4 Woof at the Door (27 page)

“Ty Bellingham,” I prompted.

Mrs. Wood was now rocking nonstop, as if seeking comfort from the repetitive motion. “He was an evil man. Beverly told me that Mr. Bellingham got King to be a watchdog at his warehouse. He was just leaving the dog there, feeding him once a week. Then he was going to get rid of King because he discovered that he wasn’t vicious enough and would never have attacked an intruder. So, Beverly pleaded with him to let her find a good home for the dog. Beagle Boy was too jealous to be around him, so she asked me.”

“I wonder why she didn’t explain that to me. I found out about Ty Bellingham adopting King and asked her whether or not she knew what became of the dog. She told me she didn’t know.”

Mrs. Wood stopped her rocking and shook her head. “I’m afraid that’s my fault. This county considers pit bulls a potentially dangerous animal. So they insist that you register them. I could never bring myself to do that. I was afraid if there was an incident involving a stray dog biting some child anywhere in the area, the authorities would come for King. I asked her not to tell anyone in Boulder about King. My neighbors out here, they’ve all met King and they know how gentle he is, and we all just make a point of taking care of one another.”

“That’s as it should be,” I offered lamely. “I’m glad you trust me enough to tell me about King’s not being licensed.”

She frowned and averted her eyes. “A lot of things don’t seem as important to me, now that I’ve lost my child.”

Her words instantly increased a sensation of pressure on my chest. “I would have understood if Beverly had told me, too. I was only asking about King because I was concerned about animal cruelty from Ty or his associates.”

She rose slowly. I’d clearly overstayed my welcome. “That’s nice of you. As you can see, King is healthy and happy, but I don’t want to rock the boat by adopting Beagle Boy. Thank you for looking after him on our behalf.”

“Again, I’m so sorry. There’s just one last question I want to ask. You called Ty a ’hideous man.’ Is that because of his treatment of his dogs?”

My question motivated her to return to her seat, so I prepared myself for a long answer. “A grown man, dressing up like a hippie, and marrying some homeless wretch of a girl, just to make his ex-wife jealous.” She shook her head. “One time when I was at Beverly’s house, this must have been, oh, two years ago, Mr. Bellingham came over to complain about Beagle Boy digging under his fence and leaving messes in his yard. He said he was going to get a ’real dog’ himself to take care of the problem, and, let me tell you, did he ever! That dog of his was half grizzly bear.”

“I understand Beverly and her partner, Rebecca, had quite a bit of trouble with Ty when they were remodeling his kitchen.”

She chuckled, or coughed, I couldn’t tell which. “That Rebecca was absolutely convinced Ty was running dog fights. She hated the man with a passion. My Beverly never fully went along with the theory, though.”

“It was Rebecca who suspected Ty was operating dog fights? She told me it was Beverly’s theory.”

“I don’t know why she would say that, unless she hasn’t been taking her lithium.”

“Lithium?”

“Yes. Rebecca’s a good person and was a good friend to my Beverly. But Rebecca has mental problems and has to be on medication. Beverly used to have to remind her to take her drugs every day. And without those reminders, who knows what she has going on in that mind of hers.” She let out that half-chuckle, half-cough noise, and this time, I was certain she was coughing.

“Beverly never told me about Rebecca’s problem.”

“No, she wouldn’t have. She had too much firsthand experience with the pain of mental illness in her own life. One of her sisters, my oldest daughter, suffers from the same malady. That’s how Beverly and Rebecca met, in fact, through the outpatient clinic. Beverly knows more than most anyone to respect the person’s privacy. Knowing how sensitive Beverly was about the whole subject, she probably kept Rebecca’s illness as a secret.”

“What about you? Did you tell the police what you just told me about Rebecca?”

“Heavens, yes. I doubt Rebecca’s dangerous, even when she’s off her medication. But still, it was obviously something the police needed to know.”

“Thank you for your time, Mrs. Wood. Again, I’m sorry for your loss.”

“See you at the memorial service, dear.”

I nodded and left. I got about two miles down the road before the tears were blurring my vision too much to continue. I pulled over. How could I ever have doubted Beverly? I’d seen everything in exactly the worst possible light. I’d suspected her of murdering Ty. Doubted her motives for not being forthcoming regarding the pit bull.

And yet, somebody had to have told Rebecca about the severed phone cord. Unless Rebecca had cut it herself. In either case, I believed every word Beverly’s mom had told me. Beverly had not killed Ty Bellingham. Rebecca might have been lying about the phone conversation she’d told me about. Or she might have simply been mistaken. She didn’t remember telling me about the phone cord. Maybe she’d mixed up the phone conversations in her initial story.

That thought took me right back around to my number one suspects: Paige and Hank Atkinson. Hank and Ty could have had their illegal side business operating for some time now, but the two men could have had a legitimate falling out. Hank might have killed Ty and, because he was an accomplice who represented the biggest liability, killed Larry Cunriff as well. Beverly might have witnessed something, so Hank killed her as well.

I decided to visit the Atkinsons again under the guise of checking on the puppies. Paige or Hank might say something incriminating.

I drove straight there. Along the way, my sensible side was berating the rashness of my actions. Yet I couldn’t get past my anger and guilt for Beverly’s death well enough to listen.

I rang the doorbell, shoring up myself for the anticipated rude greeting I’d received here to date. Hank appeared in the doorway. His normally attractive features looked haggard. His reddish brown hair was uncombed, and he wore a gray sweatshirt with the sleeves ripped off at the shoulders over brown pants that looked to be slacks from a business suit, and black court shoes. “Allida, I’m surprised to see you here.”

My instincts were warning that I should have paid more attention to the little voice that had voted against my coming here. “Likewise. I assumed you’d be at work. I just stopped by to check on the puppies.”

“They’re fine. Mother and pups are sleeping.”

Hank’s mannerism was so hostile, I found myself worrying not only about the dogs, but for Paige’s well-fair. “Can I just take a quick peek in on them?” I asked.

He stayed put, one hand gripping the edge of the door. “You were at Bellingham’s warehouse yesterday. It’d be best for your health if you forget all about that place.”

“You’re threatening me?”

“More like warning you. You’ve got things all wrong.”

I forced myself to stay put, though my imagination already had put me making a mad dash for the safety of my car. “It’s too late to do anything to me, Hank. I had other witnesses. We’ve already notified the police.”

Hank flung the door out of his way and grabbed my arm with so much force, it hurt badly. “Let’s go for a walk around the block. Let me set you straight on some things. I don’t want us to disturb Paige.” He dragged me out to the sidewalk.

“You’re hurting me!” I said. “Let go or I’m screaming so loud your whole neighborhood will hear!”

Hank’s face paled as he stared at something past me, further down the sidewalk. Chesh was out walking Doobie, more like she was being dragged by the dog. She took one look at me and let go of the leash. Hank tried to turn to run back into his house.

In a flash, Doobie leapt onto Hank, bowling him over. “Help!” Hank cried. The dog was not biting him, but had three of four paws on his back, pinning him down on the concrete sidewalk.

“Chesh, call the police.” She ran toward his house. I turned my attention to the dog. “Doobie, cease!”

Doobie merely looked at me and did what dogs often do when they don’t understand a command: revert to the single instruction they first learned and know the best. He sat down on Hank’s back.

“Get him off me!” Hank said, straining.

Doobie let out a menacing growl. He had an eye on the back of Hank’s neck, and it was too risky that he might bite. I commanded Doobie to come, but he ignored me. I managed to get hold of the leash, but was no physical match for the dog.

I heard a familiar voice from somewhere down the sidewalk. “Allida. What’s going on?” Seth Mulhuniak must have heard the commotion.

“Dog whistle,” I cried, unwilling to divert my focus from trying to keep Doobie’s leash too taut for him to reach Hank’s neck.

I realized as soon as I’d spoken that the odds were against Seth having his whistle with him. But a moment later, Doobie jerked around to look for the source of, what for him, would be a piercing noise.

Hank managed to get out from under the dog, which promptly snarled and barked fiercely.

Hank leapt onto the roof of my car. “I didn’t kill anybody, Allida,” he yelled. “It wasn’t me. You have to believe me.”

“Your credibility is somewhat lacking,” I called over the loud barks.

“Get Doobie back inside! I need to get to the hospital. My arm is killing me!”

“I’m sure it is.”

Chesh ran outside to join me. “I called nine-one-one. Someone will be here in another minute or two.”

“Help me get Doobie under control.” She grabbed hold of the leash as well, but even between the two of us, we wouldn’t have been strong enough to drag Doobie into her house. Even so, doing so would have allowed Hank to escape.

A police car arrived incredibly fast. It must have been in the immediate area. The moment the officer stepped from his car, Hank cried, “Oh, thank God. Arrest me.”

The moment the police officer was through taking my statement and told me I could leave, I drove to my office in search of Russell. His car wasn’t in his space. I felt completely overwrought by the morning’s events and needed to see him. I called his cell, but got no answer. I left a message to call me back. I sighed in frustration.

We weren’t the perfect match. We didn’t have as much in common as I’d like, but we could work on that. But whenever the chips were really down, it was always him I thought of first, the one I wanted to be with. I cursed when I saw his car wasn’t in his space.

In the slim hope that he’d taken RTD in this morning, I left my car engine running and went inside. He wasn’t there.

Damn! Just when I’d finally decided I could say those three all-important words to him that scared me to death, he wasn’t here. I spotted the bouquet on my desk and remembered. He’d made it easy for me. I didn’t have to say them. Instead I pulled the last petal off the daisy he’d given me and Scotch-taped it to his door.

“Coward,” I scolded. If I stayed here to await Russ’s return, I’d be too scared to leave my “note” in place. I had to do this thing before my fears left me apoplectic. I checked my watch. A few minutes after noon.

Across from the YMCA building on Mapleton, just a few miles east of my office, is a climbing wall. Russell often went there during the lunch hour. Going to go look for him there beat wearing a hole in the floor with my pacing and in my stomach with my nerves. I drove there. My heart started pounding mercilessly at the sight of his green Volvo in the parking lot.

In a lousy cliche, my knees were knocking as I entered the lobby and searched the large attached room for Russell. No sign of him. Come to think of it, why was he here when he had a broken collar bone?

“Can I help you?” the young, muscular, lycra-clad woman at the counter asked.

“Is Russell Greene here?”

“Haven’t seen him. Just a minute, and I’ll get one of the guys to check the locker room.”

She left, and another perky woman approached. “Hi, have you been here before?” she asked me.

I shook my head.

“In that case, you need to fill out our form first.” She slid a clip board toward me.

I started to protest, but decided this was a sign. I was being given this opportunity to conquer my greatest fears, all in one day.

The young woman at the counter gave me a long form to fill out, which basically made you acknowledge that you knew full well that you were an idiot so that if you fell and shattered your body, you couldn’t sue them.

I gave her back her form all filled in and my money for one climb, which I assured her would be at the little wall for beginners and that, no, I had no idea what I was doing, but no, I didn’t need an instructor, just a spotter.

I got up the wall easily. The problem was, I couldn’t get down. As soon as I looked down to where I needed to put the next peg in to lower myself, I had a vertigo attack. The ground started spinning and pitching in my vision. I instantly broke into a sweat and shut my eyes.

“Uh, Miss?” the spotter called. “Are you having a problem?”

“Only if you consider paralysis a problem.”

“Allida?” a familiar voice from down below asked. I wasn’t able to risk turning to see if this was my imagination, or Russell really was here, after all.

Moments later, Russell, sans his sling was on the wall beside me. “I’m going to help you down, one move at a time.”

“But your arm…”

“I don’t need it for this beginner’s wall. We’re not high. You’re only one step up off the ground.”

“But that’s not—”

“Don’t look down. Just do exactly what I say. Grab this peg in your right hand and move it down, like this.”

He winced as he placed the peg in a hole for me. I followed his instructions, feeling like an idiot, but knowing it was important to get him off this wall before he aggravated his broken collar bone. One step at a time, he talked me down.

Once we were back on the ground, I sank to the floor, my face bathed in sweat. Russell sat down next to me. The other climbers did their best to ignore us and not make me feel worse than I already did.

“What were you trying to do, Allida? Did you forget you were scared of heights?”

“No, but I thought I might be able to get over it by facing my fear…the same way I got over my fear of dogs after the wolf bite, by facing Atla again.”