For a Good Paws

by Linda O. Johnston

  “That’s great,” I said, smiling at Dinah as the customer thanked her again and left.

  She’d been the only customer in the shop, so I asked Dinah, “How are things?”

  “Okay, but I’m glad you’re back. I was going to ask Janelle to come in. It’s time for me to go.”

  “I figured.” I went around the counter and hugged my dear helper. “I hope it all goes fine. Just another avenue of research for you. Be sure to give me a call when you’re done and let me know how it went.”

  “Do you want to be the recipient of my only call when I’m arrested?” Dinah retorted, and unfortunately didn’t sound as if she was kidding.

  “They’re not going to arrest you.” At least not tonight, I thought, but I didn’t say that. Nor did I add that I hoped what I said was true. “In fact, just so you know, I’m meeting Reed at the resort tonight for dinner so we can talk, and hopefully I can meet with the dog walker Henry was using. I’d like to talk with her.”

  “Me too. Okay, if that’s an invitation to join you, I’ll give it a try.”

  “Great,” I said, meaning it. This way I would learn how the cops treated her right after the fact.

  It was around three o’clock now, and we closed the shops at six. All went fine for the rest of the day, with Janelle in the Barkery and Vicky in Icing and me popping back and forth between them.

  My mind jumped often to anticipating what would go on that evening, which was silly in a way. Maybe I’d learn more about Henry and what had happened to him, who his dog walker was, and how some of the people I cared about were reacting to this latest murder, but I didn’t expect too much would happen on this next visit to Knobcone Heights Resort.

  Reed and Dinah had agreed to meet me at the resort bar around six thirty. I decided to also call Les Ethman and told him briefly why I cared about the Henry Schulzer murder situation. I got his agreement to meet us at the resort.

  I went home to drop off Biscuit, after serving her a nice, wholesome doggy dinner. I changed clothes, too. I didn’t get very dressed up but wore something fancier than my working day attire. Then I drove across town, without calling Neal in advance to let him know my arrival time. It didn’t matter. He would be there anyway, since his working hours on Thursday ended around seven.

  Neal had already told me this would be another of those evenings when he couldn’t validate my parking ticket. But it would be worth the price if somehow my discussions led to even a few answers, or at least helped to start me on the right track.

  After finding a parking spot, I strode into the lobby, where a lot of people were hanging out. I wondered if the police had shut down the restaurant at all during their investigation, since Henry had been there, but if so, at least it wasn’t currently cordoned off with crime scene tape. And Neal had said only Henry’s room was still being examined.

  Yet Henry had been with us in the restaurant for a while. Even though that didn’t necessarily turn the restaurant into a crime scene, the cops might want to ask questions of even more of the people who’d seen Henry there.

  If they’d closed off the area, I bet it hadn’t been for long. The Ethmans—Les’s extended family—owned the resort, and they held a lot of sway in Knobcone Heights. They wouldn’t be happy about any decrease in revenue while some of the facilities were being examined. That might even be true of the hotel room where Henry had been killed.

  Even so, I’d decided to eat in the bar, avoiding the restaurant. No need for anything tonight to resemble last night’s party. Besides, the people I was meeting with would be happy in the bar, I felt certain.

  First, though, I hurried over to the end of the lobby where Neal worked. My nicely dressed, good-looking brother fortunately had no one with him so I joined him briefly, let him know where I was going, and asked softly, “Did you find out anything about Henry’s dog walker?”

  He nodded. “I’ve seen her around here before, you know, but I never had occasion to talk to her or ask her name. She was here earlier today, obviously without Henry’s dogs, and she looked a little lost. That gave me good reason to go greet her.”

  “And …?” I prompted.

  “She’s named Mysha Jorgens. I assured her I’d introduce her to a couple of new hotel guests who just got here with their dogs, as long as she joined us this evening.”

  “And will she?” I asked, somewhat excitedly. But I knew the answer. Why else would Neal have mentioned it?

  “She will,” he confirmed.

  “Excellent! I’d better go reserve seats in the bar.”

  “Yes,” he said, “you’d better grab some—though I already told the staff to put a few tables together on the patio. It’s not that cold outside, and they can turn on some heaters if necessary.”

  “If you weren’t working I’d kiss you,” I told my brother. Even so, I blew him a brief kiss. Then I headed across the lobby, ducking between groups of people, toward the bar.

  Les Ethman was already standing inside the door, not near the crowded counter where quite a few patrons were watching a soccer game on a TV hung on the wall. He held a tall glass of beer. “Hi, Carrie,” he said immediately.

  “Hi, Les.” I responded to his outstretched arms and drew closer so we could share a brief, friendly hug. I was careful not to bump into his hand holding the glass.

  As a town elder, Les had been on the City Council for as long as I’d lived in Knobcone Heights, and for I didn’t know how many years before that. Tonight he wore a dressy, pale yellow shirt and brown slacks. His hairline seemed to have receded since the last time I’d seen him, and as always I basked in his friendly smile.

  But I had to tease him. “So are your relatives comping you here tonight?” I nodded toward his hand holding the drink. With his family owning the resort, it probably was true, but it wasn’t as if Les, as wealthy as the resort owners or maybe even more so, couldn’t have afforded his drink. Or parking in the resort lot, for that matter.

  “Shhh,” he whispered. “I don’t want word to get around.”

  I laughed along with him. “Okay, let’s go grab the tables outside on the patio that Neal reserved for us.”

  “I’ll let the bartenders know where we are, so they can tell the others who’ll be joining us,” Les said. “Let’s see. Does that include Dr. Storme?”

  Les was a close enough buddy of mine to know that Reed and I had been seeing each other socially for a while. But I threw my hand up to my mouth and gasped. “Oh dear, did I forget to invite someone?”

  “I don’t think so.” Les was suddenly looking over my shoulder, and I turned to see why. Not surprisingly, Reed was there.

  “Hi, Carrie,” he said. “Les. Good to see you.”

  “I’m especially glad to see you, now that I don’t have to worry that my reputation will be besmirched by hanging out with a murder suspect,” Les said. “Although that goes for both of you.”

  I laughed. “Okay, don’t rub it in.”

  We followed him through the bar, and he gave a heads-up to the bartenders about where we would sit. When we went outside, into the August air, it was unsurprisingly still warm. Sunset was on its way, but there was still some daylight.

  We took our seats at a couple of empty tables that had been moved together. Reed and I ordered drinks—his an imported dark beer, different from the lighter ale Les was drinking, and I asked for a merlot.

  I stared at the lake, whose shores were at the bottom of the stairway that led down from the patio. There were a few boats out but not many. I wasn’t sure how long we’d be outside, but I always enjoyed the view from the resort at night, with the lights reflecting on the water.

  “So why are we here tonight?” Reed asked.

  “To enjoy each other’s company,” I answered. “Oh, and to ask Les if the City Council happens to have any insight on who killed Henry Schulzer.” I planned to bring up the topic of the dog
walker later, especially if she joined us, but I had no reason to believe she knew who’d killed Henry.

  On the other hand, it wouldn’t hurt to ask her. The dog walker had seen more of the man than I figured most people had during the last days of his life.

  “I already talked to Billi,” Les said. “She told me she spoke with you this afternoon about—surprise—the same subject. I doubt I know any more than she does. But I did know Henry’s wife, Flora. I wasn’t a councilman back then, but I had political aspirations, so I got to know people in local government whenever possible.” He paused. “She was a nice enough lady if she wanted something from you—and as mayor, she wanted a lot of things from a lot of people.”

  “What if she didn’t want anything from you?” I prompted, then took a sip of wine.

  “It depended on who you were. Since I was an Ethman, she was never nasty to me, but I saw she could get nasty to others, especially those who got in her way.”

  “Like Mike Holpurn?” I had to ask.

  “As far as I could tell at the time, that was an interesting situation. She used Holpurn—in a number of ways, including, I gathered, as a bedmate. Did her husband know? I’m not sure. Did the mayor break it off and thereby give Holpurn a motive to kill her? Again, I don’t know. But that seemed to be part of his confession. And—”

  “I am so sorry,” interrupted a female voice that almost sounded hysterical. “I wish I could tell you, Ms. Kennersly, who killed Mr. Schulzer. He was a nice man. His dogs are wonderful.”

  I looked up and saw that the person who’d interrupted was the dog walker … what had Neal said her name was? Oh yes. Mysha Jorgens. I hadn’t paid much attention to how she looked when I’d first met her, only to the dogs in her care, but she was an attractive young woman with a pale complexion and large brown eyes. Now she wore a fluffy top and long skirt over boots. She didn’t appear to be ready to walk dogs at the moment—and she didn’t have any with her.

  She was followed by Neal, who stood behind her and shrugged his shoulders, an apologetic expression on his face.

  “Henry’s dogs certainly are wonderful,” I assured her.

  Before I could say anything else, Mysha started speaking again. “You’ve got to do it, Ms. Kennersly. I’ve heard that you’ve solved murders around here before. Find out who killed Mr. Schulzer. Fast. He deserves justice. Please, Ms. Kennersly. Please.”

  Ten

  “Um …” I began, ready to tell Mysha that I appreciated her desire to have a quick answer but that I could make no promises—and that I hadn’t really wanted to get involved in solving all those murders in the first place. But instead, seeing the plea on her face—plus, she’d knelt down on the patio to look straight at me as I sat there—I couldn’t just brush her request off.

  And I was certainly curious about what her relationship with Henry had really been. Was she only his dog walker? Based on her emotionalism, I doubted that. Unless she was just generally an emotional human being.

  Neal bent down to help Mysha back to her feet. “We’d like to have what happened resolved as fast as possible, too, but let’s leave those details to the cops, okay?”

  “But—”

  I interrupted, since Mysha was resisting Neal’s efforts to help her up. “Here, please have a seat.” Although I was happy she’d agreed to join us, I also hoped she would calm down and become less emotional. Most of all, I hoped she would give us some helpful information.

  “Would you like a drink?” I asked. Mysha appeared young but not too young to drink—maybe early twenties.

  “Oh. Yes. Yes, I’d love some wine. Like yours. And oh, Ms. Kennersly, I’ve been wanting to talk to you. When you told me that you own Barkery and Biscuits, I knew you must love dogs, especially since you’re also a vet tech, as your brother told me. I’m a dog walker, you know—and Mr. Schulzer was my main client lately. I need to find more now.”

  In other words, she was kind of out of work.

  Could I help her? Maybe. Did I want to?

  Again, maybe. She was so sad, so emotional, that I didn’t think she could be the murderer.

  Then again, all of this could be a ploy to send my suspicions in a different direction. Not that my opinion mattered much. The cops would have to agree either way.

  But word had somewhat gotten out about my prior successes in solving murders, so much so that someone like Mysha could assume that convincing me of her innocence would go a long way toward convincing the authorities as well.

  Within a minute, Neal had brought three more chairs to our table. I assumed Janelle would join us soon, too. One of the bartenders came over and jotted down our orders, and then there we all sat, looking at each other again.

  I had my questions for Mysha ready. “So, how did you get the job walking Prince and Duke?”

  Her expression lit up. “Oh, you know them! I’m not surprised. They must have stopped by your Barkery, right? Anyway, Henry moved to the resort a few weeks ago and had his dogs with him. I was already doing some work for another guest, so I went over to Henry and gave him my card—and he called me. From that point on, I spent a lot of time with his dogs.”

  And with Henry? My suspicion about whether there’d been more to their relationship than dog walker and owner continued to grow. Otherwise, why had Mysha been so emotional?

  But that didn’t matter, unless she’d killed him.

  “Yes,” I told her. “I met Henry at my shop, and I saw his dogs this afternoon, too.”

  Mysha half stood. “Really? Where are they? I’ve been wondering since … since yesterday.”

  I explained to her that the authorities had turned the dogs over to Mountaintop Rescue, with the understanding that relatives of Henry would be sought first to see if they would adopt the dogs, and if not, this wonderful local shelter would take care of them till the right new dog parents could be found. “Mountaintop Rescue is the greatest,” I assured her.

  I half wondered if Mysha would make an offer to adopt the dogs but doubted it. Owning dogs was more expensive than walking them for profit.

  Her drink and Neal’s arrived then, and behind the server came Janelle, who also sat down. She shot a curious glance toward Mysha and I introduced them.

  Then the dog walker said, “Well, I’m really glad that Duke and Prince are being taken care of, but—”

  “But I’m sure you’re concerned,” I acknowledged. “You know, I agree with you that it would be a good idea if Henry’s death was solved quickly. That might make it easier also to rehome the pups.” I saw that Janelle, Neal, and Les had entered into a conversation, among themselves—one I couldn’t hear. That was probably a good thing, since I could take advantage of the situation. “You’d been working for Henry and the dogs for a while,” I said to Mysha. “Do you know of any people he met here, or who he otherwise had contact with? Of course, there was the situation with the man who was convicted of killing Henry’s wife many years ago, but did Henry argue with anyone else that you’re aware of? You might not think one of them could be his killer, but it would be helpful for the police to know of anyone like that.”

  “They’ve already asked me,” Mysha replied. “But because you … well, since you’ve helped them before, here’s what I told them, though it’s not much. I saw that Mr. Schulzer was friends with some guests here at the hotel.”

  “Really? Do you know their names?” I knew that Neal would be a good source for finding out more about these guests, whoever they were.

  “No, but they were apparently staying at the resort for a while, as … as … as poor Henry was.” Mysha’s voice choked up and tears ran down her cheeks. “I think their room was next to his, or at least close by.”

  That might not be enough for Neal to go on, but he was listening now and I glanced at him.

  “I did see Mr. Schulzer in the lobby several times with some guests I believe were his neighbors her
e,” Neal said. “I’ll talk to them and ask them to get in touch with you, Carrie.” In other words, he was protecting the hotel guests’ privacy, which I understood. That was part of his job.

  But Neal clearly knew priorities around here—at least mine. The sooner I could talk to as many people as possible who potentially had knowledge of the murder victim and what might have happened, the better. With another glance at me, Neal excused himself as if to head for the restroom, but I suspected he was going to make a phone call related to this latest info.

  Meanwhile, since I knew I’d be able to speak with everyone else at the table later, I encouraged Mysha to keep talking about the various dogs she walked and their owners, especially Henry and anyone who might have known him.

  Sipping my wine and toasting Henry, Duke, and Prince now and then, I learned a lot about Mysha’s favorite paths around the resort area and even around downtown Knobcone Heights. She seemed to relax, and even to enjoy the conversation. She asked me more about my Barkery and how I created the treats I sold there, and I told her a little bit of my background.

  But having a fun discussion wasn’t exactly on my agenda. Eventually, I motioned to our server and requested that he bring us more wine, and some of the others at the table requested more, too.

  Then, before our new drinks arrived, I said to Mysha, “You know, I only met poor Henry recently. He went through a lot here in Knobcone Heights all those years ago when he lost his wife. I take it you’re aware of this now, but did you know it when you first started working for him?”

  “Well, sort of. My other customers who knew him a little have lived in town for a while, and they let me know that horrible story. But I never learned the details.” There was no sorrow on her youthful face now. Instead, her wide-eyed expression appeared—well, fascinated. “He was such a nice man—most of the time. He sometimes chewed me out for being late to pick up the dogs or whatever, but—well, I understood, in a way. People hadn’t always been kind to him. I still can’t believe that someone killed the poor man’s wife when she was mayor of this town.”