu joining us, with Teague and Murphy being barely visible on the other side of this rack of dog toys, definitely in hearing range.

  I hurried past Berrie’s hostile squint to say, “Berrie, I want to offer my condolences. Amid all the hub-bub, your very deep loss has not been adequately acknowledged. This is such a personal tragedy for you. And I want to say how sorry I am for your loss.”

  You couldn’t say it exactly mollified her, but she did speak to me. “I’m glad someone recognizes that, finally. I don’t understand why they haven’t arrested that horrible man.”

  “They need evidence,” I pointed out. “That means a careful and thorough investigation. There could be a lot of things going on that we don’t know about.”

  “That not all of us know about,” Berrie said with significance.

  I had no idea what she might be referring to. A glance at Clara informed me she didn’t know, either. Berrie was zero-for-two. Her hinting stats sucked.

  “From what I hear, some might know a lot more than they’re saying,” she persisted, staring at me.

  I blinked at her.

  She huffed out a breath. “You were in that enclosure. Your dog found him, like she knew where he was all along. And that deputy clearly suspects you.”

  Instead of defending myself, my first thought was Ah, that exasperated huff was impatience that I hadn’t recognized her hints, making her spell out her suspicions. Bad enough the woman accused me of murder. She’d also wanted me to do most of the work of interpreting her hints.

  “Sheila? You’re saying Sheila—? Why Berrie Vittlow, shame on you.” Clara puffed up in anger.

  “Well, that deputy—”

  “That deputy jumped to a totally wrong conclusion based on not the smallest hint of knowledge of dogs. That’s who you’re setting up as your new guru? That’s who you want to align yourself with? Why, Bob Coble would roll over in his grave — if he were buried yet — and wherever he is, he’s surely disappointed in you at this moment. That deputy.” She shook her head. “I do believe he is, in fact, a cat person.”

  “Cat person?” I murmured from the side of my mouth. Opening it any further might let loose suppressed laughter.

  A muffled sound also came from the other side of the dog treats rack. Teague. That reminded me I’d forgotten to compare how he stood to Kit’s description.

  Berrie, on the other hand, blanched and recoiled, presumably at the possibility of listening to a cat person.

  Clara took advantage to change the subject. “Berrie, you knew Bob so well. Besides Dwight, who had disagreements with him? What about his life away from the dog park?”

  “I don’t know why you’d think I’d know.”

  Berrie’s quelling tone had no more impact on Clara than the hinting had. “Because you talked to him all the time. Went over to his house—”

  “Perfectly respectable, I assure you. We discussed ways to share our experience and wisdom with those not yet educated in creating a partnership with one’s animals.”

  Uh-huh. I’d seen it before, where a death produced almost immediate memory deterioration, resulting in the rewriting of history — especially the history of relationships.

  I had no idea if Bob and Berrie’s relationship had been anything other than platonic, but it sure as heck hadn’t been as colleagues. Bob Coble wouldn’t have permitted that. He was the expert. Always. At least in his eyes. Berrie could be his acolyte, his follower, his adherent.

  His colleague or equal? No way.

  Thinking about Berrie’s shouted words at Ruby and Amy this afternoon, along with the bit Donna had filled in, I asked, “But Bob did have conflicts with people who weren’t, uh, following rules?”

  “You mean those horrible neighbors of his?”

  “Yes,” Clara said immediately.

  “He tried and tried and tried to get them to see reason. They’ve been horrible to him. Can you believe it? They called animal control on Trevalyn.”

  “Was he loose?”

  “No. In Bob’s own backyard and they still called.”

  “That’s awful.” Oops. Clara’s protective instincts when it came to dogs might lead her astray.

  “What did Bob do?” I asked.

  “What could he do?” Berrie responded plaintively. “He showed animal control how well trained Trevalyn is. They couldn’t help but be impressed. But their hands were tied. They had to give him a warning. Bob was horrified Trevalyn’s record and reputation was besmirched. He did what he had to do, filing that lawsuit.”

  “What la—?”

  I talked over Clara. “Yes. Tell us more about that.”

  “He was suing them.” Berrie shrugged.

  Yeah, that was helpful.

  “Store’s closing in five minutes, folks,” Leo called out.

  “Oh! And I promised Marcus his favorite treats when we come back.”

  We had no hope of keeping Berrie’s attention after that.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Gracie had energy to spare on our last-call walk.

  She’d had only a few minutes’ run at the dog park yesterday and none today. The ring-around-the-rooms and hour-long class at the pet store barely took the edge of her stamina.

  So, when she saw a figure walking toward us with a dog, she started to bounce with oh-boy-let’s-play excitement.

  I had a different reaction.

  It probably didn’t help that I’d spent the past hour making notes of possible murder suspects and motives, the kind of activity that made you jumpy when you spotted a figure walking toward you on a dark street. Even in Haines Tavern, Kentucky.

  “Sheila?” A
voice softly called. “Is that you and Gracie?”

  I breathed again. It was Amy Kackley and her English setter mix, Sadie.

  “Hi, Amy. Don’t usually see you out this late.”

  “I was waiting for you.”

  That did not induce a warm fuzzy feeling. More like a prickly cautious feeling. “Oh?”

  The dogs met with wagging tails and sniff greetings.

  “I knew you were asking questions at bunco, but everybody was talking all about the murder last night, so I didn’t think much of it. Now, Donna tells me you were asking about Ruby and me tonight.” Prickly might be contagious.

  But I ignored the caution. “I wondered about what happened at the post office today, with Berrie.”

  “What happened was Berrie being her unbalanced self. Her and Bob Coble. The two of them deserved each other. Too bad — Well…” She caught herself before saying something I probably would have wanted to hear. “For heaven’s sake, attacking Ruby Zweydorf of all people. A nicer, kinder woman you’ll never find. And attack her where it could hurt her the worst — her job. You saw Ike in there with her?”

  “The man reading the newspaper in the corner?”

  “That’s Ike. Ike Zweydorf. He was hurt in a car accident about ten years back. He can’t talk anymore. Has some other brain damage. Not real bad. Just bad enough that he can’t be on his own. Sure can’t work. Hates the adult day care that’s available. But he’s okay sitting in that corner, reading the paper front to back a couple times, knowing Ruby’s there, never bothering a soul.

  “But Bob — high and mighty Bob Coble complained to the post office about it. Another time he filed an official complaint that she opened two minutes late when Ike was having a real bad day. If Ruby lost this job … I wanted to stra—”

  She cut that off. Though this I could fill in for myself.

  Gracie stopped trying to induce older and wiser Sadie to play and looked up.

  “It’s a saying, Amy. No worries.”

  She shook her head. At herself, I thought.

  “People called me a Dwight out at the dog park. But I’ve had dogs all my life and I have my own ways. It wasn’t so much following Dwight as being an anti-Bob. Wanting nothing to do with him and how he used everything as a weapon.”

  “Like lawsuits?” It was about as open as a question could be. I hoped Amy would answer it with everything she knew. No such luck.

  “Yes.”

  “What kind of lawsuits?”

  “I don’t think I should be talking about this.”

  “Berrie did talk about Bob suing you and Ruby.” Amy held her silence. “Lawsuits are public record.”

  “And you’re entitled to check public records at the courthouse. Anything else, it’s gossip.”

  “Can’t be gossip if you tell me directly.”

  Silence.

  “There’s nothing you can tell me?” I tried.

  “What I will tell you is that Bob Coble threatened a lot more lawsuits than he ever filed.”

  Yes, I did notice she changed my can to will.

  A trip to the courthouse appeared to be in my future. But not until it reopened Monday morning. I’d have to add that to my notes.

  Along with the note under the big question mark: Where is Dwight?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  The first thing out of the phone when I answered it right after Saturday breakfast was, “How’s Gracie?”

  That question could have come from my mother, father, brothers, sisters-in-law, nephews, and niece, though nobody else might know that’s what she was asking in her adorable baby talk. It might even have come from Aunt Kit, though not in baby talk. Also not at this hour.

  Besides, I couldn’t identify this voice.

  Though … Had I heard it before? Not too long ago. Not my real estate agent. Not the closing company. Who—? Oh.

  “Christy?”

  “Yes. Didn’t I say? Sorry. It’s Christy Yaslowski of Ohio River Valley Regional Collie Rescue.” Having rapidly dispensed with the petty details, she returned to the vital topic. “How’s Gracie?”

  “She’s doing fine.”

  “I was concerned this business might have upset her. When they’re first settling in, keeping to a regular schedule is helpful. Routine builds their confidence. Oh, perhaps a few changes to keep them from becoming too rigid or fearful, but within the context of a secure schedule.”

  This business.

  Meaning a murder.

  “She hasn’t shown any ill effects. But how did you know about, uh, about this nasty business?”

  “I saw it in the paper and when it said the name of the dog park, I checked with some connections. That’s when I heard Gracie and you were on the scene.”

  Impressive. “You must have an amazing memory with all the people you meet through collie rescue to remember where I live.” She was the rescue coordinator Gracie’s foster mother persuaded to let me have Gracie.

  “Anyone who adopts one of our dogs is worth remembering.”

  Put in my place, I quickly said, “Of course. But Gracie is fine. I’m looking at her right now and she’s stretched out in a patch of sunlight with her eyes closed, but listening to every word.” Christy’s chuckle relaxed me. Perhaps too much. “Initially, she was rather keyed up after finding the body and then with all the law enforcem—”

  “She found the body? Oh, dear. Oh, dear. That wasn’t in the paper.”

  I should have kept my mouth shut, Could I try to claim brownie points for keeping Gracie out of the media spotlight? Even though nobody had tried to focus it on her?

  Abruptly, I felt like the worst dog mommy on the planet for failing to consider the emotional impact on Gracie. Though her behavior had set me up for failing to recognize potential trauma, what with eating, sleeping, playing, barking, and treat-begging as usual.

  “We had class last night. Everything was normal. Honestly, she’s been fine,” I said defensively. Though did I really know that? Maybe I didn’t know her well yet. Maybe I was missing signs of trauma or—.

  “No, no. I’m not doubting that she’s doing well. Especially since Bob Coble wasn’t someone she cared about.”

  “He wasn’t. She was entirely indifferent to him and — Wait. How do you know she didn’t care about Coble? Did she meet him before I adopted her or—”

  “Not that I know of. No, I’m quite sure she didn’t. Not the way he talked about her. That’s how I knew.”

  Talked about her? Bob Coble talked to Christy Yaslowski of the Ohio River Valley Regional Collie Rescue about Gracie? He’d never mentioned the group that I’d heard. He’d certainly never told me he chatted about my dog with the rescue coordinator. How—?

  “Did he volunteer for collie rescue?”

  “Not that I know of. Certainly not for us. But he called us about your adoption of Gracie.”

  “What?” Turning multisyllabic, that word skidded up the scale “When? Why? What did he say?”

  “He was quite circumspect, but he indicated he didn’t think you were a good owner for Gracie.”

  “Why that—” I bit off my opinion of the man. As the thought of what I’d like to do to him if I could get my hands on him flitted through my head, it was followed as quickly by the recognition that he’d had a lot worse meted out to him. Considering the man was dead a tongue-lashing ranked as irrelevant.

  “He expressed concerned about how you were training her and—”

  “He is — was — totally and completely biased. Anybody who didn’t do exactly what he said was practically an abuser in his book. He had no balance, no reason. It never occurred to him that anybody could be right except him and his own dog is no paragon—” I clamped my mouth shut. I was not going to criticize a dog to get back at a person, no matter how annoying.

  Especially a dead person, I reminded myself as my reason trotted to catch up to my emotional response.

  It might need to shift to a canter, since I found myself dropped to my knees on the kitchen fl
oor with the arm not holding the phone wrapped around Gracie’s neck in a possessive hold that had her giving me the crazy-human-side-eye.

  “Oh, we don’t take people’s word for it. Especially not since I’d vetted you myself. But we can’t ignore such calls, either. We enlisted someone to check on you.”

  Someone to check on you…

  “Teague O’Donnell,” I said immediately. “New to the dog park, has a lab mix named Murphy.”

  It had to be him. It fit perfectly. His sudden arrival at the dog park. The questions. The way he kept hanging around with Clara and me. Okay, the dogs might have started that, but he’d probably sprayed his dog with some secret collie-nip that Gracie hadn’t been able to resist.

  “No.”

  “A little over six-foot,” I pursued. “Light green eyes. Dark hair, a touch of gray.”

  “No.”

  I mentally scrambled for other candidates. “Leo, the trainer from Zepke’s pet store? Berrie Vittlow, who raises Boston terriers? Dwight Yagos?” He might have told them I wasn’t training Gracie right — for the opposite reasons Bob Coble did. Belatedly I realized suggesting a string of people I thought might have been spying on me could come across as a tiny bit paranoid. “You can talk to my family — okay they’re biased. But other people will tell you Gracie’s doing well. My neighbors. The lady who runs the post office. The woman I hang around with at the dog park, Clara Woodrow—”

  “That’s the one.”

  My uptake was so slow, it was like the gears in my head went round and round but nothing turned. I expressed my reaction with a vacant, “Huh?”

  “Clara Woodrow. I should have remembered her name. We needed someone on hand. Someone with a good perspective, some experience. And no ax to grind, unlike Bob Coble. Don’t think we don’t know his type. But we have to pursue any such report, especially while the adoption’s still in the six-month probation period.”

  Probation.