Ruff Way to Go

by Leslie O'Kane

  “So you’re saying it’s possible that Boris was in the Cunninghams’ yard right around the time that Cassandra was killed there.”

  “Anything’s possible,” she snapped at me, “but who cares? If he was there, I didn’t see him. Nobody did.”

  Nobody did? How could she speak for anyone else? Was she protecting her parents? “I need to cut through your parents’ yard to take a look at the Cunninghams’ fence. Do you want to come with me?”

  “No. I’m going to finish up here and take off.”

  I nodded, but she’d already turned her back to me.

  I dashed across the street and onto the Haywoods’ lawn, relieved that for once they didn’t seem to be watching me from behind a curtain. I examined the length of fencing between their property and Edith’s.

  There was no tunnel underneath the fence, but there was loose soil on the Haywoods’ side of the fence that made it all too clear that this had been patched back over. I knelt by the tunnel and looked through the chain-link fence. I had an unimpeded view of Edith’s deck, where Cassandra had been murdered. The patch job of Boris’s tunnel had been fairly recent; no grass or other plants had had the chance to reclaim the soil.

  Someone knew that a dog had burrowed under the fence. It could be that Edith had discovered this, but she hadn’t had Shogun in her yard since the murder. She might not have had reason to even suspect that the tunnel existed.

  More likely this was the work of one of the Haywoods or Susan, who’d been out here dutifully covering up all signs that Boris had even been in their yard that day. The paw prints behind their bushes, too, had been swept away, and that could only have been the work of one of them.

  To my mind, this meant that Susan or one or both of her parents had, at the very least, witnessed the murder. But if that was the extent of their role, why sweep the prints away?

  Just then, Betsy came out and gave me the evil eye. “Whatcha doing trespassing on my property?”

  “I’m looking at a tunnel a dog dug under Edith’s fence.”

  Her frowned deepened, though I wouldn’t have thought that possible. “You got no business over here, young lady. You don’t go poking into my daughter’s—Haven’t you messed things up for my family enough?”

  “Susan’s dog was in Edith’s yard when Cassandra was killed, wasn’t he?”

  “No!”

  “Did you see the murder, Mrs. Haywood?”

  “No, and I don’t like your impudence! If you was my daughter, I’d have you shot!”

  I raised my eyebrows and caught my breath at the severity of her statement. “Nothing has ever made me more appreciative of my own mother made that particular remark.”

  Harvey came outside and stood beside his wife, a look of confusion and impatience on his pale face. “What all are you carryin’ on about, Betsy?” he demanded. When his wife didn’t answer right away, he turned his eyes to me. He ran his palm over his bald pate. “You’re that Babcock girl. What are you doing over here?”

  “I was just leaving, Mr. Haywood.”

  “The faster, the better,” Betsy growled, and slammed the screen door behind her.

  Susan had been rolling her mower back across the street to her parents’ garage, but stopped as she witnessed our exchange, her eyes wide with alarm.

  Harvey smiled at the sight of her. “This is my daughter Susan,” he said to me, his voice phlegmy. “Susan,” he called, “This is Marilyn’s daughter from across the street. Have you two ever met?”

  “Yes, we’ve met, Daddy.” She shot me a look that, I thought, was protective of her father. “Go back inside,” she told him. “I’ll be right there.”

  We waited a moment till he was out of earshot. “I’m sorry about your father, Susan,” I said.

  Her grimace was my only acknowledgment as she dragged the mower to the garage.

  I went home and called Sergeant Millay and relayed the information to him that I’d located the dog who’d left those prints, and that the dog belonged to Susan Nelson.

  There was a pause. “You’re certain?”

  “Yes. Susan says she didn’t see the murder, that she just called her dog and he responded, but I’m not sure how that’s possible.”

  “That’s interesting,” he said in a tone that indicated he found my news anything but interesting. “We’ll follow through on it,” he murmured. “Anything else?”

  “Haven’t I made myself clear? If Boris was in Edith’s backyard during the murder, it was possible that Susan or her parents were there, too. Or, at the least, that one of them witnessed the murder and isn’t telling.”

  “Possible, sure. But it’s hardly what anyone would consider evidence.”

  “Don’t you see? Susan had to have been lying to me when she told me how she got Boris back. That is, unless someone managed to chase Boris out of Edith’s yard unseen by Susan, which seems unlikely, considering the yards are adjacent to each other. Susan said she called him a couple of times, then he finally came running up to her. But getting a dog to go back through a tunnel he’s dug is almost impossible, if you’re anywhere in the vicinity of the tunnel.”

  “Why? The tunnels are one-way only?”

  “No,” I snapped in exasperation. “Because, provided he’s been scolded for digging—which is the case with Boris—the dog thinks: Owner plus tunneling equals punishment. He thinks he’s going to get punished for being seen going back through the tunnel.”

  Sergeant Millay said nothing, so I continued, “The dog will avoid the tunnel, act like he doesn’t know it’s there. He thinks as long as you don’t see him go through the tunnel, he won’t get punished. Instead, the dog will typically bark along the fence till you open a gate. In which case, Susan or a substitute dog-master, such as her parents, would have witnessed what had happened in Edith’s yard.”

  “But the dog already did the digging, and that’s what he’s getting punished for.”

  “Right, but dogs don’t have the lengthy cause-and-effect perception that we do. They can only associate something that’s occurred within the last few seconds as having caused the resulting punishment.”

  The sergeant let out a puff of air into the receiver. “Okay. I see what you’re saying. Like I said. We’ll look into it.” He hung up. I felt frustrated at having to accept Sergeant Millay’s patronizing attitude. Bad enough that I knew so little about anything in this world. Not being taken seriously on the one subject in which I really was knowledgeable was the proverbial “adding insult to injury.” I read the paper for a while to get my mind off the conversation.

  A half hour later, Mom rushed in carrying a turquoise-colored plastic bag with a clothing store’s style of built-in handle. She smiled at me and was so focused on me that she didn’t even greet the dogs. Today her hair was back in a ponytail, and she wore black jeans and a casual-looking black-and-pink striped blouse. At a quick glance, she looked to be in her forties, though she was pushing sixty. “Oh, great, Allida, you’re still home.”

  “Yes. I’ve given myself an actual day off.”

  She set the plastic bag on the table and started to remove its contents. “Guess where I was?”

  “The Budweiser plant on I-25?”

  “No, but only because I didn’t think of that first. I went to Edith’s clothing store.” She pulled out a light blue long-sleeved blouse in some thin man-made material. “Edith helped me pick out something especially for you. She says it’s by some fancy French clothing designer who’s all the rage right now. Edith and I both thought it would look perfect on you.”

  I was a little disconcerted at the notion of Edith’s picking something out for me. I half expected it to look and smell like a skunk hide. Was there such a thing as a gag-gift blouse? I was pleasantly surprised when I examined it. The blouse did look lovely, at least when neatly folded and being worn only by white tissue paper. “Oh, great. Thanks, Mom. It’s very nice.”

  “Aren’t you going to try it on?”

  “Of course.” She kept her e
yes on me, and I realized she expected more from me. “You mean you want me to try it on now?”

  “If it’s not too much trouble. If it doesn’t work out, I want to take it right back to Edith. Despite all of her ravings about the incredible bargains of her sale prices, it wasn’t cheap, believe me.”

  “Oh, I’m sure of that. I’ve been in that store myself, and nothing in there is inexpensive.”

  “True, but Edith assures me that’s the price one pays for these fancy designer labels.”

  I glanced at the label, which bore a name I didn’t recognize. A kinked-up piece of red thread dangled from one corner. “It’s a pretty lousy label,” I said. “The thread is unraveling.”

  I dutifully tried the blouse on. It felt really tight on my shoulders and upper arms, but looked nice enough. Just not as nice as it had on the tissue paper. I came back into the kitchen to show her. “What do you think?”

  “Pretty,” Mom said. “I like it.”

  “Doesn’t it look as if it’s a size too small? It feels a bit tight under the armpits. I’m afraid that it’ll be uncomfortable to move around in when I’m working.” I stretched my arms out in front of me as a test and immediately heard a rip as one of the shoulder seams gave way.

  Mom stared in surprise, and I joked, “There. That’s much better. Downright roomy now.”

  “Good Lord! You pay all that money for a blouse, you certainly expect the seams to hold for more than five minutes.” Mom got to her feet, grabbed me by the shoulders, and turned me around to look at the tear.

  “I guess even these fancy clothiers can get defective merchandise,” I said. “I’ll take it back to Edith and exchange it for a size larger.” Eventually, I silently added. Once enough time had passed that Edith might be able to be civil to me.

  “You shouldn’t have to do that. It’s my gift to you, after all. Maybe it would be best, though, if you came in with me so you can try everything on right there.”

  “Okay.”

  Mom took my “okay” to mean “this minute” and snatched up her car keys. Not wishing to argue, I changed back into my unprestigious but unripped blouse and climbed into the passenger seat of Mom’s pickup. We were soon at Edith’s store and found her rifling through her merchandise in something of a Tasmanian devil mode, her back to us. She was the most casually dressed I’d seen her, wearing black stretch pants and an oversized sweater.

  To my utter surprise, she looked relieved when she turned and recognized us. I would sooner have expected her to show me the door at once.

  “Marilyn. Allida, How did that blouse work out for you?”

  I studied her for a moment and decided that she must be one of those gung ho types who would never allow personal feelings to interfere with a potential sale. “Not too well. In fact, a seam ripped out when I was simply trying it on.”

  “Did it really?’’ she replied, clicking her tongue and shaking her head.

  “Yes. For a supposed original from this fancy designer, it sure wasn’t well made. I mean, even the label itself is deteriorating.’’

  Edith snatched the blouse away from me as if it had been about to combust in my hands. “This is totally out of keeping with my high-quality merchandise. They must have made a shipping mistake and I inadvertently sold your mother a factory-second at full price.’’

  “Then you won’t have any trouble getting reimbursed by your suppliers?’’ Mom asked.

  “Not at all. I’ll be right back with a perfect blouse.”

  I glanced at the table beside me and immediately spotted the blouses from which Mom had chosen. “Can’t I just pick up another from the display here and try it on?”

  “No, I...want to make absolutely certain this doesn’t happen again. I’m going to pull one from a newer shipment that I haven’t had time to restock.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  I idly flipped through the other blouses on display, while Mom examined some sweaters. The label on one particular blouse caught my eye, so much so that I unfolded it. There was a black thread sticking out from underneath the corner of the label that didn’t match the tan thread used on either the label itself or to sew the label onto the garment. I gave it a tug, just as Edith returned, peering over my shoulder with a pained expression. I grinned in embarrassment and returned the blouse to its table.

  “Here,” Edith said, thrusting the blouse into my hands, all of her salesmanship forgotten. “Try this one on. It’s a slightly different shade, but I think it will work for you.”

  I looked over and caught my mother picking at something on the window ledge. “What’re you doing?”

  “There’s a glass shard here, Edith. I wouldn’t want anyone to cut themselves.”

  “Oh, thank you,” Edith said with a sigh. “We had an... accident here a few weeks ago and a plate glass window broke. I’m still picking up little pieces, after all of this time.”

  “Susan told me about that.”

  “She did?”

  I nodded.

  “I’m surprised. She made it clear to me that it was a family secret.” She gave me a conspiratorial nod as she looked at my mother and said under her breath, “Alzheimer’s. There but for good fortune go any one of us.”

  Mom’s hearing was excellent and she said, “I can’t imagine anything worse. Honestly, Allida, if I get something like that in my old age, you have my permission to shoot me.”

  “I’ll remember you said that. I’m going to go try on the new blouse.”

  There was no comparison between the two blouses. This one felt wonderful against my skin, fit perfectly, and was somehow much more flattering than the other. I came out of the dressing room to show my mom, suffering through a flashback on my sometimes painful visits to clothing stores with my mom when I was a teen.

  “Wonderful,” Mom said, turning to Edith. “I love it. If I weren’t already getting this for my daughter, I’d buy it for myself.”

  “I thought you’d be impressed,” Edith said, still looking peeved for some reason, but making a great effort to be gracious. “This blouse is actually a newer design and my cost was nearly three times what the other was, even though it’s the same manufacturer.”

  “Oh, dear,” Mom said. “Do you need more money from me?”

  Edith forced a smile and held up her palms. “No, no. Consider it my compensation to you for your trouble. Just be sure to recommend my store to your friends, and we’ll consider it even.”

  “Thanks, Edith,” I said.

  “Yes, thank you,” Mom chimed in.

  “Do you want to wear that home?” Edith asked. “I can just snip off the price tag.”

  Mom was beaming at me. I’m not the easiest person in the world to shop for, and for her sake, I said, “Sure.”

  Edith gave me a plastic smile and came at me with those scissors with such a venom that I nearly jumped back, but she did simply snip the price tag off.

  We left. There was something bothering me. We rode in silence for a while, then Mom said, “You’re so quiet all of a sudden. You do like the blouse, don’t you?”

  “Yes. Very much. Thank you. I’m just thinking, that’s all.”

  “About what?”

  “Did you notice how all of the domes in the store had those anti-theft devices, except for my new blouse?”

  Mom shrugged. “Edith said something about not having this one in her inventory yet. She probably didn’t have the chance to get it ready for sale.”

  I looked at the label of my old blouse that I held on my lap. Suddenly I knew.

  Chapter 18

  Mom pulled into the garage. She had been talking to me during our drive back from Edith’s store, something about a flying student of hers she was having trouble with, but I was too lost in thought to listen.

  Although things were starting to add up, there were still some big holes in my theory. If only I could fill them, I could talk to Sergeant Millay and, if my theory proved correct, give him the additional evidence that might help him make an arres
t. Heaven knows I would rest a lot easier once that happened.

  We let the dogs inside, upon their insistence. Pavlov, Doppler, Sage, and Suds and pups had been outside enjoying the glorious weather. We were soon knee-deep in dogs, and I was beginning to think for the first time that it would be something of a relief when we got to put Suds and puppies up for adoption.

  Mom said over the sound of yipping puppies, who had very recently discovered their vocal cords, that she was going to “return some phone calls” from her bedroom. That was unfortunate, as I’d intended to make some calls myself, toward resolving some of the inconsistencies that I’d uncovered. She was probably finding me to be lousy company, so I merely said, “Okay, Mom,” and left it at that.

  The puppies were clowning around, their energy and their desire to wrestle with one another boundless. They were staging their puppy fights, important in establishing their ranking but even more important in establishing needed aggressiveness. Too subordinate a dog becomes too dependent on his owners.

  A pair of them tried to engage Doppler in their game, which quickly escalated into a potentially dangerous situation when Suds threatened to square off with Doppler. I needed a distraction to safely break this up, so I flung the nearest unbreakable object—a phone book—against the wall. The noise startled the dogs enough for me to scoop up Doppler and take him to another room.

  He was in something of a snit when I set him down, immediately walking away from me as if angered that I’d interfered. He was actually relieved at my rescuing him from engaging in a fight with a much larger dog; even dogs have their reputations and pride to protect. Without Shogun here, only the puppies were smaller than he, but Suds wouldn’t let him near them, and he probably missed having Shogun to boss around. Doppler wanted to be let back outside again, which was very unusual for him; he rarely wanted to be separated from the other dogs in the pack.

  While the other dogs were finally quieting down, the phone rang. Suds trotted along beside me as I went to grab the phone. Pavlov, who was starting to have some struggle with Suds’s territorial rights, admonished Suds with a warning growl. The moment I picked up the phone and said hello, Pavlov sat down by my feet, her ears back as she staked her claim on me. This really was starting to get to be a bit too much like being a den leader, for my taste.