Stay Calm and Collie On

by Lane Stone

It was hard to tell whether or not John was still listening to her. He had turned to the mirrored window. He was looking at me and I was looking at him, but we weren’t seeing each other. Finally, he returned his attention to the desk and closed the file. “I’m sure you want to get started making arrangements.” I thought about how each major life event has its own assortment of euphemisms.

  “Chief Turner, until I have to plan his funeral, I can still tell myself that this isn’t really happening.”

  He nodded then picked up where he left off explaining the next steps in the process of having Henry’s body released.

  I slipped out of the confines of my cupboard and headed for daylight as fast as I could.

  Chapter 6

  I found Lady Anthea sitting on a bench in Canalfront Park, facing the water with Lion King, regal and attentive, at her feet. The park was built in 2006 and includes twenty-two dock slips plus a launch area for canoes and kayaks. A step closer and I saw she was slumped over the dog. I took off like a greyhound, running up behind her. When I got near them, I saw she was leaning into the dog’s mane, and her lips were moving. I slowed down to catch my breath. She was talking to him in a low voice, almost a whisper.

  “I am so tired,” she said to the dog, who twisted his head and nuzzled her face. “Servants?” she said in response to the dog’s imagined inquiry in their tête-à-tête. “Not in years. We occasionally hire someone from town to work on the grounds and once a week a service comes in to clean the part of the house we can still occupy.” She patted the dog’s back and pulled him in again to huddle. “We would have enough money to repair the house if my brother—he’s the duke, you know—would listen to reason. He makes a hash of everything he touches. I wish he had one tenth the business acumen of Sue Patrick. So many of the historic country homes are used for weddings and corporate gatherings. There’s no shame in it, but all he cares about is the family name. The money I make from my partnership here in the States with the Pet Palace has kept the house from falling down around our ears. Not to mention saving the family’s art collection.”

  She had financial trouble? How could someone with a title, living in a house with a name, have money problems? That explained her all-in attitude toward the business. Shelby, Mason, Dana, and I had been grateful for the use of her name and the photos. Her input and involvement were gravy. This new info also explained why she had chosen my spare room to stay in over the Inn at Canal Square. I almost said, “Ah-h-h,” out loud.

  I had no right listening to this. My nosy evil side was scuffling with my better nature, and it was only a matter of time before they’d come to blows. It was perfectly okay, expected even, to eavesdrop on strangers, but not on friends. And that’s what Lady Anthea was now. It would take all the strength I had, but I needed to speak up and let her know I was there.

  She continued, “That was him calling to tell me—”

  To tell her what? Did I really have to do the right thing right then? “Uh, Lady Anthea, Chief Turner has finished talking to Henry’s fiancée.”

  She lifted her head from the Chow Chow’s furry neck. I could see she was, just as she’d said, tired. As soon as she registered that I was there, she gave Lion King a quick pat and raised herself to a Jacqueline Kennedy level of fortitude. “Who is Ruth Africa?” she asked, motioning for me to join her on the bench.

  Before I could answer, I felt I needed to take her emotional temperature. “Are you okay with everything that’s happening here?”

  She smiled shyly. “This is the most excitement I’ve had in years.”

  I sat next to her. “Ruth Africa? I think she’s involved with the Harbor of Refuge Lighthouse preservation. Does she have something to do with the case?”

  “No, but this bench is dedicated to her so she must be famous.” She pointed to the four-inch commemorative inscription on the back of the bench.

  “Uh, it doesn’t work like that here,” I said, hoping she’d let it go. Putting your name on a bench, a paving stone, a wall, anything immobile was the preferred way for charities to raise money in Lewes. I always advise tourists against standing in the same spot for too long lest they get themselves labeled. “I wanted to tell you what Ashley Trent said in her statement.”

  “Did she incriminate herself? Has the case been solved?”

  I hated to burst her bubble. “No confession, sorry to say.” When I was three-quarters through telling her about Henry inflating his job title and salary, I heard someone calling my name. It was Chief Turner.

  “Sue, where did you go?” he asked, keeping a wary eye on Lion King.

  “I would have thought it obvious that I’ve come to the Ruth Africa bench.”

  “Huh?”

  “Never mind,” I said. “I was telling Lady Anthea what Ashley Trent said about Henry.” I turned to her. “We’ll have our accountant go over our books.”

  “I’ll get the victim’s bank records,” John said.

  “He came into all that money last month, the second month of his employment, if that helps narrow it down,” I said.

  He nodded then rubbed his hand over his head. “Could you tell if she knew the victim was having an affair?”

  “I didn’t get that sense.” Did he think women could read each other’s minds?

  Lady Anthea stood and, unfortunately for John, the dog did too. “Oh, Chief Turner! You can’t possibly think that slip of a girl could overpower Henry and stab him.” She looked at me and chuckled. “Perhaps if she coshed him first.”

  “If coshed means feeding him enough sleeping pills to drop an elephant, sure,” he said.

  Lady Anthea sniffed. “Someone is forgetting their P.G. Wodehouse.”

  Chief Turner stopped his staring contest with Lion King long enough to glance my way for a translation.

  “Don’t worry about it. He’s a British writer. A cosh is like a club you hit someone over the head with,” I said, drawing the insight from my recent read of The Fishmonger’s Cod Cosh. The book had not been a favorite among reviewers, partly owing to the title revealing the answer to the mystery. It had been an unorthodox but interesting choice by the publisher.

  Chief Turner looked back at the dog. “Cosh, huh? I wish I had one on me now.”

  “Be serious. Are you saying Henry was drugged?” I asked.

  “Yeah, with run-of-the-mill prescription sleeping pills.”

  I turned and looked at the lazy, plodding water in the canal, so unlike the ocean. There were thousands of salt-tolerant plants in the park, but it was the water that interested me. “Chief Turner, the pills weren’t his, were they?” Then I answered my own question. “We know he didn’t take them voluntarily, since he would hardly overdose then wake up and stab himself.”

  He shook his head and a slow smile started on the left side of his mouth. “There were no medicine bottles in his home.”

  “The sleeping pills belonged to the murderer,” Lady Anthea ventured.

  “Maybe. Probably,” Chief Turner said. “The toxicology report showed them in his system. He had a water bottle in the car and that’s where we found the residue.”

  “Dare we hope for fingerprints on the bottle?” Lady Anthea asked.

  “Only Mr. Cannon’s. His killer was wearing gloves.”

  “Might that show a degree of professionalism?” she asked. There was a degree of eagerness in her tone that I understood. A contract killing by an Asian gang of money-laundering sex traffickers was more appealing than the idea of one of our neighbors being a murderer. This stain that had come upon our community would be removed if that was the case. Trouble was, it didn’t fit reality any better than the dogs-being-smuggled-to-Canada fantasy.

  Chief Turner shook his head. “Anybody who watches TV knows to wear gloves when committing a crime.” He reached his right arm over his left shoulder and tried to knead away a knot of tension. “I’ve sent someone to talk to t
he pharmacists in the area.”

  “Did you sleep last night?” I asked.

  “I got in a couple of hours,” he said.

  “Can you tell when the sleeping pills were put in the water bottle?” I asked.

  The chief shook his head, no. “Doesn’t really matter. We know he was stabbed in the late afternoon. That’s the important time frame.”

  “There’s my good boy!” Ashley Trent and a female police officer were headed our way.

  If either Lion King or his mom thought the dog was going to be freed to run to her, they would have to think again.

  “Stay!” Lady Anthea’s voice was low but strong. Yelling at a dog is rarely, maybe never, needed. She had looped the leash around her hand and given him very little slack. Had it been around her wrist, instead of her palm, the dog could have pulled her to the ground. Then she calmly walked the dog toward Ashley.

  That left Chief Turner with me.

  “I had better get to work on those banking records.”

  “Yeah, I hear those people keep strict hours,” I said.

  He started to walk off and then stopped. “Thanks for, uh, you know.” He pointed to Lion King. “I appreciate it.”

  “You’re welcome. Did you find anything interesting on Henry’s tablet?” I asked.

  “No comment. I don’t appreciate your dog-sitting that much.”

  “So you still don’t know who the girlfriend was?” I whispered.

  He looked at Ashley and then shook his head, no.

  “Did you talk to Henry’s last pet parent yesterday, Dayle Thomas?”

  “Yeah, she said he dropped her dog off just before five and left. Everything was normal.”

  “Thank you for not telling Ashley about the other woman just yet,” I said. He was leaning over me so I could keep my voice low enough not to be overheard.

  Then for some reason he straightened up, turned on his heel, and walked away. As he passed the three women with Lion King, he motioned for his officer to accompany him. Lady Anthea, Ashley, and the dog joined me.

  “Ashley, where are you staying?” I asked.

  “I— I don’t know. I just grabbed a few things and jumped in the car when I got the call,” she stammered.

  “The Red Mill Inn on Route 1 headed north, allows dogs. The owner’s a friend of mine. I think you’d be comfortable there.” I pulled my phone from the side pocket of my shorts and scrolled for the number.

  Ashley had her phone out and ready to key in the number. “Thank you.”

  “Is Lion King up-to-date on his vaccinations?” I asked. In my peripheral vision I could see Lady Anthea’s eyes widen. She was wondering where I was going with this.

  “Yes,” Ashley said, “including one for kennel cough.”

  “Every Wednesday morning we take some of the daycare dogs swimming in the ocean at Dewey Beach. Want to bring Lion King?”

  “He loves to swim,” she said. She leaned over to pet him again, not that she’d taken her hands off him since they reunited.

  “We meet at seven o’clock. I think the exercise will do him good and make up for his time confined to the hotel room,” I said.

  “Thanks. I’ll call that hotel now.” She sat on the bench we’d vacated to call the hotel.

  Lady Anthea moved around so her back was to Ashley and the dog. “You just want to be sure we see her again in case we have more questions, don’t you?”

  “Oh, yeah. What if that money was coming from Buckingham’s?”

  She nodded in agreement and we turned back to Ashley.

  “They have a vacancy. We can go there now,” she said.

  “Brilliant,” Lady Anthea said.

  After we said our goodbyes, Ashley and Lion King headed for the municipal parking lot. Lady Anthea and I were walking back to the Jeep when I stopped and turned. “Ashley, wait.” I caught up with them and gave her my cell number. “Call me if you need anything or if you just need to talk.” By that I meant any secrets she wanted to unburden herself of.

  Chapter 7

  On the drive back to Buckingham’s my phone rang. The screen on my dash said the caller was Mark Lizzi and under that was the name of a local radio station. “I’ll let it go to voice mail,” I whispered to Lady Anthea. After absolute decades of this technology, I still couldn’t shake that feeling that the caller knew when I was there but pretending not to be. “I bet he read the Southern Delaware Daily article. He probably wants a statement.”

  “You’re not going to let them interview you, are you?” Lady Anthea asked.

  “No way.” I was nowhere near as nonchalant about the media request as I hoped I sounded. I pounded the steering wheel with both palms and pulled into the parking lot of Beebe Medical Center. “I just remembered something. This is the station that promised to broadcast live from the gala. Maybe that’s what he wants to talk about.”

  To my surprise she said, “We need to stay in their good graces.”

  I reached for the call-back button on the screen, but before I took the plunge I looked over at Lady Anthea. She nodded and gave me a thumbs-up. Simultaneously hoping the reporter would answer and praying he wouldn’t, I pressed the green button. He answered before the first ring finished.

  “This is Sue Patrick.”

  “Yeah?” he growled.

  “From the Buckingham Pet Palace? You just called me?”

  “Oh, yeah.” The guy had a true mastery of the English language. “I was looking for a statement about what occurred last night.”

  I didn’t know if he was referring to the attempted dog theft rumor or about Henry’s murder. Then I realized it didn’t matter. My answer was the same for either. All the books I’d devoured and the episodes of Masterpiece Mysteries I’d watched had prepared me for a moment like this. “I can’t comment on the ongoing investigation. We were saddened by Mr. Cannon’s death and our thoughts are with his family.”

  The reporter was asking me what I assumed was a follow-up question but I wasn’t listening. Lady Anthea was pantomiming a message for me. She saluted and then pressed her wrists together in her lap.

  “I’m sorry, you’re breaking up,” I lied to the reporter.

  Then Lady Anthea looked up at the sky and batted her eyelashes, grinning. I had it.

  “The Lewes police are working hard to find his killer. Lady Anthea and I have complete trust in them.” With what little strength I had left, I thanked him and said goodbye.

  “How was that?” I asked as I collapsed back into my car seat.

  “Brilliant! We need to stay in the good graces with the police too.”

  She was laughing, but I hadn’t forgotten about her comment about being tired. “Should I drop you off at home for a nap?”

  “I’m fine. We’ll have to drive the dogs that get door-to-door service home, won’t we? I’ll help you with that.”

  We were back at Buckingham’s in minutes. The lobby was empty except for Shelby. In addition to missing pet parents, we were missing an employee. “Where’s Dana?” I asked.

  “She’s taking the day off.”

  “She didn’t want to come in? Is she upset about Henry?” I asked, disappointed, but also concerned.

  “It was her mother who didn’t want her to come in today,” Shelby said, looking down.

  “The murder of someone you worked with is a lot for anyone to take in. I guess it’s worse for a young person.” I looked around. I quickly told her about what Ashley Trent had said about Henry’s title and salary. By the time I got to the point in the story about him being drugged, she was propping herself up against the counter in shock. “Lady Anthea and I were going to take the day camp dogs home in the Jeep, obviously since we don’t have our van, but I can drive by myself and she can stay here with you.”

  “Actually,” Shelby said, drawing the word out, “there’s no one to
drive home.”

  There hadn’t been any dogs to pick up this morning, but I’d been holding out hope for half-day campers, or for the pet parents who drop the dogs off themselves and have us deliver them home. Nada. “How does the schedule for tomorrow look?”

  “Sorry,” Shelby said. “We have about half the number of usual reservations.”

  “Tomorrow is Wednesday. What about So-Long?” I asked. I turned to Lady Anthea. “He’s the dachshund we took home last night.”

  She nodded that she remembered him. “His owner, Mr. Andrews, seems to think the dog’s blood sugar levels warrant your special attention.”

  “That’s the one,” Shelby answered. “Mr. Andrews doesn’t drive and So-Long comes in every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. But not tomorrow. I got a call from him about an hour ago. He said that So-Long was traumatized and that this was a time for families to be together.”

  “He’s a widower. Does he have children in the area?” I needed to sit so I went behind the desk and plopped down on a stool.

  “He meant So-Long’s family. Remember So-Long’s father, So-Lo, who rarely comes to day camp because he’s fifteen years old? That’s who he was talking about.”

  “Are we in freefall?” I asked the two of them and the empty room in general.

  Shelby answered first. “Everyone will come back as soon as the murder is solved.”

  I got up and started pacing back and forth behind the reception desk. “But what if it’s not solved this week and we host a very expensive gala for ourselves? It will be an embarrassment, and I don’t know if the business can recover from it.”

  “Dr. Walton would absolutely love that,” Shelby said. She took her glasses off and rubbed both eyes. That’s how abhorrent the image was to her.

  “He’s the veterinarian who lost boarding clients to us?” Lady Anthea asked. She was standing in the same spot and stock-still except for the swiveling head.

  “Yup,” I said. “He would love to see us fall flat on our faces.”

  “Or on our something else’s,” Shelby said.