Give the Dog a Bone (17 page)

“I know what you mean.” I unfastened the leash, and Maggie trotted off to investigate the new scents in the room since her last visit.

Theodora dropped down into a chair near my desk and indicated that I should do the same, which was nervy since this was
my
office. “Allida, something is very wrong.”

“Even I, with my paltry five senses, realize that much.”

Ignoring my mood, she seemed to deliberately put herself in a trancelike state. By the time I was seated at my desk, she was rocking slightly. With her eyes half closed, she said in hypnotic tones, “There is a dangerous energy shift in your aura, Allie. I can read it as plainly as if you were crying aloud for help.”

“Somebody has murdered two people I’ve met in the last week. How placid do you expect my aura to be?”

Theodora stared into my eyes. “The dogs will go wild with this cosmic energy. They’re very intuitive creatures, you know.”

“Yes, I’m well aware of that.”

She shut her eyes. After nearly a minute of silence, which seemed interminable, she said, “The worst is yet to come, Allie.” Her face was a portrait of sorrow, and she shook her head as if to blot it out. “Another attempt will be made. We are both in jeopardy, you and I.”

“From whom?”

She opened her eyes, lifted a shoulder, and looked to the heavens. “If only I could control my visions, I might know. But that’s just not the way they work.” She rose. She watched Maggie as she trotted toward me and lay down at my feet. “Watch the dogs, Allida. They’re your only warning. Your only defense.”

I studied her. She was being utterly sincere. If she was a mere scam artist, she had come to believe in her own scam. “I’ll do that,” I said. “I guess it’s a good thing you’ve got your . . . visions to serve as your own personal watchdog, right?”

“Indeed.” She gave me a long look, then said, “I’ve got to get back to my office. I’ve got a client coming in a few minutes. What I really need now is a lawyer, to clear up matters in Wisconsin. At least one good thing has happened lately. This Tracy Truett show will help me get new clients. Thank you.”

“That was totally unintentional on my part, of course, since I wasn’t even here, but you’re welcome. I hope things work out for you.”

She left and I found myself alone in my office, not counting Maggie. I immediately retrieved the tape of Tracy’s show and looked at it. On the label, Tracy had written a number followed by the words: female caller. Maybe Theodora, if she was indeed the caller, had said something that would be a clue.

Russell sometimes used a tape recorder. He was such a cautious sort that he took oral notes when going over his designs. I let myself into his office and searched his desk, then his filing cabinet. Indeed, his bottom drawer contained a tape recorder, and I plugged it in and inserted the tape. Maggie let out a little whine, and I saw her looking at me from the doorway. She was worried that I was trying to trick her into feeling content to be in this room, then would leave her alone in here again. That reminded me that I had yet to replace his door. And that I hadn’t fed his stupid goldfish since Sunday. Talk about pathetic girlfriends!

“You won’t give me your name?” Tracy was saying, distracting me from further self-abasement.

“Just call me Jane.” I couldn’t tell for certain if this was Theodora; the caller was obviously deliberately disguising her voice, speaking in the breathy tones of someone with a bad case of laryngitis.

“All right, Jane. You say you know something about the recent murders in the trailer park?”

“I know that if I were the police, I’d be talkin’ to Ken Culberson’s therapist, Terry Thames. He’d been using HypnoReiki on him.”

“You were a friend of Mr. Culberson’s, and he told you about his therapy?”

“I’m acquainted with Dr. Thames. I figured exactly what he was up to. Ken Culberson was rich, with no kids or wife. Thames was using hypnotic suggestion to convince Ken to make him his inheritor. Thames was trying to drive Ken nuts . . . trying to make it so he could get himself appointed as his legal guardian.”

“That’s quite an accusation. Do you have any proof to back any of this up?”

“It’s not like I got a signed confession or anything. But I can read auras accurately. They’re like personal diaries of the soul.”

“That’s Theodora, all right,” I said aloud, just as Tracy’s taped voice was cutting to a commercial break. Theodora, I was certain, was just trying to get publicity. During tomorrow’s broadcast, she would probably even reveal herself as the caller. I listened to the remainder of the taped conversation, which ended shortly after they returned from the commercial. Tracy had obviously begun to suspect that this aura-reading caller was a fruitcake, for Tracy cut Theodora off when she started talking about what an “innocent aura” Ken had possessed. I wondered how long it would take Tracy during tomorrow’s show to figure out that the fruitcake and her guest were one and the same.

After putting everything away and locking Russell’s office behind me, I checked my messages on my new answering machine and found that I had a couple of inquiries from potential new clients. That was good news for me, but I couldn’t shake a prevailing sadness. Two people were dead. For what? Because Ken Culberson was an eccentric loner who didn’t spend his money and, instead, left it to his beloved golden retriever?

Mary had had the most to gain by his death and might have orchestrated the whole thing. Had she worked with someone else and then grown afraid of her partner in crime? I still suspected that Ruby had witnessed the murder or some piece of it that endangered the killer.

The thoughts continued to “dog” me as I headed east to work with a dog in Longmont late that afternoon. This was a mixed breed, a recent acquisition from the Humane Society in Boulder. The dog had not acclimated well to his new home and was terrorizing the children’s rabbits, despite their being physically protected by their hutches. The dog’s territorializing had increased such that he considered it his responsibility to keep everyone and every animal from entering his reign of control, which was two feet or so to the other side of the fence. My task was to shrink his boundaries to a more appropriate area, and his perceived status to a lower rung.

To my disappointment and the owners’ discouragement, we had a bad day. The dog was obstinate and seemingly had unlearned all progress he’d made to date. I reassured the owners as best I could afterward that there were always peaks and valleys in anyone’s “learning curve,” including dogs’. We set up another appointment, and I hoped that they wouldn’t fire me in the interim. Afterward, I had enough time to drop off Maggie at home. Mom had returned from work and was willing to assume responsibility for Maggie on my behalf. It felt as though Mom and I were teamed in a never-ending marathon, with Maggie functioning as the baton to pass.

It was a late night for me, working as I was on not just one but two separate cases of fearful dogs—always the greatest challenge. Fearful dogs can bite for no reason, plus it’s easier to retrain a dog to overcome one specific behavioral problem than it is to change a personality characteristic. Afterward I kept a social engagement made weeks ago with some friends from high school. I deliberately evaded the subject matter of the murders in Boulder, which were on my friends’ minds, just as they were on all Boulderites’ minds.

It was dark as I drove home up Hover Road; dark
except
for the headlights of the person tailgating me, that is. I kept hoping that the car would turn off, but it was still tailing me by the time we reached a relatively deserted stretch of road. The bright lights reflecting off my rearview mirror were so annoying that I pulled onto the shoulder of the road to let the person pass, but the driver merely turned her high beams on and pulled in behind me.

My heart rate increased instantly. For a moment I assumed it was an unmarked police car, but the driver made no move to put official lights on the car roof. I certainly wasn’t going to stay here or risk getting out of my vehicle, so I pulled a quick U-turn.

The other car did the same. Within moments, it was right on my bumper. Shit! I tried to see if I could identify the make of car or the driver, but the headlights were blinding.

What should I do? Common wisdom was to drive to the nearest police station, but a few years ago in Denver, a woman tried to do exactly that, only to be shot in the police parking lot.

I decided to keep going south on Hover until I reached the Twin Peaks shopping mall. The parking lot was well-lit. Maybe the driver wouldn’t risk following me, for fear of being identified.

I made a sharp left turn into the parking lot of the mall, my tires screeching. The other car flew past the entrance. At that speed, it had to have turned west on the Diagonal back to Boulder. Meanwhile, I drove through the mall lot to head east on the Diagonal, to head toward Longmont. I ran the red light rather than risk giving the other driver enough time to turn around and pick up my car again at this intersection.

My heart was pounding, but I drove below the speed limit. There was enough traffic on the Diagonal heading toward downtown Longmont that I could perhaps blend in. Then I could head to Berthoud up Main Street instead of taking the chance that my stalker was sitting in wait on the side of the road.

Should I call the police before heading home? Truth be told, I was too scared to get out of my car. If only I had a cellular phone! And what could I tell the police? That someone had been following me for a few miles, but that I had no description of the driver or the vehicle. What could the police do with that information? Plus, after I’d left my car to reach a public phone, I would have to wait in hope that the patrol car arrived before my stalker. Was that safer than driving home? I was closer to my own house than I was to the police station.

High schoolers in Longmont were known for cruising at this hour, which could have been all this was—some kids who spotted a woman driving alone at night down a country road and decided to get their kicks from intimidating her. I knew better, really, but decided I would hang onto that possibility because it was less frightening than the alternative.

On edge, I watched through my rearview mirror every time a car approached me and slowed down a little. Each car sped past me in the left lane. I realized though, that if I was wrong, if this person was following me deliberately and knew that I was going to Berthoud, he or she could wait for me.

As I neared the outskirts of town, I let out a sigh of relief to discover that I was very much alone on the road. I made a rubberneck at what could have been a sedan behind some shrubs well off the side of the road. My pulse raced.

An instant later, a car turned on its beams and pulled out behind me. I cursed under my breath as the driver focused the high beams on me and ran up onto my bumper.

Chapter 17

My heart was pounding so hard that I could barely breathe. With the high beams from that vehicle right behind me, it felt as though I was under a spotlight when my only protection was to be hidden in darkness.

What could I do to escape? And why the hell was this happening to me?

Every instinct urged me to stomp down on the accelerator and try to lose this maniac. Yet we were near downtown Berthoud. There might be other cars in the intersections, or pedestrians or animals on the road.

Instead, I battled my instincts and slowed, but did not pull over. The Berthoud police station was only a mile or so past my turnoff for home. I would have to drive there. I certainly couldn’t lead this person directly to my home.

I winced as the driver behind me leaned on the horn, then shut the lights out entirely. I braced myself, expecting the car to ram my bumper. Instead, the driver suddenly pulled a U-turn and drove away.

I hit the brakes and looked back, trying to get a view of the license plate or the silhouette of the driver, but the car vanished from view down the hill.

Why would someone behave this way? I decided to stop in at the police station and report what had happened, in case the driver intended to return. The officer I spoke to was very nice, despite my inability to give him useful information. Upon his insistence, he followed me home in his patrol car and walked me to the door. He would have accompanied me inside, but I insisted “that would only alarm my mother, not to mention my dogs.”

Despite my brave words, my hands trembled as I turned the knob and entered. The four dogs were there to dutifully greet me, despite the hour. I finished petting them and went into the living room. Mom was asleep on the couch, a book tented over her chest. A floorboard creaked, waking her. “Allida?” she asked groggily.

“Yes. Hi, Mom.”

She sat up a little, closing her book and setting it on the coffee table. “I must have dozed off for a minute. How did your day go?”

“Well, nobody I know died, which is an improvement.” I took a seat in the upholstered wing chair in the corner of the room.

“That’s . . . nice, dear.” She yawned and stretched as she sat up. Then her eyes searched mine. “You look a little pale. Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I’m fine. I just had to deal with an obnoxious tailgater, that’s all.” Before she could ask me for more details, I asked, “How was Maggie’s behavior this afternoon?”

“Well, she’s not exactly ready for the Westminster Dog Show, but she is getting a little easier to control.”

The phone rang and I rose to answer while Mom clicked her tongue and muttered, “It’s well past eleven! That’s too late to be calling somebody. If this is anything short of an emergency, tell whoever it is to call back at a reasonable hour tomorrow.”

“I will, Mom,” I replied automatically, having heard this from her for years now.

“Allie?” a tense voice replied the moment I’d said hello. “This is Joanne Palmer. What the hell do you think you’re pulling?”

Caught off guard, it took me a moment to place the name and realize that this was Maggie’s veterinarian. “Could you back up a bit? I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”

“I was just taking inventory of my pharmacy, and my pills are gone! All of my sample packets of Clomicalm and acepromazine! You were the only person to have un-supervised access to my supply closet, when you were supposedly looking for towels.”

“You’re accusing me of stealing medication for dogs?” I asked incredulously.

“No one else had the opportunity or motive. You could take a couple of years’ supply of drugs and pass yourself off as a vet with no license.”

“I did no such thing, Joanne! I can’t believe you’re even serious!” Maybe she’d been taking doggie drugs herself and was hallucinating.

“I always lock the supply cabinet. No one else has a key. Not even my assistant. Then I thought back a little and realized they could have been missing since T-Rex was here.”

Though I told myself to stay calm, that Joanne was just reacting out of the heat of the moment, I didn’t care for her much to begin with, and her absurd accusation was hard to take. I replied testily, “The problem with your theory, Joanne, is that I didn’t touch your drug supplies. And why would I jeopardize my future just to steal a batch of pills?”

There was a pause and then a sigh. “You’re right. Maybe I should have thought this through better. I guess if you wanted to get your hands on Clomicalm or ACP, it wouldn’t be that hard for you to convince a veterinarian friend to give you a prescription.”

“Right. What do the police have to say about the theft?”

“I haven’t spoken to them yet.”

“Why not?”

She ignored the question and said, “If it wasn’t you who raided my supply cabinet it had to have been Yolanda. She was back here visiting T-Rex while we were all up front in the waiting room.”

“My advice to you is to contact the police and let them handle this. You’re probably every bit as off base with your accusation of Yolanda as you were with me.” I spoke with a confidence I didn’t feel.

“No, no. This time I’m positive. It’s Yolanda all right, and she’s not going to get away with this.” Joanne abruptly hung up.

“Who was that?” Mom asked as I returned the handset to its cradle.

“A fringe-element veterinarian in Boulder.”

“ ‘Fringe element’?” Mom repeated.

“I watched her save a dog’s life from an overdose, so she does know what she’s doing medically. But she’s too quick on the draw to prescribe canine antidepressants and tranquilizers. Now she’s upset because somebody apparently stole a batch of pills from her.”

“Why would anyone steal dog medication?”

“Doggie downers have been used for years as a cheap high. And I suppose, in combination with alcohol, the same can probably be said for Clomicalm. Though it’s medically very similar to Prozac.”

“So you think that the thief could be selling them for human consumption?”

“Yes. Or just using them herself. Or himself.” The dogs huddled around my feet, vying for placement and attention. I scratched Pavlov’s ear. The more I thought about it, the more the possibility of Joanne’s being right the second time—that Yolanda might have been the thief— seemed plausible. Yolanda did have the opportunity to steal those pills. T-Rex had overdosed while under her supervision, and she blamed Dr. Palmer’s pills for her friend Ruby’s death.

“Could that have been the motive for the murders, do you think?” Mom asked.

“I suppose it’s possible. It would have to be one heck of a huge drug ring, though. I can’t imagine even a couple of hundred pills of Clomicalm or ACP being worth someone committing murder over.”

Then again, maybe I’d been wrong all along. Maybe Ken hadn’t really gotten his fortune from a patent on some obscure television circuit, but rather from pushing drugs. Or Ruby or Mary had been pushing drugs, with Ken completely in the dark, which struck me as more likely. But . . . still. Murdering someone over canine antidepressants? That was just so implausible.

Mom stood up. “As I’ve said before, I don’t understand why you’re suddenly up to your elbows in crazy people. On the other end of the scale, Russell called. About an hour ago. He said he’d call again tomorrow.”

I couldn’t think about Russell right now and responded only to Mom’s earlier statement. “I know what you mean. It’s like everyone in Ken’s life had a few screws loose.”

Mom pursed her lips and crossed her arms tightly against her chest. “Maybe I should postpone my lessons tomorrow. I don’t think you should be alone.”

“I won’t be alone. I’ll take Pavlov and Maggie with me tomorrow. I’ve got mostly office visits on my schedule, and I could put them in Russell’s office when necessary.” At my own mention of Russell, I was filled with a longing to see him. “Did Russell leave a number?”

“Yes. I think I wrote it down when I was in the kitchen. He sounded depressed, actually. He said he misses you.”

Mom went to bed, and I dialed Russell’s hotel room. It was an hour earlier in California and I reached him. We chatted for a while, and I tried to ignore my inexplicable nervousness that was leaving me somewhat breathless.

After a pause he said, “It was a bit late when I called. I hope I didn’t wake your mom up.”

“If so, she didn’t complain to me about it.”

Russell remained silent, and I realized then what he was really asking.

“I got together tonight with some girlfriends from high school.”

“Oh, good. Did you have fun?” Russell asked, sounding greatly relieved.

“Yes.”

“How’s the softball team doing?”

“I forgot to show up for the game last week, but they won without me.”

“Must have been a fluke,” he replied pleasantly. He sighed. “I’d better get back to work.”

“It’s—” I glanced at my watch “—ten-forty at night there. You’re still working?”

“The sooner I can complete this project, the sooner I can get home to you. Uh, home, I mean, where you’re also located. I didn’t mean to imply that we were . . . I know you don’t want to be rushed.”

I smiled, wondering if my appreciation for the sound of Russell’s voice would last. Though I was sorely tempted to reveal my longing to see him, my more immediate worries won out and I merely said, “By the way, I ordered you a new door for your office the other day. Your current one’s pretty gouged up. I told the landlord about it, and he’s just sending me the bill.”

“Ah. You forgot that I was gone and couldn’t wait for me to open the door?”

I chuckled and said, “Since the damage has already been done, you don’t mind if I give a couple of dogs run of your office tomorrow, do you?”

“No, that’s fine. Have ’em take a look at those schematics in my top drawer of my desk while they’re at it. They might have some suggestions.”

We said our good-byes and hung up.

The next morning, I folded the back seat of my Subaru hatchback down for the “additional cargo space” that the car ads were always talking about, and let Pavlov settle herself down. Then I fastened Maggie’s seatbelt harness on her and put her in the passenger seat.

While I made the drive back into Boulder, I wondered again whether or not Ken could have lied about the source of his wealth. I’d seen the yellowed patent on his wall, but I’d never seen an actual patent before then and would never be able to discern its authenticity. Arlen, however, had verified the story about how Ken had struck it rich. Maybe another chat with him would let me be able to stop worrying about any possibility of Ken’s having gotten his money from illegitimate sources. In any case, I wanted to know Arlen better. As Ken’s one remaining blood relative, my having put him low on the list of inheritors had to be with good cause.

Once again, Arlen was in his open garage as I pulled into his driveway. He was wearing a plaid shirt and grimy jeans again, topped off with his beat-up straw cowboy hat. He had been working on his truck engine. He held up a greasy palm in greeting, but continued to stare at Maggie with apparent apprehension.

Wiping his hands on a rag, he rounded the truck to speak to me, and I rolled down the window. Maggie began barking at him, which made Pavlov sit up and take notice as well, but she knew better than to join in.

Arlen gave me a nervous smile. “See you got yourself a shepherd there, too, hey?”

“Yes, she’s one of my own dogs.”

He focused again on the still-barking golden retriever. “How’s Miss Maggie doing?”

“She seems to be settling down pretty well. Not counting her current noisiness. I had her in the car and brought her over for a quick visit. Is that all right with you?”

“Um, sure, but I was just about to leave.” He gestured at his pickup, which currently had its hood raised. A carburetor and a few less-recognizable engine parts were spread on the concrete floor of the garage.

“Okay. Maybe we can set an appointment and do this another time.”

“Or not at all?” he suggested, then followed it up with a sheepish smile. “I mean, I
am
Ken’s next of kin. I’m obviously the one to get his dog.”

The dog’s barking right in my ear was getting to me. I got out of the car, rolled the window up, and shut the door to blot the noise. Watching for his reaction, I asked, “Did you hear about Mary’s being alive? Though I guess she’s now missing.”

He frowned and nodded. “Wouldn’t necessarily bet on her
still
bein’ alive. That gal was always mixing with the wrong people. I swear. She could go to a gathering where there was a hundred or two folks and one of ’em was a hardened criminal, and she’d not only find the one rotten apple out of the batch, but he’d fall head over heels for her.”

“Is that what your brother was? A rotten apple?”

“Hell, no. But that’s why it couldn’t ever have lasted with the two of them. Ken was decent. She hated that. She walked over his face.”

“I’ve gotten the impression that Ken allowed a lot of people to ‘walk on his face.’ ”

“Yeah. He was too kindhearted. Had no real idea of what people was really like. That’s part of why we hired Terry Thames—to help him get a grasp on the real world.”

“Who is this
we
who hired Dr. Thames?”

“Uh, me and Mary.”

I was caught off guard by his openly admitting that he’d once been teamed with his former sister-in-law. “The two of you were friends at one point?”

“I don’t know if you’d call us friends, exactly. Though I . . . kind of introduced Ken to Mary in the first place.” The muscles in his jaw were working. “Mary and I were dating for a while. Till I made the mistake of telling her about how rich my brother was.”

That was interesting. “Did you and she get back together after the divorce at all?”

“Hell, no. I saw her true colors by then.”

“Do you know if she was dating anyone else?”

He shook his head. “Don’t ever talk to her, if I can avoid it.”

“And yet the two of you hired Dr. Thames?”

Arlen shrugged. “Kind of. But I was on Ken’s side all along. Mary came to me one day, insisting that Ken needed to be declared incompetent. She just wanted to be named as his guardian so she could get her claws on his money. So I wound up talking Ken into gettin’ examined by Dr. Thames, and he became a patient. Dr. Thames told me right off the bat that Ken was perfectly capable of takin’ care of himself. I kind of explained about how Mary was after me to see to it that my brother was declared incompetent, nevertheless. Dr. Thames said he’d see to it that some adult-care provider could work with Ken, so’s Mary couldn’t get away with it.”