Terrier Terror, page 18
I chose not to mention that we already had a standing-room only crowd. “Can I ask a big favor, Tracy?”
“Sure,” she immediately replied.
“Could you ask your crew to splice the previous recording of me with Sophie with this tape of Bingley? They could add captions that read: How to Do This Trick, and then: How Not to Do This Trick.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” Tracy said. “Sure. I’ll get those out next week. After I post this one on Youtube.”
“Great. We can double the mileage, because then it can be presented as a training video. And you can also post it as it is on social media sites.”
“Love it,” Tracy declared. “At the end of the training video, I’ll post your online contact info, with a blurb about how you help troubled dogs all around the Boulder-Denver area.”
“Not to mention in the booming town of Dacona.”
Valerie was approaching. Her facial expression was inscrutable. “Nothing like a little mockery to spice up a competition, eh girls?”
“Hello, Valerie. Good to see you again,” Tracy said. “Not all of your lessons from Sophie Sophistic took hold in Bingley’s little brain. But it wasn’t for lack of trying.”
“No, just for lack of serious practicing,” Valerie replied. “But I suppose a little humor is a good thing.” She patted Bingley. “He’s actually got some potential, you know. If you were willing to hire our Allie for an hour or two, three days a week, he could be competing for real in another six months.”
“Or another six years,” I added. There are, of course, some excellent agility Beagles. I just couldn’t imagine any dog belonging to Tracy Truitt becoming one of them. I would be spending at least half of my time undoing his current behavior.
“Sounds like that idea isn’t making either of us jump for joy,” Tracy said. “Hey, I guess I missed the fireworks at the main building. Or I should say, the waterworks. What was all of that about?” Tracy asked.
“The rumor is it was someone with an axe to grind that’s working behind the scenes,” Valerie said. “Probably someone whose dogs were overlooked. Or whose handling skills were overlooked.” Valerie picked up Sophie. “I’m heading over there now to get ready for the individual Toy breeds.” She nodded at me. “See you for the Finals walk-through.”
“Congrats on your rounds with the two dogs,” Tracy said as soon as Valerie was out of earshot. “I heard Dog Face kicked ass.”
I grinned. “He turned in an under-thirty-seconds first run. The taller dogs are always faster than the little ones. And the way the course distance is determined and divided by a time-per-yard calculation, both according to the size of the dog’s jumps, it almost always works out such that the twenty-inch dogs like Dog Face winning the Overall Best in Agility. Knowing Valerie as well as I do, it’s hard to fathom why she’s needling Jesse about Sophie being able to beat Dog Face. She’s set herself up for a big disappointment.”
“Which she’ll take out on you, I suppose.”
“Probably. But for now, I have to get a Toy Poodle ready for his first show competition.”
“You do?”
“Yep. I’m presenting my neighbor’s dog.”
Tracy raised her eyebrows. “This isn’t the neighbor suing to force you to shutter your kenneling service, is it?”
“Eleanor. Yes.”
“What if she’s playing games with you, Allie? She could be sucking up to you, while all along she’s still trying to destroy you.”
“I’m just going to ignore that possibility.” I glanced at the agility course. “It’s too big of an obstacle to overcome.” Right now, I had a cute little Poodle to show off in the main building.
Chapter 24
I had a few minutes to chat with Baxter as he unlocked his office for me. He had missed Sophie’s Standard race, but said he’d try his best to catch us in the finals. I quickly donned my suit jacket and skirt. I also took another ibuprofen to dull the pain in my toe.
On a hunch, I checked the stands of the ring where the Best in Toy division would be taking place. This was one of the two largest rings. Indeed, I spotted Eleanor pacing in the aisle between the rows. I headed over to her.
“I wish I could calm down,” Eleanor said by way of a greeting.
“Pepper won a blue ribbon for his breed. Whatever happens in the best of his entire division is just the cherry on top of the amazing sundae.”
“Well, sure, I know that rationally, but the thing is...I really enjoy desserts. Do you think he can win?”
I took a moment to ponder the question. “I think he’ll place.”
She looked at me blankly. “Place?”
“Be in the top three.”
She clasped her hands together. “You do? Really?”
“Yes, but don’t put too much weight on that. Baxter and I make the Westminster Dog Show our Superbowl. We get popcorn and pizza, and we bet on the winners. He’s beaten me all three times.”
“I should get his opinion then.”
Baxter, I was certain, had returned to putting out fictitious fires with all-too-real sprinklers. I didn’t expect to see him at this competition at all.
Eleanor and I endured the thirty-minute wait until show time. We gave Pepper all kinds of attention, which he ate up. As I said to Eleanor, hers was a dog who knew he was special. It reinforced my belief that Minnie Pepper Cocoa was a winner. If not today, in his second or third show.
Once again, I felt a frisson of guilt that Cooper wasn’t the one standing in my place.
Valerie and her little Yorkshire Terrier entered the ring. Valerie, I noted, was trotting around the ring as if both knees were in perfect shape. On the other hand, I could certainly see why she didn’t want to be the handler at agility trials; I was winded, and I was much younger and a former athlete.
As we entered the ring and I got a good look at the other fourteen adorable little competitors, I felt sorely tempted to break form and go make a personal visit with each and every one of them. I envied the judge—once again, my fifth-grade teacher’s double—who was paid to do precisely that. Yet as I looked at the Bichon Friese, Brussels Griffon, Chihuahua, Papillon, Pinscher, Pekingese, Pomeranian, Pug, Shih Tsu, and miniature Terriers, I was worried about my prediction that Pepper would get a ribbon. So many dogs! So few ribbons!
The competition proceeded without a hitch. If I didn’t know better, I would never have believed that so much chaos had reigned around this event. When Minnie Pepper Cocoa’s time to put her best paw forward came, she was a pro. At the inspection table, the judge made a show of examining her paws, which made me laugh. “Nice manicure,” she told me with a grin.
A few minutes later, to my delight, Pepper was called forward for a final prance around the ring. The winners were then announced. The Bichon Frise came in first. Pepper came in second. Valerie’s Yorkie came in third. I was delighted. I felt vindicated, even, to know that I’d shown a dog that had beaten Valerie’s. My thought pattern was probably immature. At least I didn’t stick my tongue out at her or shout, “Nanny boo.”
To my delight, I spotted Baxter near the entrance to the ring. He had a huge smile on his face and raised his fists in the air and shook them triumphantly. It made me so happy, my eyes misted. He rounded the ring and asked if he could treat me to a quick dinner to celebrate.
The burger place in the Fairgrounds kitchen was swamped, and neither of us had the time, energy, or creative brain-power to think of any better place, so we walked to the Brunswick Café. They didn’t offer dinner, and all they had on the menu at this hour was sandwiches and salads. Baxter got a Denver sandwich. I got a Caesar salad.
I couldn’t stop staring at the hallway to the back door, where Terrington had been brutally murdered. I told Baxter I needed to use the restroom. I stood outside the women’s room and stared at the kitchen door. Although I wasn’t tall enough to see the counter space where the killer could have spied a knife, a tall person could have. Just then, a waiter pushed through one of the two swinging doors. As I peered through the doorway after him, I saw a knife, just two or three strides away. A chill ran down my spine.
My walk-thru and conversations with both Valerie and Jesse for the Finals course were unexceptional. Valerie was a tad snide; Jesse was gracious. We’d already seen the diagrams, of course, so the purpose of walking the course was purely a matter of my visualization skills. They both left me alone with my thoughts and took reserved seats in the front row.
Once again, I had a bad case of the jitters. I was pacing in the waiting area. When I glanced over, Jesse gave me a reassuring thumbs up and mouthed the words: “You got this.” I then spotted Tracy Truitt leaning against the wall in the aisle. She made a megaphone with her hands. “Allie Babcock rocks!” she called.
“Attention, everyone,” Mark said into a microphone. “We now have the top three finishers of their respective size categories in the Masters Agility competitions. One of the five division winners will be named our Best-in-Agility, as determined by an exhaustive and infallible computer program that works to level out a size advantage.” He looked over at Tracy. “I’m sorry to say, Bingley Beagle did not qualify.” The audience groaned. Continuing to play for the crowd, Mark nodded and held up his hands. “I know. He was my favorite, too. Better luck next year.” There were a few whoops and a smattering of claps.
“In a first for this competition, two of the finalists will compete with the same handler...the human representative of a Toy category, little Allie Babcock.”
“Ugh,” I murmured.
“We’re going from small to large,” Mark continued, “so we’re all set to begin.”
My thoughts were in a jumble as I watched the three adorable little dogs make joyful four-inch leaps and run so fast their little legs were not unlike the circular blurs of speeding animated cartoon characters.
When the jumps, seesaw, and bridge were all realigned for the eight-inch heights, I turned my back to the first two competitors and spent my time playing with Sophie. I didn’t want to know their times and get that playing in my head while we were competing. As I entered the ring and got Sophie on her mark behind the starting line, my pervasive thought was simply what Jesse had said: You got this. From here on out, the dogs were doing all the work. It felt a little surreal as Sophie Sophistica tore through the course. She was loving every fraction of a second. We both were.
Afterward I saw the numbers on the electronic board. Sophie had carved more than three-tenths of a second off her best time. She had beaten her own record.
Valerie clapped and had tears in her eyes. We exited the ring, and I brought Sophie straight over to Valerie. She shook her fists in the air and gave Jesse a haughty smile. “Great job,” he called to her from his front-row seat. Indeed, Sophie Sophistica had won first place in her division.
I felt a little dazed as the twelve- and sixteen-inch classes competed. Valerie’s dog was still in first place for Best in Agility. But it was the next height—the twenty-inch classes like Jesse’s dog—that almost always won the overall competitions. Mark undoubtedly knew that when he’d lauded the fairness of the computer rankings.
Again, I ignored both runs of Dog Face’s two competitors—Border Collies—in the finals. I was in the ring then. Dog Face was ready to race behind the start line. We began. He raced toward the first obstacle and glided over the gate, clearing the rail by several inches. I felt a chill as I led him and directed him. His every movement was so fluid, it was breathtaking.
We were approaching Mark. Dog Face had to dodge around him. Mark coughed, at the very same moment as he had in the preliminaries. I forced myself to keep going through the finish. I was unwilling to embarrass him the way he’d embarrassed me. I glanced up at the time clock. Dog Face had once again clocked under thirty seconds!
Valerie climbed onto the fence, which was against both the rules and show etiquette. “Mark Singer!” she yelled. “I am writing you up for this! You coughed at a crucial juncture of the race!”
“I couldn’t help but cough,” Mark said, “and it didn’t affect the dog. Look at his time!”
“Nobody’s writing anybody up,” Jesse said. “Let the results stand.”
As the crew reset the jumps for the twenty-four-inch heights, Valerie walked up to me. “Dog Face won. Sophie will take second place.”
I didn’t bother to note that three more dogs were yet to race. “I’m sorry, Valerie.”
“Don’t be. You brought out Sophie Sophistica’s best race ever. I’d be an idiot to ask for anything more.”
The assistant judge handed Mark the iPad with the results. He nodded, looking away from our position near the start line. “In third place for Best Overall Dog: Dancer, a Border Collie owned by June Skyler. In second place, last year’s champion, Sophie Sophistica, a Westie owned by Valerie Franks. Winner and new champion, Dog Face, an Airedale owned by Jesse Valadez.”
A young man walked up to me just then. “I’m with the Fort Collins Times. I’d like to interview you on agility training...get your thoughts on the Beagle versus the Westie and Airedale that you were controlling.”
“Handling,” I interjected.
“Right. Do you have a few minutes?” he asked.
“Sure. I—”
“I’m the Westie’s owner,” Valerie told him.
“You are?” he asked. “Is it okay if I interview Allie, here, about her and the Airedale?”
“Certainly,” Valerie said. As she headed toward the exit, she glared at the reporter. Her dogs had come in second place twice now. I began to hope that Jesse’s Eeyore lost to Valerie’s Westie tomorrow in the Best Terrier category.
Chapter 25
Baxter was unusually tightlipped as we drove to the Fort Collins Fairgrounds early the next morning. “I wonder if there’s a betting pool going as to whether or not Davis fires me today,” he said after a long silence.
“At least we’ll be getting the Terrier competitions done in one fell swoop. Tomorrow will just be the remaining division championships and Best of Show.”
“Yep. Just have to see what kind of havoc our homicidal maniac can wreak today and still avoid detection.” He gave me a sideways glance. “Do you have any theories as to who it is?”
“Not really. My best guess is Kiki. Or Marsala. I’m assuming Mark was far too busy with judging the agility trials in building two yesterday to have been behind any of the hijinks. And Jesse, Valerie, and Eleanor seem to have nothing to gain by wrecking the show.”
“What about Cooper? He has the physical strength and was the likeliest killer.”
“True. I just...I hope it isn’t him. I feel sorry for the guy. He seems to be trying his best and giving his all but coming up short time after time.”
“Yeah. But he could easily be hiding deep-seated rage.”
I gave no reply. Baxter was right. Plus, Cooper had fibbed about my having already agreed to have him and not me as Eeyore’s handler. But I didn’t care to judge him too harshly for that. It’s easy to hear what we want to hear, and to want to tip the scales in our favor, especially when we’re forced to ask for help. His self-confidence and self-image had to have been severely diminished by the lawsuit and our subsequent financial strain.
A police car was parked in front of the main building. “Damn,” Baxter said. “I hope something horrible hasn’t happened. Again.”
We entered and walked toward the offices in the back of the building.
Jesse and Cooper were having a conversation, both of them with sour expressions on their faces. Jesse saw me and waved me over. I gave Baxter’s arm a squeeze and changed courses to join Them.
“Cooper and I have been discussing which one of you should present Eeyore today,” Jesse explained.
“And while I’d like to be the handler,” Cooper said, “my arm isn’t feeling good.” He visibly paled as he looked over his shoulder. “Some policemen are here, and I am getting—” He broke off, visibly paling as he looked over his shoulder. He broke off as a pair of police officers were walked toward us with Davis. Davis pointed at us, and the officers nodded and continued their course.
“Allie,” Cooper said. “You should present Eeyore.”
“I guess that settles that,” Jesse said. “Unless, of course, Allie gets arrested.” Jesse chuckled a little.
“I wouldn’t joke about that,” Cooper muttered. “It’s like throwing stones inside your own glass house.”
“Jesse Valadez?” an officer said.
“Yes.”
“Sergeant Howard.” He gestured at his fellow officer. “This is Officer Tate. We’d like to talk to you about the murder of Terrington Leach. Can you come down to the police station with us now?”
“Can this wait an hour or two?” Jesse asked. “My dog is about to be competing. I could meet you at my trailer, just a hundred yards or so from here. At—” he glanced at his watch “—ten a.m.?”
The sergeant nodded at the officer. “Ten a.m.”
“My trailer is right—”
“We know where it is.”
His wording sounded threatening to me, but Jesse showed no reaction.
As they walked away, Cooper let out a sigh that was more like a gasp from having been holding his breath. He chuckled with relief. “Dang. I warned you. Karma.”
“Hey. I didn’t kill Terrington. I wasn’t even near the place. It’s probably you the police are homing in on. They want to interview me, is all.”
Cooper’s features had grown stony. “Good luck, Allie.” I hope you do a great job, and Eeyore wins. Despite his clueless owner.”
“Hey! I’m just telling it like it is. No need to resort to name-calling.”
“Sorry. I’m out of sorts.” Cooper walked away.
Jesse shook his head. “This is hardly the way I’d like the leadup for Eeyore’s first professional show to go...with me in the stands. Or pacing around nearby. On my broken leg. But then, the cliché for performing is always to say, ‘Break a leg.’ So maybe I’m already lucky.” He bent down and gave his dog a hug. “Just do your best, good boy.”
