Death on Covert Circle Page 9

“Okay. Let’s write a list of who to talk to. I say we start—”

  She broke off because Teague opened the back door and stuck his head and still-bare shoulders in.

  “Thought you two were going to be at the dog park by 5:30. I’m stopping for a quick shower at the apartment, then Murph and I will be there, too.”

  Clara jumped up.

  “Oh my gosh, look at the time. We have to leave right now.”

  On the way to the dog park with LuLu and Gracie, we agreed we needed to work on a list of who to talk to.

  But first things first. We needed a strategy for this meeting at the dog park.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Two trips to the dog park in a day. Now, this was living.

  For the dogs, anyway. For us, it was the third trip.

  Because of course Clara and I had taken LuLu and Gracie for a good pre-meeting run there, then gone home to change into more suitable attire and returned for our meeting with the parks people.

  Priorities.

  Clara, Donna, and I stood in a central vestibule area where gates for two large-dog and two small-dog areas opened. Owners gathered close to the gates, while most of the dogs spread throughout the areas, though a few were curious enough to stick around.

  Clara who’d already reported basics of our meeting, now said, “We’ll start with the king of the hill — that’s the slanted board going up, then down — a tunnel, two adjustable jump-over stations, the weave poles, and jumping hoops, one for large dogs and one for small. Oh, a teeter-totter and the raised dog walk.”

  Berrie interrupted, “How do we schedule our time alone in the agility section so no one can disrupt an ongoing session?”

  “We don’t,” Clara said firmly. “It’s first come, first serve. Maximum three dogs in the area at once, but up to that maximum no one is to be turned away—”

  “But—”

  “And any person can only have two dogs at a time.”

  I thought of that as the Berrie rule, since she traveled in a cloud of Boston terriers, looking rather like the Peanuts cartoon character Pig Pen and his clouds of dust. Berrie also presented herself as a trainer, giving lessons to dogs and owners. We’d talked extensively with Donna about how to prevent Berrie from monopolizing the area while charging for lessons.

  Come to think of it, most of the rules were Berrie rules.

  “What? That’s not fair—”

  “It’s absolutely fair. It will let more people use the equipment. Also, with fewer dogs in the area and with their people focused on them, the dogs can be off-leash to use the equipment.”

  “But—”

  “Also, no paid lessons are allowed in the agility area.”

  Berrie squawked an outraged protest.

  Clara kept going. “It’s not a commercial enterprise. There are facilities available for those charging for lessons. This is for the entire community. An informal, fun area for pets brought by their owners. The other regular rules apply. Pick up after your dog. No aggressive or threatening animals. No incessant barking.”

  I needed to keep working on the “Quiet” command or others might consider that the Gracie rule.

  Berrie opened her mouth.

  “Treats,” Clara continued quickly, “will be allowed in the agility area for training purposes, but remember not to take them into the general areas.”

  “Or you’ll risk getting licked to death,” said an older man named Tony with a well-blended mix of many breeds. “I forgot a couple weeks ago and you’d think I was the Pied Piper of Torrid Avenue Dog Park. Had every dog in the place trying to get into my pocket. Swear a chihuahua went all in, head first.”

  “But—” Berrie tried again to introduce her desired revisions to the rules.

  Clara foiled her by saying loudly to Tony, who wore hearing aids, but often didn’t turn them on. “You must have the best treats ever.”

  “I do. Chicken recipe I make myself.”

  “Oh, well, chicken,” Clara teased him.

  “But—” Berrie didn’t have a chance. Not against the interest in a new taste treat for dogs.

  “Secret is to cook it in bacon grease.” A chorus of ohhhs followed. I was almost sure they all came from the humans. Though canine ears perked up at the b-word. “My Jock practically does back flips for it.”

  I might, too.

  Sensing the meeting was breaking up, Clara called out, “The equipment installation is scheduled for two weeks from now and the grand opening is the week after.”

  Berrie didn’t know when to quit. “Wait a minute, wait a minute. We’re not done here.”

  Donna hooked a hand in Clara’s arm and drew her into the large dog area. Somehow a number of bodies intervened as Berrie tried to follow.

  Almost as if it were choreographed.

  Donna caught my eye, jerked her head for me to join Clara. She gave a second head-jerk to someone behind me. I turned. It was Teague. Then Donna returned to the muddle of people by the gates.

  As Clara and I walked toward our favorite table, I heard Berrie repeat, “We’re not done here. She doesn’t get to make the rules.”

  “As the selected representative of owners using the dog park, they do get to make the rules, in conjunction with the parks department, which, among other things didn’t want the dogs ever allowed off-leash —”

  Now how on earth did she know that?

  Wait. This was Donna. Of course she knew.

  “—so consider yourself and all of us fortunate we had persuasive representatives. And, yes, we are, indeed, done here, Berrie. Now, see to your dogs. You need to pick up after Major and that young female in the far corner.”

  “Settled her hash,” said Tony, in what was probably supposed to be a mutter to himself. But it was audible to most of those still assembled. Even those of us moving away from the group.

  Around a grin, Teague said, “The Chicago Bears could use a few of these folks on the offensive line for pass protection.”

  “The Cincinnati Bengals,” Clara disputed. “That’s our home team. That’s your home team now.”

  That began a vital conversation about whether a true fan ever changed allegiance no matter how far away.

  * * * *

  The dispute ended only when Donna joined us at the table, saying, “Now that the agility area’s settled, I’m ready to hear the real news. Ah, another witness just arrived.”

  We turned to follow the direction of her look and saw Petey entering the small-dog enclosure, wading through the barking froth of Berrie’s Terrors behind the erect, happy tail of a beagle mix.

  Petey wasn’t as successful trying to wade through the human pack around him.

  Donna clicked her tongue. “They’re all over him to find out what he saw and they don’t even know you two are far better witnesses.”

  “Didn’t know Petey came here. Didn’t even know he had a dog.” I was surprised that, amid the myriad photos of his grandchildren, there’d been none of his dog. Not that a dog is equivalent to a grandchild … except to a dog person.

  “It’s his sister’s dog. She works a lot. Ever since he came to live with her last year, he brings Banjo regularly.”

  “I thought he’d lived here forever.”

  “Grew up around here but he left for a while. Missed his cheerfulness while he was gone.”

  “Seeing him long-faced at the Roger was a shock. He’s always cheerful,” Clara said.

  Donna clicked her tongue. “Poor soul. It is a triumph of spirit over history. He lived with his daughter somewhere out West, happy as a clam being house grandfather for her kids while she worked in management out there, and he worked part-time with her. Then she lost her job through no fault of her own, fell into a depression, lost her house, lost custody of the kids to her ex, and slid into abusing drugs. Died from an overdose. Petey came back here to share a place with his sister. They seem to be making a go of it with her work and what he picks up at the Roger. If you want to make him happy, ask about his grandkids. Then get
comfortable. He must have a million pictures and videos of them.”

  Murmurs said we’d all experienced that.

  “Poor Petey was the first one in Haines Tavern to encounter Rod Birchall,” Clara said. “Birchall gave him a hard time out in the parking lot even before starting on the people inside.”

  “I want to hear all about it,” Donna said with gusto. “You were right there when that Jolly Roger executive got it in the neck, weren’t you? Right on the scene again. Don’t look pained, Teague. These two have a flair.”

  Teague raised his hands and spread his fingers wide, futilely trying to disavow his expression.

  “Not right on the scene,” Clara said, “because we had to go get Ned’s orange juice and we picked up a few other things, so we left the area right after he’d gone in the back room. And Rod Birchall didn’t really get it in the neck. Though the allergic reaction probably closed up his throat.”

  “But you were there,” Donna said.

  Teague spoke at the same time. “Allergic reaction.” His repetition didn’t quite become a question.

  I had a sudden suspicion he’d taken time out to communicate with Deputy Hensen.

  Teague’s former partner up in Illinois used him as a sounding board on cases — I’d heard Teague’s side of such phone conversations. Had he started a similar role with Hensen?

  “Right before and right after,” Clara said to Donna, then turned to Teague, with no sign of the doubts I harbored about his two words. “I told you. Sheila was the one who put Hensen onto it.”

  “So you did, Clara,” he said mildly.

  Then he gave me a look. Not the kind I liked getting from him. It was full of ex-detective type questions and potential avenues of inquiry. The worst kind of look for someone with secrets to protect.

  Not that I was angling for any other kind of look from Teague O’Donnell.

  Though if he happened to give me one all on his own, because he wanted — really, really wanted — to give me a certain kind of look—

  “Your insight came as a result of more wisdom from Sam?” he asked me abruptly.

  Hah! This time he didn’t catch me off guard. I remembered who Sam was almost immediately.

  The ex-boyfriend I’d made up with a detective father who became my supposed source for all forensic, investigative, and police procedure knowledge. When it actually came from Great Aunt Kit and the training and research she’d included me in.

  Explaining Kit’s wealth of knowledge about murders and solving them edged too close to dancing on the head of the pin that I could easily shuffle-ball-change my way right off of and land splat into the surrounding hot soup of Abandon All. And my role as its supposed author.

  “I did learn so much from Sam… and his father,” I said with the philosophical nobility of one determined to find growth and meaning in every encounter, every relationship, no matter how painful it might have been at the end.

  I allowed myself a small smile. After all, clean living, a change of scenery, and a collie dog to induce daily laughter can do wonders for repairing a broken heart.

  Especially a fake one.

  Or had I broken up with Sam?

  Uh-oh.

  “But in this case,” I continued, deciding it was wiser to steer away from Sam until I remembered the details of our nonexistent relationship, “it was what those customers said to the CEO of Jolly Roger.”

  “Yelled at him,” Clara amended for Donna’s sake. “That reminds me, we wanted to ask you about a woman who brings her dog here. She wasn’t happy with Rod Birchall, either. Sheila?”

  Her invitation was to give Donna the details, since I’d crossed paths with the woman more than she had.

  “Terrier mix. Neon green collar. They’re usually leaving about the time we arrive. Dog’s friendly. She’s a bit more standoffish. She wears a treat bag around her waist, same color as the collar.”

  That did it. “Oh. Yes. Simba.”

  “Simba?” Teague repeated.

  Amateur.

  Clara and I knew Donna named the dog first. If you were patient…

  “Aggie Hickmott.”

  …you got the human’s name.

  “They’ve been coming about five years. Let’s see… Yes, five years because Berrie’d just taken in her second foster Boston terrier.”

  Some people might think it’s strange to use dog events to pinpoint time, but Clara and I nodded our complete understanding.

  “It particularly stands out because after the first one, she’s had more and more trouble letting the fosters go to their forever homes. Yes, that’s when Aggie started coming with Simba.”

  “What do you know about her? Aggie, I mean,” I quickly added, or I’d hear all about the dog.

  “That might connect her to this? Hmm. Not happy with the Roger, I do know that. Had quite the conversation about it a while back. They didn’t withdraw a recalled dog food. She wanted to picket. I talked to the manager. The next day it was gone. She still wanted to picket. I encouraged her to put her energy into educating dog owners. So, she had a flyer here at the park and sent information to anyone who emailed her.”

  “I remember. It was right after Ned and I got LuLu. Scary stuff when the food can be so bad for your dog. It wasn’t what we were using, but we did a lot more homework after that.”

  “I wonder if she had any interactions with the Jolly Roger chain,” I said. “Especially corporate and the CEO.”

  “That’s good,” Clara said admiringly. Even Teague looked impressed. “What about a tall woman, very dignified, dark hair with white above her ears on either side.” She gestured, sketching the sweep. “I think she might be or have been principal of the South Haines Tavern Elementary School?”

  “Dog?”

  “No idea.”

  “Doesn’t sound familiar. Neither one was the yelling customer you mentioned?” At Clara’s headshake, Donna added, “Who’s that?”

  “We don’t know. Maybe you would?” Clara raised her brows at Donna hopefully. “Late thirties, probably. Medium height. Slender. Hair streaked to look dark blonde. Chin length, turned under. Well dressed—”

  “Very well dressed. Expensive,” I inserted.

  “—with her daughter, about four years old.”

  “How do you know the girl was her daughter?” Teague interrupted.

  “The girl called her Mommy.”

  He grunted acceptance of that as a basis for a working hypothesis.

  Clara said to Donna, “Sound familiar?”

  “No one I can think of right off. What did this customer yell at Birchall?”

  Clara recapped that portion of the scene in the produce department. “…and when Sheila told Deputy Hensen about it, how the woman knew about Birchall’s food allergy, and we’d seen the woman and her daughter still in the store later…”

  “She certainly needs to be a person of interest, don’t you think, Teague?” I concluded.

  He was spared having to agree when Clara checked the time and said we had to leave right then for yoga.

  LuLu and Gracie disagreed it was time to leave the dog park.

  Negotiations were protracted, frustrating, and nearly resulted in the death of Teague O’Donnell when he laughed.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “Wondered if you two were going to make it tonight,” our yoga instructor said as we entered the Beguiling Way Yoga Studio.

  We weren’t late. We just weren’t as early as usual.

  While dropping off our respective and unrepentant dogs, we’d barely had time to grab our yoga clothes.

  Other students and their mats already dotted the studio floor. Thankfully, our corner — remote and mirrorless to avoid non-yin-like distractions — remained open.

  Liz, our instructor, was showing her pregnancy.

  We were happy for her and her husband — delighted, in fact, since they’d had difficulty conceiving. This pregnancy was the result of a second round of in vitro fertilization.

  But Liz was a
reserved person, which made it a touch awkward, because all that about the difficulty conceiving and two rounds of in vitro were things she didn’t know we knew.

  “Dog park business ran late,” Clara said.

  Along with her pregnancy, Liz showed skepticism at Clara’s explanation. That probably meant the humming Haines Tavern grapevine included our presence at the Roger today when Rod Birchall was killed.

  “We better get changed before class,” I said with a bright smile.

  Clara went first. When I came out of the restroom from changing into leggings and t-shirt, a woman in her eighties named Fern had cornered Clara to pump her about the happenings at the Roger.

  Since Fern was our source about Liz’s reproductive history, she didn’t qualify as a secure repository of secrets. Not to mention everyone in the studio — even the woman obsessed with her daughter’s upcoming wedding — had tuned in for any tidbits.

  Berrie had not come to class, which she usually did for this evening session. Probably strategizing how to overturn the agility area rules.

  “Give me a straight answer. Did you see him get killed? Was it an irate customer? What—?”

  I dropped my street clothes in a corner, took Fern’s arm, and smiled down at her. “Fern, how nice to see you. How are you? Did you have a good week?”

  “Don’t interrupt, Sheila. I was asking Clara—”

  Liz lowered the lights in the studio and entered through the double doors from the foyer, cuing that class was about to begin.

  Using my hold on her arm, I gently turned Fern a bit and encouraged her toward her mat.

  She harrumphed, but acquiesced.

  Clara collapsed back on her mat in relief.

  Which isn’t a bad way to start a yin class, where time and gravity stretch crunched up muscles and fascia.

  While Liz instructed us to leave the day behind, I invited memories of today’s events to come on in. I do some of my best thinking about murder in yin class.

  This felt like the first time I’d had a chance to draw a deep breath all day. Certainly, it was the first opportunity to quietly consider what I’d seen and heard at the Roger.

  Class wasn’t nearly long enough for that sorting job.