by Paula Lester
“Yeah.” She shrugged. “Didn’t everybody in town want Arthur to ease up on the crazy rent a little bit?”
Okay, that was actually true. I knew I’d wanted it. But I shook my head. Angelique wasn’t supposed to be the one asking the questions. “Did you kill Arthur to achieve that? Or maybe to help your friend Mike get some of Arthur’s buildings?”
She glanced at Mike, who looked bored. “I didn’t kill him, but I’m glad he’s dead. And I hope Mike gets some of his buildings.” She paused. “I wasn’t in town when Arthur died. I was down in Lansing at a conference for my job.”
I felt my brow wrinkle in confusion.
Crosby pulled out his notepad. “Can you prove that?”
“Sure. I have all kinds of restaurant receipts and a hotel invoice at home.”
He scribbled for a second. “Could you drop that stuff off at the police station in the next day or so?”
Angelique nodded. “Sure. No problem.”
Well, that certainly took the wind out of my sails. But then my attention moved to Mike. “Were you out of town too?”
He shook his head. “Nope. I was around. I didn’t kill Arthur, though.”
“Can you prove it?”
He shrugged. “Probably not.”
Crosby put his notebook away. “Okay, we’re done here. No more fighting. And all of you should be prepared to go to the station for more questioning when you’re called.” He came around the bench, put a hand on the small of my back, and propelled me away from the trio.
I glanced over my shoulder. “We should have pressed Mike more,” I whined.
Crosby’s jaw clenched. “You know you’re risking the investigation when you do that, right? You’re a suspect. Questioning other suspects makes the information they give you inadmissible.”
“It does?”
He gave me a long-suffering look. “It does,” he ground out.
“Oh. Well, that’s bad. Hey, why did you show up here?”
His cell phone buzzed, and he took it out and looked at the text before turning the screen toward me. “I have to get back to the station. Arthur’s dog was found.” He slipped the phone into his pocket. “And I was here because I found out who Arthur’s nephew is.”
“You did? Who is it?”
He started across the boardwalk toward the police cruiser parked in the apartment’s lot. Over his shoulder, he said, “It’s Jackson.”
Chapter 15
I wanted to turn right back around and talk to Jackson, but Crosby threatened to arrest me if I did.
After I regained the power of speech, I scoffed. “You wouldn’t do that.”
“If I need to stick you in a cell to keep you from putting yourself directly in harm’s way, I’ll do it and not think twice.” His tone and expression both backed up his words.
I thought about the headline in the local paper if he followed through on his threat: Superior Bay Veterinarian Willow Morgan Arrested and Thrown in the Slammer!
I wavered, backing up a step. I certainly didn’t want to deal with that. I was having enough trouble getting people to book appointments at my clinic as it was. I crossed my arms and tried to look like I wasn’t backing down because of his threat but only because I’d decided to agree with him. “I guess it’s better to keep that information close to the vest. We don’t want to show our hand too fast.”
His grin was slow and adorable. Then he winked at me. “Good thinking.”
I was torn between wanting to kiss him or punch him.
“Dr. Morgan!” The cry came from down the boardwalk to my right, and Crosby and I both turned slightly to see Jane, the vice president of the dog show board of directors, waving in excitement at us.
I returned the wave.
“I need to get to the station. I’ll see you later, okay?” Crosby leaned in and whispered. “Don’t forget . . . watch your back. I’m a text away if you need something.”
I nodded as he continued toward his truck and then turned to smile at Jane, who’d made it to my side but was breathing a little hard. “Hoo! It’s a warm one today. I have too many clothes on.” She unbuttoned the top three buttons of her thin sweater and fanned ineffectually at her face with a hand.
“It is a lovely day. But maybe not for hustling too fast.”
“Yes, well, I’m of the age where I shouldn’t be doing much hustling anyway. My knees won’t thank me later for stressing them. But when I saw you, I just had to try and catch you. I’m heading to the Grill right now, and the rest of the board and all the judges will be there. Why don’t you come along with me? It’ll be fun for you to get to know the other judges better.”
I opened my mouth automatically to decline but closed it again, reconsidering. Maybe I should get social with the other dog show judges. Their last impression of me was that I might be on the take, so it could be a good idea for me to go make some connections. Show them I was an honest person who planned to judge fairly.
I nodded at Jane. “Thanks for the invitation. I’d love to go with you.”
She gave me a wide smile, linked her elbow through mine, and began to march down the boardwalk. “Let’s walk slowly, though, shall we, dear? I don’t want to show up all flushed and sweaty. That cutie Carl is going to be there.”
I craned my neck to study her face, wondering if her words about the flower shop owner were a joke. But she grinned and kept her eyes straight ahead. She seriously had a crush on him!
Shaking my head, I got into step with Jane, filing away the tidbit to tell Aunt Dru. Carl was a sweet guy—Jane could do worse than setting her sights on him.
We took our time, strolling along slowly so as not to strain Jane’s arthritic knees. When we passed my clinic, I noted that Korbin’s and Jeremy’s cars were still there. A glance at my cell phone screen told me it was almost quitting time for them. I felt a flash of gratitude that I had Jeremy’s help with my business, but it was quickly followed by an equally strong jolt of confusion. I still hadn’t answered his question about going on a date, and I didn’t feel any closer to coming to a decision on it than I had been when he first asked. But I was going to have to decide soon—it wasn’t fair to leave the poor guy hanging.
When we got to the Grill, the rest of the judges and most of the board members were there already. Some stood at the bar and others played darts or sat grouped in twos and threes talking at tables. Jane pulled me to the bar, and we both ordered a drink. She gave me a sidelong look when I asked for a diet soda but didn’t say anything. Instead, she ordered two vodkas with diet raspberry lemonade and handed one to me when they arrived.
I shook my head, attempting to decline, but Jane simply pushed the drink more firmly toward me until the only choices I had were to take it or get mixed drink splashed onto me. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” She leaned to speak close to my ear. “I’m doing you a favor. Have this one drink and nurse it the entire evening. You can thank me later.” With that, she spun around and made her way to a small table where Carl sat talking to Lacy, another show judge.
For a few moments, I stood around feeling awkward by myself while everyone else had someone to talk to. But then Sarah called me over to where she stood with another judge at the other end of the bar. Feeling grateful to be included, I hurried toward them, leaving my diet soda and taking the mixed drink along.
“So, are you ready for tomorrow, young lady?” The man with Sarah was in his late forties and really didn’t have much of a basis for using that term toward me. It felt patronizing and made me bristle.
Sarah seemed to recognize the look on my face and jumped in. “This is Hueston Riley. He’s been a judge for . . . oh, I don’t know. How long, Hue?”
“Eight years,” he answered. “Long enough to regret it.” He laughed raucously, sloshing some martini out of the inverted-triangle-shaped cup in his hand.
Sarah and I exchanged a look as we backed away a step. The guy was obviously drunk. It didn’t excuse him for being a sexist jerk, but
it did mean I’d refrain from telling him off for it.
Hue’s words were slightly slurred. “Hey, Sarah, do you remember that time Louis Ralph tried to switch his prize dog out for its brother because the show dog got sick? He thought they looked exactly the same and would fool us all, but the twin was ten pounds heavier and had no idea how to walk on a leash?” He nearly doubled over laughing, his drink splashing more.
The other judge chuckled. “I do remember. I’ll never forget Louis’ face when I told him he was disqualified for unsportsmanlike behavior.”
“You guys talking about Louis and the magically growing mastiff?” Carl called from his spot at the table. “That’s a classic.”
I turned to set my drink on the bar, but the bartender set a second, full one in front of me. “From a secret admirer,” she said with a wink.
“But I don’t . . .” I started, but it was too late. She was gone, pouring more drinks farther down the bar. I looked around, trying to spot the person who’d bought me a drink, and realized the Grill had gotten a lot more packed. The judges were all sort of scrunching together near our end of the bar, and other people were filling the rest of the space.
In a moment, the bartender was back with a full martini glass for Hueston and a similar story about it being from an admirer. I watched closely and soon realized all the judges were getting free drink refills.
I leaned close to Sarah. “Who’s buying us drinks?”
She looked surprised. “Why, everyone, dear.” She waved a hand at the crowd on the other side of the room.
I followed her gesture. My eyes landed on Lorene, who was placing an order with the bartender and pointing toward the gaggle of judges. Duncan was over there too. In fact, the room was filled with dog owners and handlers, and it appeared they were sending a steady stream of drinks to the judges.
I narrowed my eyes. Was this bribery?
Grabbing my original drink, I turned my back on the two full ones just like it sitting on the bar waiting for me. I didn’t want to get into a situation where someone felt I owed them because they’d bought my drinks all night. I also didn’t want to get drunk and have a hangover on the first day of the dog show the next day.
Looking around, I could see that was going to be the case for a lot of the judges, including Hueston.
As the evening wore on, the noise level in the bar increased. Judges and dog owners alike were drinking, getting looser tongues, and even dancing. Judges told stories of the craziness that went along with their jobs, and on the other side of the room, handlers regaled listeners with stories of the judges acting badly. One of them told a loud and long story about Hueston getting cairn terriers mixed up with Scottish terriers and judging the two dogs inappropriately.
I had to admit—I was enjoying the stories. I’d lived in Superior Bay all my life and attended the dog show every year, but I’d had no idea this side of it existed. The side where handlers and owners jostled for the favor of judges and judges tried to walk a fine line between accepting what perks they could and not being accused of showing favoritism in the ring.
I felt like I’d stepped into an alternate world right in my own small, sleepy town.
And still, someone kept sending me drinks. There were five of them lined up on the bar behind me when I caught a glimpse of the darkness outside as someone came through the door. It was time for me to call it a night.
I made my way through the crowd, trying to avoid getting caught by judges who wanted to give me advice or handlers who wanted to tell me why I should pay special attention to their dog the next day. I was relieved when I made it out onto the sidewalk, but then I realized I’d had enough to drink that I shouldn’t walk to my car at the clinic and drive home.
I pulled out my phone and considered which of my friends to call. Aly and Julia were likely either still at work doing last-minute dog show preparations or were at home getting some well-deserved rest. I didn’t want to interrupt them from either of those things, so I punched Crosby’s name on the screen and shot off a text. He lived close to my house, anyway, so even if he had to come into town to get me, he’d be back home shortly afterward.
His text came back only a moment later: Be right there.
His pick-up pulled up less than five minutes later, and I jumped in. “Thanks. Where were you?”
“Still at the station. It’s probably good you texted, or I may have stayed there working all night.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “I just can’t seem to make a crack in the Wiggins case.” He pulled away from the curb. “What were you doing at the Grill alone?”
“I wasn’t alone—I was with the other judges.”
“Oh, they pulled you into their fold, did they? That’s cool.”
I stared out the window as we crept down the road past all the closed shops. “It was kind of cool. It was nice of them to include me.” Then I remembered something and sat up straight. “When I saw you last, you said Rocky had been found. Is he okay?”
Crosby nodded. “He’s fine. Delilah Stroves brought him in to the police station. She said he was wandering around on her property and she recognized him.”
“Wandering around? That’s weird. Why would someone steal him from Catherine’s porch and then just let him go?”
Crosby shrugged. “I haven’t figured that out yet. But I have to say it isn’t exactly at the top of my list of things to figure out. Catherine came and got Rocky from the station, and I closed the case.”
I didn’t think the case should be closed. It seemed super obvious that Rocky’s theft had something to do with the Arthur Wiggins case. But I knew better than to question my friend about how to do his job, so I didn’t say anything.
When Crosby pulled the truck into the driveway, I paused before jumping out. “Do you want to come inside for a little bit? We can have some tea and rehash everything we know about the case so far. Maybe putting two heads together will help.”
The porch light went on, and Aunt Dru’s silhouette appeared in the doorway.
“Make that three heads to put together,” I said.
Crosby snorted and shut off the truck’s engine. “I don’t have any other bright ideas, and I doubt I’ll be able to sleep anytime soon, so why not? Tomorrow’s the first day of the dog show, and I can’t help but worry that Arthur’s killer is planning something.”
I hesitated in the cab of the truck, watching Crosby slink toward the porch. He looked almost defeated, and his words had made my heart beat faster.
Was he right? Could the killer be planning to strike again at the dog show the next day?
Chapter 16
“So, Jackson is Arthur’s nephew, which means that, according to Cheyenne Meyers, he’s going to get at least half of the buildings.” I took a sip of tea and regarded Aunt Dru and Crosby, both with their own mugs, across the battered old wooden kitchen table from me.
“Do you think he knows that?” Aunt Dru wondered, shifting her weight in the chair to reach for a carrot from a vegetable tray she’d laid out. Dragon, who was sleeping in her lap, lifted his head and squeaked. She put a hand on him, stroking his ears calmly until he settled back down.
I shrugged. “He was telling Mike Gentry to be patient about getting some of Arthur’s buildings. Said something like, ‘These things take time.’ That made it seem to me like he knows, but I also saw him in Arthur’s office demanding from Cheyenne to know who was taking over. So, I don’t know.”
“Maybe he was just testing Cheyenne to see if she’d confirm that Arthur had left him the buildings,” Crosby suggested, looking thoughtful. “I don’t think Arthur and Jackson had a great relationship. That’s why no one in town seemed to know they were even related. Maybe Jackson didn’t think his uncle would leave him the buildings.”
“Some people remembered they were related,” Aunt Dru interjected.
Crosby and I looked at her, surprised.
She nodded. “Dory Weston remembered. She reminded me this morning. Jackson’s mother was Arthur’s sister
. She died about fifteen years ago. There was some bad blood between Arthur and his brother-in-law, Jackson’s father, at the time, over some kind of real estate deal. So, they became estranged. Jackson was only a teenager.” She sighed and shook her head sadly. “It’s just such a shame when families can’t work things out. Poor Jackson missed out on keeping part of his mother close to him.”
That was really sad. I thought about my own life. If Aunt Dru hadn’t adjusted her life, swooped in, and taken custody of her three-year-old niece after her own sister and brother-in-law had disappeared into thin air, I would have been put into foster care. Maybe I would have been adopted and maybe not. When I had found out I could talk to animals, there would have been no loving member of my own family there to explain to me what it was. To tell me she had the same gift and that my own mother had too.
I reached across the table to grab my aunt’s hand and squeezed. She looked surprised for an instant but then her expression softened in understanding and she squeezed back.
I mulled over what she’d said. “So, could Jackson have killed his uncle? Over whatever it was that went down between Arthur and Jackson’s father years ago? Or because he wanted to inherit the buildings?” My mind recoiled at the thought of Jackson killing a family member—his own flesh and blood—for some monetary rewards. “How horrible.”
Suddenly, Crosby stood up. “I’ll be right back.” He left through the front door, was gone a few minutes, and re-entered carrying an armload of papers, which he set on the table between the three of us. “I know I’ve been resisting the idea that Arthur’s murder had anything to do with the dog show. And I’m still not convinced, especially with what we’ve been finding out about Jackson and how Mike Gentry’s been acting. But I got these from Jane anyway. Just to make sure I covered all the bases.”
I reached forward and grabbed the top manila folder off the teetering pile, opening it to scan the page inside. Then I looked up at Crosby. “What is this?”
