Ruff Way to Go (13 page)

“Is that
going to be a problem?”

“Not with my
mother. When I was growing up, she was every bit as likely to use the
look-what-followed-me-home routine as I was.”

He fidgeted
with the papers in his hands, then smiled and said quietly, “Here’s a thought.
How about if you discuss this with her, and if she’s game, I’ll drive the dogs
out to your place myself after work? Then maybe after they’re settled in, you
and I could go out for a drink or a late dinner. Are you interested?”

Was it just
paranoia on my part, or could he be asking me out because he wanted to learn
how much I knew about the murder? If I went out with him, I was either going to
spend time with a handsome man who’d dedicated his life to working with dogs,
or perhaps learn how much
he
knew about the Randons and Suds’s ex-con
owner.

“Sure. That
sounds nice.”

“Let’s say I’ll
swing by around...eight o’clock tonight?”

“Okay. See
you then.”

He smiled,
his brown eyes sparkling. “Super. I’m looking forward to it.”

Something
was dampening my spirits, though, as I drove away, and I found myself thinking
of Russell. He and I had never discussed exclusivity, and our relationship was
too new to even broach the subject. Still, he’d been such a doll last night,
and here I was, not even twenty-four hours later, making a date with another
man. Should I tell Russell about John?

This is why
I’m just not cut out for dating. I don’t enjoy it enough to warrant all of the
baggage that comes with it.

In case my
next destination needed to be Luellen’s home in Campion, where I hoped to drag
Sergeant Millay with me to help me retrieve Shogun, I pulled up to a public
phone and called for my messages. I had one from Sergeant Millay, returning my
call, and another from Russell, who said it was important, so I called him
first.

He sounded
so happy to hear from me that I immediately felt guilty. He said, “Allida, I
just scored two tickets for a concert tonight that’s been sold out for weeks.
They’re for the—”

“I’m not
free tonight, Russell. I’m sorry. I’ve made plans.”

“Plans?”

I could feel
my cheeks growing warm. “‘Fraid so.”

“Should I be
worried?”

“Probably
not.”

“That’s not
quite the answer I wanted to hear. I was hoping you’d say it was a girl’s night
out tonight.”

“It’s not.
Sorry. But you really have nothing to worry about.”

After a
pause, he said, his voice lower, “Let me ask you something. If I told you that,
since you said no, I was going to ask someone my friends have been trying to
fix me up with, would you be worried?”

“Yes, but I
wouldn’t change my plans. I don’t let myself be that insecure.”

“Fair
enough.”

“I hope whoever
she is turns out to be a...cat, since I’m too fond of dogs to use the word as
an insult.”

Russell
chuckled. “Have a miserable time tonight, Allida.” He hung up.

You, too,
I thought,
feeling inordinately sad. I didn’t want to hurt Russell and didn’t want to
string him along. Perhaps it was just as well that he meet someone he had more
in common with, someone who enjoyed rock climbing and...cats.

Why was it
that other people seemed to have such an easy time finding their life’s mate?

I called
Sergeant Millay, and this time I reached him. In tones as unapologetic as I
could muster, I explained about locating Shogun at Luellen’s house.

“You want me
to come with you to a house in Campion just because you think the missing
terrier is there?”

“ Yes. I
think that this dog might have left the paw prints at the murder scene.”

“Even so,
Miss Babcock, he’s not going to be what we’d call a reliable witness.”

I gritted my
teeth and felt like giving the phone a good whack just because I couldn’t do so
to Sergeant Millay. “True, but you see, it’s possible that whoever brought
Shogun to this house in Campion was Cassandra’s killer. Otherwise, why wouldn’t
Luellen admit that the dog was Shogun?”

After a
pause, he said gruffly, “All right. But I’m only doing this because you’re
Marilyn’s daughter and I realize you got some vested interest in finding this
dog. There’s no need for you to come with me. If the dog’s there, I’ll bring
him back with me.”

“You won’t
recognize him.”

“Yeah, I
will. Looks like a scrawny, hairy fox. I’ve got a picture. Mrs. Cunningham gave
it to me.”

“Luellen is
a breeder. She’s got twenty-some-odd silky terriers at her place. To the casual
observer, they all look virtually identical. It’d be like recognizing the
original out of twenty copies.”

“Okay,” he
said somewhat curtly. “Meet you there in half an hour.” He hung up.

The sergeant
was in his car out front when I arrived, his head bent down as he hunched over
his paperwork. I knocked on his window, and he slowly looked up. He got out of
his car without a word and gave me a little you-first gesture. I rang the
doorbell and noticed the sergeant’s frown at the canned rhythmic barking that
resounded instead of a bell.

Luellen
opened the door. She was wearing the same casual outfit as before—slacks
and a plaid blouse—including the wrist splints. She gave no indication of
surprise at seeing me, nor at seeing Sergeant Millay, though he was in full
uniform. A policeman at my door would have surprised me, had I been in her
shoes.

I could tell
by the ease in her mannerisms when we explained what we wanted that this was
going to be a waste of time—that she’d relocated Shogun. She led us
through her house and out back where her heated dog pens were located.

I studied
each dog, looking for the same subtle variations in markings that Shogun
boasted. There were a couple of dogs that were close, but not exact.

“That’s all
of my dogs. You’ve met every last one of them,” Luellen said as we circled back
and returned to her living room, where the eight dogs that she kept in the
house were located.

“You were
right about them all looking alike to me,” Sergeant Millay muttered under his
breath. “Did you find this dog you say belongs to the Cunninghams?”

I shook my
head. “He’s not here now.”

“That’s
because he was never here in the first place,” said Luellen. “I’m telling you,
I haven’t seen Shogun since I last visited Trevor, prior to their separation.”

“Then where
is Krumpet?”

“Krumpet?”
she asked, maintaining her smile.

“That’s
right. Where is he?”

“He’s right
over there.” She gestured at a dog sitting at the base of a brass floor lamp. “Krumpet,
come,” she said sternly.

The little
dog ventured out hesitantly, then sat back down, clearly contused.

“That’s not
this dog’s name,” I said.

“It most
certainly is.”

Sergeant
Millay, appearing half asleep, looked from me to her and back. I clicked my
tongue and told him, “He didn’t behave as though that was his name.”

“He’s not
particularly well trained,” Luellen countered.

I narrowed
my eyes at her and she averted her gaze. That was nonsense, and she and I knew
it. Few things were easier to teach a dog than his name.

“Watch this,
Sergeant.” I turned my attention to the dog she’d claimed was Krumpet. “Bingo,
come,” I called, hoping Sergeant Millay was paying close attention. “Krumpet”
looked at me and cocked his head, dog-speak for “Huh?” Then he sat down, which
was a sure sign that he didn’t understand my command; almost without exception,
dogs revert to the first command they learned—sit—when they’re
asked to do something they can’t interpret.

“Okay,
Sergeant, now contrast how this dog behaves with one who hears his real name
being called.” I looked over at the group of dogs across the room from me.
Using a name she’d thrown out earlier during her cursory introductions, I
called, “Toto, come.” Though I hadn’t been paying enough attention earlier to
focus on which dog had this name, one trotted up to me with confidence.

“See,
Sergeant? That’s how a dog acts when you call him by his name.” Just to drive
the point home, I said, “Watch how he acts now.” I took a couple of steps back.
“Soapflake, come.” He stayed put, looking at Luellen as if asking for her to
translate for me. “That is how a dog behaves when summoned by a name other than
his own.”

“This is
ridiculous, Sergeant. She’s wasting everyone’s time.”

“Krumpet,
come.”

Still
sitting on the floor, the dog made no move, but merely looked at me, then at
his owner, in confusion.

“Did you
notice how this dog’s behavior emulated that of Toto’s when I called him by the
name Soapflake?”

Sergeant
Millay rose. “Yeah, but Ms. Moore’s got a point about this wasting my time.” He
pointed at the dog she’d claimed was named Krumpet and gazed at Luellen. “Is
this dog Krumpet?”

“Yes, it is.”

“And that’s
also the dog Miss Babcock here thought was Shogun?”

“Yes.”

“Then we’re
sorry to have taken your time, ma’am. We’ll be going now.” I hesitated a
moment, allowing Sergeant Millay to leave ahead of me.

“Where is
Shogun now, Luellen?” I asked quietly, so that the sergeant couldn’t overhear.

She fisted
her hands and said through a tight jaw, “You bring a policeman to my house,
accuse me of lying, hint at a connection to murder, then expect me to ‘fess up?’”

“I’m just
trying to do the job I was hired to do.”

She held my
gaze, then said, “I hope that once Shogun reappears, you’ll make the right
decision and give him to Trevor.” She ushered me out the door, where Sergeant
Millay was waiting.

I strolled
up to him. “Maybe I can’t prove anything here, but I know what she did.”

The sergeant
turned on a heel and opened his car door. “I see. Well. Thanks for the
information. We’ll look into this matter further.”

Sure he
would. Sergeant Millay’s face bore the same expression that had been so rampant
on opponents’ faces whenever I walked onto a basketball court in an unfamiliar
setting. It was the look of not being taken seriously. I did the same thing now
that I did then: smiled with knowledge that his expression would change once he
realized I knew what I was doing.

The
situation now was radically different. Then all I needed was the ball to show
my opponents how badly they’d underestimated me. Now I needed to expose a
killer and find a missing dog.

Before
heading home, I wanted to get a take on Edith Cunningham. It would be
interesting to see if she was as calm about Shogun still supposedly “missing”
as Trevor had been.

I strained
my memory to the maximum and recalled that I’d once heard the name of her
clothing store. The name had the word “Country” and was on Mountain Avenue, the
busiest street in downtown Berthoud.

I wasn’t
sure about Edith’s logic in opening this particular type of a business in
Berthoud. It wasn’t that we Berthoudites don’t buy nice clothes, it was just
that, speaking for myself, anyway, clothing was not the sort of item that
required the kind of convenience of a small, local place. There were excellent
clothing stores in Fort Collins and in Boulder, which were both college towns
and both within very reasonable drives from Berthoud.

I’d given
Edith’s business acumen more than enough thought by the time I found her sign
on the front of a small building. The store was called Country Boutique
Classics. I realized with a start that this building used to house the Haywoods’
hobby shop when I was younger. I’d never ventured inside. You tend not to want
to set foot in a store in which the proprietors act as though they would rather
see you dead than alive.

Judging from
the lack of customers, she might have been better off sticking with the
Haywoods’ hobbies. She was alone behind the oak and glass counter and mustered
a smile when the little brass bell above her door jingled as I entered.

I’d never
been in quite so uncluttered a store. Across a wide expanse of plush azure
carpeting were only a few small display tables featuring a torso, invisible
except for its blouse or sweater, and a small selection of items on each
tabletop. Edith must have believed that seeing more than one of a particular
item of clothing hinted at factory production. Along the back wall was the only
actual rack, which again boasted only a few dresses, adorned with a sign that
read, “The Latest from Paris.” Why anyone in Berthoud, Colorado, would care
about the latest Paris fashion was beyond me.

Edith,
wearing a shimmery gold blouse and brown and
gold skirt, approached. Her
short auburn hair appeared to have been recently curled. “Allida, hello. Before
you ask, Shogun isn’t here.”

Her abrupt
greeting surprised me. How did she know I was even looking for Shogun?