I was so tense at that point, it was a struggle not to snap at her, but I managed to say in an even voice, “I’m glad. I like him, too.” A question occurred to me. “Whose phone did you call from?”
“The Haywoods’. They’re always at home. If you can get them to come to the door, that is.”
“How was Harvey behaving?”
“I didn’t see him. Just Betsy. And she was as grouchy as ever. As soon as I’d hung up with the sergeant, she said, ‘Tell your daughter to mind her own business and not go talking to my Susan anymore about Harvey.’ “
The next day, Mom and I went to Cassandra’s funeral, held in the small Methodist church on Lake Avenue. We arrived a bit late. There were a half dozen or so family members, with Paul and Melanie up front. Really, though, there were far fewer people there than I’d expected. Only thirty or so. Most were from our immediate neighborhood.
To my surprise, both Haywoods were there as well as Susan, but I was beginning to wonder where this husband of hers was. We took seats directly across the aisle from them. They wore matching expressions of crabbiness. Meanwhile, Edith and Trevor sat at opposite sides of the church in an obvious attempt to avoid each other.
An elderly woman was playing indistinguishable music on the organ. Just as a man in a black suit rose to go to the podium, someone touched my shoulder. It was Russell.
“Russell?” I said in surprise. “Hi.”
“Hello,” he whispered into my ear. “I thought about how upset you’ve been by this, and I decided I’d come pay my respects.”
Out of deference for our setting, Mom greeted him with a mere nod, but her eyes beamed as she looked at him and then at me. She seemed to be telepathing the thought to me, See how great he is? Marry the man! But that may have been my reading into things.
Throughout the service, there were periodic sobbings from the front, and the elderly woman I took to be Cassandra’s mother was barely able to keep herself in check. The lecturer had the vocal vibrato of a Baptist minister, but I found myself blocking out the words, just trying to get through this without breaking down myself. What hurt me to the core wasn’t the loss of Cassandra, whom I barely knew, so much as the loss of any vibrant person’s life before her time. I was also acutely aware of the heat of Russell’s body beside me, and I was grateful that he’d come. Afterward, we rose and waited while the family left first. I felt a pressure in my chest and throat when Melanie walked down the aisle past me. She was holding on to her father’s hand and a woman’s who looked like a slightly older version of her mother. She must have been Cassandra’s sister.
An old pain came back to me, suppressed but never quite absent I saw myself in me same position, as a little girl at my father’s funeral. I remembered how it felt to know that I was supposed to cry. To feel that everyone was disappointed in my heartlessness for remaining dry-eyed. I’d felt numb and empty, angry at my dad for leaving us and at myself for not being good enough for him to want to stay.
I realized with a start that I’d also been five years old when I lost my parent I felt such a stab of regret for Melanie that it was hard not to cry out. Hers was a tough age to lose a parent not really understanding what was happening. My face must have betrayed my emotions, for Russell took my hand and gave it a squeeze.
Back then, there never seemed to be any single-parent families besides our own. Mother never complained to us. There was a lot to be said for simply doing what needed to be done in this world. But much as I hate the “inner child” psychobabble, I’ve always agreed that if you scratch below the surface of any adult’s veneer, regardless of how competent and strong the person seems to be, there is an injured child there. Mine had gotten through the toughest times with her arms wrapped around a dog or two. I wasn’t sure who would be there for Melanie.
As we walked down the aisle, I realized that Sergeant Millay was seated in the back of the room. I wondered if his investigation had gotten anywhere. He seemed to be keeping a low profile, as if there were other things occupying his time, though I doubted that was the case. I stared at his face for a few seconds, hoping against logic that I’d see some indication of whether or not he still thought of me as a suspect.
We murmured our condolences to the family and made our way into the bright light outside, where most of the other mourners were lingering. The moment Edith spotted me, she ignored Russell and my mother to either side of me, marched toward me, and demanded, “Have you made a decision regarding Shogun’s ownership?”
“Not really. But he’s doing fine.”
“I’m sure he is. But that isn’t what I asked, is it? You have no right to keep him. And I have a right to know which one of us will get the dog permanently. And how soon.”
“I’ll let you know.”
We walked away. Though I’d forced myself to be polite, I wanted to sock the woman.
“She was pleasant,” Russell said as we continued on toward the car.
“She’s our neighbor,” Mom said. “She’s hired Allida to decide whether she or her ex-husband gets custody of their terrier.”
“The dog we were looking for in Longmont, right?”
“Yes. I found him at Trevor’s house. Through a roundabout journey. But he was safe and sound.”
We reached Russell’s car. He shot a quick glance at his watch and said, “I’ve got to take off. I’ll see you at the office. Goodbye, Marilyn.”
“Thanks for coming,” she and I both said in unison. I felt her eyes on me the moment we heard the solid thud of his car door shutting.
I was spared Mom’s anticipated comments regarding how great Russell was when we spotted Trevor Cunningham waiting for me by my mother’s truck. Unlike our conversation with Edith just moments earlier, he greeted my mother, then asked me kindly, “How is Shogun?” Two points to his side.
“He’s fine.”
“Has he been sleeping all right? I was thinking that he probably misses his bed. When my neighbor ransacked my house the other day, stealing my dog, she didn’t think to take his bed, too.”
“He’s been okay. We put him on a pillow near my cocker spaniel’s bed in the kitchen and he seems fine.”
“Still. I’d feel better if you’d take his bed to him. I brought it with me in case I saw you.”
“Okay.”
“It’s in my car. I’ll bring it over to you.”
We watched as he opened the trunk of a blue Honda Civic a couple of cars down and brought over a plaid doggy bed. I thanked him and stashed it behind the front seat. The bed was unremarkable except for the fancy stitching of “Shogun” on the front in shiny thread.
Edith had followed us. I knew by the sharp click of stiletto heels.
“What are you doing?” she demanded.
Trevor immediately stiffened and regarded her, his hands fisted. “I’m giving her Shogun’s bed.”
“Shogun doesn’t need his bed. He isn’t staying at Allida’s house for more than one more night, and she certainly doesn’t need that old thing cluttering up her house.”
“Hello, Edith,” my mother interrupted. “How are things going at your shop?”
“Uh, fine. Thanks.”
“I was planning on stopping in. I’d love to get a new outfit or two.”
“Really?”
I, too, looked at Mom in surprise, impressed that she was so intent on calming a potential altercation, she’d claimed she wanted to go shopping. Mom was whatever one would call the opposite of a clothes horse.
“Yes, are you going to be there tomorrow afternoon?”
“Absolutely. I just recently had to let my salesgirl go, so I’ll be there from now on, at least until I can get some decent help.”
“I’ll be sure and stop by, in that case. Oh, and don’t worry about the dog bed cluttering up our house. We have lots of room, and we’ll be sure that the bed goes with Shogun from here on.”
“Thank you, Marilyn.”
She turned and headed back to her car without further word to any of us. Hi
s jaw clenched, Trevor watched her walk away and let out an exasperated sigh. “You have my work and home numbers, yes?”
“Yes. I’ll set up an appointment with you and Shogun tomorrow.”
“Great. I’ll talk to you then.” He said goodbye to my mother, then nodded to Sergeant Millay, who was watching Mom and me intently from a slight distance.
When the officer caught my mother’s eye, he approached. “Mornin’, Ms. Babcock. Marilyn.”
“Hello, Andy,” Mom said. “Did anyone have any more run-ins with that Carver person who was harassing my daughter last night?”
The sergeant shook his head. “Must have left the area, like he said he would.”
“This is getting to me. Harvey Haywood suddenly acting completely crazy. This Carver person all but threatening my daughter at knifepoint. I see you haven’t made any arrests yet. Tell me something, as one friend to another. Are we safe?”
Sergeant Millay dragged a hand across his thinning hair, visually focusing on some spot on the ground. “I don’t know.”
Chapter 12
Immediately following the service that morning, I drove straight to the Loveland animal shelter and marched into John White’s office. He was sitting at his desk, going through paperwork, his light brown hair slightly unkempt. He wore an orange-red T-shirt that contrasted with the forest-green employee’s vest. He looked a little startled to see me. “Hi, Allida.”
“Okay, John. What’s going on?” I leaned on his desk, glad that while he was sitting, at least, I had a few inches on him.
“With what?”
“You know exactly what I’m talking about. I called your office a couple of times and left messages for you. I had a visit last night from Derrick Carver.”
“You mean Craig Carver?”
“Exactly. I was testing you to see if you knew his first name.”
“I... never said that I didn’t know his name, only that I had a duty to keep it from getting out to the public.”
“Right. You wouldn’t tell me who he was, and yet you or somebody else you work with must have told him who I was and how to find me.”
“No, I...nobody told him your name.”
“Then how did he find Suds? How did he know exactly where I lived and what my name was?”
“I don’t know, Allida.”
It was possible that he’d gotten my name and deduced my address from Tracy’s radio broadcast, but Carver had also gotten John’s name someplace. Carver could have called and asked for the director’s name, but something told me it was John who was hiding the truth.
In a gentle voice aimed at defusing my anger, he said, “He shouldn’t know where you live for the same reason I wouldn’t tell you his name earlier. We have a strict policy protecting information like that, so he couldn’t have learned it from here. Unless he’s a hacker and got into our computer base somehow.”
I shook my head. “The man is too stupid to tie his own shoes. He’s no hacker. You know as well as I do that he has to use his fingers to add two and two.”
“Allida, I don’t know anything about him. I’ve never met him. Someone from Animal Control took the initial call.”
“I’d like to believe you, John, but he called you specifically by name.”
The color in John’s face was rising and he couldn’t meet my eyes. “He could have called here and simply asked what the supervisor’s name was.”
“Yes. He could have. But he says you two go way back. Do you?”
John raked his fingers through his hair and didn’t answer.
“Listen to me, John. I’m more than a little fed up here. A woman gets killed right after she adopts a dog from your facility, then the dog gets taken from me at knifepoint, and you don’t even return my calls to see if we’re all right. Don’t tell me you’re an innocent bystander in all of this. I can’t buy it.”
“So you think I set you up? Why would I do that, Allida?”
“I don’t know. Tell me. What was this? A burglary gone bad? Was he using his dog somehow to try to gain entry to people’s houses?”
“Carver is an idiot. You said so yourself. He’d never have been able to think things through to cook up such a thing.”
“How do you know him well enough to say something like that?”
“I don’t. I just know his history.” His cheeks were bright red and he could barely meet my eyes.
“You’re lying, John, and I’m telling Sergeant Millay about you having a role in this.”
I whirled around, intending to storm out the door, but John lunged forward and grabbed my wrist.
“All right, Allida. Yes, I did know him, at one time. He’s someone I knew when we were kids. We happened to live near each other. And, unfortunately, back then I used some bad judgment. We used to shoplift together. He got caught and never fingered me, and I’ve always felt bad. Eventually he moved and we lost track. Then one day he ran into me in a bar.”
His story was plausible enough. I prompted, “When was this?”
He shrugged. “A couple of years ago. He told me that he’d been through some tough times and asked me if I could help him find a job.”
“You told him where you were working, or did he already know?”
“I told him then. And I said that, sure, I could get him a job, but it’d only be for minimum wage, that I barely made more than that myself. He got mad, said that that wasn’t going to be nearly enough to get himself out of his jam. He said he had run up some pretty substantial gambling debts. Next thing I knew, I read in the crime blotter in the paper that he’d been arrested on some burglary charges.”
“This was in Fort Collins?”
“Yeah. He disappeared for a while, then he resurfaced. He called here one day and asked if I could take care of Suds for a few weeks and find a good home for the puppies. That he wanted Suds back, though, as soon as he got out of jail. I watched Suds myself for a while, but my own dogs wouldn’t accept the situation, and sooner or later there was definitely going to be a dogfight, so that’s when Paul and Cassandra Randon happened to come in. I figured they’d be perfect; living out in Berthoud, they’d have all of this land for the puppies and everything.”
“If that’s the whole truth, John, why didn’t you tell me that earlier? Why did you lie to me and my mother?”
He spread his hands. “A woman had just gotten killed. The woman I’d given the dogs to. My first thought was, ‘What have I done? I hooked her up with a killer.’ But then the times didn’t jibe, so I knew Carver didn’t do it.”
“How could you know that for sure?”
“Because he was here all day. He came looking for me. I told him the dogs had been foster-adopted but that I’d give Suds back to him in three weeks. He said he was hurting for cash and needed to get out of town before he got into trouble, so I hired him to work here for a month, starting that Monday. I assure you, Allida, he didn’t leave here long enough to get out to Berthoud and back, let alone hurt someone. End of my shift, he asked to be paid in cash, then he didn’t show up in the morning. I never saw him again.”
“You two grew up in the same neighborhood?”
“In Indiana. And before you ask, I have no idea how he found me in that bar. It had to have been a coincidence, or maybe he got hold of a reunion directory and was just desperately trying to find our old classmates, hoping someone would help him out.”
“But this doesn’t explain how he knew my address.”
“No. It doesn’t. And I swear to you on the lives of the entire canine population, he didn’t get that from me. I have no idea where he did get it.”
***
I finally arranged to have my appointment to watch Shogun with Trevor. Trevor was waiting out in front of his duplex when I drove up with Shogun. Shogun’s tail began to wag and he perked up as soon as we neared. He ran over to my lap to get a view out the window, his little claws digging into the exposed flesh of my leg below my shorts.
I parked in Trevor’s driveway, and by that time,
Shogun was so excited and anxious to get out and see his owner again that he piddled on me. Now I was glad to be wearing shorts, as I could wipe his accident up easily and not have to be wearing urine, which is one of those things that tends to lower clients’ estimation of my abilities.
Shogun leapt out of the car, raced up to Trevor, and then jumped straight into his arms.
“How’s my big doggie?” Trevor said to him. “That’s a good boy.”
Watching the two of them, I soon verified what I’d already greatly suspected. Trevor loved Shogun far more than Edith did. Edith wanted Shogun primarily because she knew how much it would hurt Trevor to lose him.
All that remained for me to do was to see if Shogun was also so happy to be at his home in Berthoud with Edith that it was clear that I’d have to recommend “joint custody” and let the Cunninghams figure out the implications of that themselves. What struck me as most puzzling in this matter was, why would Edith be the one to hire me, when her spouse was so obviously more attached to the dog?
“I missed my big doggie!” Trevor was saying into the little dog’s pointy muzzle, and Shogun was yapping back in mirrored excitement.
“Shogun is obviously delighted to be here with you. Would you mind showing me your home?”
“Course not. Come on in.”
As he walked me up the driveway, I saw the curtains part at Fiona’s, his neighbor’s, place. They quickly shut again, and I was quite certain she’d seen me and wanted nothing to do with me. “Are things okay between you and your neighbor?”
“Fiona? Oh, sure. She explained the whole thing to me, and given what my bitch of a soon-to-be ex said about my treatment of Shogun, I can’t say as I blame her. Fiona is a gentle soul, just needs to be withdrawn from the world.”
With memories of all those interviews on news programs about neighbors of serial killers who said, “He was such a shy, quiet boy,” my mind leapt to the possibility that Fiona was somehow involved in the murder. “How did you get to meet her?”
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