Terrier Terror, page 13
“We haven’t crossed paths here yet. You don’t think she was the one who framed you for the murder, do you?”
“I wouldn’t put it past her. She saw me and Terrington arguing in the café.”
Surprised, I stopped walking and looked at him. “I didn’t know Valerie was in the café, too.”
“She was getting a to-go order.”
I’d become familiar with the setup of the Brunswick Café during my police interview. Its counter was at the front of the restaurant, with a half wall partially separating it from the restaurant tables. It was possible Valerie could have overheard an argument at one of the front tables. The swinging doors to the kitchen were in the back hallway opposite the restrooms and adjacent to the back door.
“Valerie’s short, in her mid-sixties, and has bad knees,” I said. “I can’t picture her stabbing a six-foot tall, athletic man in the neck.”
“Neither can I. But it’s not impossible that she snuck into the kitchen and through the back door before I finally decided to try and resolve things peacefully with Terrington. In any case, she’s more than happy to poison everyone’s minds against me...before and after the murder.”
“Maybe, but, frankly, she’d much rather blame anything and everything on Jesse Valadez.”
“Except Jesse wasn’t in the restaurant. And the guy’s on crutches.”
The subject matter still begged the question: Was Jesse still using the crutches at noon on Wednesday, like he’d said? Unwilling to mention that concern to Cooper, I said, “They probably have security cameras by the back door of the restaurant.”
“You’d have thought so,” Cooper said. “But if they had security cameras on us, the police would have cleared me right away. They’d have seen that I hadn’t stabbed him. That I’d grabbed the knife just to try to stop the bleeding.”
“And they’d have seen the stabbing itself.”
Just then, I saw a woman walking a six-month-or-so Lab puppy. “Oh, look! There’s—”
Cooper grabbed my upper arm gently. “Allie, I know you’re a good person. I know that you’ve helped the police a couple of times. There was that feature article in the Daily Camera about your being the best combination sleuth and dog whisperer around.”
“That was a silly story,” I said. “It was a slow news day.”
“I have the feeling you can help me. I...need a rock. Or a sounding board. Something stable in my life.” He studied my features, once again looking desperate. “If things start going south for me...if the police arrest me, could you be my character reference?”
“I can tell the police that you’ve always struck me as a solid, dependable guy who cares about dogs and is gentle and helpful.”
“Thank you.” He smiled at me. “Could you also help me keep an eye on Mark and Marsala? I don’t want to make any wild accusations, but they’re the ones who were in the right place at the right time. They heard the argument between Terrington and me. I can’t help but think one or both of them realized I was the perfect patsy.”
Chapter 16
My heart felt like it was racing as Dog Face’s time to compete approached. To advance into the finals, the dogs run two different types of courses in the preliminaries: the Jumps With Weave (JWW), followed by the Standard, the latter of which used the pause table. Barring disqualification in the first race, we would return to race on the Standard course in the afternoon. Both Sophie and DF needed to run a clean course, meaning no knocking a rail down, no foot faults. Foot faults added a full second to the dog’s time. Major faults like refusing to perform on an obstacle added five seconds. Their scores were determined by an average of their two race times—to the hundredth of a second.
The four-inch high bars for the Dachsund that went before us were adorable. With an Airedale’s much longer legs, the bars would be set at twenty inches. Dog Face’s start time was ahead of Sophie’s by a considerable amount. The audience was about to be treated to nearly opposite sizes of contestants.
I played around with Jesse’s dog in the staging area, which was extremely important; he needed to be in a playful, happy mood to run the course most efficiently. I, however, was struggling to mask my stress. My mouth was dry, and my heart was pounding. Knowing that Dog Face could probably detect my nervousness was only stressing me all the more. I had huge butterflies in my stomach as Dog Face and I entered the ring. I took a calming breath. I was a good trainer. I was also a good handler. I was also pretty good at motivating a dog to keep his focus on me. Those were the three parts of being successful at agility competitions. But the fact remained that this was my very first agility competition. I’d specifically told Baxter not to make any attempt to watch the trial if he had anything else he should be doing. I’m sure he understood that I was really saying: Try hard to be there for me.
As Dog Face accompanied me in perfect heel position and sat beside me, I grinned at him. This was his race to run, and he would enjoy it and was well-prepared. I was going to treat this as just another of the twenty-plus practice rounds I’d given him since our recent partnership. I spotted Mark in the ring. He was wearing his safari vest. The sight gave me a flashback to the murder scene, when I’d seen blood on his vest. I wondered if he was wearing that very vest.
“Hooray for, Dog Face,” I heard Jesse cry. There was considerable laughter from the audience, thanks to the dog’s silly name. Although I tried to stop myself, I looked out at the audience and saw Valerie in the side aisle, halfway up the stands, watching me. With her arms crossed against her chest and her shoulders stooped, her knee-length brown skirt suit making her pale legs look thin, she resembled a barn owl, peering at her prey.
“Start,” Mark Singer said. Off we went. The almost eerie combination of adrenaline, rote, and familiarity kicked in. If I had one unique skill over other handlers, it was that I could run backward so quickly, and I used it to full advantage when we had to cross paths and on Dog Face’s weak spots—the sharp turn off the seesaw and exiting the tunnel. I could instantly get his focus on me instead of succumbing to distraction or disorientation. I cried “wham” on the seesaw and the bridge at precisely the right time. It all felt fluid and fun.
Dog Face was nothing short of astounding as he went through the weave. I heard a collective gasp from the audience, most of whom were probably so well versed in agility trials that they know how much harder the weave is for a big dog than for smaller ones.
We entered the final line of obstacles. He had to jump over the first gate, then avoid Mark Singer and dip down to enter the tunnel. The jump, then dip was a challenge. Just as Dog Face passed him, Mark made a strange noise—a stifled sneeze perhaps. Dog Face showed no hesitation. He came through the tunnel and sailed over the last gate. No fouls. If he wasn’t in first place at the end of this course, I’d be shocked. Ironically, though, this was bad news for me when it came to Sophie Sophistica the Third.
Jesse was literally hopping up and down, though all of his weight was on his right leg. “Outstanding!” he called. “Outstanding job, Allie!”
I gave a slight curtsy and waved, then patted Dog Face as the audience applauded. “You are such a good, good dog!” I told him. I felt exhilarated as I left the ring with Dog Face. I snapped his lead into place. He was likely to be even better in the Standard course. He never broke early off the paws pause, as I called the table pause obstacle.
We went up to Jesse, who somewhat to my surprise, hugged me first and Dog Face second. I gave him the leash handle.
“Halfway through qualifying for the finals! Thank you for trusting me with your dog.”
“Thank you for bringing out the best in him. I honestly don’t think I could have done as well with him as you did.”
“Hopefully we’ll keep it up on the Standard course.”
“I’m pretty confident.” He glanced at Mark Singer. “What was going on with the judge?” he asked me, lowering his voice. “Did he sneeze or something?”
“I guess so.”
“Good thing it didn’t hurt Dog Face’s time.”
Valerie was approaching us down the aisle. She snorted a little, clearly having overheard Jesse’s remark. “Congratulations, Jesse. Your dog was flawless.”
“Thanks,” he said, his eyes widening in his surprise.
Someone in the stands called, “Hey, Jesse!”
He grinned and waved. Dog and owner started climbing up the aisle.
Valerie watched him leave with pursed lips. She leaned toward me. “If Mark does that again—makes that noise again—you’re turning him in. Make no mistake.”
“Well, but...it would be balanced out. It’s like in any sport. As long as the judge calls the game the same way for both teams, it’s fair and above board.”
“No. No it isn’t, Allida. If he sneezes when he shouldn’t, he’s tilting the results. It doesn’t matter if one dog reacts and another doesn’t. We aren’t judging dogs’ reactions to noises. We’re judging how fast and correctly they run through an agility course.”
“I see your point.”
“Of course you do. Because I’m right and you’re wrong.”
“Okay. Well, we’ve got that all straight now. So thank you.”
“You’re welcome. You did a great job with Dog Face. You’re looking like the next Terrington Leach of Colorado.”
“That doesn’t sound especially appealing, given his severely shortened life.”
“True. I certainly don’t want you to get yourself killed anytime soon. Especially not before today’s competitions are finished.”
“Thanks. You have a knack for blunt compliments.”
She laughed, then glanced at her watch. “Sophie’s Jumps With Weaves trial will start in twenty minutes.” She glowered at my athletic shoes. “Come to think of it, I got way ahead of myself. If you trip on those shoe laces of yours with Sophie Sophistica, you’ll be the most overrated competitor imaginable.”
I had no response to that remark. It brought Jesse’s “Dr. Jekyll” remark to mind when he and I had first met.
“You might as well wait here,” Valerie said over her shoulder, “I’ll go get her.”
Baxter walked up to us and gave me a hug. “Congratulations, hon. I knew you could do it.”
“One down and three to go, assuming both of my charges make it to the finals,” I said. And not counting Bingley’s upcoming agility shenanigans.
“Is Valerie getting any easier to deal with?” he asked in a half whisper.
“Not really. It’s a lot easier to handle her dogs than to handle her.”
Jesse and Dog Face trotted back down the stands to join us. “I still wish you were the one showing Eeyore, instead of Cooper. Any chance you’ll change your mind?”
I stared at him in surprise, feeling myself tense. “I haven’t made up my mind about that in the first place. Did Cooper tell you I had decided to bow out?”
“Yes. You’re not?”
“No. Like I told him, I planned to talk it over with you and Baxter. I wanted to wait until after the agility trials to discuss the matter.”
Jesse patted my shoulder. “In that case, screw him. You’re presenting Eeyore.”
“Excellent!” Baxter said. He grinned down at me, and I smiled back. I was so lucky to have this wonderful man in my life. My mind flashed to Davis and Kiki visiting our house to ask Baxter if he would manage the Terrier class. Now here I was, threatening to present another of Jesse’s Airedales in conformation, when Valerie would be presenting one of her Westies. With the exception of Baxter and, for the time being at least, Jesse, I was surrounded by people who wanted me to fail. Maybe Tracy had been right. Maybe I didn’t belong at dog shows.
“Wait, Jesse. On second thought, I think it’s best for everyone if I keep myself on the sidelines after the agility trials. I’m going to just handle the one Toy Poodle I already promised the owner to present.”
“So...you’re not presenting one of Valerie’s Terriers, either?” he said as if relieved.
“No. The Toy Poodle is in his very first competition. One of Terrington’s former canine clients.”
“Gotcha. No problem. Eeyore and I will go with Cooper, and we’ll hope for the best.” Jesse seemed to be truly disappointed in my decision, and so did Baxter. Cooper, however, wanted this more than I did and would be happy. It was a small sacrifice. Originally, I’d never envisioned showing dogs in the conformation competition.
I spotted Valerie standing in the doorway, staring at us. The instant our eyes met, she pivoted and walked away.
Chapter 17
To my utter delight, Sophie’s JWW went equally well as Dog Face’s. She had a clean run, and she managed to trim four-tenths of a second off her championship time from last year’s event. Valerie was ecstatic and gave both Sophie and me big hugs. She was two-tenths behind Dog Face, but that was remarkably good, all things considered. Both dogs would have a clean slate in the finals, so assuming nothing catastrophic happened in the Standard rounds, my dogs were in a great shape. The second half of the competition would begin at one p.m. With both dogs at the top in their divisions, they would be among the last competitors in the Standard run.
I now had to switch into a lower gear. My next duty was to present Pepper in his Toy Poodle competition. I needed to clear my head from agility trials and replace it with the pomp and circumstance of the conformation presentations. I decided to spend my every available minute in the other building, until after my job with Pepper was complete.
As I wandered through the enormous open space in the main hall, I missed the benches of previous years and the ability to look up close at the lovely dogs that were competing. Old habits dying hard, however, the enrollees had set up de-facto sections all on their own. The majority of Terriers were in the same quadrant they’d inhabited in previous years at this venue.
I stopped at one crate, hoping I was simply being paranoid. The dog’s tongue was out as he slept, which was not something I’d ever seen a drug-free dog do. I jostled the cage, then groaned. A second Terrier had been drugged, this time a Yorkshire. I glanced to either side of me. “Does anybody know whose Yorkie this is?” I called out. Meanwhile, I opened the door and gently removed the little dog.
A man rushed over to me. “Aw, cripes,” he said. “Tallyho looks like he’s been doped.”
“Is he yours?” I asked.
He shook his head. “He’s Marsala’s.”
A volunteer in the standard forest-green apron dashed toward us. “Send the vet here. We need to have a blood test done. Then see if you can find Marsala.”
She scampered off.
I cradled Tallyho against my chest with one arm and called Baxter. The instant he said, “Hi,” I told him, “A Yorkie has been sedated.” I looked up at the sign hanging from the ceiling. “In aisle twelve.”
After a momentary pause, he said, “Be right there.”
I shoved my phone into my pocket. “What is going on with these dogs!”
The vet arrived, with Davis and Baxter a couple of steps behind him. Davis pulled Baxter aside. Marsala came running. She gasped at the sight of the limp dog in my arms. “My baby!” she cried. She grabbed her head with both hands, making little noises as if she was struggling to breathe. She stamped her foot and studied my face as if she was too upset to even recognize me. “What have you done to my dog!”
“Nothing. I found him this way.” Marsala’s whole body was shaking. “We’re going to test for sedatives. He seems to be responsive.” She was no longer meeting my gaze. I wasn’t even certain my words had even registered.
The vet inserted a needle into the dog’s thigh and was filling the syringe.
Just then someone came up from behind me. It was Tracy. “Allie! What’s all the commotion...” Her face paled. Tracy always fainted at the sight of blood.
“Look away!” I said and held my hand up in front of her eyes. I was too late. She was starting to reel.
I grabbed her arm and tried to support her weight. “Baxter! Help!”
Baxter raced toward us, leaving Davis in the middle of a diatribe. Tracy fainted, with Baxter arriving in the nick of time to ease her onto the floor without injury.
“This is the final straw!” Davis said. “I won’t stand for watching my dog show get turned into a circus!”
Tracy moaned and opened her eyes. Marsala whisked her dog away and accompanied the vet toward his station without another word.
“Ew. I don’t feel so good,” Tracy said. She managed to sit up.
“Stay down until your head’s clear,” I said.
Davis was pacing in a small arc from one side of the aisle to the other. We locked gazes. His face was red and he looked set to explode. “Baxter, Allida, my office. Now.”
I made the decision to ignore the “now” in Davis’s order. “Are you okay, Tracy?” I asked, bending toward her.
“Fine. Go ahead. I just want to study the floor patterns for another minute, then I’ll be right as rain.”
Baxter and I followed Davis into his office. It felt as though we were being led into the vice principal’s office in school. Just as Baxter was about to close the door behind us, Marsala marched through into the room and brushed past me.
“This is her fault,” Marsala said to Davis, pointing at me.
“What?!” I shrieked. “Are you kidding me? I found your dog fast asleep. I got help for him immediately.”
“All I know is you’re right there on the scene whenever something terrible happens. When Terrington was murdered. When a dog is drugged. So you’re either causing the problems, or you’re inspiring them to occur because you’re cursed.”
“Cursed? That’s inane. I’m on the scene because I’m alert!”
Davis raised his meaty hands and pushed the air in placating gestures. “Marsala, I hear what you’re saying, and I am taking action. He pivoted and pointed at Baxter. “You’re fired.”
