Death of a Dog Whisperer (9780758284570) (24 page)

“So Nick and Anabelle reconnected after ten years apart and three days later he was dead.”

I nodded.

“But those two events had nothing to do with one another.”

“I don't believe so. No.”

“Then maybe you should tell me what you
do
believe happened.” Claire was growing angry now. “Because I thought you were supposed to be helping. Or detecting. Or doing
something
useful. But all I keep hearing about is the answers you
don't
have.”

“I'm trying,” I said. Even to my own ears that sounded pretty weak.

“So are the police,” she said, rising to her feet. “But none of you seem to be getting anywhere.”

“I'm sorry,” I said again.

“Me too,” Claire snapped.

She stepped down off the deck and strode around the side of the house. As I watched, she let herself out through the gate and was gone.

“That looked ugly,” Sam said, coming up behind me.

“Tell me about it. Am I really as useless as Claire just made me feel?”

“Not all the time,” Sam replied.

Unfortunately it wasn't even as though I could disagree. Claire's disgruntled response had been just about what I deserved.

C
laire's unhappy exit forced me to stop and think about what I was doing. Unfortunately things not going the way I'd hoped was beginning to seem like a trend in my life. Maybe I needed to take a step back, I realized. Perhaps rather than pursuing more information, I should work on making sense of the facts I already had.

From experience, I knew that the best way to make that happen was to keep myself busy with other things while ideas felt free to bounce around my subconscious unimpeded. With that in mind, I spent the next day and a half doing the Mom thing. I cooked, I cleaned, I bathed and blew dry Poodles. I bought Kevin new shoes, made entries for Augie's next show, and renewed Davey's subscription to
National Geographic.

To my great relief, nobody stopped by unexpectedly, or contacted me, or asked my opinion about anything. I didn't hear from Claire, or Bob, or even Aunt Peg. All of which felt enormously liberating.

Briefly I debated getting in touch with Detective O'Malley, but I couldn't imagine that he'd be amenable to comparing notes. And as for my sharing what I had learned, all I appeared to have was a jumbled assortment of information that refused to fall into place.

That, and a coincidence that continued to nag at me.

In the end, that became the impetus for my midweek call to Fran Dolan. I started the conversation by asking her how Barney was doing.

“He's just fine,” she told me happily. “I went and picked him up this morning. I can't thank you enough for your quick thinking.”

“I was lucky to be in the right place at the right time,” I said. “I'm glad everything turned out well.”

“That dog'll eat anything he can get his mouth onto,” she said fondly. “It's probably a wonder it took him this long to get into trouble. But marijuana? I never saw that coming.”

“So the tests confirmed Dr. Cochrane's suspicions?”

“That's right. It was a good thing he knew what to look for, and how to treat it. Because Barney's right as rain now.”

Good thing indeed, I thought. But where had the Basset gotten the marijuana from? I wondered if Fran knew the answer to that. And if not, whether she'd given the matter some serious thought.

Something about the sequence of recent events continued to irk me. One vital piece of the puzzle was still missing. If I could just figure out what that was, I was pretty sure that everything else would fall into place.

First, before I did anything else, I needed to find out how much Fran knew, I realized. It wouldn't be an easy conversation. And it wasn't one that I wanted to have over the phone.

“Fran, would it be okay if I stopped by this afternoon?” I asked. “I'd love to see how Barney's doing now that he's home and feeling better.”

“Sure, come on over. He and I will be here. And that will give me a chance to say thank you in person.”

When I told Sam where I was going, he just nodded. He was sitting at his desk, staring at his two computer screens, and frowning in concentration. I got Kevin settled in the corner of Sam's office with a box of juice and a tin of Lincoln Logs. Eventually Sam would look up and realize that he was in charge. Either that or the Poodles would take it upon themselves to clue him in.

Unlike my two previous visits to Fran's home, this time Barney answered the door with his mistress. The Basset looked bright and alert, a gratifying change from the last time I'd seen him. As I walked inside the house, he padded over to me. Nose snuffling, he inspected every inch of my blue-jean-clad legs that he could reach.

“Barney, cut that out.” Fran took hold of the hound's collar and tried to haul him away. “Don't be rude to Melanie.”

“Don't worry about it.” I leaned down and patted the Basset's smooth skull. “He probably smells my dogs. When I get home, they'll just repeat the process at that end.”

I followed Fran and Barney back to the sunroom. Once there, my gaze was immediately drawn to the windows. In the far corner of the backyard, I could see the shed where Barney had been digging just before he'd gotten sick. I wondered whether Fran had ever speculated about what her son was storing out there. Maybe since Barney's illness, she'd put two and two together. If not, now might be the time to start.

A shiny metal padlock looked incongruous on the faded wooden door. I wondered why I hadn't noticed it before.

Fran took a seat in one of the wicker chairs and Barney flopped down onto the cool tile floor beside her feet. She slipped one foot out of its sandal and began to rub the Basset's side with her toes. I sat in a chair opposite the pair.

“I think Barney scared himself the other day,” Fran said. “He hasn't left my side for longer than a minute or two since I brought him home.”

“It had to have been a terrifying experience for him,” I agreed. “Being disoriented like that and having no idea why. Have you figured out how he was exposed to the drug?”

Fran shrugged. “No, but I wish I knew. I guess I'll just have to make sure that I keep a closer eye on him in the future.”

“On Monday when I got here, you told me that Barney had been digging near the shed.”

“Did I?” Fran's gaze skittered away. “I don't remember. I was pretty upset at the time.”

“With good reason,” I said mildly. “Barney was very ill.”

“That whole day is just like a blur to me now. I'd rather just concentrate on the happy ending.”

Because asking the questions that needed to be asked was clearly making her uncomfortable, I thought. “If you don't figure out how Barney got sick, how will you prevent it from happening again?”

“Like I said, I'll have to keep him with me.”

“Or maybe keep him away from the shed?”

Fran looked out the window, then back at me. “What are you saying?”

“You mentioned the other day that your son stored things out there.”

“That's right.”

“What kinds of things?”

She appeared surprised by the question. “I don't know. I've never looked.”

“Aren't you curious?”

“Not particularly. My son's an adult. He's entitled to his privacy. What kind of a mother would I be if I went around checking up on him behind his back?”

The normal kind, I thought. Especially since by my reckoning, Fran's son had given her reason enough to be suspicious about what the shed might contain.

“So you don't even want to have a look?”

“A look at what?” a voice asked from behind me.

I swiveled in my seat to see who had posed the question. Abruptly my heart gave a small jolt. James's friend, Phil, was standing in the doorway. Hands jammed in his pockets, wire-rimmed glasses perched halfway down his nose, Phil stared in my direction. He looked just as surprised to see me as I was to see him.

Fran hopped to her feet and crossed the room. “Melanie,” she said. “This is my son, Phil.” She took her son's arm and gave it a squeeze. “Phil, this is my friend, Melanie. We were just talking about you, dear.”

And suddenly there it was. The last piece of the puzzle slipped effortlessly into place. This was the man whom Nick had complained to Claire about—the one who'd followed him around and who hadn't liked his mother's dog. He was also the same man who had felt the need to secure his belongings behind a thick metal lock.

I could see why, I thought. Fran's son definitely looked like he had something to hide.

Previously, when envisioning what the shed might contain, I'd pictured someone's small, personal stash. Now I was forced to realign my thinking. No wonder James had believed that his get-rich-quick scheme was such a great opportunity. I was willing to bet that his good buddy, Phil, had already shown him how someone could make good money cultivating the lucrative cash crop.

All at once I felt vulnerable, sitting below them in my seat. As I rose to my feet, I said to Fran, “Phil and I have already met.”

“You have?” she asked. “What a nice surprise.” She gazed up at her son. “Melanie was just telling me she thought she and I should have a look inside the old shed.”

“Really?” Phil's tone was flat. His expression gave nothing away. “Why would you want to do that?”

“In case what's there had something to do with why Barney got sick.”

Hearing his name, the Basset lifted his head and opened his eyes. He peered at Fran, thumped his tail on the floor twice, then heaved a sigh and went back to sleep.

“Dog looks fine to me now,” Phil said with a shrug. “I can't imagine how my old stuff could have had anything to do with his problems.”

“I'm sure you must be right,” I said quickly.

Earlier I had been hoping that Fran would put two and two together. Now I prayed with greater fervor that her son would not. Everything I hadn't understood before suddenly seemed much clearer. And before Phil figured out how much I knew, I wanted to be back in my car and on my way to Detective O'Malley. It was definitely time for me to take my leave.

When I started for the door, however, Phil casually edged his body sideways. Now he was blocking the exit. The hair on the back of my neck began to tingle. So much for hoping for an easy escape.

“There's nothing out there but some old dorm furniture,” Phil said. “Boxes of books, maybe some tools. I'd be happy to give you a look if you like.”

“That won't be necessary,” I told him. “I really should be heading home.”

“I insist.” Phil smiled crookedly. “I'd hate for you to think that I have anything to hide.”

“Thanks for offering,” I told him. “But I'm afraid I don't have time.”

I strode toward the door. Fran moved out of the way. Phil did not. Instead he reached out and grabbed my upper arm, pulling me to an abrupt stop.

“Don't worry,” he said. “This won't take long.”

Fran frowned at her son. “Phil, what's gotten into you? If Melanie needs to leave, she can see that old shed some other time.”

“Of course, you're right, Mama.” Phil's fingers uncurled slowly. Even as his hand fell away, I could still feel the imprint of its rigid grasp. “It's just that I was hoping to have the chance to talk to Melanie alone.”

“About what?” Fran asked, perplexed.

“Her son Davey.”

As he said the name, Phil smiled again. There was no humor in his expression, however. Instead, I saw the self-satisfied smile of a cat toying with a mouse.

“What about Davey?” I asked.

“He spends quite a bit of time with a friend of mine, and I'm not sure that's a safe environment for him. It would be terrible if something bad happened to him, don't you think?”

I heard the menace in Phil's tone. I saw the malice in his eyes. A vein in the side of my head began to throb. Suddenly I couldn't seem to breathe.

Standing to one side, Fran was happily oblivious to the undercurrents swirling around us. She beamed at Phil and said, “That's my boy, always looking out for other people.” Then she settled her hand between my shoulder blades and gave me a gentle nudge. “Go ahead. If it's about your son, you should probably hear what Phil has to say.”

Before I could protest, Phil quickly herded me across the kitchen and out the back door. Once outside, he grabbed my arm again. Secured firmly within his fisted hand, I found myself being marched in the direction of the shed.

“You wanted to see,” he snarled. “Let's go see.”

I didn't bother to answer. There didn't appear to be any point. Phil had enough to say for both of us.

“I want to know what Nick told you,” he demanded. “And what James told your boyfriend.”

“Boyfriend?” I stumbled and my shoulder wrenched. I was hauled painfully upright again. “What boyfriend?”

“Bob,” Phil snarled. “The neighbor.”

Oh.

“Bob's my ex-husband,” I said through gritted teeth. “And he doesn't know anything. If he did, I'd still be married to him.”

“Well, somebody's been talking to somebody, because here you are, itching to go snooping around in my business. Bob said you were good at solving mysteries. I thought he was kidding, but I guess not.”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” I said.

Phil didn't waste time arguing. Instead he gave my arm another yank. “You were friends with the dog trainer. And that stupid hound told him everything. I should have shot the dog, too, when I had the chance.”

I gasped out loud, horrified by his callous tone. Phil didn't even notice. He was too busy steering me across the yard.

Seconds later, we arrived at the shed. Its door was in a side wall, visible from the house but angled away. As Phil fumbled in his pocket for the key to the padlock, I looked around, measuring the distance of open lawn I'd have to cross before reaching the cover of the woods.

If Phil gave me any chance to run for it, I was going to be gone.

“Don't even think it,” he said sharply. “I've got a gun, remember?”

Hard to forget, under the circumstances. But if Phil had the gun on him now, it had to be a very small one. He was attired much the same way I was: jeans, T-shirt, sneakers. There didn't seem to be any place on his person that he could be concealing a weapon.

As things turned out, it didn't matter. Phil never released me, even for a second. He unlocked the door one-handed, then shoved it open with his shoulder. Pushing me inside the shed, he slammed the door shut behind us.

Immediately my sense of smell was overwhelmed by a sweet, earthy aroma. It took a few moments for my eyes to adjust to the lack of light within but even before they did, I already knew what I would see. The shed contained pot, lots and lots of it.