Bulldogs & Bullets: A Dog Town USA Cozy Mystery

by Meg Muldoon

  I’d been trying to help. But he hadn’t been answering his phone much the past few days. He wasn’t answering his door either.

  “So I heard that Anson Donnally’s been put on leave pending an investigation,” I said, leaning forward and turning toward him.

  I’d read the news release the police department sent out that morning saying as much.

  Officer Anson Donnally was put on leave after being implicated in taking bribes from various members of the community. He’d been caught red-handed by security cameras in the back of the building the week before taking money from a reporter in exchange for information pertinent to the Mindy Monahan case. The chief had opened an investigation into this incident, and was waiting until the inquiry was completed before deciding upon an appropriate punishment for the pudgy cop.

  Though the news release hadn’t said it, I knew that that “information” given to the reporter included photos that Mindy had taken during the dog stakeouts.

  Just like I also knew that the journalist who had bribed Anson Donnally for that information was none other than The Chronicle’s very own crime reporter, Erik Royce.

  Erik hadn’t broken into my desk and stolen the photos like I thought. But he wasn’t in the clear, by any means. Bribing law enforcement officers for a story crossed all sorts of lines. And I got the feeling that his days at The Chronicle were numbered.

  “Yeah,” Sam said. “I heard something about Donnally being put on leave, too.”

  He drew in a deep breath, then looked over at me.

  “I’m sorry, Freddie,” he said. “I’m sorry I ever thought you would have done something like that. I… I don’t know why I keep doubting you.”

  I swallowed hard, at a loss about how to respond.

  He shouldn’t have doubted me. But it didn’t change the fact that he had.

  It hadn’t been the first time, either.

  Silence settled in over the conversation like a river of black tar, and I felt for a moment that it was so heavy and dark, it obscured the sun.

  I knew there was more that Sam had come here to say.

  I felt like a porcelain doll in mid-fall.

  “Listen, Sam, I—”

  “You know you saved my life?” he said. “Without you showing up when you did, Hal Parker would have killed me. I know it. And I’ll always be grateful to you for that. Always.”

  He gazed deep into my eyes, and reached for my hand.

  “But Freddie…I need…”

  He sucked in a deep breath of air.

  “I’m gonna need some time.”

  I turned away and closed my eyes, as if it would somehow protect me from the pain.

  But the hurt hit me like a sucker punch from a heavyweight champion.

  He didn’t have to tell me what he needed the time for.

  He wasn’t talking about more time away from work. Or more time to make that dinner we were supposed to have tonight at his house – the one that was supposed to mean something special.

  He was talking about time away from me.

  “I love you, Freddie,” he said, breaking the gaze. “You know I love you. But lately… lately I think maybe love isn’t enough. That there’s always going to be too much conflict. Too much of a distance between us. It’s a distance that will always keep us apart, even if we stay together.”

  His voice trembled as he spoke.

  I felt my heart crumble like a stale dog biscuit.

  He kept talking, but there was no need to.

  It was over.

  I knew it.

  Chapter 56

  “Oh! I… uh… Oh, jeez,” I stammered. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to barge in…”

  I trailed off awkwardly, looking away as Roger Kobritz sat up from the break room sofa and groped the coffee table until his fingers found his smudged bifocals.

  It was just past 6 a.m., and the newsroom should have been as empty as a church in Dodge City. Like a good reporter, I’d come in early to get a head start on the day and the big pile of stories I’d ambitiously signed myself up to write this week.

  But work wasn’t the only reason I’d been arriving so early to the newsroom and leaving so late the past few days.

  Sleep was the problem. I hadn’t gotten a good night’s rest since meeting Sam at the dog park a week earlier. I spent the nights tossing and turning, getting up, making tea, feeding Buddy and Mugs, going back to bed, tossing and turning some more, getting up again, feeding Buddy again, and looking at my phone, fighting the burning urge to call him and tell him that love really was enough.

  But in the end, my pride was too big of a wall to climb. I never made the call.

  Lou had been a big help through all of it. She stayed awake at night with me when it got the worst, taking care of me and my broken heart, making up my favorite meals and watching House of Cards marathons with me. Doing Francis Underwood impressions, trying to get a smile out of me.

  But in the end, nothing really helped that much.

  I figured that the best thing for a broken heart was distraction.

  And lots of it.

  So I showed up early, left the office late. Cranked out double my normal story output, and tried not to think too much about Sam and that dinner we were supposed to have at his house the day he broke up with me.

  Or the way his beautiful hazelnut eyes still lingered in my mind’s eye.

  Or the way his charming laughter still echoed in my head.

  Or the way that anytime I thought about what could have been with Sam Sakai, my heart cracked a little bit more.

  After arriving to the newsroom earlier, I’d decided to make up a pot of fresh coffee to fuel the day. I headed for the breakroom – which was when I unintentionally interrupted Roger Kobritz’s nap.

  Though by the looks of it, it wasn’t so much a nap as it had been a full night’s sleep.

  A suitcase sat near the sofa, containing several wrinkled work shirts. A small leather toiletry bag sat next to his glasses on the coffee table. A half-empty bottle of red wine sat on the carpet.

  “Sorry, Kobritz. I’ll—”

  “No – it’s okay, Ms. Wolf.”

  He rubbed his eyes and let out a long sigh.

  “I’m the one who should be apologizing,” he said. “I shouldn’t be in here.”

  I stopped backing away and studied him for a long moment.

  I’d been at odds with Kobritz ever since turning down the crime reporter position back in the summer. And since then, he’d picked on me relentlessly.

  But seeing him here now, sleeping in the employee breakroom and obviously without any place else to go… well, I couldn’t help but feel compassion for the stern, ornery editor.

  “It’s that bad, huh?” I said, leaning against the doorjamb.

  He nodded a defeated, sorrow-filled nod.

  “We’re getting divorced,” he said. “She doesn’t want to reconcile.”

  I knew he was having marital problems. But I didn’t realize things had progressed that far that quickly.

  “I’m really sorry to hear that,” I said.

  “Don’t concern yourself about me,” he said. “This sleeping arrangement here is only temporary. I’m just in between hotels right now. Tonight I’ll be at the Chapman Inn, so I won’t be causing anybody any problems here—”

  “I’m not worried about that,” I said, walking over to the beat-up arm chair across from the sofa and taking a seat. “I’m concerned about you. Are you doing okay?”

  He looked confused for a second. As if he didn’t understand the question, or the prospect of an employee caring about his wellbeing.

  “Well, I’m, uh, I’m fine,” he said, awkwardly.

  He nervously ran a hand through his thinning hair.

  “You sure about that?” I said.

  He paused again, letting out a long, unsteady breath.

  “You know that I used to be a reporter in D.C. once, don’t you? Back in my younger days.”

  “Yeah, I kno
w,” I said.

  I’d heard a few of his stories from the old days. About the time he interviewed Bill Clinton when Kobritz worked for a large paper on the East Coast. It was after the politician’s presidency, but nonetheless, still a big interview.

  “Well, it might be hard to believe looking at me now. But I was on track back then, Ms. Wolf,” he said. “I was being groomed for the White House press corps. The editor-in-chief thought I was really something special. And I got the kind of opportunity that the poor suckers hacking it out in these small town newspapers will only ever dream of.”

  “What happened?” I asked.

  He let out a sigh, rubbing his whiskery face.

  “Sara happened. That’s what happened,” he said, shaking his head. “I fell in love. Hard. We got married. And she talked me into coming back home to the Pacific Northwest. Sara hated D.C. She couldn’t stand living in big cities. So I let her drag me to a small town, thinking love would cure all ills.”

  He shook his head.

  “And now, here I am. Twenty years later. An editor of a low circulation newspaper in the middle of nowhere, about to be divorced. No money. No real career. No kids.

  “And soon, no wife.”

  The last words were full of misery.

  I kept silent for a long, long while. Knowing there wasn’t much I could say that was going to make any kind of difference for the editor.

  “I guess that’s probably why I’ve been so hard on you lately, Ms. Wolf,” he said. “I see you sometimes, and I see all the talent and skill you have. But I see the career choices you make because of your relationships and I just… I just don’t want to see you end up like me – burnt out and alone and bitter. It’s nothing I’d wish on anybody.”

  He let out another grim sigh.

  “I know when you’re in love that it’s easy to feel like that’s all that matters – and career be hanged,” he said. “But one day, you might get to the point where you look back on the choices you made because of love, and you know that you got blinded.”

  He looked at me.

  “And you’re too good of a reporter to not give yourself a fair chance, Ms. Wolf.”

  I swallowed hard, his words hitting me like a semi-truck.

  There was truth to them. Every word was selfless and honest.

  He was right, I realized.

  I’d let my career be swayed by my love life not just once – but twice now. I’d left a good career job in Portland because of Jimmy Brewer. And I’d turned down a better beat here at The Chronicle because of Sam. And now, here I was, still on the dog beat.

  And where was Sam?

  I bit my lower lip and looked down at the ground.

  Kobritz and I weren’t in the same situation.

  But I knew he was right. If I wasn’t careful, then I knew I could be in his shoes one day.

  Maybe it was time for me to grow up. To face the fact that forever love didn’t exist. To take that friendly advice of Kobritz’s, and focus on something I could control.

  The only thing I could control:

  My career.

  Maybe it was time to shoot for something bigger than pet parades and pooch profiles.

  “Thanks, Kobritz,” I said finally, looking back up at him.

  He gave me a half smile.

  Then he stood up and started collecting the bedding from the sofa.

  I cleared my throat.

  “You know, if you need a place to stay, I have an extra room at the house and—”

  But he turned toward me and shook his head.

  “I thank you, but I was telling the truth about having a reservation at the Inn,” he said.

  He started folding up the blankets and tossing them on top of his suitcase.

  I chewed on my lower lip, watching him, considering what I was about to say next.

  Maybe it wouldn’t be the most popular thing to do.

  But it was the right thing to do.

  “Say, Kobritz – you got any plans for Halloween?”

  He stopped what he was doing.

  “Halloween? No. No plans. I can’t say that I’m big on costumes.”

  “Well, me neither, but my sister’s hosting her annual Howl-O-Ween Humane Society Fundraiser at The Barkery Friday,” I said. “You, uh, you don’t have to dress up in a costume if you don’t want to. But we’d love to see you there. Scott and Jennifer and a few of the other reporters said they’re coming, so you’ll know some people there.”

  The editor looked shocked. As if he was unfamiliar with things like parties or costumes or holidays or invitations.

  “Well, I appreciate the offer, but I—”

  “Just think about it,” I said, cutting him off. “We’d all like to see you there.”

  As I said it, I knew it was a lie – nobody wanted to see their boss at a party.

  But Kobritz needed something like this.

  “I’ll, uh… I’ll consider it, Ms. Wolf,” he finally said.

  “Good.”

  I smiled slightly, then got up from the chair and headed for the door.

  “And, uh, Ms. Wolf?”

  I stopped and turned back around.

  “I’d appreciate it if you could keep the fact that I stayed here last night between us. I don’t think that Janet Chandler would like hearing that her managing editor was sleeping on the job.”

  He smiled weakly, and I realized that it had been Kobritz’s attempt at telling a joke.

  I humored him and smiled back.

  “I didn’t see a thing, boss,” I said.

  I went back to my desk. Then I got down to setting my career in the right direction again.

  Chapter 57

  The black Kia sat in the newsroom parking lot, gleaming in the dull glow of a gun-metal grey afternoon.

  I stopped dead in my tracks.

  It was the chance I’d been waiting for.

  The chance to end all of this.

  Once and for all.

  I gathered my courage and started walking again. But instead of heading for my car, I walked directly toward the Kia, determination in every step.

  It must have spooked the driver, because she didn’t pull away, the way she usually did when she saw me walk toward her.

  I tapped hard on the dark glass of the driver’s side. A moment later, the window came down.

  I gave her a hard, unflinching look.

  “We need to talk,” I said. “My house. Ten minutes.”

  I walked away, heading back to my car without waiting for a response.

  Chapter 58

  I watched as Kathryn Brewer stepped out of the black Kia Sedona and stood up, steadying herself on the car door before attempting to cross the street.

  She’d grown heavy since I’d last seen her – though that was to be expected. She was seven months pregnant, after all, and looked every bit it and more.

  But the weight didn’t take away from her beauty at all. At least, not in my opinion.

  What did take away from her beauty was the severe frown she wore, which cast shadows into the fine lines around her eyes and mouth.

  I watched her and leaned forward on the porch swing of the house, trying to brace for what was coming.

  I didn’t have a showdown in me today.

  But I knew I might have to rise to the occasion.

  I could understand why I might not have been one of Kathryn’s favorite people in the world.

  To her, I had been the other woman. The one who’d caused her boyfriend at the time to leave her. The one she would always have to compete with in her own mind when it came to Jimmy.

  But none of that gave Kathryn any right to stalk me or to scare me or to intimidate me, the way she had tried to for the last few months. It didn’t give her any right to pin her current marriage problems on me, either.

  She stopped on the sidewalk beneath the porch and just stared at me for a long, long moment.

  There was a look of unmistakable hatred in her eyes.

  But I didn’t c
are – I had some anger of my own.

  I stood up and leaned over the porch railing.

  “What the hell are you doing, Kathryn?” I asked, discarding all formalities and getting straight to the point.

  She seemed to have been caught off guard by the directness. She paused, seemingly struggling with how to respond.

  “You think something’s going on between me and Jimmy? Is that it? Is that why you’ve been following me and trying to scare me?”

  She didn’t answer.

  There was more than just hatred in her eyes, I realized. There was pain. And hurt, too.

  She slowly walked up the steps. She flashed her grey, bloodshot eyes at me.

  “Is there something going on?”

  Her voice came out scared and small and squeaky, and reminded me of something a frightened little girl might say.

  And in a strange way, that caught me off guard.

  For so long in my head, I had built up Kathryn Brewer as the perfect woman.

  I hadn’t expected to find her so insecure.

  “Kathryn,” I said. “Nothing is going on. And nothing will ever go on between me and Jimmy. Not ever again.”

  “I saw you two,” she said, a lonely tear sliding down her bloated face. “I saw him get in your car that day outside the school district building. I saw him hugging you.”

  I shook my head.

  I hadn’t seen Kathryn or her car the day I had the talk with Jimmy – the day of the Hal Parker interview. But it didn’t surprise me that she had seen us.

  “He’s scared,” I said. “But he doesn’t know how to tell you. He’s scared of the responsibility of becoming a father. Of having so much depending on him. He doesn’t know how to handle it. And he doesn’t know how to talk to you about it.”

  She folded her arms over her protruding belly and glared at me.

  “So he went to you? Is that it?”

  I bit my lower lip.

  I’d been hurt by Jimmy. Truly hurt. But it wasn’t until recently that I realized that all along, I’d been giving Jimmy Brewer far too much credit.

  It wasn’t until that afternoon when he’d sat in my car and cried and sobbed about how afraid he was of becoming a father and turning out like his own philandering, dead-beat dad that I realized Jimmy Brewer was just another broken person doing the best that he could.