Doggie Day Care Murder (25 page)

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Authors: Laurien Berenson

BOOK: Doggie Day Care Murder
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Human or canine, Cole had a way with the ladies, all right.
“So you're stopping at Pine Ridge more often now,” I said. “What about the size of the deliveries? Has that changed or remained the same?”
“I guess about the same. It's not like I pay attention to what each customer gets. To me, all that matters is how many handcart trips it takes to unload. At Pine Ridge that's three, pretty much every time.”
“And yet you're stopping there more often,” I said slowly. I thought about Bailey, waylaying Cole in the parking lot and trying to stop the flood of supplies that she didn't have room for. “Which means you're actually delivering two or three times as much stuff as you were in the past.”
“I guess.” Cole shrugged again. “If you say so.”
Forget what I'd told Jason about the possibility that the delivery man was a PhD candidate. Cole had enough brain power to handle his current position, but there wasn't going to be much left over.
“And yet,” I said, thinking aloud, “the number of clients has dropped since Steve died.”
“You don't have to worry about that part,” said Cole.
I looked up. “I don't?”
“No. Steve and I talked about that once. Probably a year ago. He had this process built into his bookkeeping system to handle that kind of fluctuation. It was something he designed himself.”
“And he talked to
you
about it?” I asked, puzzled.
“Sure. Like I said, Steve was pretty easygoing. He got along with everyone and when he talked to you, it was almost like he was taking you into his confidence. He told people things, made them feel like they were part of what was going on.”
I had no idea where Cole was going with this, but I certainly wanted to find out. “And what were you part of?”
“No big deal. Steve just asked me to do him a favor once or twice and bring him some blank invoices from the store. He said it helped him out with the bookkeeping, you know? Like if there was an error or something, because he was expecting more dogs than they actually had, he could easily fix it himself. That way, all the numbers in the books always matched up.”
No big deal to Cole maybe, but it was to me. Because that piece of information gave me a pretty good idea how Steve Pine might have gotten himself killed.
25
I
left Byram and drove home where I dropped off Faith and picked up Sam and Kevin. Together, the three of us headed over to Davey's camp.
The Field Day had a round-robin format with several games being played at a time, and a call had gone out beforehand for parent volunteers to help out with the busy schedule. Sam and I had both signed up.
He served as referee for a couple of games while I handed out snacks and juice boxes during the breaks. Kevin, whose job was to sit in his stroller and enjoy the spectacle, shuttled back and forth between us like a baby commuter.
Davey and Joey, Alice's son, had been assigned to the same team. Both were playing defense; Davey at center halfback and Joey in the goal. Since Alice was stuck at work, I was also manning the video camera, recording the day's events so that she could enjoy the replays later that night.
Juggling tasks like the experienced mom I was, I also found time to make a quick phone call to Pine Ridge.
“You and I need to talk,” I told Candy when she came on the line.
“That sounds serious.”
“It is.”
“Go ahead.”
“Not over the phone,” I said. “There are still some details I have to work out. And there's stuff I need your help with. I want to do it in person.”
A raucous cheer went up. Somebody's team had scored a goal. All around me, parents were jumping up and down, screaming. Even Kevin was waving his hands in the air. I had to wait for the tumult to die down before I could hear what Candy was saying.
“What's all that yelling?” she asked. “Where are you?”
“Soccer game. It's Field Day at Davey's camp.”
“When does it end?”
“Four o'clock, give or take.”
“See you then,” she said and hung up.
Davey and Joey's team won their first two games, then lost the third. Since the defeat had come at the hands of boys who were two grades ahead of them in school, neither was unduly upset by the loss.
Last game of the day pitted the kids against their parents. Sam played the first half, I went in for the second. If it wasn't for a last minute block by my own son that didn't look strictly legal to me, I would have scored a goal. The game went down to the wire, and the kids beat us in overtime.
When we got back to the house, I grabbed a quick shower, then explained to Sam that I had to go out again.
“Let me guess,” he said, cocking a brow. “Pine Ridge?”
I nodded. “I'm meeting Candy there. I think I've finally figured out what's going on. I just need a few more answers, and then I'll take everything to the police and let them work on it.”
“Sounds like a plan,” said Sam. “Be careful.”
“You know I will.”
Candy was waiting for me when I arrived. In fact, she was pacing back and forth in the grassy area between the front office building and the Dog House.
Winston was outside with her. The plump Welsh Corgi had more sense than to stride up and down in the sun, however. Instead, he was flopped down under a nearby tree with his muzzle nestled between his front paws. Only the Corgi's eyes were moving as he kept tabs on her progress from his comfortable spot in the shade.
“I thought you said four o'clock,” Candy snapped as I approached.
“That's when the event ended. Then I had to go home and change.”
It was closer to five now. But anxious as I was to try to fit together the last pieces of the puzzle, I wasn't about to let Candy bully me. Solving Steve's murder was important to me, but not nearly as important as my family.
“Would you rather we do this tomorrow?” I asked mildly.
“No, of course not. You're here now, let's get on with it. Tell me what you've found out.”
“For one thing, I've been told that there are some irregularities in your bookkeeping.”
Candy stopped pacing and spun around to face me.
“Bookkeeping?” She sounded incredulous. “That's what you wanted to talk to me about?”
“For starters.”
“Who cares about that? I thought you were going to tell me who killed my brother.”
“I'm getting there. And the trail starts—or maybe ends—with your books.”
“What do you mean?”
“I'm pretty sure that Steve was keeping two sets of records.”
“No.” The denial was quick and automatic. Candy didn't even stop to think. “That doesn't make any sense. Why would he do that?”
“I was hoping you could tell me.”
“Tell you what? I don't even know what you're talking about.”
“Maybe I should back up,” I said.
“Feel free,” Candy muttered.
She walked over and sat down on the bench. Even in repose, she still hummed with nervous energy. Winston watched her take a seat but made no move to join her on the bench.
Taking my cue from the Corgi, I remained standing. “Earlier today, I went over to Byram and had a chat with Cole Demarkian. You know, the guy who makes the deliveries for Byram Pet Supply?”
“I know who Cole is,” Candy said shortly. “Why would you want to talk to him?”
“Because for one thing, he's making a lot more deliveries to Pine Ridge now than he used to before Steve died.”
“How do you know that?”
“He told me so this morning.”
“And I'm supposed to think that matters?”
“Yes,” I said emphatically. “I'm pretty sure it does. Remember yesterday when Cole was here and Bailey was complaining that she had so many new grooming supplies that she didn't even have enough room to store them all?”
“Crap,” Candy said with a frown. “What are you, omniscient? How do you even know about this stuff?”
“I was here, remember? We'd just been talking in your office and when I was leaving I ran into Bailey and Jason outside.”
“Jason? He's just a kid. Summer help. How could he possibly know anything?”
“You'd be surprised,” I said.
Candy stared up at me, lifting a hand to shade her eyes from the slanting sun. The look on her face was equal parts frustration and annoyance.
“Let me tell you what I remember from yesterday. I told you I was innocent and you told me you'd help me prove it. And now you're saying that all you've done is discover there's some sort of problem with the books?”
“Not just some sort of problem,” I said firmly. “Something potentially big enough to lead to murder.”
“How?”
I walked over and joined her on the bench. “Who's been doing the books since Steve died?”
“I have . . . after a fashion. Numbers aren't my strong suit. Anything that resembles actual accounting is a nightmare as far as I'm concerned. Basically all I've been doing is keeping up with the payroll and the purchasing, and then paying the bills when they come in.”
“So you haven't made any changes to what Steve set up?”
“Heck no, why would I do that? Just looking at those columns of numbers is confusing enough. It's not like I'm going to jump in and try to improvise. I figure Steve must have had a system that worked, so why mess with it?”
The door to the Dog House opened and a staff member came out leading a matching pair of Bulldogs. While Candy and I had been speaking, there'd been a steady one-way stream of dogs on the walkway between the two buildings. Clients were arriving at the front office to pick up their pets. Pine Ridge was getting ready to close for the day.
“Eventually I'll have to hire someone who can sort the whole thing out,” said Candy. “But in the meantime, I didn't see any reason why we couldn't just muddle along for a month or two.”
“So if there was something unusual going on in the accounting—maybe some numbers that didn't add up in purchasing and accounts payable—you probably wouldn't have noticed?”
Candy shook her head. “Trust me, there could be a great big picture of Brad Pitt wearing nothing but a smile sitting in the middle of those files and I wouldn't have noticed. That's how little time I've spent in there. I just get in, find what I need to know, and get out.”
Candy's reticence to deal with numbers certainly explained how Steve had been able to get away with what I suspected he'd been up to. As long as he was the sole person with access to the ledger, there'd be no one to complain about figures that didn't always make sense.
“Another question. How do you decide how much stuff you need to order? You know, dog food, grooming supplies, whatever.”
“That's easy.” Candy looked relieved that I'd finally asked her something she knew the answer to. “That stuff's all in Steve's computer too. I just looked back over the invoices for the last couple of months, saw what he was doing, and kept it up.”
Easy for Candy, perhaps. And maybe even logical. But I was pretty sure that that system had had the effect of flooding Pine Ridge with unneeded supplies.
“Would you mind if I went into Steve's computer and had a look for myself?” I asked.
Candy thought for a minute before answering. “You won't erase anything?”
I shook my head.
“Or make any changes to stuff that's in there?”
“Definitely not. I just want to have a look at some of the company accounting and see whether everything adds up the way it's supposed to.”
“I guess that's all right,” said Candy. “On one condition.”
“What's that?”
“When you get finished snooping around my brother's files, will you go back to trying to figure out who killed him?”
I stared at her, perplexed. That was exactly what I
was
doing. How could Candy not see that?
I'd run across people before who had a mental block about math. My sister-in-law, Bertie, was one of them. But the information I needed wasn't so much about the numbers themselves as it was about the internal logic of how money was being distributed within the business. Maybe if I found what I was looking for and then laid everything out in front of Candy in very simple steps, she'd be able to understand.
“Well?” she prompted, and I realized she'd mistaken my silence for hesitation.
“It's a deal,” I replied. “Your brother's computer—is it password protected?”
“Of course. Steve was very careful about things like that. I guess I have to give that to you, huh?”
“Either that or come inside and sign me in yourself.”
Candy looked down at her watch. “No, I'm already running late. I have a few more things to finish up and then I'm gone for the day. I'm assuming you don't mind if I don't sit and hold your hand while you go on this fishing expedition?”
There it was again, Candy's total disbelief that the files could reveal anything of importance. She must have trusted her brother and the way he was managing their accounts implicitly. Unfortunately, I suspected I was going to be destroying that illusion.
“No, that's fine. In fact, I work better when things are quiet. Password?”
Candy rose from the bench and headed toward the back of the office building. She waggled her fingers at Winston and the Corgi hopped up and scampered along. He and I fell into step beside her.
“It's Nathan,” she said.
“Like the dog?” I asked, surprised.
“Yeah.” Pulling open the door, she smiled sadly. “Funny choice, huh? Steve had a real soft spot for that old Dachshund. He once said he thought that dog would outlive us all. Too bad he turned out to be half right.”
Candy and I walked down the hallway together. The door to her office stood open. The door to Steve's was closed. When I hesitated in front of it, she reached around me, turned the knob, and pushed it open.
“There you go,” she said, flipping on a light switch just inside the door. “Computer's on the desk, file cabinet's over by the closet. Knock yourself out.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I will.”
I sat down in Steve's leather chair, rolled it closer to the desk, and got my bearings. The last time I'd seen Steve's office there'd been stacks of paperwork on the desk's surface. In the interim, all that had disappeared. As had the dead plant in the corner of the room. Obviously, Candy had gotten around to hiring a cleaning service to put the room back together.
As the computer powered up, I heard a hum of voices from the reception area, punctuated by the occasional happy bark. Madison was greeting returning clients and checking dogs out for the day. Things were wrapping up out front. Pretty soon the place would be empty. Too bad it hadn't occurred to me to bring Faith along for company.

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