Deadly Dog Days

by Jamie M. Blair

  “Why the heck is this aggressive dog back in the pen at Finch’s gatehouse instead of with Animal Control like it’s supposed to be, Cameron?”

  “Oh. Is that where he is?” Every muscle in my body clenched, preparing for the lecture I was about to get.

  “Yes! That’s where he is. And since Finch needs a gatekeeper and I happen to be living like a vagrant, he’s given me orders to stay in the gatehouse. I guess that makes this dog my responsibility now. Thank you very much for that. As if didn’t have enough to deal with already!”

  My fuse was lit and my temper flaring. “Like I don’t have anything to worry about? Your dear mommy is suing me! Everyone in town thinks I’m either, A) a murderer, or 2) brought the murderer to town! I have to deal with Johnna Fitzgerald and Roy Lancaster every day. The dogs dragged me into the canal yesterday. My knee is killing me because it won’t rain already, and it’s my birthday, you jerk!”

  He was silent while I caught my breath, rage spiraling downward toward an emotional dam of tears. I held them back, swallowed them down, cursed them for even thinking of making an appearance because of Ben.

  “I’m sorry,” he said and blew out a frustrated breath. “I forgot. But does it even matter if I remember, Cam? Do you want me to remember? You don’t want me to live at home with you, so what’s my role in this? In your life?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, struggling to keep my composure. “I have to go. Monica’s on her way.”

  “All right. Give her my best. And Cam? Happy birthday.”

  “Yeah,” I said, wanting to go upstairs, collapse in bed, and sleep for the next year or two, or however long it took for my life to be what it should be again. “Thanks.”

  I hung up. Andy nudged my wine tumbler closer, urging me to partake in the age-old tradition of drowning my sorrows. It was a bad idea. I didn’t drink often. The wine I had on hand was left over from a dinner party almost a year ago that Ben and I had hosted when Soapy was re-elected as mayor. I’d regret drinking so much when my head was pounding and my stomach was sour in the morning.

  But right now I preferred not to think about morning, so I swallowed the rest of the wine in my glass. “My husband’s a jerk,” I said, standing from the table and wobbling a little.

  “He found Brutus, huh?”

  “He’s living with Brutus.” I shuffled my feet, which suddenly felt extra heavy, over to the door to let the dogs in. “Finch has him staying at the gatehouse.”

  “Oh man,” Andy said, slouching back in his chair. “I told Finch I’d take care of Brutus until we could find someone to take him.”

  “Well, looks like Finch found somebody.”

  It wouldn’t take Ben more than five minutes to have Animal Control on their way to Hilltop Castle. I knew when a dog bit someone and that person had to go to the hospital and get stitches the outcome was never good. But, it was my fault. I should’ve kept Brutus in the house. I knew the workers were coming over. I couldn’t let him be put to sleep. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.

  There was a niggling at my brain, like an idea that wouldn’t quite form. I sat back down and tried to summon it forward, but all I got was a hazy image of Old Dan limping toward me with his hand out.

  Oh! The dog tag! The kennel! I grabbed my overstuffed, overlarge bag and began digging again.

  “What are you looking for now?” Andy asked. “And are we having cake or anything?”

  “I’ll call the kennel where Jenn Berg got her missing puppy and see if they’ll take Brutus.”

  “All right. So … cake?”

  “Only if you’re making it.” I held my handbag over the table and dumped its contents. Coins rolled, receipts scattered, and my wallet fell with a thunk.

  “Holy cow,” Andy said, staring in awe.

  There was gum and a candy bar, tissues and lip gloss, pens and a check book. There were enough odds and ends to cover over half of the tabletop. In the center of it all was an oval, brass-colored dog tag. I swiped it off the table and dialed the number.

  A man answered on the third ring. “Bantum Kennels.”

  “Hi, uh, hello. I was wondering … I have a dog—well, it’s not actually my dog, but I took it from a deceased woman—anyway, it has nowhere to go and in the upheaval from its home, it bit someone and now I’ve got to have somewhere to take it before Animal Control takes him. Can you help me?”

  Across the table, Andy covered his mouth, laughing hysterically and turning red.

  “You have a dead woman’s dog and need someone to take it,” the man said, confirming. “And it bit someone.”

  “Yes.” My hopes were low, like below the soles of my shoes low. “I think you might have known his owner. I found a tag from one of her other dogs. That’s why I called you. Jenn Berg is the name of the deceased.”

  The phone clattered around, and the man coughed away from the receiver. When he recovered, he said, “I can’t help you,” in a rush and hung up on me.

  “Well, that was rude.” I set my phone on the table and propped my chin in my hand, suddenly very tired. “Guess he didn’t like Jenn. Maybe she was dating his husband, too.”

  “You know what I think?” Andy said, picking up handfuls of stuff and shoving it back in my bag. “You need to go on a date of your own. See how Ben likes it.”

  “You’re a vengeful young man,” I said, battling back butterflies swarming inside me at the mention of going on a date with a stranger. “First you come up with a brilliant plan to get back at Irene, and now this. Some would think you have it out for the Haymans.”

  “Only the ones who mess with you,” he said and gave me a wink.

  I never thought when I was forty my best friend would be a twenty-one-year-old kid who did work on my house, but there it was. Life’s a mystery, I guess.

  We both stood up when we heard a car door slam out in the driveway. “I’ll wrangle the dogs so they don’t maul her,” Andy said.

  “Thanks. I’ll let her in.”

  My head spun a little when I stood up, but by the time I got to the door, I was feeling good. My sister was here! I hadn’t seen her in two months and when I lived in Columbus, I didn’t go two days without her.

  “There’s the old lady,” Monica called when I opened the front door. “Happy birthday!” Her smile went ear-to-ear, and she carried a big box wrapped in shiny paper with a fancy bow around it. I ran out to help her with her suitcase.

  “I’m so glad you’re here!” I said, doing my best not to crush my present while hugging her tight.

  “What’s on the agenda for tonight?” she asked, climbing the porch steps.

  “Andy and I are just hanging out. I have some wine … ”

  “No.” She spun on her heel. “No, no, no. It’s your fortieth! We’re celebrating. There has to be somewhere to go, even in this no-stoplight town.”

  “Amen to that,” Andy said, appearing in the doorway and taking my gift and Monica’s suitcase. “I’m starving. Let’s go to Cornerstone. I’ll pick up Cass.”

  Andy and Monica met last time she was in town and the two of them together was like gasoline and fire. They brought out the obnoxious in each other. “Great idea!” she said, giving him a quick hug. “We’ll meet you there in an hour.”

  “This is a woman with a plan,” he said to me, pointing to Monica. “Listen and learn.”

  “Just go get Cass,” I said, pushing him toward the sidewalk.

  Monica and I entered the house to a symphony of barking. “I thought you were joking when I got your message,” she said.

  I shook my head. “I was serious. I hope you can take something.”

  She waved a hand at me. “I got allergy pills two years ago when I was dating that guy with the cat. I should be fine.”

  “I have one of those, too. A cat. Well, kind of.”

  “Kind of?” she asked.r />
  “It’s complicated. Anyway, I’m glad you got medication. I didn’t want you to have to stay somewhere else when you visit.”

  “Cam, a pack of wild dogs couldn’t keep me away.”

  “Good thing,” I muttered.

  She plopped down on the couch, picking up my gift. “Come open your present.”

  I sat beside her, eager as a kid to open the bright, shiny package. I untied the bow before ripping into the paper. I paused when I reached the box. The logo on top was from a lingerie store. Gingerly, I lifted the lid. A rose-colored nightie sat folded in the box. It was silky and came with matching underwear, although I questioned my sister’s thought process when she picked out the size. Maybe she was trying not to insult me, but I didn’t think I could get them over one thigh, let alone two.

  Being disappointed over a gift was childish. It was the thought that counted, even if that thought was a bit sketchy. “Thank you. It’s beautiful,” I said, giving her a hug.

  “There’s a gift card from Mom and Dad in the box, too. I thought the nightie would give you confidence. Make you feel appealing.”

  “Appealing?”

  Monica took my hand. “Cam, if you and Ben are apart, you have to face the reality of getting back out there again and meeting other men.”

  “This seems to be a recurring topic tonight. One that I’m not interested in talking about.” I put the lid back on the gift box and patted the top.

  “Just tell me one thing,” she said. “What happened? You keep skirting the issue every time I bring it up.”

  Could be because I didn’t really know. “When we moved here, it was like he was home and I was an outsider. Sure, the townspeople were nice and welcoming, but there was a sense of putting on airs when I was around. Like a guest who had overstayed her welcome. They put out the good towels and fine china for me, but they were getting tired of it and wanted me to go back home already. Ben said it was my imagination, and I just wanted a reason to move back to Columbus.”

  “Good idea,” she said, grasping my hand. “Move back. This isn’t the place for you. You and Ben should’ve dated longer before getting married.”

  “Don’t,” I said, taking my hand back. “We’re not discussing this.” I’d heard it a million times from Monica and our mother. It wasn’t that they didn’t like Ben, but I didn’t give them much time to get to know him. I guess I hadn’t given myself a lot of time, either.

  “What should we talk about then?” Monica asked. “What’s been going on lately?”

  “Lately? Oh, the usual. I found a dead woman in the canal. Ben was kind of, sort of dating her, and now I’m a suspect in her murder.”

  Monica’s jaw dropped.

  “Oh, those are her dogs in the kitchen. Well, they’re mine now.”

  She blinked a couple dozen times, rapidly. “I told you moving here would ruin your life.”

  I wasn’t in the mood for I told you so’s, but she had a point.

  • Nine •

  The Cornerstone was packed. Andy and Cass were already there, sitting at a corner booth in the restaurant area, which was a good idea, because I needed to get some food in me before any more drinks. Carl Finch was standing beside a suit of armor in the corner by the cash register chatting to customers as they paid their bill.

  “You have to try the fried chicken,” Cass told Monica as we sat down. “It’s legendary.”

  “Legendary, huh?” Monica looked around and wasn’t impressed. True, the restaurant could use some sprucing and updating, but the chicken was incredible.

  “You’ll like it,” I said, smacking her leg under the table to get her to behave. It might not have been Columbus with the chain restaurants and every sort of food imaginable available, but it was what we had and we were proud of it. Besides, it wasn’t like Columbus was L.A. or anything.

  A high school girl took our drink order and brought my iced tea and Monica’s water.

  “There’s Dennis Stoddard,” Andy said, edging out of the booth. “I didn’t know he was in town again. I’m going to go say hi. Be right back.”

  “Ask about my birdbath!” I called, but he didn’t seem to hear me.

  Andy approached a man with salt-and-pepper hair who had joined Carl Finch. He looked to be a bit younger than Finch’s mid sixties. Stoddard’s glasses, short beard and mustache, and a camel-colored suit jacket all combined to give him a professorial image. I could picture him on PBS’s Antiques Roadshow. I needed to get my hands on him before Irene did.

  “It’s such a shame about the musical,” Cass said, stirring an artificial sweetener into her iced tea. “We worked really hard at rehearsals. I guess I should call my guests who made reservations and tell them it’s cancelled.”

  Cass had the bluest eyes and the sweetest disposition. When she looked at you, you couldn’t help but be drawn in. “I haven’t even thought about calling back everyone who reserved a ticket over the phone,” I said, wondering how I’d manage it with one phone line now. “Maybe Melody will come around.”

  Monica scrolled through emails on her cell phone, unconcerned with our conversation.

  “I can’t afford cancellations,” Cass said, blinking her glassy eyes. “I’m barely able to keep my inn open.”

  The town relied on people coming and staying, eating and shopping. So many businesses had gone under in the past few years there were vacant storefronts. Most of the shop owners now worked full-time jobs and only opened on the weekends. These were necessary changes to make a steady income, but detracted from visitors who were drawn by a bustling crowd and store after store of merchandise packed wall-to-wall.

  The musical was what the town needed to pull together. It might not have brought in visitors in droves, but it would bring the town together to rally. It would give them the jolt of enthusiasm they desperately needed to push forward and keep trying to make ends meet.

  “Did you order for me?” Andy asked Cass as he scooted back in the booth.

  “We haven’t ordered yet,” she said, giving him a shaky smile.

  He kissed her temple and took her hand. “Carl thinks my documentary will bring believers into town on religious pilgrimages.”

  “Wow,” I said, “we could be sitting in the midst of greatness. A future award-winning producer/director.” I lifted my glass up to him.

  “Here’s hoping.” He clinked his glass against mine. Cass did the same.

  “What are we toasting?” Monica asked, lifting her water glass.

  “Cam’s birthday,” Andy said. “Here’s to many more.”

  We ordered the fried chicken, and it was phenomenal as always. Monica complained that it was too peppery.

  After dinner we moved over to the bar area, where Roy was holding court with Frank Gardner and Will Atkins. The four of us sat at a high round table by the windows. It didn’t take long for Roy to see me and come over to poke his red nose into my business. “Cameron Cripps-Hayman, did you see who was sitting at the end of the bar?”

  I glanced down the bar to where a pretty blonde sat drinking something with a cherry and an orange slice propped on the side of the glass. “That’s Melody Winkler,” I said.

  “That it is. Shall we?” Roy held his arm out to me, like a gentleman, to escort me down the bar.

  I smacked his arm away and strode past him. “Come on.”

  I didn’t have a plan or any clue what to say, so I was surprised when I stopped beside her and said, “We’re looking for a lost puppy. It belonged to Jenn Berg. Have you seen one around town?”

  She looked at me like I was one card shy of a full deck. “No. Sorry.”

  “It’s a shame about the musical,” I said. “You were in it, right?”

  “Not really.” She watched the bartender, who happened to be quite attractive, and sipped her drink.

  “Oh,” I said. “My mistake. I thought Soapy
said you were. It’s so awful about Jenn. Were you friends? You went to high school together, didn’t you?”

  She spun her stool toward me. “Do I even know you? It’s a small town and all, and you’re Ben’s wife, or ex-wife or whatever, but we’ve never been introduced, so it’s kind of strange that you’re standing here asking me all sorts of questions about Jenn.”

  “Here’s the rub,” Roy said, pushing in between us. “It’s no secret you and Jenn hated each other. She gets the lead in the musical, you get angry, she ends up dead. Coincidence?”

  Melody shot back away from us and huffed. “Are you asking if I killed her?”

  “Yes,” Roy said, leaning closer to her. “So, did ya?”

  “I did not! I was working all night the night she was killed. If Sheriff Reins wants proof, all of the Stature orders I entered have my computer’s IP address and are time-stamped. How is this your business anyway?”

  “Ya see,” he said, waving his thumb back and forth between he and I, “we’re The Metamora Action Agency. That’s what makes it our business.”

  “The what?” she asked, indignant.

  “The—never mind,” he said. “You’re free to go.”

  I followed him back to my table with a new appreciation for how Roy handled people. I would’ve still been standing there making chit-chat and annoying her without ever getting any real information.

  “Guess you’re still our main suspect, Cameron Cripps-Hayman,” Roy said, leaving me and strolling over to retake his seat at the bar.

  Somehow I doubted Ben was getting this much grief even though he had much more motive to get rid of Jenn Berg than I did, even if that motive was pure speculation.

  Monica had ordered me a champagne spritzer while I was away. “This looks too pretty to drink,” I said, picking up the pink fizzy drink with floating berries.

  “I wanted pomegranate, but I was lucky they had any fresh berries at all,” she said.

  I took a sip. “It tastes wonderful, pomegranate or not.”

  “I still want cake,” Andy said. “Tomorrow, we’re having cake.”