Groomed For Murder: A Pet Boutique Mystery

by Annie Knox

  I couldn’t resist a little teasing. “So you and Aunt Dolly, huh?”

  Richard coughed and glared at me.

  “Don’t get any ideas, young lady. Dorothy is a fine woman, and it is sometimes nice to share the companionship of one of your peers.”

  Didn’t I know the truth of that? I caught a glimpse of Rena grinning out of the corner of my eye, and I was worried she’d push it further. No sense poking a sleeping bear.

  “I’m glad you and Dolly had a chance to catch up and get to know one another a little better,” I said.

  He harrumphed, seemingly placated.

  “Richard,” I said. “Any chance you have space for another dog? Daisy May needs a home pretty bad, and she’s a great dog. Hasn’t made a single mess in the house, hasn’t chewed anything other than toys, and she’s quiet as a mouse.”

  The dog in question was lying on the floor gnawing on a rawhide toy. As if she knew we were talking about her, she looked up, raised her ears, and tilted her head to the side.

  Richard looked her up and down, eyes squinted.

  “She looks like a fine dog,” he said, “but MacArthur flies solo.”

  “Oh,” I said, genuinely disappointed. Richard Greene might be a pain in my patoot, but there was no question he loved his dog. It would have felt good entrusting Daisy to such a solid person.

  Richard cleared his throat. “I have to get back to the shop. Left MacArthur in charge.”

  Without further ado, he left.

  I glanced down at Packer, who was chewing on his own spitty rawhide toy. “Listen, little guy, I am never leaving you in charge of the store.”

  Rena whistled low. “Holy cow, that is a relief. I’ve spent at least an hour on the phone with the MDA ever since Richard brought up the problem, and they still can’t figure out which forms I do and do not have to fill out. Richard giving us until July gives us some serious breathing room.”

  “I’m still trying to get past the fact that Aunt Dolly went on a date with the man and managed to sweet-talk him into apologizing.”

  Rena shook her head, clicking her tongue. “Don’t underestimate the power of Dolly’s raw feminine energy. That woman has got it going on.”

  We both collapsed into a heap of giggles.

  When we straightened up, I continued pulling the rack of leashes into the corner. I sobered quickly. Aunt Dolly had done us yet another favor. I felt so deeply in her debt both for the money she’d loaned me to start my business and for her confidence in me, and now she’d run interference between Richard and me twice. It seemed the least I could do was deliver one legitimate murder suspect to the police so my aunt wouldn’t be convicted for a crime she didn’t commit.

  “What are you two up to? All that laughter makes me very nervous.” Ingrid made her way carefully down the stairs, a stack of glass dessert plates rattling in her hands.

  “We were talking about Dolly,” Rena said.

  “Well, that is a humorous subject,” Ingrid deadpanned.

  “What’s with the plates?” Rena asked.

  “Oh, these old things were up in the attic, and I thought they would be nice to use for the cake at the wedding.”

  “The attic?” I gasped.

  “Yes. Harvey went up to get them.”

  I gasped. The thought of frail Harvey climbing a rickety folding ladder up into the must and debris of that attic truly terrified me. The words “broken hip” were flashing like neon in my brain.

  Ingrid tutted softly. “Give us some credit, Izzy. We may be old, but we do have our wits about us. I held the ladder, and I knew exactly where to find the boxes of plates. He handed them down with great care.” She paused. “And I had nine-one-one punched into my phone, ready to hit ‘send.’”

  I rushed over to take the plates from Ingrid’s hands and then nearly dropped them when the bell over our front door jingled. We all turned to find Jane Porter standing just inside the doorway.

  Rena and I exchanged nervous glances.

  “Hello, Ingrid. Girls.”

  “Hello, Jane,” Ingrid replied. “What brings you to our doorstep today? I didn’t know you had a furry friend to pamper.”

  “I don’t. I came to see you. Girls, would you mind giving us a minute?”

  Rena and I started beating a hasty retreat to the back kitchen.

  “No,” Ingrid stated.

  We stopped walking midstride.

  “Whatever you have to say to me you can say in front of these two. In fact, I’d prefer they stay.” Ingrid’s words froze hard in the air between us all.

  Jane sighed. “I wanted to talk to you about the picture.”

  “Right. The picture. If you meant to hurt me, you did a fine job of it.”

  “Ingrid. That wasn’t my intent at all. Look, this thing between us has been festering for almost thirty-five years. Knute Hammer isn’t just my arm candy.”

  I coughed to cover a laugh. Knute was a far sight from arm candy.

  “We talk,” Jane continued. “We’ve been talking about the need to put things in the past right before you can move forward with a clean slate. That’s what I’m trying to do.”

  “By reminding me of your affair with my husband,” Ingrid snapped.

  “No.” Jane sighed again and her shoulders sagged. “I should have insisted on giving you that picture myself so I could have explained. I took that picture of Arnold one day during our affair. We were picnicking down by Badger Lake, and the light was just perfect. And he looked so terribly happy.”

  “I noticed,” Ingrid said, her voice tight with emotion.

  “You know what we’d been talking about? What made him so happy? You. He’d told me a story about you trying to refinish the wood floors in this very room, and he laughed.” Jane raised a hand, fending off comment. “Not at you, but with joy. That memory of you gave him joy.

  “See, I wasn’t happy in my marriage, and I harbored hopes that the affair might turn into something real. But that was the day when I knew it would never be more than a fling. That was the day that I knew that Arnold was with me because he was lonely, but that he loved you deeply.”

  I glanced at Ingrid, and I’ll be darned if I didn’t see the reflection of tears in her eyes.

  “Your marriage was real, Ingrid. Your love was real.”

  * * *

  Rena fixed Ingrid a cup of tea, and sent her upstairs. She was clearly overwrought and needed the time to decompress.

  Late afternoon brought a steady flow of customers, all of whom flocked immediately to the center island display that Ingrid and I had festooned in bright springtime colors. She’d made the right choice going for bold rather than pastel. Rena’s barkery was hopping, too, with all the customers lured to her baked goods by the luscious scent of carrot-carob cupcakes wafting from the kitchen.

  I had just finished wrapping a sparkling pink tutu and a matching pink hair bow for a woman leading a Lhasa apso on a rhinestone-studded leash, when Pamela Rawlins walked through the front door.

  I put on my biggest, most welcoming smile, and was happy to see her return it.

  “How’s Tonga?” I asked.

  “Doing well. Thank you for asking. She’s been wearing the collar I bought from you, and I must say the craftsmanship is superb.”

  “I try to make as much in-house as I can, but I have a supplier for my leather goods. She’s a genius with dying and stitching.”

  “Well,” Pamela said, “as you can tell by Tonga’s absence, I’m not here to shop. I bring you good news.”

  I felt my heart skip a beat. Please, please, please . . .

  “I’ve spoken with our director, Philip Denford, and the rest of the board, and we’re in agreement that Merryville will make a perfect venue for our summer spectacular in July, our biggest event of the year.”

  “Oh, wow. That’s excelle
nt news.”

  “Yes. We were a bit concerned that the town was too small, that there wouldn’t be a building big enough to host the main event. After all, we’ll be awarding the Denford Prize, a bejeweled collar dangle worth well over a hundred thousand dollars. We couldn’t very well just use pop-up tents.”

  “So, uh, what did you find?” I didn’t want to jinx anything, but I really couldn’t imagine anyplace bigger than the high school gymnasium.

  “We spoke with Hal Olson, Pris’s husband. . . . Do you know him?”

  Only too well, I thought. I confined my spoken answer to “Yes.”

  “Well, he has some development he’s working on, and he’s decided to build a convention center on the site. He assures us it will be done by the end of June, and our July event will be the first held in the new center.”

  My mind was spinning. Hal was scrapping the half-built condos in favor of a convention center that couldn’t be more than a thought in his head? He’d promised it by July? And he somehow thought all this would work out despite the burrowing owls?

  It sounded crazy. But like a good small-town girl, I opted to keep crazy in the family.

  “Sounds perfect,” I said.

  “Well, Tonga and I are hitting the road for Fargo first thing in the morning, and I want to take a few last pictures to share with the board. But I thought you’d want to know about the decision.”

  I reached my hand across the counter to shake hers. “I’m so glad you stopped by. This made my day.”

  She smiled, an expression that appeared awkward on her face. “I’m sure we’ll be in touch before July. But for now . . .”

  As soon as the door closed behind her, I rushed to find Rena. “Guess what. That cat show? It’s coming to Merryville!”

  She squealed in delight. The chains she was wearing around her neck jangled as she hopped around in exuberant joy.

  I grabbed her arms and we hopped together in pure glee. Still, at the back of my mind, I felt that we’d just had too much good news. Part of me was waiting for the other shoe to drop.

  CHAPTER

  Twenty-two

  Rena had left for home to bake the doggy cake, and I had just about finished clearing the showroom for the next day’s festivities when our doorbell tinkled again. This time, we found Taffy Nielson and Ken West making their way across the now-empty floor.

  “Izzy,” Taffy said, “I have some news.”

  Lord love a duck, this was a day for news. I crossed my fingers that this news, too, was good.

  “Ken here was working at his restaurant this morning, and he popped across the alley to have lunch with me. When he opened the door, Gandhi made a run for it.”

  “No!”

  “Yes. Just a little auburn bolt of lightning.” Taffy looked sheepish. “I have to admit it’s good for me that he’s gone. But I know you worry about him.”

  Once again, the pig was in the wind.

  “I tried to grab him for you, Izzy,” Ken said.

  “It’s true. Ken nearly impaled himself on a cut end of lumber sticking out of the construction Dumpster. He really tried.”

  “Oh. Well, thank you for trying. Hopefully he’ll turn up again soon. That pig is as willful as a spoiled toddler.”

  “I also wanted to thank you,” Ken said.

  Heavens, I’d just accused the man of murder. Why would he want to thank me?

  “After our little conversation the other day,” he continued, “I realized that I wasn’t being fair to Taffy. I shouldn’t have tried to keep our relationship secret for so long, especially in an effort to hide my past from her. A relationship has to be built on trust, so I decided to tell Taffy about being the Madison Mystery Chef. I expected her to run away screaming, but she seems to have found it in her heart to forgive me.”

  He swung their clasped hands up and planted a kiss on her knuckles.

  Taffy colored, that blush a sure barometer of her soul. “I didn’t really have to forgive him for anything. I kind of like him having a dark and dangerous past.”

  I wasn’t sure being a lecherous chef constituted “dark and dangerous,” but I wasn’t about to rain on Taffy’s parade.

  I picked up the last rack of kitty couture to move it back to the barkery, but I hit my finger against the wood a little too hard, and my splinter wound sent a shot up my arm. I hissed air between my teeth trying to hold the pain at bay, but it was tough. Even with the bandage around my finger, the spot where the splinter had gone in was incredibly tender.

  “Besides,” Taffy added, apparently oblivious to my moment of crisis, “it was all a long time before he met me. We all have our secrets.”

  “We also wanted to put to rest any lingering thoughts you might have about my involvement in Daniel’s death. I can give you my real alibi now.”

  Taffy looked down at the floor and leaned into Ken’s side. “He was with me.”

  Ken held up a hand. “I know. As a professional I shouldn’t have left the kitchen, but during the actual ceremony I didn’t figure I’d be missed. So I scooted down the alley to have a little quality time with my sweetie.”

  “Then why did you say you’d been having a smoke with Steve Olmstead?”

  “I was, at the time, trying to keep our romance under wraps. And I didn’t know what had happened, how high the stakes were, so I blurted out the first thing that came to me. Steve had just come into the kitchen to get a glass of water when I decided to leave, so I figured he’d be my cover.”

  “But you didn’t ask him to cover for you?”

  Ken frowned. “No. I didn’t know I’d need a cover when I left, and by the time I got back and said I’d gone out for a cigarette, the place was practically crawling with cops. I just kept my mouth shut.”

  I leaned forward to give Ken a hard stare. “And you never thought to tell the police you’d lied?”

  Ken shook his head, perplexed. “Why would I? Until you came knocking on my door, no one was acting like I was a suspect. And if I wasn’t a suspect, why would anyone care about my alibi?”

  Because, I thought, alibis run two ways.

  * * *

  As soon as Taffy and Ken left, I grabbed my phone and dialed Jack Collins.

  I got his voice mail.

  “Jack, this is Izzy. Look, I’m like ninety-nine percent certain I know who the real murderer is. But I’ve had pretty bad luck confronting my suspects over the last week, so I’m going to let you do the confronting on this one. Just come over soon so I can explain everything.”

  By the time I’d hung up, I’d missed a call from Sean. In his message, he said he was planning to swing by around five to drop off some magic bars his mother had decided to make for the wedding ceremony the next day. We were catered up the yin-yang, but no one in her right mind says no to magic bars.

  Two minutes later, I got the text from Jack: “How about 5? Dinner?”

  I set the phone on the counter and pressed my temples. Between Ama, Richard, Jane, and Ken, and now a potential showdown between Sean and Jack, my head might literally explode. And I still had a killer to catch.

  * * *

  Later that afternoon, I was enjoying a moment of peace. Rena had brought the doggy cake in, and it was adorable: two bone-shaped tiers of carob applesauce cake with a peanut butter frosting. She’d decorated it with creamed banana piping. Once she’d gotten adequate praise from me for her amazing effort, she had taken both Packer and Daisy for a walk. Daisy’s strength and Packer’s general grumpiness over sharing the spotlight gave me pause, but Rena was convinced she could handle it. And Jinx, who was often underfoot when the shop was dog free, had decided to curl up with Val on top of the oak armoire for a catnap. A ferret nap? Whatever, they were quiet.

  At ten to five, I was draping the front cabinet with the purple velvet cover we’d used the week before, when the bell over my front
door jingled, announcing a new guest. I looked up expecting either Sean or Jack.

  I was shocked instead to see Steve Olmstead. He looked like he was about to clock me.

  “What did you say to Ama? What did you say to make her cry?”

  That was a tricky question. I was pretty sure Steve already knew Ama’s secret, but on the off chance I was wrong, I didn’t want to spill it for her. And I had a lousy track record with lying, especially on the fly.

  I settled for a noncommittal shrug.

  “Tell me now!” he screamed, his eyes opened to the point that I could see a ring of white around his arctic blue irises, veins visible beneath his ruddy skin.

  “We were talking about Jordan.”

  That’s when I saw the outline of the gun Steve had in his pocket. I knew the jig was up. There was no way to stall him until Jack arrived, and I knew Steve had already committed the ultimate sin to save his family once.

  Carefully, I reached over to the high stool where my bag and phone lay, and I slowly dragged the phone into my hand.

  Steve was looking around frantically, taking in his surroundings, so I risked a quick glance down at the phone so I could hit redial. This time, faintly, I heard Jack answer with a cheery hello. Quickly, I depressed the button on the side of the phone that lowered the speaker volume, so Jack could hear what we were saying but we couldn’t hear him.

  “Steve,” I said loudly, to make sure Jack caught that I was still present, that I was talking to someone else. “What’s going on here?”

  “Why would talking about Jordan make Ama cry? She loves him.”

  “I think you know why, Steve.”

  He pinned me with his glare. “He’s. My. Son.”

  “I think you’re wrong,” I said. “I think Daniel Colona’s his father, and I think you know that.” The words dropped like stones from my mouth, heavy words that could not be taken back.

  Steve uttered a sound of disgust. “I’m not stupid. I know Jordan isn’t my biological son.” He closed his eyes, expression intent as he looked hard at the past. “Ama and I tried to get pregnant for so long. She wept every month when we knew we’d missed another opportunity. I was her husband. I loved her. I wanted to start a family with her. . . . Her tears were like daggers in my heart. We finally started seeking medical help, and I learned that I have a low sperm count. I never told Ama, because I couldn’t bear to be the one to destroy her dreams, but I knew we would probably never have a child.”