Dressed Up 4 Murder, page 13
“It’s not going to be that easy getting her to recant what she told me.”
“Then you’ll have to resort to the Harriet Plunkett school of information gathering—nag her to death.”
“Terrific. I’ll be so sick of seafood by the end of this case, we’ll be living on hamburgers.”
“Does that mean you’ll give it a try?”
“I’d never disappoint you, Phee. At least not intentionally.”
Yep. Comfortable. I smiled, reached my hand across the table, and gave his wrist a squeeze.
“And while we’re on the subject of not disappointing you,” he continued, “I’ll have to brace myself for the next Precious Pooches pet parade. That’s coming up pretty quick.”
“I know. The Friday before Thanksgiving will be here in no time. I don’t know who I feel sorry for more, the two of us for telling my mother we’d go or Streetman, who has to wear that Swarovski crystal acorn.”
“Streetman. Definitely. Nate got an invite, too, you know, and it scared the daylights out of him.”
“Really? Why?”
“Because he’s running out of excuses.”
Chapter 14
A week had passed since our dinner at La Mar Maravillosa and, while Marshall was able to meet with the owners of the other three seafood restaurants, Jocelyn avoided him. At least it looked that way. She didn’t return his calls or emails.
“I’ll make an impromptu visit this coming week,” he said. “Meanwhile we’d better get going to that ‘Precious Pooches Turkey Day Parade’ or whatever the heck it is.”
“If you ask me,” Augusta said as Marshall and I headed for the front door of the office, “it’s a darn good excuse to get out of work early.”
Marshall spun around and grinned. “You’re welcome to join us, you know. We’ll find a way to make it look like business.”
Augusta shuffled some papers around on her desk and laughed. “Not on your life. With Nate out on that fraud case in Peoria, someone has to give the appearance that our office is open for business.”
“Okay, but if you change your mind . . .”
“Don’t worry. That’s not happening. Bunch of dogs running around in costumes. Sheer lunacy, if you ask me. Back in Wisconsin we stuck to cattle and livestock judging. Heifers, swine, horses, and chickens. My late husband would’ve had a canary bird if he was asked to deck out our milk cow. Next thing you know they’ll be adding cats to that shindig in Sun City West.”
“I don’t think they can afford the insurance.” I opened the door. “But I’ll put it in their suggestion box. Have a good evening.”
“I’ll guarantee one thing. It’ll be less stressful than yours. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
I gave her a quick wave as the door closed behind us.
“Flip a coin to see whose car we take?” Marshall asked.
“It doesn’t matter to me.”
“Okay, I’ll drive and we’ll pick your car up on the way home.”
It was two thirty-five. Plenty of time to get to the dog park before the parade’s start time of three. With the shorter days, the parade schedule was moved up from the Halloween one. Thankfully we made good time, arriving just before the event started.
“Same deal as before?” Marshall parked the car in the large recreation center lot.
“Not quite.” My mother explained it to me this morning, but I was laughing so hard and holding my hand over the phone, I wasn’t sure I caught everything.
“It can’t possibly be any worse than last time.”
“Oh, yes, it is. Much worse. Instead of having an individual dog and their owner walk around the circle when their number is called, the entire entourage will be circling the knoll while that 1963 song by Little Eva ‘Let’s Turkey Trot’ is being played in the background.”
Marshall turned off the car’s ignition and buried his face in his hands. All I could hear was sputtering sounds as he tried to muffle his laughter. “My mother played that song when she cleaned the house. I still remember singing, ‘Gobbididily gobbididily,’ or something like that. You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Augusta was right. This really is a nightmare. Please tell me you’re exaggerating.”
“I’m not. Each dog owner will be carrying a sign with their number on it. That’s how the judges will know one dog from another.”
“It’s surreal. Absolutely surreal. All the contestants march round and round the knoll while the judges render their decision?”
“You’ve got it. At some point, when their choices are made, the entire parade will be directed to march back into the dog park and wait for the announcer to read off the names of the winners.”
“Guess we can’t hide in the car any longer. Might as well trot on over to the knoll.”
“Nice word choice.”
The dog park was a frenzy of activity and yet, amid all the chaos, Marshall and I were able to spot my mother. Apparently, Streetman wasn’t the only one decked out in hand-cut crystals. My mother was wearing a dark fedora trimmed with sparkling jewels, instead of the usual leather or ribbon band. I put a hand over my mouth so I wouldn’t gasp. “I can’t believe what I’m seeing.”
Marshall studied the dog park the way some people studied maps. “What part can’t you believe?”
“My mother. She looks like Lady Gaga. Say, isn’t that Elaine Meschow talking to her? It is. It is Elaine. I didn’t think she was going to enter Prince in this contest after what happened last month. Not the poisoning. That had nothing to do with it. The tree decorations. Those awful cobwebs.”
“Looks like the trees have been left unscathed. But get a load of that giant blow-up turkey. It must be over ten feet tall. Should scare the crap out of most of the little ankle biters, and the big dogs might sink their teeth into it. Who comes up with these ideas?”
“Um, the dog park committee, I think.”
We walked over to the park and gave my mother a shout. She immediately picked up Streetman and met us at the fence.
“Hurry up and get a good place in front of the knoll. I think Shirley and Lucinda are somewhere up front. Myrna’s standing with the bocce club crew, and I’m not sure where Cecilia and Louise are.”
“Is Aunt Ina coming?” I asked.
“Are you kidding? She says she’s allergic to all of the pet dander, but if you ask me, she’s probably having a facial or a hot stone massage in preparation for a night out with Louis. Don’t worry about your aunt. Get a good spot in front of the knoll. And doesn’t my little man look perfect?”
The dog was squirming to get out of my mother’s arms, and she finally relented. “We’re number fourteen this time. Not that you need a number to recognize us. Meet me back here after the contest.”
Marshall leaned over the fence and shook my mother’s hand. “Good luck, Harriet. You, too, Streetman.” Then he took my arm and ushered me toward a spot at the edge of the knoll in full view of the giant balloon turkey. “Want to wager a bet on how long that thing remains vertical?”
“Hopefully long enough to see this fiasco through.”
No sooner did I finish speaking than the turkey trot music came on and the announcer welcomed everyone to the second event in the Precious Pooches Holiday Extravaganza. He thanked committee members, rec center members, and anyone apparently who’d set foot in the community during the last decade. It was worse than the Academy Awards. Finally, the music got louder and the contest began.
Marshall and I held our breath as the dogs and their owners paraded around the circular knoll to Little Eva’s rendition of “Let’s Turkey Trot.” I had to turn away at least four or five times because I was laughing so much and Marshall wasn’t much better.
“Do you think they’ll bring Little Eva back next month for ‘The Locomotion’?”
“Shh. You’re making me laugh.”
And while Marshall and I were practically in hysterics, my mother and Streetman were taking the event seriously. The little dog pranced to the music and held his head up for two laps around the knoll. The sun was slowly setting and three pillars of giant stage lights that had been brought in for the occasion illuminated Streetman’s costume. It was dazzling. Well, blinding, actually.
I saw Elaine Meschow with Prince, who was dressed up to look like a cornucopia. And I couldn’t help but notice Sir Breckenthall the Third as Miles Standish. At least I thought it was Miles Standish. The costume looked as if it had been hand-tailored, and I had no doubt it was. The other contestants were decked out as turkeys, Pilgrims, and Native Americans.
With one lap to go, as per the announcer, I bit my lower lip and prayed Streetman wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize this event for my mother. I glanced at Marshall and saw that he, too, was just as concerned. “I hope the little bugger makes it for the last spin around the hill.”
“You and me both,” I said.
“Amazing, but none of those dogs bothered the big balloon turkey. I thought that would be the first thing to go.”
Just then, the announcer directed all of the contestants to finish circling the knoll and walk back to the dog park to await the results.
“He did it,” I said. “Streetman behaved like a perfect gentleman. I wonder if my mother slipped him anything before the parade.”
“I don’t know about the dog, but after watching this, I could sure use something.”
Myrna and Louise spotted us and waved. They were farther down in front, but it was impossible to reach them. Finally, the announcer spoke.
“Ladies and gentlemen, we have the results for the second event in the Precious Pooches Holiday Extravaganza. In third place, dog number twenty, Prince. Owner, Elaine Meschow. Please exit the dog park and walk directly to the judges’ table in front of the circle.”
“That’s wonderful, Marshall, isn’t it? It makes up for last month.”
He winced and shrugged. “I wouldn’t go that far.”
Prince was awarded a twenty-five-dollar gift certificate from Gracie’s Groomers and a basket of grooming supplies and toys.
“If Streetman doesn’t at least place second, my mother will be devastated.”
“And now, ladies and gentlemen,” the announcer went on, “in second place, Sir Breckenthall the Third, owner Phyllis Gruber. Please exit the dog park and walk directly to the judges’ table in front of the circle.”
Phyllis Gruber didn’t walk. She stormed over to the judges’ table to collect her prize with poor Sir Breckenthall the Third in tow. The little spaniel was awarded a fifty-dollar gift certificate from Cascade Kennels, a basket of goodies from Dapper Doggies, and a free grooming from LuLu’s Lovelies.
Marshall rubbed his chin and shook his head. “That woman looks as if Santa left her a stocking full of coal instead of all the neat gifts.”
“She didn’t take first place,” I said. “That’s what it’s all about for her.”
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the voice cut in. “And now for our first-place winner. Today’s winner will walk home with a full year of grooming from The Stylish Pet, a basket of treats from Furry Friends Boutique, and a seventy-five-dollar prepaid Visa card from one of our local banks. Please congratulate Streetman and his owner, Harriet Plunkett.”
The applause was thunderous, and I swore I heard Myrna and Louise shrieking.
“I don’t believe it! He took first place! He took first place! There’s my mother now, walking over to the judges’ table.”
I couldn’t see what was going on at the judges’ table, but Shirley and Lucinda walked over to carry the basket of goodies for my mom. That was the last sane thing I remembered before “the incident.”
The crowd had started to disperse and the owner of a large white poodle made his way to the giant turkey balloon, presumably to wait it out with his dog. The man had removed most of the dog’s costume, but a ring of colored felt feathers was still visible on the dog’s neck.
My mother was at the opposite end of the circle, and she headed back to the dog park where she’d told us to meet her. Then, for no apparent reason known to humans, Streetman picked up his chin, sniffed the air, and bolted across the knoll to the white poodle, leash and all.
“Oh my God, Marshall. This isn’t good. Streetman’s not a fighter. That means only one thing. The poodle is a female and that neurotic Chiweenie is about to make more than a casual acquaintance with her.”
My mother started yelling at the top of her lungs. All sorts of words. Words like, “Streetman, no!,” “Streetman, stop it!,” “Streetman, come back here!,” and finally, “No! No! No!”
Marshall took off after the dog, with my mother a good five or six yards behind. I whipped my head around to where the poodle was standing, only to see Streetman taking a giant leap onto the poodle’s back. That sudden leap forced the poodle to stand on her hind legs and press her front legs against the giant blow-up turkey. From that point on, Streetman was unstoppable.
“Bad boy! Bad, bad boy!” My mother’s voice echoed past the dog park all the way to the bocce courts. Meanwhile, the poodle’s owner was shouting as well.
“Princess Leia, get away from that dog! Come over here!”
I moved as quickly as I could, but it was impossible. The crowd had heard the commotion and decided to watch this new source of entertainment. I had to elbow my way down the sidewalk by the knoll in order to reach Marshall and my mother. I got there just in time to see Marshall pull Streetman off of Princess Leia. And just in time to watch the giant Thanksgiving balloon deflate. First the head, then the neck, then the fat body.
“Oh my gosh. What happened?”
Marshall handed the dog over to my mother and took a breath. “Streetman gave Princess Leia a nip on the neck and she panicked. Bit right into the blow-up balloon.”
“This is going to cost us.” My mother nuzzled the dog and then looped her hand through the end of his leash.
I took in the entire scene from Princess Leia’s octogenarian owner checking over his pet to the rubber puddle of what was once a blow-up turkey, now lying on the ground like an oil spill.
“Us? What do you mean ‘us’?” I asked.
Before my mother could answer, Princess Leia’s owner spoke. “She’s okay. He didn’t break the skin. Just gave her a good scare. She’s fifteen. She’s like me. She doesn’t see much action.”
“I’m so sorry,” my mother said. “Is there anything I can do?”
“Nah. We’ll be fine. Might want to have your dog neutered, though.”
“He is neutered,” I blurted out. “Neutered and nuts!”
The man chuckled, leashed his dog, and headed across the parking lot.
“I suppose I’ll be getting a bill for the blow-up turkey,” my mother said. “They’ve got my name and address.”
Marshall gave her a pat on the shoulder and glanced back at the spot where the balloon had been standing. “I doubt that. These kinds of venues take those things into account. If it wasn’t Streetman initiating the disaster, it would’ve been some other dog. Come on, Harriet. Looks like the book club ladies are waiting for you over there.”
He pointed to the side gate of the dog park, where Cecilia, Shirley, Lucinda, Myrna, and Louise were standing. Shirley was still holding the basket of goodies Streetman had won.
“Might as well relish your accomplishment, Mom. No sense getting aggravated over what happened with that poodle. Heck, Streetman probably put a twinkle in her eye she hadn’t seen in years.”
“Sophie Vera Kimball, shame on you for talking about such things.”
The three of us ambled over to the dog park, where my mother was regaled with compliments and hugs.
“Shirley deserves all of the credit,” Mom said. “Designing a costume that’s fit for a Paris runway.”
While my mother and the other women were chatting, Shirley grabbed me by the arm and motioned for Marshall to join us. “You’re not going to believe what happened a few minutes before you got here. That terrible Phyllis Gruber came over to me and told me, in no uncertain terms, that if Streetman wins the final contest, that will be the last thing he or your mother ever win.”
My hand flew to my mouth and I froze for a second. “Oh my gosh. She did something similar with Elaine Meschow and her dog. Not an actual threat but a veiled one. Whatever you do, Shirley, you can’t tell my mother about this. Not yet. She won’t simply call the dog park committee. Oh no. Harriet Plunkett will be all over the sheriff’s office and Homeland Security. She’s got those numbers on speed dial and she’ll—”
Marshall looked directly at me and gave my hand a pat. “I think I’ll be the one looking into this Phyllis Gruber. Maybe Elaine Meschow wasn’t overreacting when she told you she thought Phyllis might have been the one to poison her. For all we know, Sir Wrecking Ball may not be the only prize that woman owns.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Lots of these wealthy retirees are the beneficiaries of their late husbands’ businesses. We’ll just have to see if hers had anything to do with seafood.”
Chapter 15
My mother walked over to where we were standing and invited Marshall and me to join her and the ladies at the Homey Hut. “We have to hurry because the early-bird dinner specials end in forty minutes. I’ll drop my little man off at home and head right over there.” She bent down to remove the dog’s costume, but for some inexplicable reason, he wasn’t cooperating.
“Shirley or Phee, will one of you please hold him so I can pull the Velcro apart?”
Marshall picked up the dog and released the jeweled acorn before Streetman even knew what was happening.
“Quick,” my mom said, “give me the thing before he decides to tug on it.”
Marshall handed her the prized costume. “I have no idea how to remove the hat.”
Shirley immediately stepped in. “That’s the easy part. It’ll unsnap from the collar. My own design.”
