Mutts & Murder: A Dog Town USA Cozy Mystery (3 page)

Lou rummaged around in the fridge, grabbing all sorts of Tupperware containers. I grabbed a plate and a fork out of the dishwasher, trying to help where I could. It was the least I could do, considering that in the last six months since we both moved back into our childhood home, I had only cooked dinner twice.

“So, I gather the meeting went long tonight?” she said, scooping out a great big helping of garlicky pesto pasta onto the plate.

“Ugh, it was so boring, Lou,” I said. “One more piece of evidence gathered from the Whitelaw property, and I would have taken a face plant into my notepad.”

“Oh, c’mon,” Lou said, throwing the plate in the microwave. “It couldn’t have been
that
bad. I mean a dog’s life was at stake, wasn’t it? That has to make for a juicy story of some sort.”

“Yes, but no matter which way you look at it, it’s still just a dog,” I said.

She clicked her tongue against the roof of her mouth.

“
Just a dog?
Now that’s being rather cynical, Freddie. You better take care to keep that little viewpoint from your readers. I think a few bricks might go through the windows of
The Chronicle
if people in this town knew that was how you really felt.”

I waved a hand at her.

“It’s my job to be cynical,” I said. “And anyway, I’m just saying. Covering a dog board hearing isn’t the same as covering a murder trial.”

“Well, I’m sure those poor murdered chickens would disagree with you there,” Lou said.

I smiled.

“Besides, I’m sure there had to be some drama at the meeting that kept you from falling asleep.”

I shrugged. 

“Well, Myra was the same old nasty person she’s always been,” I said. “Fern Whitelaw’s dog, Mr. Raffles, got off practically scot-free. Delia Davidson was upset with the verdict, which is to be expected. And other than one particularly rude cop, there really isn’t much else to tell.”

Lou furrowed her brow.

“A rude cop you say?”

I nodded.

“Lt. Sakai. He’s a real prick, if you ask me. He wouldn’t talk to me. And it wasn’t even like I was asking any hard questions. I just wanted a quote.”

“Sam Sakai?” she said.

“Yeah, you know him?”

She smiled.

“One of
The Barkery’s
most regular customers,” she said, referring to the name of her bakery. “He’s a
tall
drink of water, all right.”

I shook my head silently. Somehow I knew that my sister would use that turn of phrase to describe the officer.

“He’s got a real sweet tooth,” she continued. “He orders the same thing every time: a Key Lime bar and a cup of black coffee.”

“Well, you’d be hard pressed to find a ruder person in this town,” I said. “I don’t care how good of a customer he is. He’s a poor source.”

Lou shrugged.

“He always leaves good tips,” she said.

The microwave timer beeped.

“Well, it sounds to me that if Sam was involved, the dog board hearing must have been somewhat interesting.”

“Maybe you’re right,” I said. “But it’s just a long way down from what I used to cover. And you know all that stuff Kobritz told me about working my way up to a better beat eventually? Well, it’s looking to be a long haul. He said earlier that he thinks I have a flair for these kinds of pieces. Which is code for, ‘We want to keep you exactly where you’re at.’”

Lou put the plate in front of me along with a napkin.

“That sucks,” she said. “But maybe it’s just the price you have to pay for your dignity, Freddie. You know? That’s more important, if you ask me.”

I felt my muscles tighten up at the serious turn of the conversation, reminding me why I was back here in Dog Mountain in the first place.

I didn’t feel like thinking about any of that now. Not when the clock was nearing 10 and I still hadn’t eaten dinner yet.

I nodded silently, then dug into the pesto in front of me. Lou had served me up a portion that was worthy of her post-divorce appetite. It was too much, but as I got farther into eating it, I decided not to correct her.

“How is it?” she said, watching me chow down like a hungry mutt.

I looked up, smiling.

“Just as good as mom used to make it,” I said.

“I’ll say,” Lou said, patting her gut and giving me one of her knowing smiles.

Chapter 4

I woke up in a cold sweat, feeling like a dragon was working its way up my throat.

It was stuffy in my bedroom.

I sat up in bed, catching my breath while simultaneously trying to keep the heartburn down.

Heartburn had become an ever-increasingly familiar ailment at this hour.

In the past year, I hadn’t once slept all the way through the night. Part of that I knew was to do with the fact that I rarely ate dinner before 8 p.m. these days, as Lou liked to constantly remind me.

But the other reasons I couldn’t sleep a whole night through were a little harder to remedy.

Noticing that I was awake, and never one to miss an opportunity for attention, Buddy got up from his snoozing spot at the edge of my bed and stalked toward me, his wide, heavy paws making big tracks in the soft comforter.

“Meooowww.”

He looked at me with a slightly confused expression when I didn’t immediately start stroking his fur. He rubbed his mouth against my shoulder.

I gave in, petting his soft head, and stared out my bedroom window. The window was partially open, and the white lace curtains were fluttering in a soft breeze that smelled fresh, like it was coming off the McKenzie River a few blocks away. It was a warm night. I could tell by the sounds of the crickets outside. They only chirped like that on warm evenings.

I stood up, to Buddy’s dismay, and went over to the window. I pushed it farther open, sucking in a deep breath of the night air. I looked out at the front lawn and the sleepy neighborhood, shrouded in shadows cast by the large cherry moon that hung high in the inky sky.

I’d been dreaming about mom again. Though I didn’t remember any of the specifics of the dream, she’d been there. I could tell by the sad feeling in my heart as I awoke, remembering that she was no longer with us.

I let out a sigh.

Sometimes I wondered if moving back home to Dog Mountain had been a bad idea. Other times, I felt bad that I hadn’t moved home sooner. What was the point of being here now, now that she was gone? She would have been happy that Louise and I were under the same roof again. That much was true. But sometimes I wondered if I’d been a fool to listen to her when she told me not to move back home after she was diagnosed with breast cancer. I had told her that I would – that I planned to quit my job and be here with her. But she’d insisted that I stay exactly where I was. She didn’t want me quitting such a good job at the state’s biggest newspaper to come back home and take care of her. She hadn’t wanted that on her conscious, she’d said. And besides, Dog Mountain was only two hours away from Portland. It wasn’t like I was living across the country. On a good day with no traffic, you could shoot back home in an hour and a half.

That’s what she’d told me, and selfishly, I had respected her wishes to the tee.

Most days, I had come to terms with the way that had played out. I’d been here through most of it, after all. Through the very worst parts, holding her hand all the way.

But maybe in some ways, I hadn’t really been here. Not completely. There’d been distractions. Stories I’d been working on in between. Times when I had to go off into the extra bedroom downstairs and conduct phone interviews with sources. Other things, too. Maybe I’d been here while she was dying, but maybe I hadn’t been here all the way.

But I was here now. All the way. Having quit that good, career-launching job in Portland.

The only problem now was,
she
wasn’t here.

I sighed again, looking down at the quiet, empty street.

My mother was a strong, practical woman. One of those women cut from the cloth of the old pioneers who fought so hard to get to this valley over 150 years earlier. Her entire life she worked hard, never complained, and while she had a good deal of charity in her, she did not suffer fools gladly.

The woman was tough as nails.

I knew that if she was still alive, she would probably be disappointed in me, leaving
The Oregon Daily
the way I did and for the reason I had.

It hadn’t been because I was standing up for what I believed in, or because I wasn’t going to take the long hours and low pay anymore.

No.

I had left my job because of a man.

Because I could no longer take working with him day in and day out. I couldn’t take seeing him in board meetings or on assignments or at the paper’s holiday parties.

I had to get out of there. Even if it meant a pay cut and a much lesser job at a small paper.  

I bit my lower lip, thinking of what she would have said about me being back here in this house. Working at the paper I interned for ten years earlier at the age of 18. 

She always made it clear that she expected me to be the next Katie Couric.

Maybe it was a good thing she hadn’t lived to see that dream of hers die. But that thought sure didn’t make me feel better.

And it sure didn’t make me miss her any less.

A stiff wind rustled the leaves of the trees around the house and caused the curtains to flutter around me. They reminded me of tethered ghosts.

I sighed again.  

Sometimes I thought this house was haunted.

Sometimes, I thought it wasn’t just this house.

Chapter 5

I woke up to Buddy stepping on my legs, his petite little paws carrying what felt like 1,000 pounds per square centimeter of pressure.

“Ow!”

He looked at me with placid, unsympathetic green eyes, showing zero remorse for awakening me so rudely.

But when I looked at the clock, I understood why.

“
Not again
!” I shouted, springing out of bed like Dracula from a coffin at sundown.

Buddy meowed loudly at me, wanting to make sure that I hadn’t forgotten about him in my haste. 

The orange cat had probably been trying to wake me up for a long time now. But his desire for a second helping of cat food this morning was the least of my worries.

I was already half an hour late to work, and I was still in my PJs.

I rushed around the room, finding a jean skirt and a half-wrinkled top that I didn’t have time to iron. I threw my hair up in a ponytail and did a five-minute makeup job. I really could have used a shower, but there just wasn’t any time.

Today of all days
, I thought, scolding myself.

I put in a pair of stud earrings, then slipped into the same heels I’d worn the day before. Buddy watched me anxiously as I collected my phone and notepads and various other materials I would need for the day ahead.

I hated being late.

When I had gotten everything I needed, I left the bedroom, rushing downstairs. Little paws followed closely behind me.

I went for the door, grabbing my purse and stuffing everything into it hastily. Then I grabbed the keys off the foyer counter and reached for the front door knob.

“Meoooowwww!!!”

I turned around and let out a sigh, giving the big cat a hard look.

“I know that Lou already fed you before she left this morning,” I said, looking into his sad little face. “Don’t try and pretend you didn’t have a nice turkey giblet feast this morning.”

That sorrow-filled, begging expression remained.

After a moment, I let out another sigh.

The cat had my number and he damn well knew it.

“Fine,” I said, putting my purse on the counter.

He seemed to understand me and turned his back, trotting toward the kitchen.

If I had one-tenth the manipulation capability that Buddy the orange cat possessed, I would have had my name etched on an office door at
The
New York Times
by now.

Chapter 6

My hand dropped suddenly from the car door handle as I stared at the wreckage.

“
Son of a…
”

In the rush of being late, I had almost missed the disrupted leafage and torn-up flower petals strewn across the front yard.

I felt my hands ball up into fists at my side. I tossed my purse down on the ground and stomped over to the ripped-up rose bushes.

The Ripper of Labrador Lane had struck again.

When dog walkers let their pets poop on the lawn, it didn’t bother me that much. I just simply cleaned it up without complaint. When they let their dogs pee and dig their claws into the manicured grasses, I didn’t complain then either.

In fact, as far as I was concerned, the entire Fido force of Dog Mountain was welcome to the usage of my front lawn.

Just so long as they kept their paws, claws, and snouts out of the rose garden.

I surveyed the damage, feeling helpless and mad as hell all at the same time. A few of the plants’ branches had broken clean off. Several of the yellow roses had dropped to the ground, their petals crushed and their leaves scattered.

This was the third time in the last month that some destructive mutt had a field day in the garden. I’d seen the muddy-colored medium-sized dog once, but had been unable to catch him. As of yet, I had no way to stop the culprit, and more importantly, no way to find the culprit’s owner. The dog itself was going to do what dogs do when it was off leash – run through gardens and destroy lawns. It was the owner I was really after. The one that I was going to make pay once I found out just who he or she was.

It wasn’t that I was a green thumb freak, though I had spent the last six months diligently caring for those plants.

It was because of what the yellow roses represented.

My mother had planted them. Just a small row of yellow flowers 20 years ago. In the two decades since, they’d grown into a full-fledged beautiful rose garden.

It had been my mom’s pride and joy.