Putting on the Dog

by Cynthia Baxter

  “I suppose she told you all about their battle over the annulment.”

  I frowned. I didn’t remember Sydney saying anything about an annulment. “Actually, what she said was that Devon had been in no hurry to end the marriage. Apparently, their divorce proceedings had been going on for years.”

  Chess looked surprised. “You mean, she didn’t tell you the reason it went on for so long?”

  “No. As a matter of fact, she said she couldn’t understand why he wasn’t in more of a hurry to get the whole thing over with.”

  “Liar, liar, pants on fire! I can’t believe that wicked woman is rewriting history that way!”

  I leaned forward, nearly knocking over my glass of iced tea. “What really happened?”

  “What really happened is that, by the end, Nettie hated that woman’s guts.” Chess’s tone had become scathing. “And the last thing he wanted was for her to walk away with even a cent of his money. Believe me, by that point, he had quite a bit.”

  “But if they’d been husband and wife, she was entitled to half of everything he had. What could he do about it?”

  A smug look settled on Chess’s face. “Have the marriage annulled, of course.”

  “I see.” And I did see, a whole lot more than I was letting on. Now my mind was clicking away madly. With Sydney and Devon’s divorce stretching on endlessly, and the threat of an annulment, that would leave Sydney with absolutely nothing from her ex. She was bound to be frustrated and angry. Perhaps even frustrated and angry enough to kill him—especially since, as the surviving spouse, she’d be likely to inherit his entire estate.

  “She’s some piece of work,” Chess went on bitterly. I noticed that his grip on Zsa Zsa had tightened. Instead of caressing her ears, he was tugging at them. The little dog kept glancing up at him anxiously, her entire body tense. “You wouldn’t believe what a big deal she made about Nettie finally coming out of the closet! She took it personally, when it really had nothing to do with her. The way she threatened to ruin him and to destroy Hugo’s career—not that I have any fond feelings for Hugo, of course...”

  Nor he for you, I thought.

  “She’s a mean, vengeful woman,” Chess went on, his teeth clenched and his voice practically a hiss. “In fact, maybe you’re right. Maybe somebody really did murder poor Nettie, and maybe that someone was—”

  Suddenly Zsa Zsa let out a yelp, leaping out of Chess’s lap so abruptly that she knocked over his tumbler of iced tea with her tail. A stream of clear brown liquid shot across the table, sending me springing to my feet.

  “Oh, Jessie, I’m so sorry! I hope I didn’t get you!”

  “No, I’m fine. Not a drop on me.”

  “And you, my poor precious puppy. What have I done?” Chess scooped up the wary Havanese. “I am so, so sorry. I never meant to hurt you!”

  It seemed like the ideal time to make my exit. The more time I spent with the love of Devon Barnett’s life, the more I found myself wondering who Chess LaMont really was.

  I pretended to glance at my watch. “Look how late it is!” I exclaimed. “I had no idea the time had passed so quickly. I’d better get going or I’ll be late for the afternoon session at the dog show. Thanks for the iced tea. You really should go into business.”

  I said my good-byes, then made a hasty retreat from Chess and Dev’s love nest. I was still wondering about the true character of Chess LaMont as I climbed into my van and drove away. And there seemed like no better time than the present to find out.

  Driving away from 145 Beach Lane filled me with relief. Curiosity, as well. I wondered what I’d find out by following up on Hugo Fontana’s suggestion that I check into Chess LaMont’s past.

  I drove my van into East Brompton, then pulled into the parking lot of a small supermarket where there were plenty of empty spaces. I whipped out my cell phone and dialed the phone number I’d jotted down the day before.

  “Sweet Elm Public Library,” a cheerful voice greeted me. “How can I help you?”

  “Can you connect me with Reference, please?”

  “Certainly. Please hold.”

  A few seconds passed before I heard a different woman’s voice, this one considerably more crisp. “Reference. Ms. Pruitt speaking.”

  “My name is Jessica Popper,” I began before launching into the same story I’d given yesterday. “I live in New York, and I’m planning a surprise party for a friend of mine who grew up in Sweet Elm. I thought it might be fun to get hold of some pieces of his past, like his picture from his high school yearbook.”

  “We keep all the Sweet Elm High School yearbooks on file, all the way back to 1928.” Ms. Pruitt’s voice had softened, and a distinct note of pride had crept in. “What year did your friend graduate?”

  “I believe it was about ten years ago. I’m afraid I don’t know the actual year.”

  “In that case, what’s his name?”

  “Chester LaMont.”

  The silence at the other end lasted so long I thought we’d been cut off.

  “Hello?” I asked.

  “Who did you say you were?” Ms. Pruitt asked. By this point, all traces of friendliness were gone.

  “A friend. I’m just trying to find out something about Chester’s years in Sweet Elm.”

  “If that’s what you want, I’ve got plenty of information,” Ms. Pruitt said frostily. “I’ve got pages and pages I can send you that spell out the whole story. In fact, if you’ve got a fax machine, I’d be more than happy to send them right now.”

  I thought quickly, then pulled Suzanne’s business card out of my wallet. I read off her fax number slowly as, far away in Sweet Elm, Iowa, Ms. Pruitt jotted it down.

  “I’ll be sending you articles from our local paper here in Sweet Elm,” Ms. Pruitt said crisply. “I believe they’ll tell you everything you need to know.”

  “Thank you.” I was debating whether to ask her for a clue as to what they contained when she said, “I don’t recognize that area code. Where are you calling from?”

  “East Brompton, New York.”

  “That’s on Long Island, isn’t it?” Ms. Pruitt asked.

  “Yes.”

  “One of those fancy summer communities, right?”

  “Well...yes.”

  “Is that where Chester ended up?”

  “Part of the time, anyway. He spends his summers out here.”

  “Sounds like he landed on his feet. That type usually does.” She sniffed disapprovingly. “Well, I suppose none of that is any of my business. All I care about is the fact that he’s gone. I know the Montgomery boy—or ‘LaMont,’ as he calls himself now—is your friend. But I say good riddance to bad rubbish.”

  What was that about? I wondered. But she hung up before I had a chance to say another word. Hopefully, I’d find out soon enough. I called Suzanne’s office, told her about the fax I was expecting, and sat back in my seat to ponder the situation.

  The more dealings I had with Chess, I thought, the more complicated he seemed. My first impression of him was that he was a sweet, charming guy. But he clearly got into some kind of trouble back in his hometown, maybe even something bad enough that he packed his bags and hightailed it out of there.

  Then again, Ms. Pruitt’s definition of “bad rubbish” could very well be different from mine. Maybe Chess’s unforgivable offense had been nothing worse than organizing a Gay Pride parade or showing up at the Senior Prom in drag.

  While I was sitting in my car, cell phone in hand, I decided to try the police again. First I dialed the East Brompton Police Department.

  “Hello, this is Jessica Popper.” I fought the temptation to add the word “again.” “I’ve already left a couple of messages, but—”

  “You mean, you still haven’t heard back?” The woman at the other end of the line sounded accusing, as if somehow it had been my fault.

  “No, I haven’t,” I told her politely. “I wouldn’t keep calling if I didn’t—”

  “I’ll leave Serge
ant Bangs a message,” she interrupted crossly. “That’s really all I can do. It’s not up to me whether or not he returns his calls.”

  “We live to serve,” I muttered into the phone. Fortunately, she’d already hung up.

  I closed my eyes, leaned my head back against the front seat, and pushed a tremendous amount of air out through my lungs in what turned into a loud, frustrated sigh. But instead of feeling defeated, I felt a renewed sense of purpose. I poked at the buttons of my cell phone again, this time dialing Norfolk County Homicide.

  “Homicide,” a deep male voice answered flatly. “Officer Bongiovanni speaking.”

  “This is Dr. Jessica Popper,” I said crisply. “I have some information about the death of Devon Barnett in East Brompton. I’d like to speak to someone—”

  “I’ll have to take your name and number.” I wondered if Officer Bongiovanni had attended the same charm school as the woman who answered the phone for the East Brompton Police. “There’s nobody here right now to take your call.”

  “Nobody there?” What did the Norfolk County Homicide Squad have to do that was more important than investigating murders? I wondered.

  Fortunately, Officer Bongiovanni seemed to be in a chatty mood. “There’s a press conference today, over at the courthouse,” he explained. “They got all the TV stations and the newspapers there. They’ll probably be tied up for a while.”

  Of course, Lieutenant Falcone wouldn’t miss that for the world, I thought wryly. How could the chance to find a killer or two possibly compete with a photo op?

  “Let me take your name and number—”

  As I recited the information as calmly as I could, I was certain there had to be steam coming out of my ears. In fact, I was surprised the van’s windows didn’t fog up. There has to be a way to get Falcone’s attention, I thought. I just haven’t figured out what it is yet.

  As I pulled into the parking lot of Suzanne’s office in Poxabogue, I glanced at my watch and saw it was getting late. If I was going to get back to the dog show in time to meet Emily and my dogs right after the lunch break, I had to hustle.

  I rushed inside and found a waiting room full of clients and their pets. My frenzied state elicited near-hysteria from a tiny Pekingese, who barked at me shrilly from the safety of his owner’s designer pocketbook. The immense Rottweiler next to him just eyed me, as if he knew he didn’t have to work quite as hard to show us all who was really boss.

  Shelley was standing at the receptionist’s desk, perusing the papers in a folder. She brightened when she spotted me.

  “Hi, Jessie,” she greeted me. “I’m afraid Suzanne’s with a client right now. But if you can wait—”

  “That’s okay. I’m just here to pick up a fax.”

  She looked at me strangely. “I was wondering what that was all about.”

  The expression on her face warned me that I’d better brace myself. And as she handed me several pages held together with a paper clip, I thought I was prepared for anything.

  But I could practically feel my eyes popping out of my head as I read the headline that screamed at me from the front page of the Sweet Elm Examiner:

  SWEET ELM STUDENT QUESTIONED

  IN ENGLISH TEACHER’S MURDER

  Chapter 13

  “When the mouse laughs at the cat, there’s a hole nearby.”

  —Nigerian proverb

  Are you okay, Jessie?” Shelley asked, her face tense with concern.

  I just nodded, unable to respond.

  “Do you want some water?”

  “No, thanks. But is there someplace quiet I can sit for a few minutes while I read through this?”

  “Sure. There’s a bench in the back room, where we store supplies,” she replied, pointing. “No one will bother you there.”

  Clutching the stack of papers in my hand, I dashed to the back room and sank onto the wooden bench I found pushed into a corner. I sorted through the pages, putting them in order. I had a feeling I was about to read quite a story, and I wanted to reconstruct the events exactly as they’d occurred.

  I noted that the newspapers they’d been copied from were ten years old, with dates that ran from April to May. I started with page one.

  SWEET ELM TEACHER MISSING

  A Sweet Elm High School English teacher is missing, according to Sheriff Clarence Colby of the Sweet Elm Police Department. Sheriff Colby reported that the school principal, Marion Carson, contacted the Sweet Elm Police Department at approximately 4:15 P.M. on Monday and reported that no one had heard from Edmund Sylvester, 32, since the previous Friday afternoon, when he left the building for the day.

  Sylvester, a native of Ernst, Kansas, has been teaching at Sweet Elm High School for three years. He previously taught at schools in Kingsboro, Ohio, East Stonington, Nebraska, and Kirby, Illinois. In addition to teaching English, he runs the Drama Club after school. Two years ago, he instituted an annual school trip to New York City so his students could see plays performed by professional actors.

  Sheriff Colby told the Sweet Elm Examiner, “Everybody in this town knows the worst thing that ever happens around here is that somebody runs the stop light at the corner of Sweet Elm and Main. At this point, there’s no suspicion of foul play. I have a feeling this Sylvester fellow has simply taken it upon himself to skip town. Maybe he just decided he needed a change of scenery. I guess it’s possible that he’s in some kind of trouble, but as far as I know, it’s not with anybody around here.”

  Edmund Sylvester lives alone, and no family members could be located for questioning. Anyone who has any information about his whereabouts is asked to call Sheriff Clarence Colby at the police station.

  I checked the date: Friday, April 7. The second article that Ms. Pruitt had faxed, had run the following Friday, in the next edition of the Sweet Elm Examiner. This one didn’t make the front page. It had been clipped from page five, where it was wedged between an advertisement for wheelbarrows at Harris Hardware and a coupon from The Butter Barn, two dollars off the “Lip-Smackin’ Rib-Ticklin’ All-You-Can-Eat Breakfast Bar.”

  ENGLISH TEACHER STILL MISSING

  The plot thickens, I thought, frowning as I skimmed the article.

  I was trying to reserve judgment until I got the whole story, but the uncomfortable gnawing feeling I’d had in my stomach ever since Shelley handed me the fax was quickly becoming more intense. The next article, dated exactly two weeks after the newspaper’s initial report of Edmund Sylvester’s disappearance, didn’t help.

  ENGLISH TEACHER FOUND MURDERED

  The body of Edmund Sylvester was discovered in the woods behind The Butter Barn late Saturday night, according to Sergeant Bradford Beene of the Ardmore County Homicide Squad. Sergeant Beene said yesterday that an autopsy performed by the Ardmore County Medical Examiner, Dr. Jonah Brooks, determined that Sylvester was murdered.

  According to the medical examiner’s report, Sylvester had been dead for approximately three weeks. The cause of death was massive head injuries from repeated blows with a large, heavy object. Police have not yet determined the murder weapon.

  An investigation is ongoing. Anyone who has any information is asked to contact the Ardmore County Homicide Squad at 555-3000.

  I swallowed, which wasn’t easy. My mouth was so dry that even the metallic taste was gone. I already knew the saga of Mr. Sylvester wasn’t leading anyplace good—and that sooner or later Chess LaMont was going to appear as one of the players.

  I didn’t have to wait much longer. The next article, the fourth, was the one whose headline had originally caught my eye. I forced myself to read it slowly so I wouldn’t miss a single word.

  SWEET ELM STUDENT QUESTIONED IN ENGLISH TEACHER’S MURDER

  A 17-year-old high school senior is among the suspects that Ardmore County Police have identified in the murder of Sweet Elm High School English teacher Edmund Sylvester. Chester Montgomery, a student at the school, was brought in for questioning on Tuesday, but was later released, Sergeant Bradford B
eene of the Ardmore County Homicide Squad said.

  “We’ve been questioning people at the school and around town, and we’ve learned that Mr. Montgomery and Mr. Sylvester had a very close relationship,” Sergeant Beene stated. “Sources close to the investigation say the two were inseparable.” He added that the police have been focusing on Montgomery since two teachers at the school came forward and said they overheard a heated argument between Sylvester and Montgomery on Friday night. According to the two witnesses, the argument ended with a threat. Sylvester and Montgomery were subsequently seen leaving school together in Sylvester’s car.

  Students at Sweet Elm High School were stunned to hear that a fellow student was being questioned by police. Another student in the Drama Club, who wished to remain anonymous, said, “Mr. Sylvester and Chester spent a lot of time together after school, discussing plays and talking about Chess’s aspirations of moving to New York and doing something creative. I used to see them together all the time, driving around in Mr. Sylvester’s car and taking walks on the trails behind the stores. Chester really liked Mr. Sylvester. I can’t imagine why he would want to hurt him.”

  My mouth was dryer than ever. But as I turned the page, I noticed my hands were clammy. The next article was dated a week later.

  JUDGE’S SON PROVIDES ALIBI FOR SWEET ELM STUDENT

  Sergeant Bradford Beene of the Ardmore County Homicide Squad has announced that Chester Montgomery is no longer a suspect in the murder of Edmund Sylvester. According to Sergeant Beene, a classmate at Sweet Elm High School, Ted Welling, came forward to provide Montgomery with an alibi for the weekend that Sylvester is believed to have been murdered.

  Ted Welling, the son of Judge Theodore Welling of the U.S. Court of Appeals in Iowa City, told police that he and Montgomery spent the entire weekend at the Welling family’s house at Shimmering Lake. According to Sergeant Beene, Welling said that Montgomery had not been out of his sight the entire weekend, from the time that Edmund Sylvester dropped him off at his house shortly after school ended on Friday until Monday morning, when the two boys returned to Sweet Elm and went straight to school.