Seed No Evil (6 page)

“Did you buy anything? Have any receipts?” Marco asked.

“No, I looked but didn't buy,” she said.

So far, she had no proof of her alibi. “Did you see anyone you know?” I asked.

Stacy thought for a moment, then shook her head. “No one. That's not to say someone I know didn't see me, if it comes down to needing to provide an alibi, but why should it? I have no reason to want to harm my sister. I loved her. We were best friends.”

“I understand,” Marco said. “What time did you get home from the mall?”

“I didn't go home before the meeting. I stopped to grab a burger and went straight to the town hall.”

I finished writing it down, then glanced at my watch. Marco caught the movement. “Just a few more questions,” he said. “Did your sister have any enemies?”

Stacy laughed. “She was a politician. What do you think?”

“Are the enemies you're referring to political opponents?” Marco asked, and at Stacy's nod, he said, “What about more specific enemies? Someone who might have threatened her. Someone who she might have mentioned was giving her a hard time. Anyone like that come to mind?”

“Yes,” Stacy said instantly. “Dayton Blaine and Emma Hardy.”

I noted their names, then asked, “Do you think either one could have been a serious threat to her well-being?”

“There's been a great deal of animosity between Dayton and my sister for a few months now, and just lately there's been the same between Emma and Bev.”

“Animosity doesn't necessarily equate to a threat to a person's well-being,” I said.

“Animosity may not be the right word,” Stacy said. “According to what Bev told me, Dayton Blaine has been blindsiding her on everything she wanted to do at PAR. I actually thought they were going to come to blows at one meeting. As for Emma, for the past week all I've been hearing about was how my sister was ready to fire her because of what Bev termed ‘Emma's outrageous audacity.'”

“Audacity about what?” I asked.

“I don't know. She didn't share it with me.”

“Do you think there was strong enough animosity between your sister and those two women for us to consider them potential murder suspects?” Marco asked.

Stacy toyed with a pen on her desk, her gaze averted. “Yes,” she said slowly.

“You don't seem certain,” Marco said.

At that, her gaze sharpened angrily. “I'm certain each of them had it in for my sister.”

“Then what you're suggesting,” Marco said, “is that a young woman just a couple of years out of college or an older woman who's an icon in New Chapel may be a murderer. Am I stating that right?”

Stacy again averted her eyes. “Maybe murder is too strong a word.”

“In what respect?” Marco asked.

“Pulling on a cord to open a doggy door isn't like pointing a gun and squeezing a trigger,” she said. “Maybe the intent was to scare Bev instead of kill her.”

Boy, was she backpedaling. I was about to mention that to her, but Marco, levelheaded as always, took over.

“Would you explain how the cords on the cages work?” he asked.

“There is a cord on the outside of each cage that operates a doggy door cut into the back wall,” Stacy explained. “Pulling on the cord opens the door so the animal can get out into the exercise pen.”

“Is that the only way the doors can be operated?” Marco asked, as I scribbled notes.

“There are handles on the outside of the doors, too,” Stacy said. “In cases where an animal gets overexcited, the staff can access its cage from the exercise pen.”

“In your sister's case,” Marco said, “how do you know that the dogs were released by pulling the cords? Couldn't they have also been released from inside the exercise pen?”

“Well, yes,” Stacy said, “but who would be reckless enough to do that?”

I could tell by the way Marco shifted forward in his chair that he was getting ready to make an important point.

“Then whoever pulled that cord,” he said, “had to get your sister inside the pen and somehow prevent her from escaping before releasing a pair of vicious dogs. No one would view that as an act that was meant to merely scare. I can't say for certain, but the police may even call it premeditated murder.”

I knew Marco's intent was to rattle Stacy, and it did indeed seem to have that effect. Her eyes widened and her lips formed each syllable of the word
premeditated
as though the idea astonished her. Then, as though she were grasping at straws, she said in a more hopeful voice, “So you're saying Bev was killed by a professional?”

“No,” Marco said. “This was definitely not an experienced killer. In fact, it was extremely amateurish. The plan wasn't well thought out at all. What if someone had heard your sister's cries? What if she hadn't fallen from the fence? She might have been safe until help arrived.”

Stacy suddenly burst into tears and covered her face. “She wouldn't have been able to stay on the fence. Those dogs jump high. They”—she sobbed harder—“pulled her down.”

Why wasn't I moved by her outburst? Fake, perhaps?

S
tacy pulled several tissues from the box and said through her sniffles, “It's hard to believe Bev was despised that much.”

“Considering what I've said about how your sister died,” Marco said, “do you still think Dayton Blaine and Emma Hardy should be suspects?”

Stacy nodded almost too eagerly this time, using a tissue to wipe her nose.

“Why is the gate on the pen padlocked?” Marco asked.

Stacy turned to drop her tissues in a waste can behind her desk. “We had a problem with neighborhood kids opening the pen when the dogs were out. The padlock took care of it.”

“Who holds keys to the shelter?” Marco asked.

“Besides the staff and me, it would be Bev, Dayton, Emma, and the volunteers who come in after hours, so”—she paused to add them up—“that would be eighteen people.”

“That's a lot of keys,” I said.

“We all work for the animals' welfare,” Stacy said. “There was never a reason not to give a trusted employee a key, and the volunteers have been screened.”

“Has Dayton been screened?” Marco asked.

Stacy laughed sarcastically. “Dayton Blaine, from
the Blaines
? Of course not.”

“Why does the PAR chairman need a key?” Marco asked.

“Ask her,” Stacy said.

“And Emma Hardy?”

“She's PAR's development director,” Stacy said, looking at her watch. “She comes here in the evenings sometimes to work on our computers. She's our Web developer. She set up our Internet Web site and does marketing for both the shelter and for PAR.”

“Is there any truth to the rumor that there's a move under way to change this shelter's no-kill policy?” I asked. I felt Marco's gaze on me, so I gave him a glance to let him know I would make it quick.

Stacy looked away. “It's being considered.”

“How seriously?” I asked.

“The board of directors is scheduled to vote on it at the next meeting. If they approve, we're ready to implement it.”

“In other words, you're prepared to start euthanizing,” I said, the thought nauseating me.

Wordlessly, she looked at me. Thank God there was still time to organize a protest.

“Who's pushing for this change?” I asked.

Marco cleared his throat, impatient to move forward.

“The board of directors,” Stacy said.

“Was your sister in favor of it?” I asked.

“No,” Stacy said, glancing at her watch.

“I noticed your dog photos back there,” I said. “You strike me as an animal lover. Surely you can't be in favor of euthanasia.”

Stacy lifted her chin, a sure sign of defiance. “I'll do whatever is fiscally best for the shelter. Our goal is to keep it running so we can help as many animals as possible.”

“
Help,
as in putting healthy animals down?” I asked, and felt Marco give me a nudge.

With a scowl, Stacy pushed her pen aside, clearly uncomfortable with my questions. “Yes, if that's what it takes. Now I really need to leave.”

“Can you think of anything else we need to know to investigate your sister's death?” Marco asked.

“Yes,” she said without hesitation. “Don't let Dayton Blaine's money and influence in this town deter you from asking tough questions. Same with Emma Hardy's innocent act. She's not, believe me.” Stacy thought for a moment. “That's it.”

“Here's my business card,” Marco said. “Please call if you think of anything else.”

Stacy put his card on her desk. “I will. Thanks.”

“And thank you for your candid answers,” Marco said. “We'd like to talk to the two workers in the back next, and if it's possible, get a look at the dog ward.”

Stacy rose. “I'll take you there.”

As we followed her up the hallway, Marco said to me quietly, “Do me a favor. Stick to the subject this time.”

I didn't have time to reply, so I just gave him a scowl. Stacy stopped in front of a warped wooden door with a window in it, tapped on the glass, then waved someone over.

“Brian can show you around,” she said, opening the door to barking dogs and the strong smell of animal fur, Lysol, dog food, and urine.

We stepped into a room crammed with cages—large cages standing alone, small cages stacked on top of one another. Every cage housed at least one dog, depending on its size, and they all wanted to sniff us. It appeared as though the area had once been two classrooms with walls removed between them. Judging by the number of dogs contained in the room, they could have used a space double or triple that size, and I immediately felt sorry for the cramped animals.

Stacy introduced Brian, a young man with thick, curly black hair, thin sideburns, black-rimmed glasses, and an honest face. He had on a green T-shirt with the PAR logo and worn blue jeans with sneakers. He didn't shake our hands because he said he'd been working with the dogs and didn't want to get us dirty.

“Answer any questions they have,” Stacy directed, and saying a quick good-bye, shut the door behind her. I had the feeling she couldn't get away fast enough.

“Where are the pens that the two dangerous dogs were in?” Marco asked.

“You mean
are
in,” Brian corrected. “We still have them. We're a no-kill shelter, at least for now.”

“You still have the dogs?” I asked.

Brian pointed to the end of the row. “We're not supposed to let anyone near them. They're quarantined.”

“Are they that dangerous?”

“They're just highly excitable,” Brian explained. “It doesn't take much to rile them.”

“Were they used as fighting dogs?” Marco asked.

“I'm guessing they were guard dogs,” Brian answered. “We found them tied to the front door handle one morning, poor guys. We were hoping to rehabilitate them and adopt them out, but that's all in question now. I guess a judge has to decide or something.”

“Would you explain how a dog gets into the exercise pen?” Marco asked.

“See the cord here?” He pointed to the end of a white cord visible at the top of the cage. “As you pull it, the door in the back lifts. It's just like raising a shade. You pull the cord until it catches, then tie it around this wing nut.”

“Looks kind of haphazard,” I said.

“Yeah,” Brian said, scratching his head. “Kind of how this whole shelter is. I mean, it was designed as a school. We've had to jury-rig a lot of it. There's always talk of finding a better space, but so far that's all it's been. Talk. I'm just hoping they keep it a no-kill shelter.”

“Why do you say that?” Marco asked.

He put his hand to one side of his mouth to whisper, “Certain people want to change the policy.”

“Who would that be?” I asked.

Brian shrugged one shoulder. “I can't say. It's my job, you know?”

“Is it your boss?” I asked.

At that, Brian's face stiffened. “I really don't want to say.”

“Who has access to this room?” Marco asked.

“Anyone with keys to the shelter,” Brian said.

“Who has access to the exercise pen?” Marco asked.

“Anyone in the building, if they know where to find the key,” Brian said.

“Tell me where to look,” Marco said.

“Down at the end of the main hallway, there's a door that takes you outside and straight into the pen,” Brian explained. “Beside the door are two keys hanging from a nail. One works the lock on the door, and the other works the padlock on the outside gate into the pen.”

“Does the door automatically close behind anyone entering the pen?” Marco asked.

“No. It has to be locked from the inside,” Brian replied.

“Does everyone with access to the shelter know about those keys?” Marco asked.

“Yep,” Brian said. “A tour of the facility is part of the two-hour training class.”

“Are those the only keys to the pen and gate?” Marco asked.

“There's another set in Stacy's office,” Brian said.

“Did you go home after you left work yesterday?” Marco asked.

“Straight home. My wife can verify that.”

“Who usually cares for the dogs?” I asked, craning my neck to get a look at the red-zone dogs. I saw two mostly black German shepherds, both beautiful animals.

“That's my job,” Brian said, pointing to his chest. “When I'm sick, Carol can do it, but she's really better with the cats.”

“So it's just you two caring for all these animals?” Marco asked.

“For the time being at least. That's all PAR can afford.”

“Why don't they use more volunteers?” I asked.

“We used to, but then Stacy decided there were too many people who came only to play with the kittens and puppies and didn't want to do any work.” He shrugged. “It is what it is, I guess. Carol and I do the best we can. All I can say is thank God this is a small shelter.”

“Okay. Thanks, Brian,” Marco said. “You've been a big help. Would you take us to Carol?”

We were led to a room that was identical to the first, except that it was on the front side of the building and there were more cages, though they were smaller. At the back were two large pens that housed the kittens, and it was all I could do not to open one and climb in, but I knew I'd probably end up going home with an armful, and Nikki's cat, Simon, would definitely not welcome the company.

Carol was a small woman in her midthirties with brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, no makeup, the same green T-shirt that the other staffers wore, with black jeans and sneakers. She answered the same basic questions we'd asked Brian with the same responses, prompting me to write “Ditto Brian” in Marco's notepad.

Our next stop was the reception desk, where we asked the Friendly Sisters if anyone could verify their whereabouts after they'd gone home for the evening. Both gave their husbands' names and acted highly indignant about being questioned. Marco didn't bother asking them anything else.

“So what did we learn?” he asked on our ride back to Bloomers.

“That I need to call my mom so she can organize a protest march and that I'm going to need to eat something when I get back. Other than that, let me get out the notes.”

“A protest march because of the euthanizing?”

“You bet. We've got to stop that from happening.”

“Sunshine, let your mom worry about that. We've got a wedding coming up, remember?”

“You're right. I'm sure Mom can handle it without me.”

“What did you think of Stacy?”

“Too early to make a judgment call, but off the top of my head, it seemed odd that she was so dry-eyed after just losing her beloved sister-slash-best-friend. Also odd was that she didn't know what Dayton had done to make Bev so angry and why Bev wanted to fire Emma. I mean, if Bev ranted about Emma in front of her, you'd think she'd tell her why. And wasn't Stacy quick to name Emma and Dayton Blaine as suspects? Exceedingly quick?”

“But you're not ready to make a judgment call?” Marco teased.

“Ha. You caught me. Okay, I'd call her a viable suspect. Stacy has no proof of her alibi, just her word that she went to the mall.”

“What's your gut feeling about her?”

“I don't trust her. I don't think she's being up-front with us.”

“About what specifically?”

“First, about her sister being her best friend. If they were close, Stacy would be red-eyed and crying at the mere mention of her sister's tragic death. Instead, she grimaced twice. It wasn't until she described the gruesome detail that did her sister in that she showed any emotion, and I'm still not sure that was real.

“Second, she basically called Dayton Blaine and Emma Hardy killers, then backpedaled, like she was trying to find a way to soften her accusation. And would she really come into work the day after her sister died? Shouldn't she be calling family or making funeral arrangements or something?

“Then there was her defensiveness when I asked about the change in shelter policy. That woman loves animals. Did you see how she was cuddling that puppy when she first came up to the front counter? I'll bet she keeps the dog in the cage beside her desk while she's in the office. And she had several photos of her with two big dogs. That's not a woman who would push for a kill shelter. So why did she lie about it?”

“Good,” Marco said. “Then we're on the same page.”

I loved being on Marco's page. “Who's our next interviewee?”

“Dayton Blaine, if I can pin her down.”

“Doesn't she work for the Blaine family business? Can't we find her there?”

“She's a member of the board there. I don't think either she or her siblings work, per se. The problem is that she serves on many boards, so she's always on the go.”

“If you can get her on the phone, you can pin her down, Marco. You know how to use your charm.”