“You said you’d pick me up at ten. I gave up waiting for you.”
To an outsider, Beth’s decision not to wait sounded very reasonable, since it was now well after eleven. Chet, however, hollered, “Shit!” He got out of the car, still in the middle of the road. He was even taller than I’d first imagined. He looked to be at least six-foot-five. “I was a couple minutes late. Why make a federal case out of it!” He crossed the street, ignoring the honk of a pickup that had to drive around his car.
Beth took a step back and gestured at me. “This is Allida Babcock. She’s working with Sage. She already—”
He shifted his glare onto me. “What the hell makes you think you can pull this dog shrink shit on Beth?” He towered over me, clearly enjoying the intimidation factor.
“Because what I do works. I help dog owners learn how to eliminate the cause of their dog’s behavioral problems. And what is your noble occupation, Chet?”
He crossed his arms and studied me at length. “You’re one of those smart mouthed pipsqueak types, aren’t you?”
“To tell you the truth, I’m not sure. As soon as I meet enough smart mouthed pipsqueaks to know what they’re like, I’ll let you know.” I could hear Russell’s footfalls as he approached from behind me and wished I could signal him to stay out of this.
“You know, Beth might fall for this dog psych garbage. ‘Oh, boo hoo!’” he imitated in a high voice. “‘My dog’s depressed.’ But I don’t buy it. I’m not letting you con Beth out of—”
“Are you having some kind of a problem here, buddy?” Russell asked.
Chet was a full foot taller and guffawed as he looked down at Russell. “You’ve got to be shitting me. What would you do if I did have a problem? Karate chop me in the knee?”
Beth grabbed onto her boyfriend’s arm and started to try to drag him toward the car. “Oh, please, Chet. Can’t we just go?” Sage, in the meantime, started growling at Chet.
Chet leveled a finger at me. “You watch yourself, little girl. You try to swindle Beth, and you’ll wish you didn’t have to answer to me!”
The basketball game proved to be a welcome diversion to my unpleasant encounter with Beth’s boyfriend, though the experience zapped my concentration during the first half. Chet had struck me as a total bully—the kind who wants to dominate “his woman.” I was worried for Beth’s sake, but was also determined not to discuss my concerns with Russell, who was too likely to jump on any chance to build on our relationship.
The Colorado Buffaloes had had a losing program when I left the state years ago, but now they had what announcers and sports writers would call some “real scrappy kids” who worked hard on defense. Offensively, however, they had a tendency to stand around the perimeter a little too much. They needed a big man or two to work the paint. This team didn’t have that luxury.
Russell and I struggled to make conversation, and, to my annoyance, Russell stared at my face in profile throughout the game. The Buffs won, and my—lest I forget— dog-disliking date and I soon found ourselves in queue with thousands of other cars waiting to get out of the parking lot.
“The Buffs’ point guard is terrific,” I said. “His ball control is something to behold.”
“So are you,” Russell said, then blushed.
Oh, good grief! Nobody had ever even inadvertently called me “something to behold.” Under the circumstances, I decided to stay away from the topic of balls entirely.
He cleared his throat, his cheeks crimson. “Traffic sure is backed up.” After a moment, he seemed to regain his composure and, while staring straight ahead, asked me, “So, how come you’re not married or anything?”
“I was engaged after college. Things just didn’t work out.”
“What happened?”
“He eloped with my maid of honor.”
“Ouch. Having had friends like that, it’s no wonder you like dogs.”
I stared at Russell in surprise. “Dogs certainly do tend to be more loyal than certain people. Not to mention more trainable.” This conversation was making me a tad uncomfortable. Privately I’d acknowledged that that particular chapter in my life had taught me to be a little overly cautious about my choices in both girlfriends and in lovers. The last thing I’d expected from Russell Greene was insightful analysis into my psyche—not something I found enjoyable this early in a relationship. It was time to employ a time-honored technique for dealing with men— get them to talk about themselves. “How about you?”
“Haven’t found the right woman. Yet.” He tapped the steering wheel nervously. “Or at least, if I have, she doesn’t know she’s the one.” His cheeks reddened once again and he shot me the quickest of glances. “Got any suggestions on ways I could sweep her off her feet?”
Well, so much for the get-him-to-talk-about-himself technique. Of course, if I were an expert on handling men, I wouldn’t still be single and barely scratching out a living for myself at age thirty-two. “No, but I can give you one minor suggestion. Don’t call her up when she’s on the radio and ask her out. We women tend to react badly to being held up to public ridicule.”
“Now she tells me.”
There was an awkward pause, but then traffic started to move. When we finally emerged from the lot, he commented, “That little dog in your office was kind of cute. Was he yours?”
“Yes. His name’s Doppler.”
Russell smiled. “Maybe you can introduce us sometime.”
“You want to meet my cocker spaniel?”
“He looks about my speed.”
“So I take it you wouldn’t want to meet my German shepherd?”
Russell laughed, then stopped when he saw that I wasn’t joining him. “That, uh, that wasn’t a joke, was it.”
“No, I have a cute big dog, too.”
“Oh,” Russell replied, then fell into silence. As we neared our office, he said, “Are you going to invite me in for a cup of coffee?”
“No, our cups are otherwise occupied. Besides, I’m just going to tidy up a bit in my office and then head out to my next appointment.” Actually, my appointment with the golden that was chewing up house and home was two hours away, but I still wasn’t sure I should be dating Russell Greene, who was, after all, glaringly incompatible with me in at least one key aspect.
Russell nodded and pulled up along the curb by the steps. “Thanks, Allida. I enjoyed being with you today. I’m glad you let me force you into coming with me.”
“I had a great time.” It suddenly struck me that my automatic response had been the truth, and the realization made me uncomfortable. “Thanks for...forcing me.” I stepped out, taking a deep breath of the rapidly chilling air. The weather was being a bit schizophrenic today, but so were my feelings regarding my officemate. He lifted a palm in a goodbye wave, then drove off pretty quickly for someone who’d claimed to want to meet my dog.
I went in, Doppler rushing over toward me then flopping at my feet for a tummy rub. “So, little guy. Did you take any calls for me while I was out?” I rose and pressed the button on my answering machine, but once again only a series of quick hang ups had been recorded. Doppler leapt at me, scrambling to get his front paws even waist high.
“Down! Just because you’re small doesn’t mean I can cut you slack. I don’t get any special treatment ‘cause of my height.” Doppler picked up on my tone of voice and looked appropriately contrite, his head hanging below his shoulder and his big brown eyes looking up at me.
I had to get the bathroom back into some acceptable condition before leaving. Russell might take offense at finding the flowers he’d bought me floating in the sink.
Doppler started barking before I could transfer all the flowers into the jar. I went to see what was going on.
I gasped at the unexpected sight of Sage on the tiny cement walkway to my door. He appeared to have dragged his unattended leash with him. There was no sign of Beth.
I rushed to the door and opened it. Sage did not come in, but instead climbed two
stairs, then stood looking at me, waiting for me to follow.
“Good dog. Wait.” My heart was already pounding in what I could only pray was false alarm. The handle of the leash was right in front of me.
The green nylon weave was now dark. “Please, let that be mud,” I said to myself. As I started to reach for it, the collie climbed another stair. “Sage, stay.”
I grabbed the loop, but then dropped it in shock. The flecks that stuck to my hand were red. I stared at them.
My hands were flecked with dried blood.
Chapter 7
I scanned the street and called “Beth!” There was no answer. Maybe Sage would lead me to her. I glanced again at the leash and took a calming breath. The blood was probably from the cut on Beth’s thumb yesterday. Sage could have tugged on the leash, which might have reopened the wound.
“Sage, sit. Stay.” He obeyed, and I dashed inside the office and grabbed a leash. Doppler was picking up on my excitement. He barked and hopped at my knees, expecting to go with me now that I’d picked up a leash.
“No. Down, Dop.”
He stopped hopping and cocked his adorable head at me, relaying his confusion. I glanced through the glass door at Sage, who was waiting for me patiently.
I grabbed a lilac-colored sticky notepad, wrote: Beth—I have Sage, A., and rushed out the door, stuck the note on the glass, and locked the door behind me.
Doppler rushed to the door and put his paws on the glass. It killed me to have to leave him in my office again. I had a persistent and, hopefully, irrational fear that some evil person had tracked Beth through my office address that I’d given over the radio. If so, he’d come here next, and poor little Doppler would be unprotected. Yet I had no choice. If I were to have any hope of Sage’s leading me to Beth, he could not be distracted by a second dog.
I removed the leash on Sage’s collar, telling myself I was only doing it because I didn’t want to hold on to something blood-soaked, not because Sage’s leash might be evidence in a horrible crime. My hands shook nonetheless. I slipped over his head a thick-linked chain collar attached to a long, inch-wide blue leash. Nothing could get a dog’s attention faster than the sound and sensation of a quick snap on this type of leash. If Beth was in serious trouble, I would need Sage’s instantaneous response.
How did all of this get so out of control so fast? I was a dog psychologist, for heaven’s sake! Now here I was, scared to death that my first Boulder customer had been murdered because of something some maniac had heard her say to me on the radio!
Unlike yours truly, the collie had calmed down in the few moments it took me to leave my office. He no longer seemed anxious for me to follow him. That had to be a good sign. Surely, if Beth was severely injured while the two of them had been out walking, Sage would be more agitated than this. Instead, he sat patiently while I switched leashes, one ear up and one down, and peering over that almost comical long, bumpy muzzle of his.
“Sage, find Beth,” I told the collie. He trotted toward the busy intersection at Broadway and Mapleton. As we waited, I wondered how he’d managed to cross this intersection alone to get to my office.
I encouraged him to go quickly across the road—which meant we crossed at a dead run. As we trotted along the streets lined with enormous budding maple trees, I listened for sirens. Sage led me a block south, and I realized he was leading me back to Beth’s house on Pine Street.
My heart was thumping as the two of us headed up the walkway to Beth’s house. The screen door was shut, but the inner door was open halfway. “Beth?” I called as I opened the screen door. Sage trotted in ahead of me. He stopped just inside the doorway and barked at something in die kitchen, directly ahead of us. After three short barks, he looked back at me.
“It’s all right, boy,” I said quietly, not believing my words for a second. Dogs are so trusting, even when their handlers are quaking in their shoes. Keeping one hand on Sage’s soft, long coat, I cautiously stepped alongside the large dog, not even sure what to hope to see.
It was Beth’s boyfriend, Chet, just rising from the kitchen table, a cup of coffee and a newspaper in front of him. Indoors he looked larger than ever. He wore work boots, jeans and a black-and-white plaid shirt over a forest green T-shirt. His curly brown hair was uncombed.
“What are you doing here?” he demanded, glaring at me with unmasked menace.
A horrid thought occurred to me. Beth could be here, beaten to a pulp by this creep. If he were keeping her here against her will, what better way for her to contact help than to send her dog out a window with a bloodstained leash?
Considering our lousy first encounter, there was no sense in my trying to force pleasantries. I called upon my best professional facade—which was effective for dogs but not necessarily for humans—and said calmly, “I’m bringing Beth’s dog back. He showed up at my office, dragging his leash. Is Beth here?”
“No.”
“Do you know where she is?” I wanted to scream at him. I really, really didn’t like or trust this guy, and my gut reaction was telling me Beth was in deep trouble.
“No.” He maintained a snide, taunting expression on his face as he stared into my eyes.
“When did you last see her?”
“What is this? Twenty Questions? I don’t know where she is. I’m waiting for her.”
“But you went out to brunch with her a couple of hours ago, right?”
“No.”
That did it. Unwilling and unable to continue false calmness, I dropped Sage’s leash, whirled around on a heel, and charged down the hallway.
“Beth? Are you here?” I hollered. I threw open the first closed door—a bedroom that Beth apparently had been using as a storage room. There were no signs that anyone had been in here for days.
Chet overtook me. “Hey! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” He grabbed my shoulder. His fingers dug into me.
I wrenched my shoulder free. “Look, Chet! I’ve gathered that ‘no’ is your favorite word and that you don’t want to talk to me, but Sage’s leash was bloodstained and there’s no sign of Beth.”
Chet’s enormous hands were still fisted, but his expression turned from anger to surprise.
“I’m more than a little bit concerned here,” I continued. “The last I saw of her was as she was getting into your car with Sage, and the two of you were arguing. So, have it your way and don’t talk to me, because I’m calling the police!”
I got all of two steps toward the kitchen phone before Chet cried, “Wait.” He still looked angry enough to hit me, but Sage had followed us and was now standing by my side in the hallway. Sage was growling and barking at Chet, who ignored the dog’s threatening demeanor, took a couple of long strides, and grabbed the leash to inspect it. “What do you mean, Sage’s leash was bloody? It looks fine to me.”
“This isn’t his leash.” I tried to step around him toward the second room at the end of the hallway. This had to be Beth’s bedroom, and I could search for her while calling the police. “Excuse me, I need to get to the phone.”
He grabbed me by both shoulders this time. “When did Sage get to your office?”
I leveled a glare at him, and he let go just as I was considering giving him a knee to the groin. “I left when you did, around eleven-thirty. I got back there around two. I didn’t see Sage when I first arrived, but he might have been waiting for me on the lawn someplace.”
“My God,” Chet whispered, slowly paling. “Somebody could have...This is all my fault. We had a terrible argument. Beth and Sage got out of the car at...I don’t know...must have been Arapahoe and Twenty-eighth Street. I ate alone, finally cooled down, and came here ‘bout an hour ago, but there was no sign of her. Maybe somebody...”
Chet seemed so worried that I found myself believing him and feeling the need to reassure him. If this was all a show, he was a fine actor. “She cut her thumb earlier. Maybe that’s where the blood was from. She could have reopened the cut when Sage ran away from her. She mi
ght just be out searching for her dog, with no way of knowing he’s with us.”
As though he hadn’t heard a word, Chet cried, “Shit. Her car’s still here. But when the dog was gone and his leash, I figured she was just...out walking him or something.”
“Were there any clues that she’d been back since you last saw her?”
“Clues?”
“Yeah, you know. The same clothes that she’d been wearing, her fanny pack, something like that?” She’d had a great deal of money on her when she was in my office a couple of hours ago, I thought to myself. Perhaps she’d been mugged.
“I, uh, we’d better go check.” He led the way into the room at the end of the hall, which was, indeed, Beth’s bedroom. The king-size waterbed had been left unmade. Only one side was mussed, as though Beth had slept alone last night. I studied Chet’s face in profile. There was a shocked glaze to his expression. By all appearances, his worry seemed genuine, but I was much more skilled at judging dogs’ reactions than my fellow two-leggers’. I quickly searched the bathroom and closet for any signs of blood or, God forbid, Beth’s body. There was nothing. I felt only slightly relieved.
“Shit,” Chet said, which was apparently his second favorite word. “Here’s her fanny pack. She had to have come here after she got out of the car.” He held up the purple canvas fanny pack, which did indeed appear to be the one she’d had on when she was at my office that morning.
“Maybe that’s good news,” I replied, not knowing what else to say.
He searched through the pack. “Her money’s here, but her knife’s gone. She must have taken that with her.” He dropped the pack onto the bed.
“Why would she take a switchblade with her while she was walking the dog?”
He widened his eyes at me as if amazed at the stupidity of my question. “For self protection. I told her never to go out without it.” He glanced at the fanny-pack and rubbed his prominent chin. “Well, shit! I’m calling the police,” Chet said, more to himself than to me.
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