Three Woofs for the Dead, White and Blue

by Laura Quinn

  “No, I’ll call Agnes to see if she has any left,” Claire said, pulling out her phone again.

  “What’s up toots?” the voice answered on the first ring. “How’s my little Baraboo?”

  Baron woofed his greeting as Claire explained what she needed.

  “Pick me up for lunch and I’ll hook you up. Our idiot director was inspired by your Bastille Day and decided to throw a little party for us, complete with karaoke. Ever hear someone with no teeth trying to sing Frere Jacques? You owe me.”

  Claire agreed to pick her up and take her to the Burger Baron for a cholesterol overload. Baron spun around at the sound of his favorite restaurant’s name. Emma said she could manage on her own, offering to call in Harry for assistance if needed. Claire vetoed that plan, suggesting instead to call her back if it got busy.

  In her car, Claire called Matt and asked him if it was he who had been arguing with Kim in the tent. When he admitted he had, she asked him if he left a threatening note.

  “So, you found out about that,” Matt said. “I tried to make it look like Kyle wrote it.”

  “Were you trying to frame him?” Claire asked.

  “No, of course not. I just thought she might take a threat more seriously if it came from a voting influencer like Kyle. I tried to get her to change her mind about killing the referendum, but she was adamant. It would have ruined me.”

  “Your dad would have helped you.”

  “I couldn’t bear to tell him that I failed again. Everything he touches turns to gold, while I seem to turn everything to shit. Please don’t tell him about this,” he begged. “I’ve been so worried that the police might find out that I deleted things from her email to cover my tracks, but it was only to keep Dad from knowing, I swear.”

  “I’m guessing you took her laptop too.”

  “Yes, I destroyed it. You should have seen what was on it; naked pictures, X-rated letters to her lovers, it was so gross. Why should Dad have to see that?”

  Claire promised she would keep his secrets to herself, as long as he wasn’t involved in the murders. He swore again he wasn’t, and sent her proof of the lewd content in the form of a naked photo of Mike Barbon, trying to seduce Kim online. It was an image she tried desperately to un-see, and focused on her latest facts.

  “Someone must be lying to us, but who?” Claire asked Baron. “We’re going to have to look at everything with fresh eyes tonight.” She interpreted his woof to mean they were late for lunch.

  Agnes was waiting in the front drive as they pulled up to Golden Oaks Manor. The refrain of a mangled Celine Dion song assaulted their ears.

  “See what I mean about the cruel and unusual punishment?” Agnes asked, slamming the car door shut. “You should see the slop they’re serving for lunch. Chicken Cordon Bleu my ass. They probably scraped off the sauce from the frozen chicken parmesan patties. God knows what the crepes suzette used to be.”

  The trio was shown to Baron’s favorite table, designated by his own paw-stamped reserved sign. Agnes was impressed and let him order for her, through Claire. While they waited, Claire filled in her senior confidante with news about the suicide note, which did not surprise Agnes in the least. Claire asked her if she knew anything about the history of the land being sold. She didn’t, but promised to ask around the home. The waiter brought the bill along with a large slice of cheesecake for Agnes and a dish of vanilla ice cream topped with a Posh Pup cookie for Baron.

  “That was delicious,” Agnes said, pulling out a stack of pressed bandanas from her sparkly Vegas Babe tote bag. “And speaking of bills, I hope you don’t mind I added a rush surcharge to yours.”

  “These are holiday bandanas, they should be on clearance pricing,” Claire said, feigning protest.

  “Pish posh, from what I hear, your business is going gangbusters. I should raise my prices.”

  Claire handed over the requested amount and Agnes put one of the tri-color bandanas on Baron. “He looked naked,” she said.

  “I was going to put on his Babe Magnet bandana, but I can’t find it anywhere. Could you possibly make another one?”

  “I’m completely out of that material,” she told Baron. He gazed at her with his deep brown eyes, prompting her to suggest an alternative supplier. “Why don’t you check with that fancy frock shop. They sell all those glittery dresses and probably have leftovers from alterations.”

  The three took strolled around town to walk off the meal, sharing their memories of North Haven back in the day. A career bookkeeper, Agnes could remember all the former and current businesses, as well as intel about many of the nefarious owners including some mafia connections. Church bells chimed a reminder that Claire had to return to the shop.

  As she turned into the home’s drive, an ambulance raced past. Claire felt sorry for the vibrant senior, to be constantly reminded of death at her doorstep.

  “With any luck, that will be the Celine song strangler. We could lose our relationship with Canada after a vocal affront like that,” Agnes said. Clearly, the woman was made of steel.

  Chapter 19

  A peaceful lull greeted Claire’s return to the shop. Emma updated her on the last two hours, which had been busy. Peggy was in the back, preparing ingredients for treats that needed replenishment. Before the mise en place was complete, Claire ran over to Le Bon Boutique in search of replacement material for Baron’s bandana.

  “Oui, we had every sort of sparkly red fabric you can imagine, but I’m afraid it’s all gone. What were you looking for specifically? Perhaps something similar will come in for an alteration. I’ll keep the scraps for you.”

  Claire pulled up her phone to show the photo of the beaded thread. Simone recognized it immediately, having sold several dresses from a line that featured that beading. “Those are very popular,” she said. “No doubt we will have one in soon.”

  “You wouldn’t happen to remember who bought those dresses recently, would you?” Claire asked. “It’s probably nothing, but I’m curious as to how this would have ended up on the tent pole.”

  “The dress must have been ruined. That fabric is very fragile, and would have torn easily.” Simone said, promising to look through her records. Claire returned to the shop just as Marti arrived, being dragged to the entrance by her two dogs. Claire grabbed the box of signs and flyers and held the door open. Baron jumped up behind the counter to greet his friends, causing them to yelp and pull harder. Claire invited Marti and her dogs to run around with Baron upstairs while she mixed the doughs.

  With cookies baking, Claire went upstairs to exchange intel with her friend, though they found they weren’t much closer to an answer. Ms. Dill said all of the shorefront property was once owned by Dr. Robert Holmes, the founder of North Haven. As the generations expanded, plots were divided and gradually some were sold by family members who moved away or simply didn’t want such a large land responsibility. Marti planned to visit Village Hall on Monday to trace the records to the most recent owner. She also had to wait until Monday to speak with someone in Georgetown about the Cayman-registered company. Once they updated and stashed the boards, Claire asked Emma to test the recovered boots. Thanks to the deep tread, caked soil remained on the soles. Just as she was returning to help Peggy in the kitchen, Claire’s phone rang.

  The familiar voice instructed her to say “sorry, wrong number,” hang up, then drive to the back of the middle school. Claire obeyed and texted Marti to keep Baron upstairs with her while she ran a quick errand. She drove to her old school, looking for Agnes and wondering what she could possibly be up to now. She found the senior hiding in a bush next to the dumpsters. Agnes poked her head up like a gopher to check the area, then dove into Claire’s car.

  “Drive,” she commanded. “Go, go go. Head to the lighthouse.”

  “What’s going on?” Claire asked. Her passenger ignored her, focusing on checking the views ahead and in the mirror. Once safely parked backwards in the furthest spot of the historic venue’s parking lot, Claire
repeated her question.

  “Someone’s trying to kill me,” Agnes said.

  “What?”

  “Shh, not so loud.” Agnes surveyed the scene again. “You’re the only person I can trust to help me. If it hadn’t been for you, I’d probably be dead already, instead of poor, sweet Anita.”

  “Who’s Anita? What happened to her?”

  “You didn’t hear? She was poisoned, but I was the target. Someone wants me dead.”

  “Agnes, you’re scaring me. Let’s call the police.” Agnes snatched Claire’s phone away before she could dial.

  “I told you, I don’t trust anyone else. The police will never believe me. In their eyes, I’m just some crazy old lady who may have caused a few problems in the past. Who knows, they might be in on it anyway. You know that crooked chief has been trying to cover this all up with the realtor’s death. Maybe he killed him.”

  Claire struggled to contain the hundreds of questions exploding in her brain. She encouraged her elderly friend to tell her what happened, slowly, from the beginning. Agnes continued scanning the lot as she recapped the events since being dropped off at the home after lunch. Before she went in, she stopped to see which of her fellow residents was being carted off to the hospital. Seeing her favorite nurse on the gurney shocked her, but not as much as when she observed the flushed skin and contorted face. The paramedics fought to save their patient, but her vitals were crashing. Staff members tried to corral the seniors back to their rooms, with little success. Agnes walked through the crowd, picking up snippets of what happened. Finally, she found John and Jean, who had the full story.

  “Those two are among the most reliable in the home, though Christ, it takes forever to get the news from them. That continual parroting of each other drives me to drink,” Agnes complained before returning to the story. “Anita collapsed in front of Flo, who shrieked and pressed the alarm until people with more sense arrived and called 911.”

  “That’s terrible, but it may have been a heart attack or stroke.”

  “No. Flo smelled bitter almonds. We’ve always joked about the irony that someone with so little sense should have such an excellent sense of smell. She worked for the world’s finest perfumeries, developing new fragrances. Her nose is never wrong. Mark my words, Anita was poisoned with cyanide, just like the others.”

  “Ok, that sounds plausible, but what makes you think someone wants to kill you?”

  “Because Anita would have been on her after-lunch rounds and Flo’s room is next to mine, and because this was in my room, opened with two pieces missing.” Agnes opened her sequined tote to reveal a box of chocolates, wrapped in a towel. She explained that the box hadn’t been there when she left, and no one knew who it was from. She learned from Beatrice, her other neighbor, that an orderly found the box in the common room, wrapped with a large bow and a card addressed to her. “The damn fool thought I had a secret admirer. I could have been killed! If you hadn’t taken me to lunch, I’d be a goner.”

  The steel veneer cracked and Agnes began to cry. Claire leaned over to hug her, feeling the thin frame tremble in her arms. “Anita was such a dear girl and the most caring nurse we’ve ever had. She overlooked our infractions, admitting she was just as guilty. She never could resist sweets and called herself the candy clepto. We used to tell her that’s what kept her so sweet. It’s my fault she’s dead, all my fault.”

  Claire stroked the wavy white hair, assuring her she would help and everything would be ok. Agnes sat up, pulling tissues from the visor and regulating her breathing. Despite initial refusal, she eventually agreed with the suggestion to call Nick for help. Claire was relieved to learn that he was off and could meet them at his house. As soon as she hung up, a call from the shop came through. Agnes signaled not to say anything.

  Emma was on the phone but Claire could hear Marti, moaning in the background. “What’s wrong?” she asked.

  “Marti broke her tooth on some toffee and she’s in a lot of pain. I told her that as she ages, her bone density decreases and she has to be careful with her jaw and potential dental problems and should take extra calcium and Vitamin D, but she threw the toffee box at me. I gave her an ice pack and Advil, but she’s got to go to the dentist.”

  Claire could hear some swearing about stale candy and a lawsuit, then Emma was back on the phone. “She had her dentist programmed on her phone, which was super convenient, but it’s clearly an indication of someone who sees the dentist frequently, which proves my point or maybe she’s seeing him? Ok, stop shouting, I’m telling her. So, I called Dr. Perlman to make an appointment, then called Bob so he could drive her there, which is good because I don’t think it would be fair for an Uber driver to put up with her in this state. I think the dentist will have to put her under, mainly because she won’t stop swearing. I told Bob he better stay overnight to watch her and make soft foods like eggs and…”

  “Emma,” Claire interrupted. “What about her dogs?”

  “She says Bob will take them home while she’s at the appointment. Are you coming back soon? Debbie Downer’s probably going to freak out about this when she gets back from break. Are broken teeth unlucky? Poe wrote a story about them, Berenice I think.”

  As the teen continued, Claire looked at her watch, then at Agnes. She would have to drop the shaken senior off first, but kept that secret. When Marti recovered the next day, she would fill her and Bob in with the latest developments. “I’ll be there in about thirty minutes,” she told Emma.

  Claire pulled up Nick’s address on her GPS, escorted Agnes in, then raced back to the shop to get Baron. She lied and told her employees that she was worried about Marti and was going to drive down to be with her. Emma said Peggy had finished the doughs Claire left, and they were both working on staging the following day’s event, following Marti’s precise written instructions.

  “I’m so proud of you both and won’t forget this extra work,” Claire said. “If you need to close early, that’s fine. Just put up a sign in the window advising customers that there is a family emergency.”

  Claire grabbed an entrée for Baron as well as one of his beds, not knowing how long she might be at Nick’s. She called to let them know she was on her way and to check on how Agnes was doing. Nick reported that they were watching Backdraft, and he was trying to keep up with his guest’s questions about arson and accelerants. He was impressed by her attention to detail and thought she might make a good fire inspector. Claire thought to herself that anyone who knew the cunning con might be alarmed by such interest.

  “You brought my boyfriend,” Agnes said, opening her arms to hug Baron when they arrived. “Now we have a proper double-date.”

  Claire hated to crash in with reality, but she was anxious to discuss the suspected death threat and what to do about it. She asked Agnes if Nick knew the details.

  “One look into those luscious blue pools assured me I could trust him, so he’s up to speed.”

  “I checked with my buddy and confirmed that Anita had chocolate residue on her hands. I suggested they tell the coroner to test it for cyanide, based on a hunch. I tried to convince Ms. Foxwell to let me take the chocolate box in for testing, but she’s stubborn as a mule.”

  “We need a plan to flush the murderer into the open, and we might need them as a prop,” Agnes said.

  “Are you thinking of a Murder She Wrote finale?” Claire asked.

  “Bingo!” Agnes said. “I said you’re a smart cookie. Now, how can we do it?”

  “How about if you start by telling us why you’re a target,” Claire said.

  “I told you not to call the police because they wouldn’t believe me, and that’s partly true.” Agnes hesitated before continuing, “But I might be somewhat guilty of blackmail.”

  “What?” Nick’s eyes widened. Claire wasn’t surprised.

  “Attempted blackmail of possible murderers, is that really a crime?” Agnes asked. “I may have suggested that a few people pay me for my silence, but I didn’t ac
tually get anything.”

  “Except nearly a death sentence,” Claire said. “What were you thinking?”

  “Ma’am I have to agree that was very dangerous,” Nick said. “I think we should call Chief Maloney.”

  “No, I already told you he might be in on it.”

  “You didn’t blackmail him, did you?” Claire asked.

  “I’m not stupid. If he killed Brendan and covered it up, how easy would it be for him to snuff me out?”

  “Who did you accuse?” Nick asked.

  Agnes listed off a few names, which were all too familiar to Claire. “Hey, you got those from my murder boards.”

  “Not all of them,” Agnes replied. “Though, if I’m being completely honest, I also had a peek at your computer. I always carry a flash drive with me, for just those type of opportunities.”

  Nick was speechless, staring at Agnes, the master criminal.

  “And with your accounting background, you had no problem reading Larry’s files,” Claire surmised.

  “How did you get Larry’s files?” Nick asked Claire.

  “I didn’t steal evidence,” she answered. “Traci gave us his computer after the police showed no interest in it. We put it back in his office, in case Chief Pete changed his mind.”

  Nick groaned. “Don’t tell me your friend Marti was involved. She could be disbarred if this ever came out.”

  “First, it won’t. Second, of course she wasn’t involved in anything remotely illegal. She never looked at those files.” Claire decided not to tell him that they all discussed summaries of those files, provided by her brother’s partner. She turned to Agnes and asked how she came upon the additional names.

  “I have one more confession. I took the Babe Magnet bandana, just to borrow it. I saw your note about the torn shirts and I thought possibly that swatch of fabric I found in the tent could be a valuable clue. Unfortunately, some fool threw out the remnants, so I had to snatch the bandanna for proof.” Agnes bent over to look Baron in the eyes and apologized. He forgave her with a kiss on the cheek, and she promised to return it as soon as they caught their killer.