Last night I had texted Russ from the police station to let him know what was going on, but that I was fine. He’d also called and spoken with me after I’d gotten off the phone with Jana. In a nutshell, he was glad that I was okay, confident in his theory that the police would soon discover that Malcolm had killed both women, and, finally, he told me that he would be working from home all this week so that he could “sort out his feelings.”
Which is more or less how the conversation ended. Now it felt as if my thoughts and emotions were a roiling vat of soup. The lump in my throat wouldn’t go away. I was battling loneliness and the fear that I’d lost the one man who truly loved me, which led to more pervasive fears: Maybe I couldn’t make it all on my own. Maybe I wasn’t good enough, strong enough, smart enough, or just plain enough all by myself. Was I being self-indulgent by crying? Or by not crying when I should just get it all out of my system and then be fully present for my clients?
Eventually, I deserted my dogs to head, ironically, to the owners of another female German shepherd, which, unlike Pavlov, would have gotten hysterical at her owner’s departure. I hadn’t been in contact with Baxter to know whether or not he had indeed gotten around to starting work yesterday on my client’s backyard kennel.
Maxine, the shepherd, had the worst fear of abandonment that I’d ever witnessed. The owners—Zina and Bob—insisted Maxine’s problems began out of the blue two years earlier, when she was five. I’d consulted with the dog’s vet, and we’d agreed that the best solution for the time being was Clomicalm, a canine version of the anti-anxiety medications that people use.
I spotted Baxter in my client’s back yard and didn’t want to talk to him right now, while I was feeling so out of sorts. He’d happened to be letting himself through the gate just as I got out of my car. We merely exchanged waves. As he started to head toward me, I called, “I don’t want to be late for my appointment.”
He nodded and gave me another wave, then turned away.
I rang the doorbell, and Zina let me in. Maxine immediately started sniffing at my legs. “I’ve got Pavlov, my shepherd, in the office,” I said to Zina. “I’m sure Maxine is picking up on her sent.”
“Oh, I wish you’d brought her with you. Maybe your dog’s good behavior would rub off on Maxine.”
“That’s highly unlikely.”
“Did you notice that your friend Baxter is here? He said he wanted to get started helping Maxine right away. What a wonderful young man! I’m so pleased you recommended him!”
I smiled. “I know he’ll do a good job.”
“He’s sure off to a good start. Plus Maxine immediately befriended him. I’ve never seen her take to anyone that fast before. Especially not to a strange man. And, not to talk out of turn, but he is completely smitten with you.”
I stared at her in surprise. “He said that?”
“Not in so many words. But he raved at length about you. It was so obvious that even my husband noticed.”
We talked about Maxine and her anti-anxiety meds. I showed Zina some behavior-modification techniques and answered her every question. As far as I could tell, I was doing a more-than passible job at making it seem like their dog-behavior woes had my full attention. Meanwhile, part of my mind was focused on the handsome man in their backyard. I was eager for my fifty-minute session to end and had to force myself not to race out the back door when time was up.
To my happy discovery, Baxter was indeed still there. He was studying a piece of paper as he examined his project. The metal fence posts were set in the four corners of the hardening cement pad that he’d poured. He spotted me and snatched out his earbuds for an iPod or phone in his pocket.
“What do you think?” he asked me, beaming, handing me his drawings for the completed enclosure.
I flipped through them, sincerely impressed. “It’s going to be perfect. There’s no way Maxine could escape, or injure herself in a failed attempt at getting out.”
“I call her Houdini,” he said. “They were telling me how she managed to bust through the garage wall and could essentially pick the lock of every carrier they’ve put her in. She’s an amazing escape artist.”
“Who’s finally met her match,” I said, handing him back his excellent building plans.
“Speaking of houses, have you and Russell thought any more about your shopping quest?”
“No, that’s off.”
“You’re not getting a place together?”
“No.” I realized I should expand my answer, but I was having a hard time, weighing my guilty conscience and my school-girl-like reaction to Baxter’s evident attraction to me. This was exactly what Russell had said would happen. Was that because it was meant to be? Or was this a convenient excuse to give myself permission to be a heartless slut, flirting with an available man who loved dogs as much as I did?
“Did you just decide to rent for a while instead? Or is this more serious than that?”
“We’re sort of in a holding pattern,” I said with a shrug, unable or at least unwilling to meet his eyes.
“You want to talk about it? After work, or over lunch, maybe?”
I shook my head. “Not for a while.”
“Can I check back in a week?”
I shook my head again, and he said, “Two weeks?”
I hesitated. I looked at him and got the strong, but thankfully fleeting, thought that I could see myself and Baxter in a Christmas photo surrounded with our dogs. But my mind was just playing games with me. It was only natural to fantasize about someone else when things had fallen apart in your love life. I owed it to Russell to put all such thoughts out of my head.
Baxter had taken my silence as consent and his deep brown eyes lit up with hope. “Two weeks from today, I’ll call. I’ll take no for an answer then, but not until then.”
“I...” don’t want you to call me. That was a lie. My heart was racing. I felt out of breath. If it weren’t for Russell, I’d be counting my lucky stars at the thought that Baxter McClelland wanted to date me. “Two weeks sounds good. No guarantees, though, Baxter.” I averted my eyes, not wanting to reveal too much. “I might be here, but for all I know, I might have moved to Seattle with Russell.”
“No pressure. It’s just that...when I’m with you, I get the feeling that we...well, that we owe it to ourselves to get to know each other better.”
I held up my palm, my eyes filling with tears. “I’m not free. Furthermore, this has been a hideous couple of weeks. With finding a murder victim and having Russ spring this cross-country move on me while we were trying to buy a house together—”
“That’s another thing I meant to talk to you about. I told my neighbor I might be interested in that property. I couldn’t let go of the idea of your having a kennel out there. And maybe our going in as business partners. So he was willing to give me a rent-with-option-to-buy deal. I’m going to move in the end of the month and get a roommate or two to make up the difference in my monthly rent.”
“Are you going to convert the barn into a kennel yourself?”
“He gave me permission to do whatever I want with the barn. If you want to lease the space, you can. If you’re willing to pay for the construction materials, I’ll throw in the labor.”
“You’d be my landlord?”
He held my gaze. “Would you rather be my business partner?”
“I don’t know what I’m doing with my office yet. I don’t want to make any rash decisions.”
“Enough said. I just wanted to let you know that you don’t have to rush into looking for office space, and that you haven’t lost out on the property. Nobody’s going to buy the place out from under you for the next twelve months at least. Plus, now I’ve got a business-like reason to call you in two weeks. I’ve been afraid you were going to say that you and Russ were getting married. I was going to have to pretend to be happy for you, while wanting to find a cliff to jump off.”
“Baxter, we really have to drop this subject. I’m not into rebou
nd relationships, and I can’t think straight. I barely slept last night, after an altercation at my office.”
“Uh, oh. I’ve been listening to the news, and they said there was a police chase in downtown Boulder. I wondered for a moment if you were at your office, and in the middle of the whole thing.”
“Yeah, that was my altercation, all right.”
“They also reported that the police arrested somebody that they claim is a person of interest in the murders.”
“It was Malcolm Norfolk, Jana Bock’s boyfriend. He was harassing me last night. I called the police. He had a rifle. He said he thought I killed Kelsey Minerva.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me!”
“Obviously I know I didn’t kill anyone. The question is, though, if he was guilty, would he have the nerve to accuse me of the murders? While he was roaring drunk?”
“People say and do all sorts of lame things when they’re drunk.”
“Granted. But do they tell themselves: ‘I know...I’ll go get a gun to scare her, and I’ll tell her I think she killed the two women that I killed last week? What would he possibly have to gain?”
“Nothing. But maybe he’s a drunk, arrogant jackass who enjoyed playing games with you.”
I thought about Baxter’s reply. I began to feel better. Maybe this whole thing truly was over. The police had the killer under arrest, and I could concentrate on getting my feet back under me.
“Yeah. I guess you’re right. Waving a gun around and pretending he thought I was guilty is as reasonable as everything else he was spouting.”
He gave me an appreciative smile. “I’ll talk to you again soon. To, um, find out how Houdini’s doing with his new home. Just as friends. For the time being.”
“Right. Bye, Baxter.” I felt guilty as I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror. I was starting to feel breathless in anticipation. Yet I wasn’t even sure things were over between Russ and me.
Chapter 25
That afternoon, unable to concentrate, I was completely inefficient at getting my on-line billing done. I did, at least, have a long phone conversation with an elderly woman who seemed more intent to have a chat about her burrowing pug than to actually schedule an appointment with me to help correct that behavior. Afterward, Tracy called, trying to find out if I knew anything about the arrest that the police had made last night. I was too worried that, if I told her about Malcolm’s and my encounter, she would want to interview me on her show. So, I was vague and stopped just short of denying that I knew anything at all about the suspect.
Jana arrived late to pick me up for our hunting trip. Her eyes were red and puffy, and her hair and clothing were disheveled, looking as though she hadn’t slept. I’d weighed calling her, wondering if she was with Malcolm at the Boulder courthouse. She was barely in the door before she said, “Sorry I’m late. Malcolm asked me to apologize on his behalf. He got carried away last night. He can be a complete ass when he’s drunk.”
“Are they still holding him for questioning?” I asked.
“At the very least.” She sounded heartsick. “I know they suspect him for the murders, too.” She glanced at my dogs on their beds in the corner. “Aww. You can have Bring Your Dogs to Work Day whenever you want.”
“Depending on the clients on my docket.”
I watched as she gave Pavlov a pat and told her she was a good dog, but Doppler hopped to his feet and started sniffing at her pocket while she patted him. A pro herself, she knew not to give him a treat without asking.
“I hate to say this...” I hesitated. I asked as she rose and turned to face me. “Are you sure Malcolm’s innocent?”
She released a heavy sigh. “I don’t know what to think anymore, Allie. He swears up and down that he is. He’s still clinging to his original theory—that Kelsey killed Shirley and tried to frame him, and that you killed Kelsey.”
I rubbed my forehead. It was nerve wracking to hear that someone was falsely accusing me to the police, whether or not that someone was the killer himself. “I didn’t kill Kelsey. I had no motive.”
“Nobody had a motive, as far as I can see. The first victim was a little old lady who was off her rocker, and the second was a bitchy ex-model who thought she was God’s gift to mankind. I’m sure they both had plenty of people who didn’t like them. I seriously doubt that Kelsey, especially, had any real friends. But to hate her enough to kill her?” She shook her head. “She didn’t pose a threat to anyone.”
“Didn’t she? She was a threat to the girlfriends of the men she chased after.”
Jana snorted. “Like yours and mine, you mean?”
I shrugged. “Well, sure. In that sense, I guess, we’re both suspects.”
Jana made a comical grimace. “I know I’m innocent, but if you’re about to confess, Allie, I’m having second thoughts about today’s outing.”
“I’m innocent, too. But while we’re on the subject of innocent versus guilty, are you still going to put up with Malcolm and his drinking, if the police decide to let him go today?”
She nodded. “Provided he quits drinking. I told him this was the last straw. He goes on one more drinking binge, and he’s out of my life for good.”
I made a reasonably agreeable murmur, the best I could do while thinking: Jana’s kidding herself. Six months, tops, he’ll be roaring drunk again, and she’ll either be repeating her ultimatum or breaking up with him.
“So,” Jana said. “Jabber’s in the car, waiting for us. Are you all set for heading to the cliffs?”
“The cliffs?” I repeated.
“That’s what Malcolm calls part of his grandparents’ property. There’s a bit of a drop-off on the eastern side of one of the land formations, so you could call it something of a cliff.”
I smiled at the memory of Baxter saying he would have wanted to find a cliff to jump off if he had learned that Russ and I were getting married. “Is it okay if I bring Pavlov and Doppler?”
Jana furrowed her brow. “Oh, gee. No, that really isn’t a good idea at this phase of training. I hope you don’t mind. Is it okay to leave them here? We’ll be back in two or three hours, tops.”
“No, that’s fine. Let’s go.”
After a brief postponement to allow my dogs to do their business outside before I deserted them for a couple of hours, we were off. I did a double-take at Jabber and a puppy on the back seat. “We’re only taking the one puppy and Jabber?”
“That’s best for Mugwump’s learning curve.”
“Mugwump?” I repeated with a grin. “I thought this little guy’s name was ‘Tank.’”
“Good memory. I renamed him for the time being. The owners aren’t sure if they’ll stick with the name ‘Tank’ or not, so I want him to respond to whatever name I use.”
“That’s interesting. I’ve never heard of that strategy.”
She gave me a tight-lipped smile. She seemed to be on edge, but that was to be expected with her boyfriend in jail and all the stress she’d been under in the last several hours.
We started chatting about Mugwump and his siblings, as well as some of the hijinks of our canine clients. We laughed about my tales of the standard poodle whose ranking in the household was taken down a notch when her boyfriend moved in, so the dog managed to remove an entire stick of butter from the kitchen counter and placed it—intact—on a pillow in the master bedroom. We theorized that it was a dog’s gentler version of the famous horse-head scene in “The Godfather.”
We reached the property where we parked, and Jana got both of us outfitted in our orange vests and put vests and collars on both dogs. This time I’d remembered to bring my own daypack to hold snacks, cell phones, and water bottles. She asked if she could stick a couple of her protein bars in my pack and did so, explaining that she wanted to “even out the aromas for the dogs,” which made no sense, but wasn’t worth quibbling about. Once again she selected a fake plywood gun for me and said, “I’m assuming you don’t want to carry a real gun again.”
She then pulled out a gun case from the metal chest and removed a gun from the case. “What are you doing?” I asked.
“Getting a shotgun for myself. With birdshot in it.”
I looked at the grey-metal, single-barreled weapon. “But...that doesn’t look anything like the Winchester shotgun you showed me the other day that you said you used when bird hunting.”
She stared at me as if she wasn’t comprehending a word.
I pointed at it. “Isn’t that the rifle you told me you used for deer hunting?”
She looked at the weapon in her hands. “Oh, Geez,” she said, “You’re right. I guess I’m more tired than I thought. Grabbed the wrong gun case without thinking.”
My pulse was rising, and I was getting truly uncomfortable. She put the first gun in its case and started to remove the second gun case. “Look, Jana. I’m sorry, but I’m not going with you if you’re going to be carrying a rifle or a shotgun. You just got through telling me that you’re so tired that you took out the wrong gun. I’m not comfortable with risking that you won’t accidentally misfire.”
She glared at me. “But I really want Mugwump to hear a shotgun being fired a couple of times so he won’t be afraid of the noise. And it’s just birdshot.”
“Unfortunately I would be afraid. I could go take your SUV into town and come pick you up in an hour or two, if you’d like.”
She pursed her lips, but then said, “No, that’s okay. I understand your reasoning. I’ll carry a prop, too.”
“Thank you. I’m in even worse shape than I was on Thursday, after seeing Malcolm waiting for me last night with a gun in his hands. Besides, you said on the phone that we’d just be using those wooden fake props again.”
She clenched her teeth for a moment, but then said, “You’re right. I changed my mind when I decided to just bring Mugwump. He’s ready for a little action. But like I said, it’s fine. I’ll just grab my fake rifle.”
Of Birds and Beagles Page 18
