Rottweiler Rescue (9 page)

I had just taken a mouthful of iced tea, and I swallowed quickly for fear hearing Wesley’s name and the word “responsible” in the same sentence would start me choking.

Thank goodness Susan was too full of indignation over Wesley’s unfair treatment to pay attention to my reaction. After all the similar stories I’d heard over the years, and after meeting Wesley himself a few times, I knew the problem was that Wesley thought his mere presence at any work site ought to be more than enough for any employer. He resented anyone who actually expected him to work. This time the job had lasted a whole month, but Wesley was now back in his usual state of unemployment. His mother had to be the only person in the world who didn’t suspect he preferred it that way.

Listening to the story, I kept my mouth full of sandwich to help me make no comments at all except an occasional sympathetic murmur. As always, I wondered what it was about motherhood that could turn a strong, intelligent woman into a total fool.

We had finished the sandwiches and Susan was opening the bakery box containing the tarts by the time she stopped trying to convince both herself and me that Wesley was really a wonderful son. I ate three of the little tarts, telling myself that anyone who kept her mouth firmly shut on the subject of Wesley McKinnough deserved them.

When Susan finally wound down, I told her about the attack the night before.

“My God, Dianne, I’ve been wondering about that blouse in this weather. Let me see.”

There was no way not to show her and no real reason not to, but I felt a strange reluctance. With eyes closed so I didn’t have to see her face, I pulled the neck of my blouse away from my throat and lifted my chin. After a few seconds, I let go of the cloth and opened my eyes. Susan was silent, shock all over her face.

While she recovered, I told her about Lieutenant Forrester’s visit that morning and our conversation.

“He’s right,” she said. “You have to get away. You can stay here.”

“No, I can’t,” I said reasonably. “It’s not just me. It’s me and three dogs and a cat. And how long would it take for somebody to find me here?”

“We could manage until they catch him, and it’s more... civilized here than where you are. There are more people around, my husband....”

“You were all alone when I got here today. The sheriff’s people aren’t going to catch him. They haven’t a clue. Unless maybe they catch him when he comes after me again.”

“Don’t say that! Maybe you should move.”

“Susan.”

“All right, I know you can’t. There has to be something we can do.”

“There is something we can do. We can figure out who it is.”

Susan looked totally nonplused. “How can we do that if the police can’t?”

“Because whoever murdered Jack is someone who knew him through dogs, and we, especially you, know dogs and dog people. You know all about the part of Jack’s life that had to do with showing dogs. You’re going to point me in the right direction, and I’m going to do the legwork.”

“You are not. And I’m not helping you get yourself killed.”

“Yes, I am, with or without your help, so you’re going to help me so that I
don’t
get myself killed. Now, why would someone want to murder Jack?”

“They wouldn’t. There are people who didn’t like him, and people get passionate about their dogs, but no one would kill someone over winning or losing at a dog show.”

“The show world is a small version of the larger world. Surely there are all the usual twisted relationships —greed, passion — the same things that make people kill each other everywhere. Think.”

“What if you find him? What if you start doing your ‘legwork’ and you walk right into him? Have you considered that?”

“Yes. I’m taking the dogs when I can and I’m taking my gun all the time,” I said, pointing to where my purse sat on the counter.

Susan stared at the leather pouch as if a cobra had just stuck it’s head out of the opening. “You have a
gun
?”

“Yes, I have a gun. It was my first Christmas present from John. He even taught me how to use it.”

“You yourself have always said Butch was the only good thing that you got out of your marriage.” Susan’s disapproval was so strong the kitchen was chilly with it.

“Well, I was wrong then. He left me a Rottweiler and a .38, and right now I’m grateful for both.”

“And do you have a permit to be carrying it around like some gunslinger?”

“I doubt there were any gunslingers who carried their Colt .45s in purses,” I pointed out. “But, no, I don’t have a carry permit. I’m going to apply for one tomorrow. If Lieutenant Forrester isn’t afraid I might shoot him the next time we have words, maybe he’ll help. If not, you know what they say, ‘Better to be judged by twelve than carried by six.’”

In the end, Susan stuck to her own guns. She simply refused to admit she knew of anyone who could have killed Jack Sheffield. We did, however, make a list of people who had known Jack and who might have information that would lead to his killer. First thing the next morning, I would take my car in for a new window. Then I’d take the time to apply for the carry permit. After that I was going start visiting the people on the list. Maybe one of them knew something that Susan didn’t.

Before setting out the next
morning, I spent some time with each of the dogs. Millie was doing better on leash and learning basic commands, but believed “Stay” meant “Stay Until You Feel Like Moving,” and we were working on it. Sophie enjoyed simply going through the commands to prove she knew them better than any other dog I brought to the house ever would, but our experience in the King Sooper’s parking lot had left me determined to work on her recall until she would fly back to me no matter what she was chasing.

I had so far been unable to find any way to train Robo at all and had given up weeks before. He had reacted to all my attempts by simply staring off into space as if unable to see or hear me.

So I just brushed him for a while with Sophie’s favorite brush and then gave him a bit of a massage. He was as unmoved by my touch as by my voice, which made spending time with him hard, but I felt that I was paying a debt of honor. At least he looked like a dog someone cared about.

I did my sincere best to explain to the dogs that the day was going to be too hot for them to stay in the car while I did all the visiting on my schedule. Millie settled happily enough in her crate with a chewie, Robo wandered off before I finished talking, but Sophie made it clear I would probably return to find her dead of a broken heart.

Leaving them home always made me feel guilty. This time my own fear made it worse. I patted my purse to be sure the gun was still tucked inside and set out.

My first stop was an auto glass shop. Replacing the broken window went quickly once the repairman got around to my car.

My trip to the sheriff’s office in Castle Rock didn’t produce such a happy result. As I rather suspected, by the time I got a concealed weapon carry permit, Jack Sheffield’s murderer would have time for several more attacks. Since I hadn’t been recently discharged from the military, wasn’t a retired law enforcement officer, and couldn’t prove I’d completed a handgun training class in the last ten years, I needed to take a training class and have that proof before I could even start the process.

The idea of asking Lieutenant Forrester about exceptions to the requirement flickered through my mind for a scant second before I rejected it. The carry permit would just have to wait until I could make time to take the required class.

The first name on the list Susan and I had come up with was Carl Warmstead. Maybe he wasn’t a suspect, but he had to be the best source of information about Jack Sheffield and his life. If anyone had any insight into what made Jack tick, it ought to be the man he’d lived with for years.

With the morning’s chores out of the way, I called Carl from the Village Inn in Castle Rock where I stopped for a quick lunch. He agreed to see me before I could even give him a reason, but to my dismay, he was working at home and not in the impersonal office I expected.

Parking in front of the house that still seemed like Jack’s made me feel slightly sick and very nervous. At least I didn’t have to summon the courage to walk around the back. I rang the bell at the front and followed Carl into the living room that, without the sheriff’s men all over it, looked even more beautiful than I remembered. The pale gray carpet and walls were accented by pastels of peach and green.

Carl was as handsome as Susan had described, a tall, slim, blond man with sky blue eyes and impeccable manners. He got me seated on a comfortable chair upholstered in soft peach and made sure I was neither hungry nor thirsty before lowering himself to the matching loveseat.

“Finding Jack must have been awful,” he said, fussing with the crease in his slacks, “but I don’t see how I can help you deal with it.”

“That’s not why I’m here,” I said, and then gave him the minimal explanation I’d rehearsed.

He stared at my neck. Once again I’d hidden the cut as much as possible under the high neck of a knit blouse, and I didn’t offer to show him the wound.

“You can’t seriously think you’re going to find a murderer the police haven’t found yet,” he said.

“He’s going to find me again if I don’t,” I pointed out.

“I’ll tell you anything I can,” he said, “but I just don’t believe I know anything that will help.”

“Okay, first of all do you really feel sure Jack wanted a dog to make you leave the house and not for protection?”

“Absolutely. The only reason we were still together is that we hadn’t figured out how to divide our property. That’s one of the problems when there’s no way to divorce your partner.” He gave a wry grin.

“I know a lot of people who don’t think divorce courts are a great way to go either,” I told him. “Did you have much to divide except the house?”

“The house, everything in it, cars, a piece of mountain land, investments....”

“Oy.”

“Yes, indeed, oy. At first we discussed it pretty reasonably, but then... he started trying to seduce every guy he met. Even though we were through, it seemed... like a deliberate insult, you know? We started fighting then worse than when we were actually breaking up.”

Carl looked around the room, obviously liking what he saw. “This house is my home, and I’ve got every bit as much invested in it as Jack did. Bringing in a dog was his way of making me move out, and he was right that once I was physically out he would have had an edge for getting the property divided in a way favorable to him. He always liked an edge.”

I was so busy thinking about the apology I owed Susan over Jack’s intentions with Robo that I would have missed the last part of what he said, except for the bitterness in his voice as he said it.

“Always? What kind of an edge? An edge on who?”

“On anyone, everyone. He was competitive and winning mattered to him. He didn’t do anything illegal, never really broke any rules, but he’d, oh... for instance, there was this one woman who showed her own dogs. Terrific dogs, and she had a bitch that was consistently beating the bitch Jack was showing. He found out this woman was sensitive about her weight, so while they were waiting to go in the ring he’d get close to her and talk to someone else and tell a fat joke. So she stopped winning so consistently. Once at a really big show, he talked to her directly and said how he liked the suit she’d worn at the last show so much — it made her look thinner. You know, as if what she had on that day didn’t. He thought it was funny, said it really made a difference. He won the class.”

“You’re not making him sound like a nice guy.”

“He was okay most of the time, more than that, generous even, but when his competitive instincts got going — well, look out.”

“So he started feeling competitive with you about the property division?”

Carl looked thoughtful for a moment, then nodded. “Yes. That’s a good way to put it.”

He couldn’t really tell me any more. I asked him to look at Susan’s list of people who knew Jack to see if he could add any names.

He reviewed the list and then surprised me by saying, “This looks pretty good to me. You not only have everyone I know who had problems with him in the last year or two, but you’ve even got them pretty much listed with the angriest first.”

So it seemed that after denying anyone had reason to be angry with Jack, Susan had given me the names I’d asked for.

I thanked Carl and left, thinking over what I’d learned as I drove west toward my next appointment. Maybe Carl didn’t think Jack’s competitive behavior defined him, but in the world of show dogs it would. Competition is what dog shows are all about.

Bear Creek Kennels, where Jack
kept his show dogs until his falling out with the owners, was southwest of Denver. I sailed across town on C-470 in less than twenty minutes. Even on days when traffic or construction made for slower going, Jack had probably considered the drive reasonable, and he didn’t have to keep office hours. He could have avoided rush hour traffic easily.

Susan and Carl both agreed that Jack’s parting with the kennel’s owner, Dorrie Stander, had been ugly. In our phone call, Dorrie had been sympathetic to my situation and more than willing to see me so long as I arrived before the kennel closed at six.

The kennel buildings were surrounded with a chainlink fence that would have done a maximum security prison proud. Evidently during business hours the fence had no security purpose because the gates across the paved driveway were wide open. No dogs or dog runs were in sight, and I heard no barking. I parked in a paved tree-lined lot in front of a large white building with bright green trim. Narrow strips of grass and low shrubs set off the entrance.

The reception room was clean and cheery with pale yellow walls and beige tile floors. Somewhat to my surprise, the scent was of floor wax, not dogs. The receptionist looked up from her paperwork, took my name, then picked up her phone.

I sat down in one of the blue plastic chairs along the wall and smiled at the older woman already waiting there holding an adorable long-haired dachshund in her arms. The woman smiled back shyly, but the little dog grinned without reserve, looking at me with bright curious eyes.