“Yes,” Angela confirmed. “But it’s a huge place. Jack Francis and Melanie have their own wing, bigger than most people’s houses.”
“But why would Jack Francis care what Mercedes spends on her dogs? It’s her money,” Maggie said.
“This really isn’t very nice to say, but I think he’s been counting his inheritance since the day he got married,”
Angela said. “And in his eyes, she’s spending it.”
“But it sounds like she’s been very generous with them,” Po said. “And he and Melanie seem happy.
“Oh, she has, and I think they are,” Angela said. “I’ve just heard him make comments now and then that make me think that he comes up a little short on cash more often than you’d think.”
“What about Melanie?” Maggie asked. “I don’t know her. Is she involved in the dog scene? What’s she do?”
“She likes the dogs, but she doesn’t show or anything,” Angela said. “She teaches school. Fourth grade, I think.”
“Where does she teach?” Po asked.
“I’m not sure now,” Angela said. “I thought it was near the house, But I guess I don’t know that for sure.”
“Kate may know her,” Po said to Maggie.
“What about Jarrod?” Po asked.
“He does whatever Mercedes asks him to do for help,” Angela said. “She says jump; he asks how high.” She laughed. “Although I do think he gets tired of dog duty.”
“What makes you say that?” Maggie asked.
“Well, you can just kind of tell. He’s very even tempered. But you can kind of see him tightening up after the 50th order from Mercedes. And then he disappears for a while.” She smiled again. “I think he does a lot of fishing. And he plays a lot of golf in the summer. And runs a lot of errands in the winter. Whatever it takes to get out of the house.”
“But, all in all, he seems supportive of the dogs?”
“I guess so,” Angela said.
“Do all the dogs live in the house?” Po asked.
“Not exactly,” Angela said. “They built an attached kennel onto the house—a really nice one. It’s got tile floors and nice lighting and all. I’ve never seen better dog quarters.”
“And all the dogs stay there?” Po asked.
“At least at night they do,” Angela said. “They do sometimes let them run around in the house during the day. But not usually all of them at once.”
“But is Fitzgerald typically in the house?” Po asked.
“Yes,” Angela said. “He’s the exception. He pretty much always stays in the house.
“So that’s why Mercedes asked Aaron to put him in the house instead of in the kennel?” Maggie asked.
“I would think so,” Angela said. “Plus, she might have been nervous about one of the other dogs getting out. They’re not necessarily put to bed for the night in their own runs until later. That way they can roam around a little more and play.”
“And they don’t fight with each other or anything?” Po asked.
“No, not usually,” Angela said. “They’re used to being together. Of course, they’re careful at feeding time and with treats. Even the best dogs might get aggressive if they’re not supervised under those circumstances.”
“I hate to ask this, as it may seem personal,” Po said. “But does showing dogs pay well? Is it expensive to hire someone to do it?”
Angela laughed. “I don’t mind you asking,” she said. “It’s not like you get rich showing dogs. But the time does cost something. So sometimes owners try to cut corners there and save some money.”
“How many hours might you spend?” Po asked.
“Well, like I said, if you’re trying to qualify for Westminster, you’re on the road every weekend. So that’s more expensive. In round numbers, an owner might spend up to $30,000 in a year. A handler who’s really working could gross up to $150,000, and might net 20 percent of that.”
“How interesting,” Po said. “I never realized …”
There was just one more thing she really wanted to know.
“Angela,” Po asked, “You haven’t said anything about what it was like to work for Mercedes. Did you weigh that at all in your decision to leave.”
Angela’s face hardened, and Po noticed her hands tightened around the file she was holding.
“Mercedes is not dream to work for,” she said shortly. “I think everyone knows that. And yes, I was probably reaching the end of my patience with her. But I tried not to burn any bridges when I left.”
“And that wound up being important, given that Mercedes and her family are such important clients for the clinic,” Po said.
Angela nodded sharply. “But she still treats me like dirt, just like she does everyone else. You just have to deal with that, I figure.”
“Well, thank you for your help, Angela,” Maggie said, sensing that Po had reached the end of her questions. “I sure appreciate it.”
“Of course,” Angela said, but for once she was missing her characteristic smile.
She started to leave, but stopped and looked back when she got to the door. “If there’s anything else I can do, just let me know.”
When she’d left, Maggie turned to Po. “What do you think?” she asked. “Did we learn anything?”
“I can’t decide,” Po said thoughtfully.
Maggie smiled. “One of Angela’s good points is that she’s positive,” she said. “She doesn’t like to say anything bad about anyone. When she’s had a problem with someone, I really have to pull to get it out of her. So, the responses you got to your questions about possible conflicts could be more significant than you’d think.”
“Well, we’ll see,” Po said.
Po was just walking back to her car when her phone rang. “Hi, Kate,” she said without preamble. “What did P.J. say?”
“The police are not investigating a disappearance or a kidnapping, Po,” Kate said with a serious note in her voice that Po had hardly ever heard. “The homicide team is handling Mercedes’ case.”
“Homicide?” Po responded, her brain hardly able to consider this possibility. “Homicide?” she said again.
“Yes, Po,” Kate said. “And Aaron is heading the list of suspects.
“They found Mercedes’ car hidden behind a garage on the west side of town with the keys in it—not more than a three blocks from Aaron’s house,” Kate said. “Her handbag was inside, nothing taken but the cash.”
“They’re sure she’s dead?” Po asked, struggling to come to terms with this news.
“P.J. said they were as sure as they can be without actually finding the body,” Kate said. “But he wouldn’t tell me much more. And, of course,” she said, “he says to stay out of it, not to worry, and that they are professionals. You know, blah, blah, blah.”
Po heard her cover the phone and talk to someone, then she was back. “I have to go, Po. But you might want to call Maggie. I’d bet money they’ll be back at the clinic today.”
CHAPTER 10
Po dropped her phone back in her bag and considered her next move. Going to tell Maggie the police might be knocking on the door any minute would just make her anxious. Especially when she figured out they were investigating a murder! And Po wasn’t sure what Maggie could even do if Po armed her with that information. Until and unless the police showed up, there wasn’t much she could do except worry. So, after a few minutes of indecision, she got in her car.
She drove around to the back of the building, and leaving the car running left a note on the ragged front seat of Maggie’s beat-up truck. All it said was “call me.” She left her number, which Maggie shouldn’t need, just in case. “I wouldn’t know my own name after the police questioned me about a homicide,” she muttered under her breath. “I can’t really expect her to remember my number.”
And then Po pulled out of the lot.
Ten minutes later, she pulled in the long drive at Eleanor’s gracious, well-groomed home. Separated from Canterbury College’s
campus by a tall wrought-iron fence, the three-story home was built by Elliot Canterbury more than 100 years before. He settled his family there, and built a thriving fur business along the Emerald River. Not content to rest on his business success, the entrepreneur’s next move was to found Canterbury College.
The 80-plus year old Queen Bee Eleanor Canterbury lived alone in her family house. But her children and grandchildren—and even great-grandchildren—periodically filled the house. And it didn’t get too quiet even between family visits. Eleanor managed to host more than her share of social gatherings, and her elegant home was the perfect place to hold an event. So far, none of the attendees had spotted a ghost or a spirit. But that didn’t stop the stories or speculation from students on campus. Every year, at least a couple of students were prepared to swear that they’d seen an unusual light or an unexplained figure floating among the tall oak trees.
Po never entered Eleanor’s foyer without thinking about the history and elegance of the structure. But today, she was scarcely distracted by the beauty of the stained glass transom or the one-of-a-kind wooden door that introduced so many
other thematic elements in the home. A furniture artisan had done all the woodwork in the home, and had built in many elements, an uncommon approach for the era. She had heard Eleanor give the homes tour once, where she pointed out the characteristic corners and finishes, signature touches that gave the artisan’s now collectible pieces their distinctive look.
“I’ve abandoned Maggie, Eleanor,” she said with a wrinkled forehead. “I couldn’t figure out how I could help her there. But I feel bad leaving her alone. She may be in for the most stressful day of her life.”
“I’m sure you’ve done the right thing,” Eleanor said. “And, if you decide you haven’t, we’ll load right up and go back. No harm done.”
Po nodded and followed Eleanor to the kitchen, where she filled a kettle and set out a selection of teas for Po to pick one.
“Now,” she said as they waited for the round red teapot to wail. “Catch me up.”
And Po did. Starting with Fitzgerald’s disappearance and recapture, and ending with Kate’s call.
By the time she finished, they were settled in one of Po’s favorite rooms in the house. The conservatory featured panels of tall windows on two walls, flooding the room with light during all daylight hours. The remaining walls were filled with bookshelves, installed by the same craftsman. And a flourishing array of plants gave the space a fresh, green smell that always made Po feel the possibilities of spring, no matter the season.
“So,” Po said, with her knack for cutting to the chase. “We need to figure out who really took the dog. That person likely killed Mercedes, too.”
Eleanor sipped her tea for a moment and thought. “Do you know where Aaron found Fitzgerald?” she asked.
“I know about where,” Po said. “Aaron can probably tell us exactly.”
“Well, let’s call him up and ask him to show us,” Eleanor said. “Maybe there’s something out there still that could help us.”
She went back to sipping her tea while Po made the call and arranged to pick Aaron up. And then Eleanor picked up her own phone and placed a call.
“Hi, Mike,” she said. “How’s business?”
“Uh, huh?” “Really?” “Well, I was actually hoping you could do me a favor …” “That sounds perfect. It will be great to see you. Thank you, Mike.” And Eleanor shut her phone.
“Well,” she said, straightening her green silk scarf and smiling at Po. “I have a dinner date with the managing editor at the paper tonight. Maybe he’ll know something.”
The two quilters picked up Aaron 15 minutes later and started the short drive out of town.
“Slow down,” he said. “Then take this next right.”
The road turned from asphalt to gravel within 20 yards, and Po’s bright blue Honda Accord kicked up enough dust that they could smell it even with the vents and windows closed. She thought ruefully that she’d need to be sure to pull through a car wash soon and wished she had more reason to own a car with four-wheel drive. The road petered out before too much longer. Following Aaron’s directions, Po pulled over and parked.
“I parked right here,” he said. “And I found Fitz just down there a bit.”
He climbed out of the car and led the way.
It was a pleasant fall day, sixty-five degrees at least, and the trio stayed plenty warm, especially as Aaron set a fairly brisk pace. Eleanor gripped her carved walking stick as she maneuvered the uneven path. They were near the south edge of Riverfront Park, an area that offered access to five miles of the Emerald River for picnics, hiking, fishing, and other recreation. The Kansas waters boasted 12 types of catfish with the state record for a flathead catfish weighing in at 123 pounds.
“I found him down here, right near the river,” he said. “Sometimes people camp down here, and I wonder if he wasn’t looking for food. Although,” he said a moment later, “he really didn’t seem that hungry.”
“I don’t think Hoover could survive 30 seconds on his own,” Po said with a fond smile for her hapless pup. “He depends on getting his kibble delivered twice a day. And he much prefers the sofa cushions to dirt when he’s ready for a nap.”
“I’d have thought that Fitz would be the same way,” Aaron said. “But it didn’t seem like he suffered much being out on his own. Angela and I gave him a bath and fed him when I got him back to the clinic.” He glanced at them. “I sure didn’t want to take him home dirty.”
“I can understand that,” Po said with an understanding look. She was remembering the confrontation in the reception area, and she was sure Aaron was, too.
“Anyway,” he continued, looking slightly reassured, “he really didn’t eat that much, considering. So he must have been a better street dog than I expected.”
“What made you come here to look?” Eleanor asked. “This probably sounds dumb,” he said. “But I started looking for him in places that I thought I’d like if I were a dog on the run.”
Eleanor laughed. “So, what were the key attractions?” she asked.
He shrugged. “I figured it would really help if there were water around. He needed to drink. Plus, people hang out at the river, too, so there might be edible trash or someone around to give him a handout.”
“I can see that,” Po said. “But that sure leaves a lot of options open.”
“I did a lot of looking,” he said, a touch defensively.
“You sure did,” Po said. “More than anyone. Still, you had to have a bit of luck, I’d say. Your timing had to have been perfect to find him.”
Suddenly Aaron looked a little uneasy. “Yeah.” And then he got the hard, angry look that Po remembered from their discussion about his visit from the police. She noticed again how much older he looked. And so much tougher. Almost frightening. “Everyone seems to think it was a little too perfect,” he said bitterly.
They walked in silence for a few more minutes, and then, “Here’s the spot,” Aaron said.
To Po, this bend in the river looked very much like the others.
“A lot of folks fish around here,” Aaron said. “I wonder if he was eating the leftovers.”
“Let’s look around,” Eleanor suggested. And the three of them split up and searched, “for what, I’m not exactly sure,” Po thought, intensely feeling the futility of their hunt.
She kept moving, however, looking for anything that might indicate that someone brought a dog here. “Which is crazy,” she thought. “People bring dogs here all the time.” And then she heard Aaron yell. “Hey, over here!”
She and Eleanor both hurried over. He was holding the frayed end of a rope. The other end was tied to a slim tree.
“Remember how I told you Fitzgerald had a rope tied around his neck when I found him?” Aaron asked. “I think this could be the other end. Maybe he was tied up here.”
“He had a rope around his neck?” Po asked. “I had forgotten that. That makes i
t pretty clear someone took him, rather than that he just ran away.”
“At the time I didn’t think at all about it,” Aaron said. “I was just happy I found him.” He paused, looking at the ground. “I thought that would fix everything.”
“We’ll get this all figured out,” Eleanor said with sympathy.
“Of course we will,” Po agreed.
“So,” she said. “You took Fitzgerald back to the clinic, right?”
“Uh huh,” he said. “Angela made the calls while he was getting dried after the bath. And Mercedes said I should take him to the house.”
“Well,” Eleanor said jiggling the end of the rope. “Let’s take this with us.”
CHAPTER 11
Maggie still hadn’t called when they dropped Aaron off at his apartment. Po decided it would be better not to invade the clinic asking questions about rope if the police had in fact shown up there. So she dropped Eleanor off and headed home.
The key, she thought, is to stay busy. Waiting for the phone to ring never makes the time pass. So she put together the ingredients for soup in her slow cooker, dumped flour, water, yeast and salt in her bread maker, and left the kitchen appliances working so she could go work herself in her studio. Looking at her first efforts at the leaves she’d added to her tree quilt, she decided she wasn’t happy. Too regular. Too predictable. Too … and she tried again.
This time she moved straight to playing with the fabrics she’d picked, which often led to happy accidents and original designs. Anytime her thoughts strayed to Maggie, she drew them sharply back to the moment and the challenge at hand, refocusing on her second-generation pile of leaves. Which despite her distraction was growing on her. So much, in fact, that she started laying out a few along the next branch of her tree. Eventually, the progress on the project held her complete attention, as it almost always could. So she jumped a little when the phone rang.
“Hi Po,” said Kate. Po heard the worry in Kate’s voice. “Did you talk to Maggie?”
“I actually didn’t,” Po admitted. “I couldn’t figure out how I could make it any better. So I just left a note, asking her to call me as soon as she could.”
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