Family Matters (20 page)

“Great, then.
I’ll give her a call and see if we can come to an agreement. Thanks a lot.” Gracie was out the door in a flash, the little bell on the door jingling happily as it closed.

Although kennel reservations were down, Marian was doing a brisk business on the grooming side. There were two Golden Retrievers, each waiting for a summer haircut when Gracie returned to Milky Way. Marian was finishing up a Dalmatian that had clogged anal glands. The putrid smell hit Gracie as she went by the grooming room.

“Better you than me today,” Gracie cheerfully called out.

“Thanks. You get the next dog that needs this done
,” Marian retorted.

Cheryl was manning the reception area, and Jim was working on the fence for the agility course.

“Seems like all is well today,” Gracie said as she took a look at the messages waiting for her. There was nothing from Marc, but James Johnson, an insurance investigator, had called. She’d need to call him back soon.

“Pretty quiet, but the work is steady,” Cheryl answered. “Jim and I got the runs done in short order this morning, and poor Marian has been busier than a one-armed paper-hanger with grooming appointments. After these two hairy beasts, there
are three more coming in.”

“Good, at least we’re bringing in some money. Did you get a chance to print off those coupons?”

“Got ‘em right here.” Cheryl handed her a sheet with the current special of twenty percent off a week’s stay.

“They look good. Make sure everybody gets a couple when they come in.”

“Right. Oh, Stinky went home about a half hour ago. The owner’s sister picked him up.”

“Good. Did you let her know about the medication they need to pick up at the clinic?”

“Sure did. And I gave her the two pills the vet gave us. Looks like everything is OK with them. No blame, and she actually said to thank you for taking Stinky to the vet so early today.”

“
I hope we get some good PR out of that. He’s such a good little dog. The medication should keep the seizures under control.”

“He was perky and full of it when he left, so the sister could tell he got good care while he was here.” Cheryl hesitated and cleared her throat. “Uh, Gracie, before you start returning calls, could I talk to you about an idea that might help the kennel?
” Cheryl was chewing the end of a pencil and looked anxious.

“Sure. I’m open to any advice right now. What’s the idea?”

“I was thinking that if we had a line of dog treat
s
you know, gourmet stuf
f
it might bring in a little more money.”

Gracie swallowed the negative answer that jumped to her lips. “I don’t know, Cheryl. I considered a line of designer treats before. Those products are expensive to begin with. We can’t mark them up enough to make anything. I’m not sure our customers would bite, so to speak.”

“No, don’t buy them from a supplier. I can make and package them. I have a friend in Buffalo who has a little pet bakery. She’s willing to give me a few recipes and get me started.”

“I’m not really…” Gracie saw more expenses mounting and unsold goods sitting on a shelf.

“Just let me try for a month or two. With the match coming up, we might do pretty well selling gourmet training treats. We could give away little treat boxes for winning dogs.”

“Well, that might be a good place to start.” Gracie was starting to catch a little of Cheryl’s enthusiasm. “OK, make up some samples, and we’ll test them on our own dogs to see what they like best.

“Perfect. I’ll start tonight.”

“And we’ll have to figure out how to pay you for them. You’ll have expenses, and the kennel will need to purchase them, or we can work out a percentage of sales. Do you know how to do a cost analysis?”

“I’m not worried about that right now. I just think it would be an easy way to help make some more income and help you and Jim out.”

“OK. We’ll work out payment details if this flies.”

Gracie didn’t want to be a wet blanket, but gourmet treats in a farming community might not be as a big a hit as the leftover bone from the Sunday roast. But then again, she had some customers who were pretty particular about what their dogs ate. She knew there were a few who insisted on supplying their own organic food, even though Milky Way fed high-quality kibble. Cheryl’s face shone with excitement, so it was worth giving in, even if it didn’t make sense to Gracie. She also didn’t want to discourage a valuable employee. Owning your own business wasn’t always what it was cracked up to be.

Gracie thumbed through the pile of messages and found one from Dr. Kelly Standish. She was available Wednesday to get together. Gracie called the vet clinic number back quickly and left a message that supper would be at seven on Wednesday. She could hardly wait to find out what Kelly knew about Charlotte’s pregnancy, and if she knew who the father was. It was also a chance to find out more about the mysterious English teacher. Maybe she should start searching for him online.

She fingered the message slip from the insurance investigator as she left a voicemail for him. She and Jim could give their account of the dog bite incident to Mr. Johnson tomorrow morning as was requested. Then, with some hesitation, she punched in the number for Investigator Hotchkiss. Before the phone rang twice, the investigator picked up. Without wasting pleasantries, she let Gracie know that Joe’s cohorts had been picked up in Kenmore, a Buffalo suburb, along with a couple of other guys who had recently violated their parole. Gracie’s laptop was part of the recovered loot, and she’d be able to get it back soon. The prison pals were all on a robbery spree throughout Western New York. However, Joe’s buddies adamantly denied any robbery at her Uncle Stan’s. They also insisted that straight up robbery was the objective, not murder. The felons’ alibi was being checked out and there would be more information soon.

Relief trickled through her that these men were sitting in jail, but if they were telling the truth, it still meant Uncle Stan’s “accident” was unsolved. She shivered. It wasn’t over yet.

T
he interview with the insurance guy went smoothly enough. He toured the kennel and took a few pictures of the place where the incident had occurred. He was interviewing Beth and her parents in the afternoon. Then he was talking to poor Barney’s owner. Frank and Evie had demanded he be put down, but Barney had gotten a reprieve, at least until the suit was determined. Gracie and Jim sat looking at each other in the quiet office, after James Johnson had left.

“Well, I guess I’ll get back to that fence.” Jim stood and put his Yankees cap on his head. “One of the Kennel Club members is hauling over the agility course stuff this afternoon. They want to start practicing with their dogs this weekend.”

“OK. I’ll get the deposit together.” Gracie double-clicked the QuickBooks icon on the screen to enter the deposit information.

They were both avoiding any comments about the lawsuit. It seemed like a threatening presence in the room, and the uncertain outcome meant either disaster or survival by the skin of their teeth. They were both weary of thinking about it, and Gracie wished desperately she’d called her doctor to refill the anxiety meds. Her resolve about medication was shaky at the moment. Sweating palms and racing heart gave her second thoughts. Sleep had been elusive the last couple of nights, and she was bone-tired. Cheryl knocked on the open door and stuck her head in.

“Sorry to interrupt, but I’ve got those samples. My dog loves them all. Do you want me to see what Haley thinks?”

Gracie smiled, “Sure, although Labs aren’t known for their discriminating tastes. She likes varmints, you know.”

“Haley may think she’s a hunting dog, but when she gets a whiff of these, she’ll give up her redneck ways.”

Cheryl opened a brown paper lunch bag for Gracie’s inspection. There were biscuits in several shapes—bones, fire hydrants, cats, and squares.

“There are peanut butter, liver, chicken, and veggie treats. I’m sure they’ll be a hit.” Cheryl’s confidence obviously knew no bounds.

“They look and smell good.” Jim reached in the bag and pulled out a fire hydrant.

“That’s the peanut butter one.” Cheryl smiled.

Jim crunched down on the biscuit.

“Tastes good to me.”

Gracie’s eyebrows rose, and she shook her head. “OK.
Wonderful. We’ll market them as treats for dogs
and
their owners then.” Gracie dutifully sniffed and examined the bagful of canine goodies.

“Give me a handful, and I’ll have Jack test them at home.” Jim’s old collie was about 12 years old and had some of his teeth.

“Are you sure Jack can handle the crunch?” Gracie had her doubts.

“Here, take some of the liver ones. They’re soft training treats.” Cheryl scooped out several dark brown cubes.

“Thanks. I’ll let you know what Jack thinks.” Jim shoved them in the pocket of his jeans and whistled his way out the back. It sounded like Chicago’s “Saturday in the Park.”

“
Aghh, the park. I was supposed to cook. I promised to make some homemade something or other for a picnic at Letchworth tonight.”

“Anyone we know?” Marian came into the office and stood by the doorway with clippers in her hand.

“Well, yes, but it’s not for public consumption. Deputy Stevens and I are doing some more research on Charlotte’s death.”

“Research.
Right. Keep thinking that way, Gracie. Good for you.” Marian winked and turned toward the grooming room. “Lots of customers today, so I’d better get going.”

“That’s great Gracie. I hope you have a good time.” Cheryl closed up the paper bag and headed to the reception area. Customers were arriving; the bell on the front door jingled, and dogs were barking excitedly.

Gracie decided to cruise around town after making the deposit. The Minders were doing yard work. The Reverend was mowing, and the Mrs. Reverend was weeding the front flowerbeds. Her flowerbeds were casual, lots of daisies, sweet peas, and hollyhocks. Midge’s looked busy as usual, and the Village Park had a few mothers and kids on the playground. She also saw Isabelle playing tennis with the mayor’s wife. Gracie quickly made a U-turn back to the park entrance. Avoiding Isabelle was a priority at the moment. Pulling out onto Main Street, she recognized Polly Stroud’s red Camaro in the insurance agency’s parking area. Sliding into the adjacent parking space, Gracie hurried to the door. Polly was at the big desk, and Howard was nowhere in sight.

“Hey, Polly, is Howard sick or something?”

“No. He had a conference in Rochester today, and I promised to cover while he was out.”

Polly’s brown-gray hair was swept up into a loose bun, two pencils suspended in its thick mass. Her reading glasses were on a blue beaded chain, which rested above her ample bosom. Even in the summer, Polly wore a navy blue suit and a no-nonsense white blouse. Her face sported a healthy tan, and she looked trimmer than the last time Gracie had seen her. Howard was probably having a heck of a time keeping up with his health-conscious wife.

“Can I help you with something?” Polly asked.

“Actually, yes. Howard said to talk to you about going through some old car insurance records that might be in the basement.”

“Oh, he mentioned that. His records go back forever. I can’t get him to throw anything out. But I’m not sure what you’re looking for.”

Gracie needed to spill her story to someone, and it was Polly’s lucky day. After swearing Polly to silence, she shared her suspicions of a Deer Creek resident running Charlotte down. Tears suddenly came out of nowhere, and Gracie impatiently brushed them away.

“Honey, don’t get upset. I understand. You and your family have been through some rough things. If we can help, we will.” She pulled one of the pencils from her bun and chewed the eraser thoughtfully. “You know, we used to get reports from the insurance company of all the motor vehicles we insured every quarter. I think license plate numbers were included with the other information. Hang on a minute, and let me see if I can grab one of those for you to take.
It’s old information now, and there’s no reason you couldn’t have it. Howard’s a dope. I’ll be back.”

Polly swept through a curtained doorway at the rear of the office area, and Gracie could hear the click of her high heels on the stairway to the basement. Gracie paced around Howard’s big desk and the two black leather wingback chairs that faced it. Main Street had a steady stream of cars, trucks, and tractors with wagons loaded with hay. One with a manure spreader chugged by and layered the air with a bovine piquant. Then she saw Isabelle driving by in her Lexus, probably headed for the bank or Midge’s. Isabelle looked her way, and Gracie slid into one of the chairs to avoid detection. She heard Polly’s heels once again on the stairs.

“I’ve got it, Gracie. It’s for the quarter ending September 30, 1992. It does have the plate numbers. No social security numbers or driver’s license info, so here you go.”

The old printout was faded, but still readable. The musty, green-barred, pin-fed paper draped over Polly’s arm. Her hair had traces of cobwebs, and there was dust on her lapel.

“Thanks, Polly. You don’t know how much I appreciate this. I’ll bring it back as soon as I can.” Gracie’s fingers itched to start turning the pages, but she quickly tucked the report under her arm and headed out the door. She knew exactly the name she’d start with.