Collared For Murder (12 page)

Fourteen

A
s much as that pound cake was calling my name, I didn’t think I could stand much more of the odd company and fraught atmosphere, so I asked for my check and scooted out of the Red, White & Bleu as soon as I’d swallowed the last of my mac and cheese.

After that awkward lunch, I decided that I was so close to home it would almost be a crime not to stop by the store to check in on Wanda and maybe take poor, neglected Packer for a walk. It would be good for Wanda, good for the dog, and good for me.

When I walked in, I found Wanda actually helping a customer—a woman with a rat terrier on a leash, who seemed to be interested in purchasing him a trench coat. Because the coats were made to order,
Wanda was kneeling on the ground, trying to take the wiggly dog’s measurements.

“Hi,” I said, extending a hand to the dog owner. “I’m Izzy McHale. I’m the owner.”

The woman smiled and took my hand. “So nice to meet you! I love your store.”

“Thanks.”

Wanda had hooked our jerry-rigged tape measure to the dog’s collar and was stretching it down his back, trying to keep it straight down his spine.

“I’m Sandra Lowe.” She tugged gently on the terrier’s leash. “Savage, here, and I just moved to town from Detroit. Well, and we brought my husband and youngest daughter, too.”

“Detroit? My gracious, that’s a long way. What brings you to Merryville?”

“Retirement.”

“Really?”

“I know,” she said with a laugh. “Our friends all think we’re crazy, moving north instead of south. But my husband, Jesse, and I are avid outdoorsmen. We like to cross-country ski, snowmobile, hunt, fish, hike . . . you name it. Minnesota is like paradise. We were all set to move into one of the units at The Woods at Badger Lake, but Mr. Olson let us know a couple of months ago that there was a slight delay in getting the units move-in ready. We decided we didn’t want to
wait until next spring, so we rented a place just outside of town and here we are!”

Dear heavens. A couple of months ago? Hal Olson, our mayor and the man who founded The Woods at Badger Lake, had known since April that the whole project was on hold and might not ever get started again. Yet he hadn’t told these investors—these
buyers
—that there was even a delay until a couple of months ago? That was nuts.

“So you already bought a condo?”

“Oh, yes. We came out last summer to see the site and fell in love with the lake. And Merryville. We bought unit number one!”

Last summer. Hal Olson hadn’t even owned the land for the development the summer before. He hadn’t bought it until October. If he was showing people the property before he owned it and selling condos that weren’t built, he was definitely putting the cart before the horse. But, of course, he’d probably needed those first few condo sales in order to pay the contractors who were doing the work. . . . I was no business wiz, but the whole situation seemed pretty sketchy to me.

“Have you been out to see the unit since you got to town?” I asked carefully.

“No, not yet.” Sandra frowned. “We’ve touched base with Hal a couple of times, but he’s so busy with being mayor and all, it’s been hard to pin him down.”

Yeah. Busy being mayor. I was certain that wasn’t the only reason Hal was ducking the Lowes’ calls. He couldn’t very well drive them out to the site by the lake and let them see the piles of wood and rebar sitting idly in the sun. But it wasn’t my place to let this woman know that her future home was currently an abandoned construction site.

“And now I read in the
Merryville Gazette
that Hal’s wife, Pris, may be in some sort of legal trouble. Something about a theft and a murder? We met Pris when we came to visit last summer, and it just doesn’t seem possible that she could be involved with anything so . . . so criminal.”

“We’re all hoping that matter gets cleared up soon,” I said.

“You’re a local. Is there anything we should be concerned about?”

They ought to be concerned about the fact that they’d picked up their lives and moved three states over relying on a condo that might never be built. But, again, I couldn’t bring myself to tell Sandra that.

“I promise the trouble with Pris is nothing to be concerned about,” I hedged.

“I should certainly hope so. I don’t want to sound selfish, but we’d really like to see our condo, and I don’t imagine we’ll be able to pull Hal from his wife’s side while she’s in this predicament.”

Funny thing was, while Pris was in this
predicament, Hal seemed perfectly content to keep his distance.

“How old’s your daughter?” I asked, trying to steer the conversation away from The Woods at Badger Lake.

“Krista will be a senior in the fall. She’s not happy with us for moving her away from her high school before her very last year,” Sandra confessed.

“Wanda here will be a senior this fall, too. Maybe she can take your Krista under her wing.”

Wanda cast me a sidelong glare before smiling up at Sandra. “Happy to do it!”

I didn’t exactly follow the social machinations at Merryville High, but I knew enough to know that Wanda was one of the popular kids. She had long hair, brown at the roots and much lighter at the ends. Lucy said the coloring technique was called “ombré,” just like the fabric-dyeing technique, and assured me it was very expensive. Wanda had hinted that she’d taken the job at Trendy Tails only to keep her hair in the latest style and to have plenty of money for those few luxuries her parents wouldn’t splurge on.

No matter how great Sandra’s daughter was, I’d basically asked Wanda to take on a charity case, and I knew I’d be paying for it somehow.

While Wanda finished taking Savage’s measurements, I wished Sandra every happiness in Merryville and then dashed up the stairs to retrieve Packer from his kennel. I was on my way down the back stairs, so
as to avoid any potential confrontation between Savage and Packer, when Ingrid popped out onto the second-floor landing.

“I was talking to Rena,” Ingrid said, “and she filled me in a little more on your predicament. You know, you used to confide everything in me,” she chided.

I wrapped her in a quick hug. “I wasn’t trying to keep anything from you. It’s just all so complicated, and you have a lot on your plate right now.”

“I may have cancer, but I’m not an invalid yet. Rena told me that that man, Phillip Denford? Is that his name?” I nodded. “She said that he was threatening your business. I hope all that’s cleared up now that he’s dead, but if you’re still in trouble, I’m here to help.”

“You’ve already helped me more than I could have ever expected, Ingrid.”

“You don’t expect enough. Like I said, I think of you like my own child. If Trendy Tails goes under—and I’m not saying it will, because I know you run a good business here—but if it does, your aunt Dolly and I want to go halvsies on setting you up in a new business. I know it wouldn’t be as fun as making clothes for the cats and dogs. You have a real knack for that. But you also have the talent to make clothes for people. Rena told me about the Swag and Wags idea of selling matching pet/owner clothing, and I think it’s a splendid idea. But if that twist isn’t enough
to keep the pet boutique open, we’re willing to finance a new boutique for you, a fresh start where you can sell whatever you want to sell. If it comes to that. Which it won’t.”

I stood there speechless, so deeply moved that my mentor and my aunt would conspire to develop a backup plan for me.

“You’d just have to promise me you’ll keep Rena on board. Because I like that girl. I don’t care what all those stuffy ladies at Methodist Ladies’ Auxiliary say about her.”

A bubble of laughter escaped my lips. “I like that girl, too. She’s not going anywhere. And neither is Trendy Tails. Or Swag and Wags, if we go that route. I don’t know how far Phillip had gotten in his plans to run me out of business. I don’t know whether the people who operate his business or his heirs even know about the plan, much less whether they’re going to carry through with it, but I know that I won’t let them succeed.”

“Good for you.”

“But, Ingrid?”

“Yes, dear?”

“You are the greatest friend a girl could have—you know that? I don’t know where I’d be without you. I don’t know how I’m going to keep pushing forward without you here to help me.”

It was her turn to embrace me. “Izzy, I haven’t helped
you. I’ve just given you the occasional opportunity. You’ve taken every one and turned it into a success by your own hard work and smarts.”

She patted me on the back, good solid thumps that reminded me of what a strong woman she was. I wanted to be strong to honor her, so I pushed down even the hint of tears before I stepped away and led Packer out the back door.

But all the while I stayed strong on the inside, my heart melted at the joy of knowing true generosity.

*   *   *

It was a beautiful day for a walk. A front was moving in, promising rain and possibly storms to come, but that day the weather was a balmy seventy-eight degrees. The sky glowed the blue of shallow Caribbean waters with lacy swaths of clouds pushed by a gentle breeze. It was about as good as it got for Minnesota in August.

Packer and I picked our way through the alley behind Trendy Tails, making our way past the backs of the Greene Brigade, Joe Time, Taffy’s Happy Leaf, and Red, White & Bleu before emerging on the street. As usual, Packer had to stop and sniff everything in sight.

Packer had originally belonged to my fiancé, Casey Alter. Casey had named the pooch after his favorite football team and swore he’d take care of the dog. But, alas, as a medical resident, Casey didn’t have the time
to devote to such an energetic beastie, so I was the primary caregiver for our little Packer. When Casey ran off to New York with his former mistress and new love, he couldn’t take Packer with him. The new girl, Rachel, didn’t like Packer because he sneezed and snuffled and sometimes drooled a little. By that point, I’d bonded with the little fella enough that I was relieved when Casey asked me to keep him.

But Rachel was right that Packer was a handful.

As we walked past the back of Richard Greene’s military memorabilia shop, Packer pulled me to the left so he could sniff all around the bricks and trash cans for any scent of Richard’s dog. Then he found a little lump of unidentifiable stuff, and I had to tug him hard to keep him from playing with it. Finally, as we reached the end of the alley, he was assailed by the smell of baked goods emanating from my friend Taffy’s tea shop and the rich smells wafting through the kitchen door of Red, White & Bleu.

He stood there, backside waggling in doggy bliss but totally unable to decide which direction offered the best chance at goodies. He’d start for Red, White & Bleu, then stop, turn in place three times, and start to trip over his tangled leash to get to the back door of Taffy’s Happy Leaf.

Finally, I gave in and fished one of Rena’s homemade dog biscuits out of my jeans pocket and offered it to Packer, using it like a carrot, held just out of
reach, to lure him out of the alley. Then I dropped to one knee and let him eat the biscuit from my hand. In Packer’s world, smells are nice, but food is better. He crunched and gulped and the biscuit was gone in a flash.

We walked the couple of blocks to Dakota Park at a good, brisk clip, in part so I could get back to the show to relieve Rena and in part to burn off a little of my mac-and-cheese lunch.

Dakota Park was the social hub of Merryville. It was surrounded on all sides by residential neighborhoods, businesses, the courthouse, and a church. The park itself boasted a big playground, an area with picnic tables, and a gazebo-like band shell. It played host to the annual Halloween Howl, a Holiday Winterfest, a Spring Fling, and, of course, the annual fireworks display on the Fourth of July. Between these major events, the park constantly hummed with children and dogs and spirited conversation.

I took Packer to his favorite spot, a bench by the playground, and was pleasantly surprised to find Ama Olmstead there with her son, Jordan. He was a beautiful boy, with deep brown hair, chocolate-drop eyes, and rosy cherub cheeks. As an added bonus, he and Packer got along great.

“Izzy! Good to see you.”

“Hi, Ama. Enjoying the weather?”

“It’s one of the best things about working from
home. I can keep my own hours, and when a lovely, sunny day rolls around, Jordan and I can take full advantage.”

“How’s work at the paper?”

“Well, you know. Print journalism is a tough business these days. I think we actually have it better in the small towns. Our local news doesn’t get picked up on the local network affiliates as often, so if you want to know what’s happening in Merryville, you pretty much have to read the
Gazette
. The problem we’re facing is shifting to an online format, which people are demanding, and still keeping them paying for content. People want their news on a screen, but when they see it there, it doesn’t seem as valuable.”

“Huh.”

She laughed. “Short answer, everything’s fine.”

For a few moments we watched as Jordan greeted Packer, wrapping his chubby little arms around the dog’s neck, Packer twisting and leaping in the boy’s grip, obviously delighted with his company. When Packer took a couple of steps backward, Jordan rocked up onto his knees, his bum in the air, and giggled with glee.

“How about you?” Ama asked. “You, um, dealing okay with Phillip Denford’s murder?”

I narrowed my eyes at her. “Fine. Why do you ask?”

“I hear things,” she said with a shrug. “I know the
police talked to you. That they may not be
done
talking to you.”

My heart sank. Ama was a reporter. If she’d heard that the police considered me anything close to a suspect in Phillip’s death, I was in terrible trouble.

“Don’t worry,” she said as though she read my mind. “I owe you big. If the police take formal action, I’ll have to report on it. After all, if I don’t, someone else will . . . someone who may not be quite so interested in your side of the story. But as long as it was just that one meeting with Gil, mum’s the word.”

“Thank you.” Once again, I was overwhelmed at the generosity of the people in my life. I was still on thin ice with the law, but I felt like I found support everywhere I turned.