One Dog Too Many (A Mae December Mystery) (14 page)

M
ae hurried out to the barn. It was a cool, pretty morning. The kitchen was a mess after her dinner with Tammy and Patrick and she was in a rush to get to her chores. Two of her boarders were going home, and a new dog would be arriving. Refreshed by the cool morning air, Mae resolved once again not to dwell on the investigation into Ruby’s murder.

Rusty was going home. His owner, Mrs. Blackwell, was coming by at around eleven. She had brought the dog to Mae, saying that he was difficult (“impossible” was her word) to handle and asked for some help in training him to walk more calmly on a leash.

Mae always washed the dogs before they went home. She didn’t do a full grooming, since she lacked the equipment and the inclination to do trimming, but she gave them a bath, dried them, brushed them and put a bandana around their neck. When she started her business, she had neck bandanas made that read, “I was a good boy (or girl) at Mae’s Place.”

All the Rhodesian Ridgeback needed was exercise and he calmed right down. Since both of the Blackwells worked full-time, Mae started getting the big dog used to standing and walking at very slow speeds on the treadmill she set up in the barn. If they stayed with the program, they’d find him a much easier dog to live with.

Mae finished drying and brushing Rusty. Mrs. Blackwell talked on her cellphone as she walked toward the barn. Mae grabbed a “good boy” bandana and tied it quickly around his neck.

“Hi, Mrs. Blackwell. We’re in here.”

Mrs. Irene Blackwell walked in through the double doors, dropping her phone into her purse. Her pointy high heels were caked in mud.

Rusty barked a loud greeting.

“Good morning, Rusty.” She gave him a timid pat on the head. “Well, how was my boy?”

“Great! He needs a lot of exercise, though. I’ve been walking him a mile every day, outside when the weather was decent, or inside on the treadmill when it wasn’t. Do you have a treadmill?”

“Yes, we do. We never use it. Wait a minute, are you telling me my dog actually walks on the treadmill?”

“Yes, I’ve only just started him on it. Exercise is definitely the key with him. He’s a sweet teddy bear when he gets enough exercise.”

Irene put her hands on her hips and stared accusingly at the dog. “Well, he’s not very sweet at home. He’s actually been eating furniture. I’m about at my wit’s end. He even chewed up one of our kitchen cupboards last week. I work full-time and so does Ron, and we can’t give him the exercise he needs. I still have bandages on my elbows where I hit the concrete last time I tried to walk him.” Desperation was all over her face.

“Irene, do you think you could hire a dog walker? These big guys have to be walked at least once a day. Twice is better.”

“Good idea. I’ll look into it. I’d like to walk him sometimes, too. He pulls me all over the place, though, so I’m not sure that I can.”

“I was going to offer to come to your house one day and show you how to walk him and how to put him on your treadmill.”

“Oh, would you? That would be great. I don’t know why he’s this hard for me to control.”

Mae hesitated. How could she be diplomatic about this? “It’s possible that he doesn’t see you as his leader.”

The woman blinked a few times. She looked taken aback. “Am I supposed to be his leader?”

“Definitely. In Africa, Rhodesian Ridgebacks form large packs with distinct leaders. I’m afraid that Rusty sees you and your husband as siblings or littermates, rather than leaders. Let me show you how he walks for me.”

Mae snapped the leash to the big dog’s collar. “Come on, Rusty, let’s walk.” She took a step forward with Rusty beside her on her left. He walked with her all the way to the Blackwell’s car. There was no pulling or stopping to sniff things. He heeled perfectly.

Mrs. Blackwell’s jaw dropped open. “Amazing. How much would you charge for a home visit?”

“I’m not certified as a professional dog trainer, you know. I just haven’t had time to take the certification course yet, but I do some consulting about obedience. To be an expert trainer, you have to have the reflexes of a mink, the temperament of the Dalai Lama, and the charisma of a movie star. But I’d be happy to come over for a consultation with the two of you, or the three of you. I charge forty dollars an hour.”

Mrs. Blackwell took a check out of her large black purse. “I’ll call you for an appointment and here’s your check for the week. Thank you. He always seems happy at your place.”

No surprise there, Mae thought. She didn’t treat him like a houseplant. “No problem, he’s a wonderful dog.”

Mrs. Blackwell got Rusty into her car as Mae’s next client pulled up. Her business was always like this, with everything happening at once.

It was the Great Dane’s owner. Christiansen was ready to go.

“Hi, John.”

“Hi, Mae. How was he?”

“Perfect, as always.”

Christiansen was a lovely black and white spotted Dane. When Mae first met him, she was glad to see that his owners had chosen not to alter his ears surgically. Cropping was cruel and unnecessary, unless a dog was going to compete in shows. To Mae it was a much more natural look to have his ears hanging down rather than standing up in points. The dog had only one unfortunate habit. When he saw John, he ran at him, jumped up and rested his front feet on John’s shoulders. Both John and Christiansen were over six feet tall. They made a startling sight.

John laughed heartily, standing chest to chest with the dog.

Mae looked at them in exasperation. What a moron. Meaning John, of course, not the dog.

“You know, John,” Mae’s voice was firm. “You need to start curing him of that habit.”

“Why? I like it. He’s always so happy to see me when I get home.”

“I’m sure you like it, but what about Lila? Does she like it?”

“Oh, sure she does.”

Was the man demented? She probably liked it about as much as being flattened by a freight train. Mae sighed. John’s beautiful wife was petite and Christiansen was a huge silly Marmaduke.

“John, you’re asking for trouble by laughing at him and letting him think this is okay. If he jumped on a child, you could really have a problem on your hands. I think we should work on it. I did a little training while you were away.”

“Christiansen,” Mae called. When he came over, she held him by the collar. “Okay, now you call him.” She released the dog.

As the huge animal dashed toward John, she yelled, “Christiansen, stop!”

He stopped. “Sit.” He sat.

“Wow. That’s great. How do you do that?”

“No big deal. You say your commands only once and in a stern voice. I’m sure he’ll respond.”

Was John up to the job? He seemed clueless about how to become the boss in the relationship with his dog.

“Dogs need rules that don’t change, John. If he isn’t supposed to jump on people, you can’t let him jump on anyone, even you.”

John left looking humbled. She knew she sounded like a scolding schoolteacher, but better for him to hear this from her than from an angry judge during a lawsuit.

Half an hour later, a small white SUV drove up the driveway. The car belonged to Jerry Freeman, a big man who was crazy about his little dog, a West Highland white terrier named Monica. He gave Mae extremely thorough instructions about his dog’s care and left a typed contact sheet. In the event of any emergency, Mae would know exactly what to do.

Monica was only six months old, a soft coated white terrier with black eyes. The pup had diva written all over her. Looking at Jerry, Mae saw all the signs of a man already enslaved by a four-pound puppy.

He kept talking about the instructions until Mae finally interrupted him, taking little Monica firmly in her hands. “I’ve got it, Jerry.”

“It’s the very first time I’ve ever left her anywhere.”

“It’s kind of like leaving your child at preschool. Once you’re gone, she’ll be fine.”

“You’ll call me if there are any problems?”

“I will.” She mentally rolled her eyes. Jerry got himself together and walked toward his car.

Mae carried Monica back to her dog run. She held her against her chest to give her a sense of security. When she looked down at the puppy, she could see that Monica’s eyes were fixed on Jerry as he walked away. She was clearly planning a takeover. Jerry didn’t stand a chance. The miniature despot looked up at her speculatively.

“Oh no you don’t, drama queen. Your little act doesn’t work on me.” She put a toy down in the straw but the puppy regarded it disdainfully and retreated into the corner.

The phone rang and Mae dashed into the house to get it.

“I understand there
’s a Little Chapel Road neighborhood meeting tonight. Are you going?” Ben asked.

“Yes, do you want to go with me? Would it be helpful for the investigation?”

“I could go as your bodyguard, I suppose. Or undercover as your date …” He chuckled.

Mae was happier than she’d been in a long time. “Call yourself anything you want, Ben Bradley. Pick me up before seven. Bye.”

“Bye, bossy, I’ll see you later.”

B
en got to the office and immediately called Hadley Johns in the lab. “What did you find out about the shovel?”

“We got a hit. I’ll read you my report. ‘Ms. December noticed a substance she believed to be blood on the blade of the shovel. She did not touch it. She notified the deputy on patrol at her house and he contacted us. I photographed the shovel in place and brought it back to the lab. There were no fingerprints on the handle, suggesting someone wiped it down
. Here’s the best news, Sheriff. The blood from the head of the shovel matches our victim. We got lucky. Ruby had AB negative blood. It’s only in one percent of the population. I’m confident it’s the murder weapon.”

“Good work. Thanks for sending those images right away. Clearly, the shovel is our murder weapon. A shame someone wiped down the handle. How is it coming with the cheek swabs?”

“We’ve checked Mr. Allison and Mr. Dennis. David Allison is not the father and neither is Joe Dennis. Chief Nichols and I went to Mr. Connolly’s office to obtain a cheek swab but he refused to let us take one.”

“What did he give as a reason?”

“He said we’d have to have a court order before he gave a sample. He was furious that Detective Nichols and I came to his place of business dressed in our uniforms. He said his clients would be aware of our visit and that we could cost him business.”

“Were any clients waiting to see him?”

“No, sir. Not a one.”

“What about the materials from Ruby’s house you were working on. Are they ready yet?

“We found a discarded pill bottle in the wastebasket. The name of the drug was Cialis; that’s a drug for treating, you know, what they call erectile dysfunction.” He started to laugh. “Hey, I think I’d need something to get it up for Ruby too.”

“That’s enough, Hadley. She’s a murder victim, not a joke.”

Dory walked into Ben’s office immediately after he hung up with Hadley.

“Boy, that Nichols is hot.” She grinned and fanned herself with her hand.

“Dory!”

“Well, he is. I bet he gets lots of action.”

As usual, Dory didn’t seem too concerned about his opinion, or observing proprieties.

“What has Nichols done to deserve this conclusion? Is that how ladies talk these days?”

“At least ladies who still like gentlemen talk about who
’s hot and who’s not. He’s been slightly more mysterious than usual lately. It drives me crazy that I can’t get anything out of the man. We ladies like a challenge and Wayne is definitely a challenge. Plus having a nice ass for a white boy.”

“Is Wayne really that attractive to women?”
Ben tapped his cheek with his finger, feeling baffled.

“Are you kidding me? He’s got to have every woman he questions trying to get him into bed.”

She turned his world upside down with this. “Into bed with Wayne? The one who’s pushing sixty, losing his hair and has a beer gut?”

“I bet you wish you were getting all the action he gets.”

This was just too much.

“Dory, for heaven’s sake! You must be ten years older than he is.”

She looked at him with a grin and shook her head. “You think the urge to merge dies out? Never does.”

“I really don’t want to know
this.”

“
You know, Sheriff,” Dory gave him the onceover, “we need to work on your attractiveness to the opposite sex.”

“So I’m not as sexy as Wayne?”

She appraised him with care. “He’s not a pretty boy like you. That man sure enough melts my butter, though.”

He had to get some control here. He stood up, motioning her toward the door.

“I’m going, I’m going,” she said. “Tomorrow, I’m going to start working on your style, Sheriff. You need my able assistance.”

He closed the door behind her. He needed someone’s help—that was for sure.

Ben could no longer avoid his overflowing
Inbox and decided to spend a couple of hours reducing its height. There were a number of reports submitted by Wayne Nichols. Ben read three of them, struck as always by his Chief Detective’s keen insights into human behavior.

Reaching for
correspondence from the pile, he paused. The first letter was from an old classmate from his brief stint in law school. Kevin Sabin was now an attorney in criminal practice. He’d started a firm in Nashville and wanted Ben to have his contact information. Ben glanced at his computer screen, noted the one hundred fifty-seven emails and clicked on his “Favorites.” The top one was the site of a law school in Texas. There were several other law schools listed as well, one in Michigan and two in Ohio. He clicked idly through the admission requirements pages, noting that his old LSAT scores were still competitive. He printed off several pages.

Another look at the pile of papers on his desk said he needed to get back to work. Maybe he
could go to law school at night. He knew that wasn’t realistic. Most crimes occurred at night. He crumpled the pages, tossing them into his wastebasket. Maybe his dad would have a suggestion.