Trick or Deadly Treat (11 page)

Sam knew he'd been dismissed. When they left the shed, Woods went one way and Sam went the other. He had no interest in getting another dog, of course. He was well pleased with Buck. But he wanted to keep up the pose so he wouldn't make Woods suspicious, and besides, he was curious.

It took him a few minutes to reach the other kennels Woods had mentioned. They were on the other side of a little creek, which Sam crossed on a wooden footbridge. The dogs saw him coming and barked frantically. These enclosures were much more bare-bones, Sam noted. Several dogs were in each one. That was probably good, because they could crowd into the doghouses for warmth during the winter. Their coats were thicker, shaggier, and they didn't appear to have been groomed in a long time, if ever.

The dogs didn't seem to have been mistreated, Sam thought. They had water, and it was relatively clean. There were food bowls in each pen, along with a few toys. But there was just something shabby about the setup that told Sam their owner didn't really care about them.

Maybe it was the way they flocked to the fences, obviously starved for affection. He moved along the front of the enclosures, reaching his fingers through the openings in the wire and scratching as many floppy golden ears as he could as the dogs stood up on the fence to greet him. He could have stayed
out there all day petting them, he thought, and it wouldn't have been enough to satisfy them.

He hated to leave, but he hadn't really found out what he'd come there to learn. He said, “So long, fellas,” and turned to leave. He had to grit his teeth and force himself to keep walking as they barked behind him as if they were trying to call him back.

He walked back around to the office and let himself in. Woods was on the phone with somebody. The man held up a finger in the now-universal symbol for asking a visitor to wait. He didn't look happy.

“Hey, I'm sorry you're upset, but a deal's a deal,” Woods said into the phone. “I held up my part of the bargain in good faith. You know Texas Maximus's reputation. The problem's with your bitch, whether you want to hear that or not.” He paused, then said, “No refunds. You know that. Not even a partial one. I'm not in business for my health, you know.”

Sam heard the sound of the other person hanging up emphatically, even violently. Woods took the phone away from his ear, glared at it for a second, and then muttered an obscenity.

“Sorry about that,” he said to Sam as he put the cordless phone back on its base. “You find a dog down there that you like?”

“Found too many,” Sam said with a smile. “I like 'em all. I'm gonna have to bring the missus back with me and let her have a look at 'em. Maybe the grandkids.”

“Yeah, fine.” Woods picked up a card from the desk and held it out to him. “Maybe you better call first next time. I'm not always here. This is a one-man operation.”

“Your family doesn't help you out?”

“I'm divorced,” Woods said. “Kids are grown and gone.”

Sam slipped the card in his shirt pocket and said, “I'll be back.” He started to turn away, then stopped and added, “It's none of my business, but you sounded earlier like you had some sort of fallin' out with Hank Baxter. I always thought he seemed like a nice fella.”

“You're right. It's none of your business. Baxter's too stiff-necked. Too stubborn for his own good. I got tired of trying to make him understand how I do things, so I fired him as my vet. Hell, there are plenty of other animal doctors out there.”

“Yeah, I suppose so. I'll be seein' you, Mr. Woods.”

Woods just grunted and turned to his computer, obviously uninterested in anything else Sam had to say.

That was one unfriendly fella, Sam thought as he drove back toward town. Judging by that phone call Sam had overheard the end of, Woods had at least one unsatisfied customer, too. Sam still didn't know exactly what had caused the rift between Woods and Hank Baxter, other than the fact that Baxter didn't care for the way the dog breeder conducted his business.

It was a long way from that to killing a woman and framing her husband for the murder, and just because Woods was a jerk didn't mean he was capable of such a thing.

If it turned out that Woods had killed Susan Baxter, though, Sam wasn't going to be unhappy about it. Maybe those dogs—those culls, as Woods had called them—would wind up with somebody who appreciated and loved them.

That wasn't the way a detective ought to be thinking, he told himself. Somebody looking for a killer had to keep an open mind and not rule out anybody because they were
likable or focus completely on one suspect because they were unpleasant. The only things that mattered were the facts and the inescapable conclusion they led to. So far he was a little short on facts, Sam thought.

But he was just getting started.

P
hyllis had told Sam she would keep an eye on Buck, so she spent the morning digging deeper into Susan Baxter's life on the computer. Susan had been in her early forties, a little older than Phyllis had thought from the couple of times she had seen the woman briefly. She had been practicing in Weatherford for eight years.

Phyllis recalled what Sam had told her about Susan working to put her husband through veterinary school before she had gone to medical school herself. Because of that, Susan had been a few years older than some new doctors by the time she got her career going.

She hadn't wasted any time establishing herself as a top surgeon, however. Phyllis found a number of references to her in online medical journals, as well as several papers Susan Baxter had published in those journals. All the medical mumbo jumbo in those papers didn't mean anything to Phyllis, but it certainly looked impressive. Susan's ideas had to
have some merit to them, since those journals were peer-reviewed.

Of course, how smart a person was didn't always have any sort of relation to what kind of person they were. From what Phyllis had seen of Susan Baxter, the woman was angry and bitter and not pleasant to be around at all. But maybe she had good reason to be that way.

Phyllis wasn't exactly a computer expert, but she knew enough to be able to locate arrest records. Some searching told her that both Hank and Susan Baxter had been arrested a couple of times each for charges related to domestic disturbances during the past six months. In each case, those charges had been dropped.

The fact that the police had been called to the Baxter residence that many times was worrisome. Even though those charges had been dropped, if the prosecutor managed to get them in at the trial, they would be damaging to Hank Baxter's defense. And to be honest, Phyllis thought, the history of trouble between the spouses really did make it more likely that Hank had killed his wife. Phyllis knew Sam wouldn't want to hear that.

She heard a noise and realized it was Buck scratching at the back door. She let him in, and without being told, he went straight to his bed in the utility room. He really was a pretty smart dog, Phyllis thought.

Sam came in a while later. Buck heard the garage door go up and was waiting at the kitchen door for him. A little tail wagging, hand licking, ear scratching later, Sam came into the living room.

“Where are Carolyn and Eve?” he asked.

“They've gone to the craft store,” Phyllis said. “Eve needs some new projects.”

“Never thought I'd see her bein' quite so crafty. I guess everybody's got to settle down a mite sooner or later, even spitfires like her. With all that traffic down on South Main, they're liable to be gone most of the day.”

“I know. It's terrible.” Phyllis shook her head. “Certainly not the way it was when we were younger. But there's no going back to the past, is there?”

“Even if there was, we probably wouldn't want to,” Sam said. “Then we'd have to relive all the bad things as well as the good. I wouldn't want that. Reckon memories are enough.”

“Yes, I think you're right,” Phyllis said. “What have you been up to?”

“Well, that's one reason I asked where Carolyn and Eve were,” Sam said as he sat down in one of the armchairs. “I went out to see Kyle Woods.”

“The dog breeder?”

“Yep. The fella you saw arguin' with Hank Baxter last week.”

Unable to stop herself, Phyllis leaned forward in her chair and looked intently at Sam. “Did you find out anything from him?” she asked.

“Well, mostly that I don't like him much.”

“That seems to be pretty common.”

“But he told me that Hank Baxter used to be his vet and took care of all his dogs. Then a few months ago they had some sort of fallin' out between 'em. Woods implied it was because Baxter didn't like the way he does business.”

“He seems to be very successful at breeding golden retrievers,” Phyllis said.

“Yeah, he's successful, all right. If you don't believe it, just ask him. He'll tell you all about it.”

“A little full of himself, is he?”

Sam nodded and said, “Yeah, that was my impression. But I also got the impression that maybe he's not quite as successful as he lets on. While I was there, he argued with somebody else on the phone, somebody who wanted their money back because of a problem with . . . well, with the stud service.”

Phyllis managed not to laugh, but she couldn't help smiling as she asked, “Sam, are you blushing?”

“Can't help it. I'm just the old-fashioned sort, I guess. Not real comfortable talkin' about such things with a lady.”

“It's all right,” Phyllis told him. “I'm not embarrassed, and there's no reason for you to be. Did his award-winning show dog Texas Maximus have trouble performing?”

“Good grief,” Sam muttered. “No, that wasn't it. I think the fella just wasn't happy with the pups his dog had. Evidently, they don't have to have much wrong with them to be worthless as show dogs. Those judges must be really picky.”

“I imagine. I've never really understood all the fine points of it, myself.”

“Me, neither. Anyway, I told Woods that I was lookin' for a dog and that Hank Baxter told me to check with him, and that was when Woods acted surprised and told me he and Baxter weren't workin' together anymore. I was able to cover that by claimin' Baxter said something to me several months ago and I was just gettin' around to doin' something about it.”

“That was smart,” Phyllis said. “Using procrastination as an excuse nearly always works. People don't have any trouble believing it because people put things off all the time.”

“Yep.” Sam went on to describe the rest of his visit,
including the so-called culls. He sighed and said, “That part of what I told Woods was true. I really did want to take all of 'em with me. But I suppose your backyard would be pretty crowded with twenty-five dogs in it.”

“Not to mention, the city wouldn't let us have that many,” Phyllis pointed out. “I'm sorry you had to leave them there, though. I hope they all find good homes.”

“It was after that I asked Woods point-blank what caused the trouble between him and Baxter,” Sam said. “He dodged the question, though.”

Phyllis turned back to the computer and said, “Let's see if Woods has been in trouble with the law recently.”

A few minutes of searching told her that Kyle Woods had not been arrested in Parker County during the past two years. However, acting on a hunch, Phyllis checked a database that contained civil lawsuit filings, and she found something.

“Look here,” she told Sam as she pointed at the screen. “Woods has been sued three times for fraud. There's no disposition listed for any of the suits, which means they were either withdrawn or settled.”

Sam leaned down from his considerable height to look over her shoulder. “You think those lawsuits had something to do with his dog-breedin' business?” he asked.

“I don't see what else they could have been about, although I suppose anything's possible. Not likely, though.”

“So Woods has got angry customers and he's had lawsuits filed against him. It stands to reason that whatever he's up to, that's the reason Hank Baxter didn't want to be involved with him anymore.”

“That makes sense to me, too,” Phyllis agreed with a nod.

“So if Baxter had proof that Woods was up to something illegal . . .” Sam's voice trailed off as he shook his head. “No, that doesn't make sense the way I was goin'. Woods wouldn't kill Susan Baxter in order to scare Hank Baxter into keepin' his mouth shut. I think that'd just make Hank more likely to spill whatever it is he knows.”

“But Hank isn't in a good position to testify against Woods now, is he? His credibility is ruined as long as he's under suspicion of murder. If he's convicted and sent to prison, he'll be even less credible.”

“Why not just kill Baxter?” Sam asked. “That would shut him up for sure.”

“Maybe Woods thought it would be easier to kill Susan and frame Hank for the murder.”

Sam frowned as he thought about that. He nodded slowly and said, “Woods is a good-sized fella, but he's out of shape. He might figure it that way, all right.”

“Still, that seems awfully extreme, murdering a woman you basically have nothing against just to discredit a man who might cause legal problems for you.”

“Murder's pretty extreme no matter what the reason,” Sam said.

“Yes, that's true, of course. And maybe it wasn't just that Hank represented a potential threat to Woods anymore. Remember, Woods came to see Hank last week. Maybe Hank asked him to come to the clinic and threatened to expose whatever it is he's been doing.”

“Which we don't know for sure is anything,” Sam pointed out. “Maybe the trouble Woods has been havin' with some of his customers comes from honest disagreements.”

“That's a possibility, of course,” Phyllis said with a nod. “But so is the other scenario, the one where Woods is doing something illegal, or at least shady enough that he didn't want Hank Baxter telling anybody about it.”

Sam started to pace back and forth. He said, “We got to start keepin' a closer eye on Woods. If he's up to something, he's bound to slip up sooner or later.” He stopped his pacing and turned to look at Phyllis. “I mean I'll have to keep a closer eye on him. You're supposed to be stayin' out of this, remember?”

Phyllis smiled and said, “I think we both might as well admit that that isn't going to happen, despite what I intended.”

“Good intentions, road to hell, et cetera, et cetera,” Sam said with a wave of his hand. “I still don't want you gettin' mixed up with Woods. I don't trust that fella. If he thinks somebody's messin' in his business, there's no tellin' what he might do.”

“Which is exactly why he's a suspect in Susan Baxter's murder. But I understand what you mean, Sam. You do the legwork on Woods.”

“What are you goin' to do?”

“Susan is bound to have had other enemies,” Phyllis said. “The key to finding them is to learn more about her. I have a few ideas . . .”

*   *   *

Susan Baxter's practice was located in a complex of medical offices across Santa Fe Drive from the hospital. Phyllis parked her Lincoln in front of the building, and as she did, she saw a wreath hanging on one of the doors. Not surprisingly, that turned out to be the door to Susan's office.

At least there was no crime scene tape, which Phyllis took to mean that the crime scene and forensics investigators were through there and had collected all the evidence they were going to.

She thought that the office might be closed because of Susan's death, but the funeral wasn't until the next day so there was a chance someone might be there. Phyllis had looked up the information about the service on the funeral home's website before she drove over there.

When she tried the door, it was unlocked. She went inside and found herself in a nicely furnished waiting room with a counter and receptionist's window to her left.

It was also an empty waiting room at the moment.

“Can I help you?”

The voice came from behind the counter. The young woman who sat at the receptionist's desk was about twenty-five, Phyllis estimated, with long, light brown hair. Her nose had been broken at some time in the past, and that had left it with a tiny, almost unnoticeable bump that didn't distract from her wholesome prettiness. The red, slightly swollen eyes that showed she had been crying did a little bit, though.

“I'm sorry,” Phyllis said automatically. She would have done that anyway if she'd encountered someone who was upset, but now she had another reason for wanting to present a sympathetic ear. “Is something wrong?”

“There's been a . . . a death,” the young woman said.

“Oh, goodness!” Phyllis said. She had never thought of herself as much of an actor, but the past few years had revealed unsuspected talents in that area. She always felt a little guilty when she had to lie to people, but she told herself it
was for a good cause. She went on. “One of Dr. Baxter's patients?”

“No, it's . . . Dr. Baxter.”

Phyllis looked shocked. It wasn't that much of a stretch. It really was shocking that a woman had been beaten to death right here in this very office. Not in this waiting room, of course, but only a few feet away.

“That's terrible,” she said. “I stopped by to make an appointment to see her.”

“Do you have a medical problem?” the young woman asked. “I can refer you to someone . . .”

“I need to have some gallstones removed,” Phyllis said. She had decided on that because she'd actually had such an operation several years earlier and thought she could bluff her way through a conversation about the procedure. “Dr. Baxter was one of the surgeons my doctor suggested, so I thought I would talk it over with her before I made up my mind.”

That wasn't exactly the way these things usually worked, Phyllis knew, but it wasn't so unreasonable or far-fetched as to be suspicious. At least she hoped it wasn't.

The receptionist didn't seem to think twice about Phyllis's explanation. She said, “I'm sorry, but you understand . . .”

“Of course,” Phyllis said. “I'll talk to my regular doctor again and get his advice on how to proceed. I'm really sorry to hear about Dr. Baxter. Was it a sudden illness, or had she been sick for a while?”

The receptionist's eyes widened. She said, “You don't know?”

Phyllis just put a puzzled look on her face and shook her head.

The receptionist leaned forward and said in a hushed voice, “She was murdered!”

Before Phyllis could do more than start to look shocked, another woman's voice said, “Raylene!”