4 Woof at the Door (20 page)

“Where is he?”

“I managed to get him out into the back yard, if you want to call it that. There’s barely enough room for Doobie to turn around. I have to get him calmed down quick, or we’ll get booted out of here. Somebody already complained. I got a warning from condo management. They say one more complaint, and I’m history.”

She led me to the sliding-glass back door, where Doobie had his front paws on the glass and, in this position, resembled a bear rearing up to lunge at us. I felt that damned fear of mine returning, as I considered how physically superior this lumbering dog was to me. I set my jaw, grabbed my noisemaker and said, “Go ahead and let him in.”

Doobie hopped down as she worked the latch on the door, then barreled straight past him toward me. I braced myself and pressed the button on the noisemaker just as he jumped up to try to put his paws on my shoulders. He hopped back down immediately, but, to my surprise, started barking wildly, looking around me and the room to try to find the source of the noise.

Meanwhile, Cheshire cried, “No, Doobie! Hush!” She looked at me pleadingly. “I’m gonna get kicked out of here before the day’s out at this rate!”

“Chesh, you’ve got to exert authority over him.”

“Easier said than done.”

“I know. But it’s the only way.” I looked at the barking dog and called, “Doobie, come.” He followed my instruction. “Doobie, sit.” He stopped barking as he did so. “Good dog.” I stroked his fur vigorously and explained, “Dogs always get up on all fours to bark vigorously. That’s why the ’sit’ and ’lay down’ commands are so good to get them to stop, and then you can reward him for following your command. Positive reinforcement.”

Doobie got up and dashed out of the room, nearly knocking Chesh off her feet in the process. A moment later, he dashed back in and toward me. Our eyes met and my heart leapt to my throat. My injured hand started to throb. Doobie looked like a vicious animal.

To my great relief, he darted on past me. “Is he eating okay?”

“No. I think he misses Ty.”

“Probably.” Bad pet owners were often as badly missed by their pets as if they’d been good ones.

I continued to try to work with Doobie, but couldn’t even get him to sit for me. He was too anxious to concentrate on my commands. Finally, I turned to his human counterpart. “Chesh, I’m not a licensed veterinarian, and I can’t prescribe drugs. Normally, I don’t recommend them anyway. But all things considered, you need to speak to your vet about getting some Xanix to put in his dog food, for the next few days at least.”

“Already got that. The vet happens to agree with you, ’cause he already gave me some samples and made out a prescription for more.”

Again I looked at Doobie’s eyes, which were clear and alert-looking. There was no way this agitated dog could be on any kind of soporific drug. “He’s on Xanix now?”

“No. Like I said, he’s not eating.”

“Oh, right. Of course.”

At length, we managed to hand-feed Dobbie a dose of Xanix by wrapping it up in a slice of ham. Within fifteen minutes, he calmed down and stretched out on the floor, doing a passable impression of a bear rug.

After we’d discussed the basics of how to work the aggression out of the dog and my appointment was officially over, I asked, “Chesh, I’m curious about something. How did you and Ty meet?”

“At his store. I worked for him. Then I got booted out of my house, and he offered to let me rent a room from him.”

“And you fell in love?” I prompted, just to test her reaction.

“Love?” She snorted and shook her head. “He’s not my type. It was a business deal. We were married legally only. He offered me a third of the store in exchange for my taking the vows.”

“What happens now that he’s dead?”

She shrugged. “I get the house and the dog in the will.”

“Custody of Doobie’s actually written into his will?”

“I guess.”

I thought for a moment. This was all just so clinical and foreign to my way of looking at things that it was hard to fathom. “So, you agreed to marry him just so you could avoid paying rent and gain part ownership of a shop?”

“Yes,” she answered testily. “I know it’s not exactly politically correct, but it worked for us. In the process, Ty got to get back at his ex-wife, and reap financial rewards himself when I had that accident and cracked my tailbone in his kitchen. That’s what gave him the idea to propose, I think. He realized, if I married him, he’d get half the proceeds of the lawsuit, plus he wouldn’t have to pay me to run the store.”

Must be hard to get good help these days.
“Sounds as though you really came out ahead when he died.”

“So would your friend Beverly…if I’d died instead of Ty.”

I frowned, and Chesh lowered her gaze. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. The police interviewed me yesterday. She was a neat lady.”

“Have the police been out to investigate your warehouse yet?” I asked.

She nodded. “I took them out there the other day. They didn’t find the hidden room, and I didn’t tell them about it, either.”

“Did you check it out yourself, later?”

She shook her head. “Not yet. I guess I’m afraid of what I might uncover.” She shrugged, which was almost a shudder, then slipped back into her carefree facade. “Things have been too crazy, what with Ty gone and only me to keep the business together.”

“I’d really like to see it myself, if I could.”

She got up, signaling it was time for me to leave. I had to admit that it did seem as though my work was done for now. Doobie was calm, but not too drugged out. “Thank you for helping with Doobie.”

I rose too, and she walked me to the door.

“Allida, tell you what. My clerk is going to be running the store tomorrow while I’m working at the flea market in Westminster from seven till five. That’s not too far from the warehouse. Afterwards, I’ll take you over. You can see the place for yourself.”

She wrote down the address for me. I thanked her, then she said, “Actually, since we’re right in the area, why don’t you come to the flea market yourself? You’ll probably be able to get some great prices on used dog equipment: collars, leashes, bowls.”

“Yes, but won’t the stuff have fleas?” She raised an eyebrow in puzzlement, and I went on, “Since it’s a flea market and all. It was just a stupid joke. Never mind. But I’ve never been to one, so I think I’ll take you up on that.”

“Great. My booth is in the back, directly opposite the parking gates.”

I left, pondering if joining her tomorrow was a good idea. For all I knew, Chesh Bellingham could be the murderer. She could have killed Ty for his inheritance, then killed Beverly because of this lawsuit or something that Beverly had witnessed.

Rebecca’s ominous words—
you and I could be next
—returned to me. My going alone to the warehouse with her would be a stupid risk. I had to find someone to accompany me. Preferably someone strong. And fully armed.

Chapter 14

I hadn’t been spending enough time with my own dogs, of late. They needed and enjoyed their fifteen minutes of basic training just as much as did any of my clients. I drove straight home from Chesh’s place, determined to give my pooches quality time.

Beagle Boy had gotten along with the others fine last night, but because it had been his first night at my house, he was understandably very submissive. That might not last more than another day or two.

I needed to find Beverly’s extended family members and ask what they wanted me to do with the dog. Her parents had been older than the norm, or at least that had been my impression as a high school student. I was fairly certain she’d had an older sibling as well, though we’d never met. I would have to check Beverly’s obituary to get the sibling’s name.

Mom was home. After exercising the dogs and brushing up on their training, we sat on the cement porch out back and had a glass of lemonade.

“Did everything go all right for you today?” Mother asked. For the fourth time.

“Just fine, Mom.” I finally decided to relent and gave her the answer she really wanted. “Russell was at work today, and we’re still in a holding pattern.” Mom raised her eyebrows, and I held up my hand. “That’s not a double entendre. I use the term ’holding pattern’ totally out of deference to you and your flying.”

The phone rang. Mother went inside to answer, then called that it was for me. “A Damian Hesk,” she added.

My throat felt dry as I said hello. “Hi, Allida,” he responded, his deep voice sounding completely relaxed. “I know this is short notice, but I get my well-mannered animals out once a week on my ranch to get their exercise and all. It’s Kaia’s turn this afternoon, and I thought you might like to join us.”

“I’d love to,” I immediately replied. This would not only give me the opportunity to see these exotic animals of his, but to ask him if he’d mind accompanying me tomorrow evening when Chesh showed me Ty Bellingham’s secret room in their warehouse.

“Great. In case you were wondering, Atla is not going to be joining us. Even before your troubles with her, I felt she was too unfamiliar with humans to be let out of her cage like the other wolves. But Silver, that’s my other wolf, will be included. She’s almost as calm as Kaia.”

He gave me directions. It would be a long drive, but I made myself a quick dinner-to-go and headed out.

Damian Hesk’s property was the proverbial “in the middle of no place.” These were the flatlands of eastern Colorado, where the soil was too arid to grow much of anything, there were no immediate wind blocks, and the land was too far from a water source for businesses or houses to spring up any time soon.

I pulled into his long hard-packed dirt driveway. Inside a wooden fence there were two structures, one for humans and one for animals. It was clear where the majority of his money had gone. His house was just a simple one-story building with a carport. The other, more distant, building was an impressive-looking round structure, circled by a thick chain-link fence with electric wires on top. I watched a tiger walking along the confines of his pen. He stopped, turned my way, then strolled through a tunnel-like opening into the round building.

Damian must have heard me drive up, for he came out his screen door and through the gate. Two medium-size mixed breeds rushed outside as well, which he shooed back inside the fence.

“Glad to see you found the place okay,” he said, a broad grin on his handsome features. His short-sleeved shirt had only the bottom two buttons fastened, and I had to forcibly keep my eyes from drifting down to his muscular chest and tight-fitting jeans. The wind was blowing slightly. Damian ran a hand through his blond hair, and it fell back into place just that easily.

“I hope you didn’t have to wait too long for me,” I said, thinking how bad I am at making small talk.

“Nope. Come on and I’ll show you around.”

He led me back through the gate and, after I’d paused to greet the two dogs, toward the animals’ quarters. Up close, I discovered that this massive structure wasn’t a true cylinder, but rather, was multiply sided. The chain-link fence surrounding the building was divided into individual pens, each of which had a tunnel leading inside. The outer pens appeared to start and end at either side of the building entrance.

“What material is this made from?” I asked, touching the rough exterior surface next to the door frame.

“It’s cement over hay bales. The cement is sprayed on over the bales, and it sets that way. The hay within the walls is a great insulator. The building stays cool inside, even when it reaches a hundred degrees outside.”

The door was made of thick, heavy wood, not unlike castle doors. He selected a sturdy key that was hooked on his belt and unlocked it.

We went through the opening and were soon in the cement-floored center. As I’d been forewarned, the temperature inside was chilly, and my eyes took a moment to adjust to the limited natural lighting permitted by the numerous long, narrow windows on each side that were just below ceiling level, and by the tunnels inside all of the cages to the surrounding pens. My sense of smell also took a moment to adjust to the pungent odors.

The cages were set up like slices of an angel food cake, with this open area the cake center. Without taking time to count, I estimated that we were surrounded by twenty cages, each roughly the size of a standard bedroom. Their inner walls were formed by bars typical of a zoo, and beside the doorway were the controls that could lift the individual gates, not unlike twenty garage-door openers. Next to that was a rolled up firehose, which I assumed Damian used to wash out the cages.

“What happens in case of a power-outage?” I asked as I looked at the controls.

“The gates can all be operated manually as well,” he replied. “Both from outside and inside each animal’s den.” The animals had all run in from their pens to greet us. Let me introduce you to everybody.”

“I’m surprised they’re all awake. Is this suppertime?”

“Not for another hour. Their daily schedules are seasonal. In the summer, when it’s hot during the day, they sleep, then they wake up around this time and are up all night.”

He told me all of his animals’ names, which passed in a blur. There were two bears—male and female—their dens had underground caves for when they hibernated in winter; a dozen or so big cats ranging in size from bobcats to a male African lion, these caves were set up in small habitats with lofts made of thick logs; and the three wolves, which also had lofts, though these were only a couple of feet off the ground.

“The animals were obviously healthy and alert, their fur in good condition. This was so much nicer than standard zoos, which depress me, though I’m not such an idealist as to insist that it’s always wrong to keep wild animals in captivity.

As I circled the area with Damian, I felt myself tense at the sight of Atla, but wanted to face her again in this safety. I slowly returned to her cage. She stayed at the back of her cage—den, as Damian referred to it—but kept her eyes on me. “The animal-control officers let you keep Atla in your custody?”

“For now. It’s really the safest place. They stepped up their observation schedule, though. Till this past year, Atla’s spent her whole life in a zoo with substandard conditions, and she isn’t used to human contact. She stays in her den when I take the others out. Considering how things turned out last Saturday, looks like she’ll never be able to get outside with the other wolves.” He frowned and slowly surveyed the place. “I could lose all of this if there’s another incident.”