Witch Doggone Killer

by Paula Lester

  “I see you’re keeping our little newbie out of trouble,” I said, trying to keep my voice upbeat even though Korbin was acting totally weird.

  Korbin looked down at Dragon and started, as though he was surprised to find that he was holding a puppy. “Oh. Um. He’s yours?”

  I held out my hands and accepted the pup from my technician, feeling oddly better when Dragon was back with me. “Yes, he’s our newest family member,” I confirmed.

  Aunt Dru stepped forward and surprised both Korbin and me by enveloping my technician in a warm hug. “How are you, dear? How’s Ethel?”

  He blinked rapidly a few times as though trying to keep tears from flowing. “She’s okay. Adjusting to the home, I guess. She likes the craft times they have every day, and she’s already made some friends.”

  She patted his arm and nodded. “I’m not surprised. Ethel is a real peach. I bet you miss her around the farm, though.”

  Korbin nodded and started edging toward the kennel door. “Yeah, I do. I don’t know how to make lemonade like she does. And I think Rex gets lonely at home all day alone. Well, I’d better get back to work.” He darted out the door as though my kindly aunt were a dangerous tiger he needed to escape.

  When he was out of earshot, I said, “See? He’s acting weird.”

  She frowned slightly. “I see that. Maybe I’d better head on over and visit Ethel. Can I leave Dragon here for a few hours?’

  “Sure. I’ll give him a thorough exam and get his vaccines into him. I’ll see you later.”

  She gave a peppy wave and headed toward the reception area and the front door.

  Before I could step out of the kennel, a voice stopped me. It was the golden retriever in the farthest run. “Dr. Morgan?”

  I spun around and hurried over to kneel in front of the dog. “Yes, Daisy? Are you feeling okay?”

  “Yes, much better. Thanks for the medicine.” She rubbed her head on the kennel bars, and I reached in to give her a scratch between the ears. “But I wanted to tell you. That man who was in here before you got here?”

  “Korbin? Yes, what about him?” I glanced toward the treatment area to make sure my technician wasn’t close enough to hear. I couldn’t see him.

  “He thinks you can talk to puppies.” She snorted and poked her nose toward Dragon.

  I looked down at the puppy in my hand, who was snoozing and making snuffly puppy noises. “But puppies can’t talk,” I said.

  The golden rolled her brown eyes upward and gave me a look that was clearly meant to convey that what I had said was basic knowledge. “The man doesn’t know that.”

  Confusion clouded my mind. “But he doesn’t know any dogs can talk.” I glanced through the doorway again. “Does he?”

  Daisy laid down and put her chin on her paws in a clear statement that she was done talking. I rose to my feet and tried to work out what she’d said. Korbin thought I could talk to puppies? Why would he think that? For one, no one knew I could understand animals at all except Aunt Dru and, for another, puppies were like human babies. They couldn’t communicate in words yet, even with people like me.

  I looked down at the sleeping beagle puppy again and bit my lip. What in the world was going on?

  WHEN AUNT DRU RETURNED after a few hours to get Dragon, she asked if I had a minute to talk and then surprised me by closing the door to my office behind her.

  “Did you see Ethel?” I asked, putting Dragon on the floor to run around.

  She shook her head. “She was napping. But they were playing checkers and chess in the social room, so I joined in. There were a lot of people I know there, so I took the opportunity to do a little digging.”

  I sat forward in my chair eagerly. “Did you find out anything interesting? Anything I could use to determine who killed Arthur?”

  Wrinkles appeared on my aunt’s forehead as she shook her head. “I’m not sure. Mostly, people are still in the phase of suspecting anyone and everyone for the murder. Bethany Cook even thinks some drifter came through town and did it. She doesn’t want to think that anyone in Superior Bay would do such a thing. Of course, there’s absolutely no evidence of anything like that.”

  I nodded. I certainly hadn’t heard of any suspicious strangers being around before Arthur died.

  Aunt Dru paused and then pinned me with a direct gaze. “But on my way out of the home, I ran into Dory Weston. She was going in to visit someone and, of course, she cornered me. She wanted to talk about your pre-show judging.”

  “Seriously?” I mumbled. “That only happened a few hours ago.”

  She snorted. “You know Dory,” she said. “Anyway, she told me there were some dog owners who were disappointed with how you judged this morning.” She crossed to my desk and scratched some names on a notepad.

  “I judged everyone more than fairly. Gave them all good marks,” I protested. “Who could possibly be upset?”

  “They’re upset that you were so kind to their competition.” She handed me the list of names. “I don’t know if this will help narrow down your suspects, but it’s worth a look, anyway.”

  I glanced at the sheet of paper, which had four names written in a list. I sighed and stuck it in my pocket. “I’ll take this to Crosby and see what he thinks.”

  Aunt Dru crouched down and made kissy noises with her lips until Dragon ran over to her, tripping on his own too-big paws and tumbling over. We both giggled at the pup’s antics.

  After Aunt Dru and Dragon left, I couldn’t concentrate on my spreadsheets anymore. Suspects’ faces floated across my mind’s inner screen, distracting me. I shut down the computer and headed out with a wave at Catherine.

  Pulling out my phone, I shot off a text to Crosby to find out where he was. His return text held only one word: Arena. So, I pointed my feet in the direction of the big dome structure and hurried toward it. My pace slowed as I got closer to the building, and I realized I was dreading going in.

  How had the dog show I’d loved all my life turned into a source of worry and dread? I forced my pace back up to normal.

  It didn’t take me long to find Crosby—he was dealing with a dispute between two dog handlers in the kennel room. The room was huge, airy, and noisy, with three dozen big dog runs arranged in two rows that faced each other, a wide aisle between them.

  “I just don’t see why I have to take the bad kennel.” I recognized the woman, whose arms were crossed and expression scowling, as Lorene Snyder. She handled Delilah Stroves’ dogs in the show ring. She was about twenty-five years old and had bright red hair pulled into a severe high ponytail.

  “It’s not a bad kennel. They’re all the same.” Crosby’s voice was strained.

  “Then why won’t he take this one?” She nodded toward the run behind her, where I recognized Delilah’s white poodle sitting primly.

  The other person jabbed a forefinger at Lorene. “Because it’s first come first serve, and I got here before you.” Duncan Lowery handled his own dogs, German shepherds, that did very well in the show each year. “I like this kennel because it’s on the end. Queenie has less noise to deal with down here. If you wanted this run, you should have gotten here sooner.” He leaned back and looked smug, his comb-over wobbling in the breeze from the open doorway at the end of the aisle. “Not that it would help you anyway. Delilah’s dogs can’t win. No matter what she does.”

  Lorene turned bright red and balled her fists. “That’s only because the judges have never been fair to us.”

  Duncan snorted. “You must have gotten that line from Delilah because she’s been losing since you were a kid.” He shook his head. “You think what you want. I’ve got better things to do.” He turned and strode away, leaving Crosby to try and calm a furious Lorene.

  I leaned on the doorjamb at the end of the kennel room and waited for Crosby to be done. He extricated himself from Lorene’s angry tirade after a few minutes and fled, going right past me. I had to jog a little to keep up with him. He led me to a small, empty conference room
and shut the door behind us. Then he leaned against it and puffed out a breath of air. “Ugh.”

  I chuckled. “Dog show people, eh?”

  He pushed away from the door and sat at a small table. “Yeah. They’re pretty volatile.” He tipped his head. “What’s up?”

  I pulled out the paper Aunt Dru had given me and placed it in front of him. “Dory Weston told my aunt these people are upset with the way I judged this morning.”

  He glanced at the paper but then pushed it away. “No matter what you do, someone’s going to be angry with how you judged. You saw what just happened in the kennel room. These people are like kindling, ready to burst into flames at the slightest provocation.”

  I nodded and slumped into a chair across from him. “Yeah. It’s madness out there.” I tapped the table with my fingertips, frustration mounting. “We just don’t have anything solid to go on. Korbin, Angelique, and Mike are still our best suspects, but we have no real evidence.”

  Crosby nodded. “I’m keeping an eye on Angelique and Mike. They’ve been around here all day. How about Korbin?”

  “He’s at work.” I couldn’t tell Crosby about the weirdness surrounding my technician and what Daisy had told me. “He’s still acting strange.”

  He nodded and got to his feet. “I think it’s time we stopped gathering suspects and started digging in deeper on the ones we have. Let’s do some interviews.”

  Chapter 13

  I had no idea where Crosby was taking me, but I was glad to get out of the arena and feel the sunshine on my face. I opened the pick-up’s window a crack, stuck my nose up, and closed my eyes to feel the cool air currents drift across my face.

  “You look like a dog.” Crosby chuckled.

  “Probably spending too much time around canines.” I snuck a look at him, thinking about what Aunt Dru had said about him having feelings about me. I felt heat rise into my cheeks and tried to force my thoughts away. Somehow, I feared he’d be able to read my mind if I allowed it to linger in the danger zone. “So, this morning, I caught Mike Gentry trying to get into the medicine room at the arena.” The investigation seemed like safer ground to think about and discuss.

  Crosby glanced at me and a strange expression flitted over his face before he returned his attention to the road. Internally, I groaned. He knew me too well. Must have noticed me blushing a little. But he didn’t say anything about it. Instead, he kept to the topic at hand, to my great relief. “That’s weird. I wonder why he was trying to get in there.”

  I shrugged. “I couldn’t get that information out of him.” I left out the part about how awkward I’d been while trying. “He said he wanted a supplement for his friend’s dog. She was supposedly at the groomer and needed his help.”

  The corners of his mouth tugged downward. “Sounds fishy.” He pulled into a driveway and shut off the truck.

  I peered through the windshield at the blue bungalow in front of us. It was neat and well-tended, with white shutters and window boxes filled with red, white, and blue petunias. A woman was on her hands and knees in a flower bed, planting red geraniums. “Who’s that?” I asked.

  “That is Mike Gentry’s mom. Let’s go see if she knows what her son is up to.” He hopped out of the truck before I could ask more questions and headed toward the woman, who shaded her eyes as she tried to see who was approaching.

  I got out of the truck as fast as I could and jogged to catch up with Crosby, not wanting to miss any part of the conversation.

  Crosby touched his hat, nodding slightly to the woman, who got up and brushed her hands on equally dirty jeans. “Hello, Mrs. Gentry. Fine afternoon today.” He gestured toward the geraniums. “Nice-looking plants.”

  She followed his gaze. “Yes, I got them at Barnes’ Nursery. They always seem to be the hardiest. You never know when we may get a late frost here, of course. But geraniums usually make it through a brief cold spell.” She looked past Crosby at me and then back at the officer. “What can I do for you today?”

  “Actually, I have a few questions for you if you have a minute, ma’am. It’s about Arthur Wiggins’ murder.” Crosby’s eyes were trained on Mrs. Gentry’s face.

  She clucked her tongue and shook her head. “Nasty business, that. But what could I possibly help with? I barely knew Arthur.”

  Crosby pulled a small spiral notebook and pen out of his breast pocket. “But you did know him?”

  She shrugged. “Just in passing. I mean, we’ve both lived here all our lives. Plus, Cheyenne Meyers is a friend of mine.”

  Nodding, Crosby scribbled on the notebook. “I see. Had you seen Arthur or talked to him in the past couple of months?”

  She pursed her lips and thought for a moment. “No. I don’t think so.” She turned her body a bit as though itching to get back to her planting.

  Crosby snapped the notebook shut and slid it back into his pocket.

  Really? Was that all he was going to ask her? I stepped forward. “What about your son? Did Mike have dealings with Arthur Wiggins?”

  Crosby glared at me. I shrugged.

  Mrs. Gentry turned back toward us. Her expression was more wary than it had been before. “Mike? How should I know what dealings my son has? He’s a successful businessman with his fingers in a lot of pies. But he mostly deals in Red River. Moved there right after high school. I don’t know of anything specific he would have had to do with Arthur.” She crossed her arms, her body language closing off. “Is there anything else? I really want to get these babies planted and watered.”

  “No, that’s all. Thanks for your time.” Crosby started walking away.

  I didn’t budge. “Do you know which dog owner your son is friends with at the show? One he’d be at the arena trying to help?”

  That earned me another pointed look from Crosby. This time, I ignored it entirely and didn’t even look at him. He may be ready to walk away from this potential source of information, but I’d learned my lesson awkwardly questioning Mike that morning, and I wasn’t giving up so easily.

  Mrs. Gentry’s eyes moved upward like she was accessing information in a certain part of her brain. Then she nodded. “That must be Lorene.”

  “Delilah Stroves’ dog handler?” She seemed a bit young to be friends with Mike Gentry. “How do they know each other?”

  “I think they met at a party or something last year. Hit it off pretty fast and actually started dating.” She grinned. “I haven’t been able to get him to tell me whether it’s serious. I’m just the mom. I have to wait until my kids decide it’s time for me to know something before they tell me.”

  That wasn’t how my relationship with Aunt Dru was. She didn’t have to pull any information out of me—I couldn’t tell her fast enough whenever anything new happened in my life.

  Mrs. Gentry was still talking. “I think Mikey wants to be in a better financial spot before he gets serious with a woman.”

  “He’s not already?” By all accounts, Mike owned a bunch of rental buildings in Red River. I thought he should be bringing in a lot of money.

  But his mother shook her head. “He’s made some bad business deals along the way. Mikey still owes the bank money on some of that. He wants to expand his rentals but can’t borrow any more money to do it.” She blew out a breath. “I wish I had more to give him, but I only have this house.” She gestured toward the tiny, tidy place. “And he won’t get that until after I die.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Gentry,” Crosby tried again to end the conversation. “I’m sorry for disturbing you. We’ll let you get back to your plants.” He grabbed my elbow and hauled me toward the truck.

  I scowled and yanked my arm away. Straightening my spine, I tried to gather all my dignity as I walked the rest of the way to the truck. Once we got in, I glared at him some more. “You didn’t have to pull me away from her like I’m a kid.”

  He rolled his eyes and turned the key in the ignition. “You would have stayed and asked her questions until you tipped our hand.”

 
“Our hand?”

  “We don’t need her calling Mike and telling him he’s suspect in Arthur’s murder. If he is the killer, that’ll make him even more careful about covering his tracks.” He backed out of the driveway onto the street.

  “You don’t think she’ll call him anyway? You told her flat out we were there about Arthur’s murder.”

  “Oh, I’m sure she will. But I want her to tell him he’s not under suspicion. That I wasn’t even asking about him.”

  Unfortunately for my ego, that made sense. “Okay, but you have to admit I got some good information out of her. Now we know Mike was trying to get medicine for Delilah’s dog.” I couldn’t keep the smugness out of my tone.

  “We don’t know that. It’s still all speculation,” he corrected.

  I crossed my arms and slumped in the seat. “Fine. Who are we talking to next?”

  “I’m talking to Cheyenne Meyers, and you’re going back to the arena. Or your clinic. You tell me where you want to be dropped off.”

  My jaw fell open. “What? I’m not getting dropped off. I’m going with you to talk to Cheyenne.”

  “Nope. I can’t trust you to keep your mouth shut and let me do the questioning, so you’re going to have to sit this one out. Cheyenne is touchy. It’s going to be tricky to get anything out of her, and if you’re there pushing, she’s liable to clam up. Or erupt. And I don’t want to deal with either of those situations.” His tone said the decision was final.

  Well, he was just going to have to un-finalize it. I softened my tone. “I’ll be silent as a church mouse. I promise. You won’t have to worry about me upsetting Cheyenne at all.”

  He shook his head, but I saw the hard line of his jaw soften a touch.

  I decided to press my luck. “If I promise to zip my lips and not say one single word to Cheyenne, can I please come with you? Wait a minute. What do you want to talk to her about?”