For a Good Paws

by Linda O. Johnston

  I had a vet tech shift at the clinic that afternoon. Fortunately, it was scheduled early. And Wayne had seemed fine with having Dinah come in to talk to them late in the day.

  I wished I hadn’t had to do that to her. Being there late might make it easier for the cops just to keep her around after they were done talking. But I had to work things out with my own schedule, let alone the cops’ requests, and this had been the best I could do.

  After checking with all my assistants to make sure they could handle the current not-too-large crowds in the shops and that this wasn’t a bad time to leave, I wrapped up some dog biscuits that weren’t as fresh as the rest to take to the clinic, as well as for a brief visit to Mountaintop Rescue that I planned for later—never mind that I’d just taken treats there yesterday.

  I took Biscuit for a brief walk before fastening her into the back of my car, and we took off for the vet clinic. As always when we didn’t walk, I parked behind the clinic and brought Biscuit into the doggy daycare area, where Charlie checked her in because both Faye and Al were playing a game with several of the other pups in their care.

  “Hi, Carrie,” Faye and Al both called, and Faye opened her arms to welcome Biscuit into the game. Of course I smiled.

  I went to the locker room, where I changed into my vet tech scrubs. I looked up and down the hall as I headed to the reception area, hoping to see Reed and Arvie, but both must have been busy with patients.

  The reception room was filled with people and their pets. Fortunately, I saw none who appeared particularly ill and hoped their visits were mostly just for checkups, shots, and reassurance.

  Kayle was again the tech in charge of the area, and, after handing over the leftover treats for our patients, I stood beside him for a minute as he gave me the rundown on who was where, and in what exam room I’d be needed.

  It was, fortunately, the room Reed had just entered to perform an annual physical on an aging Weimaraner named Gadsy. Gadsy’s owner was getting up in years, too, and didn’t look particularly strong, but even though the dog was a somewhat large breed he was well behaved.

  The exam didn’t take long, and while I helped to maneuver Gadsy into the positions needed to check him over, I kept catching Reed’s eye. He sent me more than one inquisitive look.

  When the exam was over, we briefly went into his office and I let him know about the interviews my staff were undergoing at the police station.

  “I figured,” he said. “I got a call, too, since I was there last night. I don’t have the sense I’m one of their main suspects this time”—as he’d been for the last murder in town—“but they want to ask me some questions.”

  Which probably meant Neal would have to go in sometime, too. I’d check with my brother later.

  Then there was Arvie. I was fortunately asked to help him with a cat who needed shots, and I learned that he, too, had been strongly urged—well, commanded—to drop by the police station to provide his recap of what had gone on at Dinah’s party.

  And Billi? I’d find out when I spoke with her later.

  My shift seemed to go fast, and soon it was time to leave. I picked up Biscuit quickly since we needed to get back to the shops soon, but I intended to stop at Mountaintop Rescue both to check on Henry Schulzer’s dogs and to say hi—and possibly more—to Billi.

  Biscuit and I soon reached Mountaintop Rescue in my car. Once again Mimi was the receptionist, and her shirt today, peach in color, said, You had me at woof.

  After I handed her the bag of treats I asked, “How are your new residents Duke and Prince doing?”

  “The adorable cockers who belonged to the guy who was killed yesterday?”

  Before I could answer, another voice, from the hall off to the right of the reception counter, said “They’re doing great.” Billi strode toward me. “Would you like to come see them?”

  “Absolutely.” This would also give me a little time to talk to Billi. I didn’t even need to ask Mimi if she’d keep an eye on Biscuit. She just held out her hand for the leash and smiled. I walked my little dog behind the reception desk, where she greeted Mimi effusively. The shelter employee took charge of her, and I hurried back out again toward Billi.

  As usual when in this role, Billi was dressed appropriately for running an animal shelter: she wore a somewhat frilly white T-shirt that said Mountaintop Rescue over jeans. Her highlighted dark hair was loose over her shoulders, and there was a wry smile on her attractive face, with its high cheekbones and full lips.

  “So how are you?” she asked as she led me through the back door into the shelter area—a large yard outside with lots of fenced enclosures and buildings to house the animals.

  “Okay,” I responded. “But I assume you know—”

  Stopping on the pathway beside me, she laughed wryly, her voice raised above the barks and clamor from the filled shelter. “About the latest murder in town? Of course I know. And of course I’m not surprised you’re asking. Are you involved in solving it already?”

  My turn to laugh. “You know me well. But there’s a good reason.”

  “There always is. And I think I know what it is this time.”

  We reached the area where the window-filled buildings began. The dog area came first, filled with kennels separated by metal fencing that was decorated with rows of decorative circles on top. They contained a bunch of really wonderful-looking dogs of all sizes and breed backgrounds. Cats, too, in a farther-back area. The animals’ backgrounds, to the extent known, were recorded on cards that visitors could read at the front of their enclosures.

  Billi stopped near the second building and looked at me. “I understand that everyone who attended Dinah’s birthday party is being questioned by the police. Right?” Her voice was raised a bit to be heard over the current din.

  “Right. Have they contacted you?” I spoke loudly, too. Would the police even question a city councilwoman who happened to attend part of a party where a murder victim had been the night of his demise?

  Of course they would. And as smart, astute, and politically knowledgeable as Billi was, she would know how to handle the situation, as she did everything else.

  But it was a shame they were bothering her, too.

  “Yes, they have. I’m heading to the station in a short while to talk to Chief Loretta Jonas.”

  Not one of the detectives, then. That made sense—unless the chief somehow believed that Billi had more involvement than simply seeing Schulzer at Knobcone Heights Resort at the time of the party.

  And Loretta was smarter than that, or so I believed.

  “Anything you want to discuss with me first?” We were buddies and Billi knew my history of helping to solve murders. As smart as she was, she would undoubtedly want to know all the background information she could learn before talking to the cops.

  “Do you know who did it?” she countered, cocking her head slightly as she seemed to study me.

  “I know who I would like to have done it.”

  “Not anyone you invited last night,” she guessed.

  “That’s right. And that includes the guest of honor.”

  Billi laughed. “I figured. Anyway, let’s go see those pups. They’re adorable.”

  “I know.” I began following her again. “I met them first at my shops when Henry Schulzer brought them in for treats, though I didn’t know who he was then.” As she stopped by a door into an enclosed building, I asked, “So what’s going on with them? With their owner gone, will they become available for adoption? Or have you found a family who’ll take them in?”

  “Still working on answers to that.” Billi turned and opened the door into the building.

  The cockers weren’t the only dogs inside. Most of the canines in this building were small, no more than thirty pounds, and their backgrounds were varied, which was the norm in a shelter. They included Chihuahua mixes and other toy d
ogs, as well as several varieties of terriers and more.

  “Yep, they’re very cute,” I said as we stopped outside the enclosure that held Henry’s now-orphaned dogs. They ran to the mesh and wriggled against it, both obviously begging for attention.

  “If we’re given the go-ahead to find a new home for them,” Billi said, “I’ll try to work things out so we do it at one of the Barkery adoption events.”

  “Great. I was going to suggest that.”

  “Too bad they can’t talk to us. They apparently were there when Schulzer was killed. They probably have all the answers inside them and could save all of us getting grilled by the cops.”

  “And I was going to mention that, too,” I said, catching Billi’s eye and matching her rueful grin. “Now, I’ve got a few questions for you.”

  Nine

  We grabbed a couple of leashes off hooks on the building’s wall and took Duke and Prince for a walk outside on the shelter’s walkways. I recognized one of the volunteers heading our way with two people, who looked like a middle-aged married couple—potential adopters? Yes, as it turned out.

  After Billi welcomed them, learned what size and breed of dogs they were most interested in, and then made suggestions to the volunteer about which dogs to introduce these visitors to, we continued on. Meantime, Prince and Duke had welcomed the visitors, too, by wriggling and sidling up to both of them, which hopefully got their hearts even more in gear for figuring out who to take home—assuming they found a dog they liked and they met all the shelter’s adoption criteria. Not Prince and Duke, though. Not yet, at least.

  When we were no longer in their presence, I finally asked what had been on my mind all along. “Has there been any feedback about the latest murder from City Council or the mayor’s office? I assume the heads of our local government are all aware of it, or have you spoken with any of them?”

  “You know me well enough to be sure I’ve had a discussion, or two or six,” Billi said. There were seven City Council members, including Les Ethman, a really sweet, older friend of mine. Like Billi, he was a member of a prominent family in town. Les loved Knobcone Heights and was obvious about it. I assumed he was one of the people Billi had talked to first.

  “And what does Les say?” I asked

  “I was aware of the original murder ten years ago, and I was sorry then about what had happened to the mayor, but Les and his family were actually close to them. I didn’t get to talk to him for long, but I got the impression that Les was really sad to hear what has happened to Henry Schulzer.”

  “Then he believed justice was done when Mike Holpurn was incarcerated for the crime?”

  “Yes, I think so.”

  I’d already figured that I needed to talk to Les, and now I was sure of it.

  For now, though, Billi just told me that the other council members were all horrified and sad and eager for justice to be done—all the standard kinds of public pronouncements I expected, though so far maybe they were just relating them to one another. She hadn’t spoken with Mayor Sybill Gabbon yet, but maybe someone had. I liked our current mayor and presumed Billi did, too. Mayor Gabbon had recently adopted a couple of dogs from Mountaintop Rescue at one of our events.

  “Is City Council going to look into it any further? Hold any kind of memorial for Henry?”

  Billi shrugged, and the movement got the attention of Duke, whose leash she held. The cocker, who’d been sniffing an area just off the walkway that dogs frequently used for their outdoor activities, moved over and sat down in front of her as if expecting her to give a command.

  She laughed, and so did I. “Good dog,” I said, and Prince, who must have thought I was speaking to him, stopped pulling on his leash and also sat down.

  “Good dog.” This time it was Billi who spoke, to Prince. Then, looking at me, she said, “One way or another, I intend to be certain that these two get good homes, preferably together. It’s got to be hard to lose a person as close to them as their owner must have been, and then wind up at a shelter, even for just a while, and no longer be the center of someone’s attention.”

  “Plus, they apparently saw what happened,” I reminded her again. “Talk to me, guys.” I was joking, and yet not for the first time, I wished we could communicate better with our pets. We often read their thoughts—for example, I could usually tell which of my Barkery treats were a dog’s favorite. But the dog couldn’t explain why.

  And as far as revealing a murder they’d seen? The dogs just looked from one of us to the other, then both stood and began sniffing the ground around us once more.

  “Let me know if there’s anything else I can do to make sure these two remain okay, besides holding an adoption event when you’re ready,” I said.

  “And you let me know if there’s anything I can do to help find out who killed their owner.” Billi looked at me with sincerity in her gaze. “Yes, I know that’s more my responsibility than yours—or at least, I should make sure that City Council does what it needs to in support of our police force, as well as make it clear that the town needs answers in this situation quickly and accurately.”

  “Which means Knobcone Heights needs my help.” I grinned to show I was joking—mostly.

  Billi’s return grin was one of the most ironic I’d seen on her. “Unfortunately—or perhaps fortunately—that may be so.”

  I left soon afterward, but not without pulling out a couple of the Barkery treats I’d shoved far down into my pockets and handing them one by one to the poor, orphaned, sweet dogs.

  Would I—could I—be the one to adopt them?

  Under other circumstances, I would have considered it. I love dogs, of course, and always felt sorry when things changed for the worse in a dog’s life. At least I assumed it was for the worse here. I’d seen Henry with them at the Barkery and he seemed to be very kind to them, despite how he acted toward people. But had he been a good dog parent? I’d never really know.

  Although that did spur me to try to speed up something I’d been intending to work on anyway.

  After saying goodbye to the two sweeties and to Billi, too, I picked up Biscuit from Mimi in the lobby. And yes, I learned from her that the people we’d seen had found a dog they liked and were currently playing in an enclosed area with him to get to know him better.

  Biscuit and I got back into my car. There, I used my Bluetooth to call Neal before pulling out of my parking space.

  Fortunately, he mustn’t have been too busy at the resort’s reception desk and picked up right away.

  “Are you okay, bro?” I asked him.

  “You mean, have the police been hanging around here asking me, and everyone else, all kinds of intrusive and accusatory questions about last night, and how we each happened to know Henry Schulzer, and whether we killed him? Yeah, sure, I’m okay.”

  I was used to my brother’s sarcasm—mostly. But now I said, “I get it. I’ll tell you more about who they’re questioning, and how, later. I want to come to the resort for dinner tonight. Maybe just to the bar, but is everything open?”

  “Everything but the part of the floor where Mr. Schulzer’s room is on,” Neal responded. “Not that I’m surprised, but I guess you’re nosing your way around another murder, right, sis?”

  “If the cops didn’t seem to think that someone at Dinah’s party last night had something to do with it, I would stay away,” I assured him.

  “But they’re latching onto—who? Dinah?”

  I started to answer, but Neal’s voice changed. “Welcome to the Knobcone Heights Resort,” he said with the phone clearly away from his mouth, obviously talking to someone who’d come up to the registration desk. And then to me he said, “We’ll talk later, when you get here.”

  “Great,” I said. “And ask if Henry’s dog walker could join us for dinner. Could you try to find out something about her, too?”

  I hung up and starte
d driving back to the shops. But I used my Bluetooth on the way to call Reed. Not surprisingly, considering it was still during clinic hours, he didn’t answer, but I left a message inviting him to join me for dinner again at the resort tonight. I didn’t explain why, but Reed had already jumped to the conclusion that I was getting involved in trying to solve this murder.

  Did I want to?

  Did I have a choice?

  And did I want to argue with Reed again about it?

  The answers weren’t yes to any of these questions, but I now had a history of doing such things, especially when someone I cared about happened to be a major suspect.

  “But this is all so odd, Biscuit,” I said as I pulled onto Summit Avenue, where my shops were located. “I haven’t lived in Knobcone Heights long, but I never heard of murders being committed here before—except, now, for that mayor’s in the past. But the rest of them? Why is this happening while I’m here?”

  My sweet dog, in the backseat, sat up when she heard my voice, as I could see in the rear-view mirror. But she didn’t attempt to answer my question even by body language, other than to wriggle a bit because she’d heard me speak.

  We were soon parked behind the shops and I walked Biscuit to the front to take her into the Barkery. I realized it was getting late. Too late for me to see Dinah before she had to take off for the police station?

  Fortunately, Dinah was still in the Barkery, waiting on a customer who held a Papillon mix in her arms and was feeding the little dog a biscuit—one of my liver treats with cheese. A bag sat on the counter and Dinah was ringing up the woman’s order.

  “Hi,” I said to the customer. “Welcome to Barkery and Biscuits, and I’m glad your pup has been given a sample.”

  “Two samples,” the woman contradicted with a smile. “This is so nice. I haven’t been here before but I’m buying little Pappy some treats, and you can be sure we’ll be back.”