Canines and Crime

by Sandra Baublitz

  Harriet waved to me from behind the dessert counter. “You here to pick up Alma’s tray?”

  “I am.”

  “Good. I’ll bring it out.”

  While Harriet bustled into the back of the store, I eyed the dessert displays. Shelbee and Jac were trying to curb my carb consumption. I was trying but a yummy cruller from the case was begging me to eat it.

  Harriet came out with the tray. “I’ll wrap up the cruller for you.” Harriet knew her customer’s favorites. I noticed her eyes were bloodshot. Alma had mentioned that Harriet worked too many long days.

  She handed me the wrapped cruller as I opened my purse to retrieve my wallet.

  She waved my money away. “On the house for finding David.”

  My eyes widened. “You knew him?”

  “Of course, honey, he ate lunch here every day. Can’t say I liked his wife though. Despicable the way she left him.”

  Another customer approached the counter and Harriet waved me away. “Tell Alma I’ll catch up with her later.”

  I nodded, picked up my tray and cruller, and left the store. I knew Paw would try to steal a sandwich, so I placed the tray in the trunk of my car. Paw wore an innocent expression as I slid in behind the steering wheel.

  “I’m not buying the innocent look. I saw your nose twitching when I walked past with the tray.”

  Paw groaned and lie down on the seat next to me.

  After dropping off the sandwich tray at the church, I drove to the police station. Harry waved me into his office before hanging up his phone. “Hal hasn’t finished the autopsy.”

  Hal McFarlane was the coroner and a good friend of Harry’s.

  “How did you know I was going to ask that?”

  “Because I know how you think.”

  I flopped down in the chair in front of Harry’s desk while Paw walked around to Harry. My uncle ruffled Paw’s fur as he stared at me. “You okay?”

  I nodded. “I didn’t sleep much after I got home.”

  He grunted. “Hal’s preliminary findings indicate David was stabbed in the neck then pushed into the water.”

  “So he was murdered.”

  “Most likely. I’ll know more once Hal is done.” He shook his head. “David’s widow is a real piece of work. She didn’t care that David was dead, except to want to know how soon she could bury him. Pastor Matt called me this morning. She’s already arranging for a private burial. And that’s only because David had pre-planned his funeral. If he hadn’t, I bet she would have chosen the cheapest way to dispose of him.”

  “Maybe she did dispose of him,” I said with a grimace.

  “You’re thinking she killed him,” Harry grunted as he stood up.

  Paw stared up at my uncle, but when it became apparent Harry wasn’t going to pet him anymore, Paw trotted over to me.

  I rubbed his back and said, “Isn’t the wife always the chief suspect?”

  “Yeah,” Harry said, pointing at me, “but you’re not going to find out. That’s my job. Stay out of it.”

  I held my tongue, knowing that arguing with him was pointless. “I’ll see you later.”

  Harry eyed me suspiciously. “What? No argument?”

  I smiled sweetly. “I know not to argue with my elders.”

  Harry grunted as I led Paw out of his office.

  Chapter 3

  Mrs. Booksteen drove to our last stop which was David Tanner’s wife’s residence. Collection of the clothing had gone well. I had agreed to help her pick up donations for the thrift shop a week ago. Even though I didn’t feel like going, she had urged me to help her to take my mind off David’s death.

  Charlotte Tanner lived on Bennett Street, a tree-shaded avenue off Main Street. A mix of house styles lined both sides of the street. There were one-story ranchers, brick-fronted two-storied homes, and one home that had a turret on the side. Most of the houses sat back from the street with manicured lawns extending to the curb. A few chrysanthemums bloomed from flower beds.

  Mrs. Booksteen pulled into a short driveway of a two-story brick home with a wide front porch. Black trash bags sat on the porch. She put the car in park and turned off the engine. “This is the place. According to Marie, she’s renting it with that artist.”

  “What’s he like?”

  “Ned Turner? He’s an arrogant bully. I thought artists were to be mild and gentle. Not him. Best get this over with so I can get these clothes to the church office.”

  The donations would be sorted by the church ladies next week. Some would be given to needy families while others would be sold in the charity shop the church ran.

  We stepped out of the car and walked up the short flight of steps. Five, full-size trash bags were stuffed and tied shut. I grasped the first one and heaved. The bag was heavy. What had the woman donated?

  Mrs. Booksteen grunted as she lifted a bag. “One at a time I think.”

  “I can get them all if you want.”

  “No. I may be older, but I’ll not shirk my duty.”

  We both staggered to the car under the weight. A second trip was the same. Finally, one bag was left.

  “We’ll carry that one together.” Mrs. Booksteen nodded at the last bag.

  As we climbed the steps, the front door opened.

  Charlotte Tanner stepped onto the porch. “Oh, you’re here.”

  Mrs. Booksteen nodded, wiping a sheen of sweat from her forehead with a tissue. “We’re almost done.”

  “Good.” She held up a manicured hand. “I have one more bag.” She bent and twisted to retrieve a small white trash bag sitting inside the door. “Here.” She held the bag out to Mrs. B by two fingers.

  Mrs. B took the bag.

  I topped the last step and nodded to Charlotte. “Our condolences on your loss.”

  Her mouth pinched as if she’d eaten something sour. “I’m not sorry he’s dead.” The vehemence in her voice surprised me.

  Mrs. Booksteen placed her free on her hip. “He was your husband.”

  “Not a good one though.”

  Curious, I asked, “Why do you say that?”

  She glared at me. “It’s none of your business.” She stepped back inside and slammed the door.

  I shrugged. “Sorry.”

  Mrs. B waved away my apology. “Let’s get the bags and get out of here.”

  We did. As we pulled out of the driveway, I couldn’t resist one look back. Charlotte stood at the window watching us with an intent expression.

  I spent the next day and a half immersed in writing about dogs and plants. A deadline loomed for two magazine articles. One centered on ownership of a Saint Bernard which I could write in my sleep. The other article explored pet-friendly gardening of which I knew little. To prepare for the article I had visited our local nursery, A Passion for Plants, a month ago. Sarah Wainwright, the owner, had explained about choosing plants that were non-toxic to pets. She provided me with enough information to complete my article.

  By the next morning, I was prepared to mail my finished work to my editor. I stood up from my desk and stretched then strolled into the kitchen for a cup of tea.

  Paw stayed in the living room enjoying a dog nap.

  I heated water and steeped a tea bag before sitting at the kitchen table with the Tranquil Valley Times. Our local newspaper had headlined David’s death. The article covered the crime and gave some details about his past. Nothing I didn’t already know. I finished my tea, put the cup in the sink, and headed back to my desk.

  The phone rang as I walked into the living room.

  I picked it up. “Hello.”

  “Clarissa? Tammy Williams.” She spoke in a rush. “I need a favor. I’m scheduled to be at Mr. Bishop’s office in a half hour and Darla just called me.” Darla was Tammy’s daughter. “She’s at the hospital, ready to deliver. Can you go to Bishop’s for me?”

  Tammy Williams was founder and executive director of the Betterment Foundation.

  “Mr. Bishop? The attorney?”

&nbs
p; “Yes. He handles the legal work for the foundation.” I heard a thump. “Ouch!”

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah. Dropped a book on my foot. Listen. I’ll call Bishop and let him know you’re coming. It’s probably a packet of papers to pick up for the Foundation. Just drop them off at Alma’s, okay?”

  I hesitated.

  “Please.”

  “Alright. I’ll take care of it.”

  “Thank you.”

  Click. Darla was due to give birth to Tammy’s first grandchild. No wonder the woman was in a rush to get to the hospital.

  The Betterment Foundation provided relief to the community in the form of food, energy and fuel assistance, and provision of clothes and medical supplies. Tammy had spearheaded its creation after the death of her husband from cancer.

  Alma, who volunteered for numerous charities in town, was treasurer of the Foundation. Normally she would have taken Tammy’s place, but Alma was out of town on foundation business.

  I ran upstairs and changed into a skirt and blouse then checked on Paw. He was stretched out on the floor with his back against the sofa.

  “Hey, boy, I’m going out.”

  He jumped up to join me.

  I hugged him.

  “Not this time. You have to stay home.”

  He looked up with sad, puppy dog eyes.

  “We’ll take a walk when I come back.”

  He followed me to the door where I picked up my purse. “Be good.” I gave him a farewell pat and slipped out the door.

  I turned the knob to the door of the lawyer’s office and stepped into the reception area. As I closed the door, a woman’s voice asked, “May I help you?” I turned around and said, “Yes. Tammy Williams from the Betterment Foundation sent me to pick up a packet of papers.”

  The receptionist was dressed in a tailored brown dress suit. “Let me check with Mr. Bishop.”

  She picked up her phone, and in a soft voice, spoke to the lawyer. According to Alma, Mr. Bishop handled the legal matters for the foundation.

  The receptionist turned to me. “Ma’am. Could you please tell me your name?”

  “Clarissa Hayes.”

  She spoke my name into the phone then murmured an assent and hung up. She stood up. “Please follow me.”

  She stepped from behind her desk and walked down a short hallway at a brisk pace.

  I followed while glancing around the office. The walls were paneled in a dark wood while deep blue wall-to-wall carpet muffled my steps. The receptionist stopped in front of a door at the end of the hallway. She opened the door with a quiet click and gestured for me to enter.

  I passed her in the doorway and stepped into what I assumed was the lawyer’s personal office. The door clicked shut behind me. Several people sat in the wood paneled office. A large desk dominated the center of the room.

  Charlotte Tanner frowned at me from a chair placed to the left of the desk. In an identical chair, Ned Turner lolled with his legs stretched out. I glanced to my right. The young man who Alma had introduced to me at the park fundraiser fidgeted in his seat. He jerked his head in a nod of greeting. I wondered where his wife was and why he was here.

  A tall, well-dressed man in his thirties stood behind the desk.

  He extended his hand. “Welcome, Ms. Hayes. Would you please join us?”

  I strode to the desk and shook his hand. “I don’t understand. Tammy Williams sent me to pick up papers.”

  “I’ll provide them after I read the will.”

  “The will?”

  He gave a curt nod. “David Tanner’s will.”

  I frowned in confusion.

  Ned Turner sat up. “What’s she got to do with it?”

  Mr. Bishop glared at Turner and he lolled back.

  The lawyer gestured to a chair next to his desk. “Please sit, Ms. Hayes. I’ll explain as I read the will.”

  I walked past the man from the park, Sam Davis, and sat in the chair Bishop indicated.

  Mr. Bishop shuffled papers on his desk and sat down. He cleared his throat. “We’re here for the reading of David Tanner’s will. I’ll read through the preliminaries then get to the bequests.”

  As the lawyer recited the usual legalese of a will, I observed my fellow listeners. Ned Turner closed his eyes while wearing a bored expression. By her expression and rapt attention, Charlotte Tanner listened to every word the lawyer spoke. Sam Davis stared at his feet, but I got the impression he was listening to every word as well.

  Mr. Bishop completed the preliminaries. “Now to the bequests. I’ll cover the two charitable ones first then read the family bequests.”

  No one objected so Mr. Bishop continued. “There are two charitable bequests. The Solstice Fund will receive ten percent of the estate to continue its work.” He glanced at Mr. Davis. “The Fund helps families who have lost a loved one to drunk driving.”

  Sam nodded.

  Was he involved with the Solstice Fund?

  Ned Turner grumbled under his breath.

  Mr. Bishop ignored him and continued the reading. “The second bequest goes to the Betterment Foundation.” He turned to me. “That’s why you are here, Ms. Hayes. Mrs. Williams requested you represent the foundation for the reading since she couldn’t be present.”

  I nodded.

  “The Foundation will receive ten percent of the—”

  Ned Turner interrupted. “What! Twenty percent of the estate goes to charities. You can’t do that.” Turner snapped his mouth shut at Mr. Bishop’s cool stare.

  Charlotte grabbed Ned’s arm. “Be quiet!”

  Ned slumped back into his seat as Charlotte spoke to the lawyer. “Continue.”

  “As I was saying, the Foundation will receive ten percent of the estate to continue its work in this community.” He spoke to me. “Ms. Hayes, I will give you the details and the paperwork for Mrs. Williams after the reading is finished.”

  “Of course.”

  “Now to the family bequests. To my wife, Charlotte, I leave the contents of our house that she chose and spent my money to purchase.”

  Everyone looked at Charlotte who grimaced while a gleam of avarice shown in her eyes.

  Mr. Bishop continued. “The house, cars, and any money, or financial assets, I bequest to Sam Davis to do with as he sees fit.”

  Charlotte Tanner paled while Ned Turner exploded. “That’s not valid.” He gestured to Charlotte. “She was his wife. Everything goes to her. This is illegal.”

  Mr. Bishop spoke in a calm but firm voice. “I assure you it is legal.”

  Turner flung his hands at Sam. “Then he coerced him.”

  Sam shot up. “That’s a lie. I didn’t even know him, and I don’t want anything from him.”

  Charlotte stood with a furious expression. “I was his wife and only heir. I demand the will be contested.”

  Mr. Bishop’s expression became stony. “Mrs. Tanner, the will stands. These are Mr. Tanner’s wishes. If you don’t like them, you can hire another lawyer and contest the will. I warn you, though, it will be a futile effort.”

  “We’ll see.” She flounced out of the office.

  Ned Turner glared at Sam and strode after Charlotte. Silence permeated the room until Sam spoke.

  “I don’t want anything from Tanner. He was a vile man and I hated him.”

  His vitriol shocked me.

  Mr. Bishop gave a slow nod. “You are free to refuse the bequest, but I urge you to reconsider.”

  Sam turned his back on Bishop and started for the door. “I won’t reconsider,” he said over his shoulder.

  Mr. Bishop stared after Sam then shook his head. “Ms. Hayes, I have prepared written details for Mrs. Williams and the necessary paperwork. The will must go through probate before any funds will be available. Once complete, the foundation will receive a check.”

  I nodded. “I’ll let her know about it. She requested I drop the paperwork off to the foundation’s treasurer.”

  He stacked papers on his desk. “A
lma will know what to do.” Of course, he knew Alma was treasurer since he did legal work for the foundation.

  Bishop straightened a few more papers, placed them in a Manila envelope, and handed them to me. He stuck out his hand. “Thank you for coming in.”

  I shook his hand, murmuring, “Thank you.”

  He walked me to his office door, and when I stepped into the hall, he closed his door behind me.

  I strode down the hall, nodded to his receptionist, and let myself out into the warm fall sunshine.

  It was a lovely day to take a walk, and I decided to go home and get Paw. He would enjoy a walk in the park. On my way home, I dropped the paperwork off at Alma’s. No one was home, but I had a key, so I let myself in and placed the papers on her desk. I locked up and strode home.

  Paw greeted me at the door with waving tail and soft woofs. He wriggled in delight as I scratched his back.

  “How about a walk in the park,” I said to him.

  “Woof!”

  “Let me get my articles and we’ll drop them off at the post office.”

  Paw followed me to my desk and watched me prepare the articles for the mail. Once finished I snapped on his leash.

  I stopped at the post office to mail my envelopes. My articles went to out of town magazines. Molly Hannon, postmistress, stamped my envelopes, and added them to the pickup bag for Hank Reston. Hank collected and delivered mail from the local post offices to the central sorting facility twenty miles away.

  With a smile and a wave, I left the post office. Paw waited outside, watching a bug crawling over his paw. Molly loved Paw but was allergic, so I left Paw outside when the weather was nice. There was a special area set aside for pets to wait for their owners.

  Paw jumped up and trotted over to the gate of the small fenced-in waiting area. I released him and we strolled to the park. As we neared our destination, Paw picked up speed, forcing me to jog after him.

  We entered through the main gates. Paw headed straight for the gazebo and around the side, like the night we found David.

  My stomach flipped in fear we’d find another dead body, but instead of a dead man, we found a live Mr. Kempton on his knees by a flower bed. He was the park gardener and caretaker. A voluntary position that he performed with dedication.